At the age of twenty-five, Ricard Damaris fought in one of the most pivotal battles in modern history on the fields of Emridy Meadows against the denizens of the Temple of Elemental Evil. He came away from the battle missing the fourth finger on his left hand and with an odd triangular scar on the left side of his chin. He also left with a firm understanding that the world was a fascinating place filled with hidden wonder, and set off for an adventurer’s life.

Years later, in the Village of Hommlet, Ricard fell into service with Lord Robilar and became one of the accomplished fighter’s most trusted associates. Thirty-six years ago, when Robilar asked him to give up the adventuring life and run the Green Dragon Inn, An evening at the Damaris jumped at the chance, eager for an easy retirement and fully cognizant of his luck in surviving even this long. The tall, gruffly handsome man looks about a decade younger than his sixty-one years. He wears his thick black hair down to his shoulders, and he dresses fashionably but not ostentatiously. Ricard reveres Olidammara, the Laughing Rogue, and encourages the boisterous character of his inn, believing it to be the secret to its continuing financial success.

Fistfights, broken-bottle battles, and even dagger duels don’t bother him unduly, though he might step in with a heavy club if a brawl gets out of hand. His regulars know when to stop. If more serious weapons are drawn, dangerous magic is used, or if a member of his staff is attacked, Damaris does not hesitate to draw his own weapon (now a fine magical longsword in lieu of the blade of chaos) and attack the offender until he flees into the street.

On a few occasions Damaris has killed an unruly patron outright. Ricard’s wife, Florence, and his twenty-six-year-old daughter have moved to land they recently inherited outside Dyvers. He still adores them and visits a few times a year.