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600 | 13 | 36 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakIt seemed that the small goblin had arrived a bit too late to receive the instructions given out by Sister Agnes, but all the same he knew that the presence of others would be a help as it always was. Drizzak, at his basest, was not the greatest listener in day to day interaction. In combat, you bet he could hear a fly parping, but when it came to talking of tasks and duty he always just shouted for more gold until he got it. This was one of the reasons why joining up and following seemed to be the best thing for him right now. Others could listen where he did not, while he barked at people for more gold. It was a brilliant plan. Flawless. Absolutely flawless. He almost wrung his horrid, clawed hands in glee as he giggled to himself.
This group of interested adventurers seemed so much bigger than what he was used to, however. Sana, he recognized, but allowed her to leave freely as he assessed the others along for the ride. Apparently Hugh, big armor holy man, was here too, which was a fact he was neither overjoyed or wary of. Was Hugh the one that threatened to make him swallow his teeth or... hrm. It didn't matter. They could fight and both knew him. That would be valuable. But these new faces. So strange as they came and went. The Holy Robey woman, the Fancy-Dressed Puffy Man, the Man with the Shining Head, the Firehair Swordlady, Tailman Badlook, Capebook Paleman, Blue Robes man and Small Blue girl and finally the newest entrant Orc McLarge. He did not know names. He did not make note of them. Drizzak was too distracted by the smells and sights to be seen around the Apothecary's Shop.
The rumbling of his stomach gave him a start, and spurred him to move. He couldn't eat glass tubes and metal skellingtons. He needed meat. He needed tasties. To take a chunk out of a villager simply wouldn't do, but Sana couldn't have gone far. She would know where food was. The dancing people always knew. The exclamation of Orc McLarge shook him slightly, causing him to turn his head to the side and look at the towering half-orc. Drizzak, strangely, remained silent as he sized up the great, 6'6" green man as if he were just his size. His wide, jagged smile was now just a slight sneer as he growled. "You too big. You get hit first, Drizzak bet. Nasties always munch big first."
With a slight chuckle, he adjusted his bearskin cloak and turned to the door. "Drizzak hunger. Meat. Want." As succinct as ever as he barged out the door and followed the scents of food, finding his way to the inn. He barged right through that door too and found the familiar face of Sana once more. A familiar setting, this was, as he shuffled onto a stool far too high for him and barked at Sana. "WHERE FOOD. WE GET FOOD, YES?" | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
601 | 13 | 37 | 54 | 1,340 | The Apothecary Shop
Sister Agnes didn’t know what to think of the newest editions to the group but she figured she needed to show them over to where Sana had headed, the marksman seemed to be the one taking the lead in this. Turning to Wylsen she gathered up the items that the group had left or had not gathered as of yet and turned to make her way towards the door. Looking over towards Vaeri she smiled softly. “Of course, I can show you all the way over there,” she said in a kind voice before she continued, thankful to Hanzo for holding the door open for her.
“You too,” the nun added as she looked over towards Lob. “This way,” she motioned as she walked out of the shop and made her way towards the tavern. Stopping as she noticed Mortosh she called out to him. “The rest of the group is in the inn. We are headed that way if you wish to follow,” she said in a kind voice before continuing on her way. Eventually they made their way to the inn and Agnes pushed her way inside. Glancing around she spotted Sana and the majority of the rest of the group and walked over, setting the rest of the bottles and vials down next to the table. “Seems there are a few more,” she said softly.
The Inn
Sana glanced over towards Melvis as he introduced himself and sat down as she took a bite of food from her fork and nodded over to him. “Sana and that’s Hugh,” she said as she pointed with her fork before taking another bite. Looking up at Hugh as he tried to get the barmaid attention she had to chuckle, the man never seemed to remember how large and imposing he could be due to his size but she found his actions endearing. He was interesting and never dull that was for sure. She had seen him nearly rip the jaw off a gnoll by stuffing a bedroll in its mouth and bash a wraith into dust and yet here he was waiving rather frantically to get the barmaids attention just so the others could get some food. Reaching out with her free hand she rested it on his waist as the girl took notice of him and the barmaid swallowed nervously. “I think she sees you,” she said with a chuckle before taking another bite of food.
The barmaid came over quickly and eyed the rather eclectic group for a moment before clearing her throat. “Okay, what’ll ya’ll have?” she asked as she stood there waiting to take their orders for breakfast. As she was standing there Tobias came over and introduced himself, Sana leaned back in her seat and wiped her mouth with her napkin before looking over to Hugh.
“I wonder if he is fast enough to outrun my arrow,” she said as a smirk played on her lips as she glanced over towards Tobias out of the corner of her eye before chuckling softly and waiving off her own comment. “Just messing,” she said as she sat there. It was about that time Drizzak came bounding in the door and Sana reached over and took Hughs hand squeezing it softly. “That one,” she said as she motioned over to the one they had met in the oasis long ago. “Yeah, I think that one needs food as well,” Sana said looking over at the barmaid and motioning towards Drizzak with her fork. The barmaid nodded slowly before looking over at Hugh and then Sana.
“This whole group with you two?” she asked.
“Yeah but not on our tab if that is what you are asking. Well, Drizzak is. I owe him a meal,” she said as she told the barmaid to make sure to put Drizzaks food on her and Hughs tab. He had helped save her life at one point and lost a rather nice dagger in the process, she at least owed him a meal. The barmaid nodded and waited for each person to place an order as the host brought over something to drink for Tobias. Sana perked a brow as she watched Sister Agnes enter but nodded slightly to her words. “Seems that way. Anything else sister?” she asked before taking another sip of her coffee.
“Just good luck,” the nun said before biding everyone good bye and making her way out of the inn and back towards the apothecary shop just in case someone else showed up. Sana nodded as she went back to eating. She knew they would need to get going soon enough but the last great adventure she had been on the group had made a huge mistake with not eating and setting out in the middle of the night. It was one that she was determined not to make again and wanted to ensure that all that needed to eat had a full belly and with it being early in the day it was much better to set out before night fell once again.
At least the group all seemed to be in the same place now so that was at least a good start and they seemed to have a well-rounded source of abilities. Now the only thing she worried about was the personalities. Would they end up playing well off each other or would they end up having the same problem they had run into in the past where people had a tendency to fight more with each other than against the creatures they need to pay attention to. Only time would tell. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
602 | 13 | 38 | 677 | 1,382 | Thank you, sis- Vaeri was in the middle of saying when she was interrupted by a giant, green oaf declaring that Drizzak was 'little me.' She had to stare at this man for a few seconds uncomprehendingly before she regained her composure. Apparently he was there to help out with the quest. Well, he certainly looked like he could handle himself in a fight. This was certainly growing to to be quite some group. Maybe they had gotten big to move around as a group effectively. Perhaps as two groups they could even gather the ingredients even quicker than they would be otherwise. But then again, she did not know the capabilities of the other people in the party, so for now her idea would remain simple musing.
"Thank you for your assistance, Sister." Vaeri finally got around to saying once they got to the inn. The elf walked over to the main table where most of the rest of the party seemed to congregate around and rubbed some of the tired out of her eyes. She wouldn't talk since it seemed that they were already in the middle of a conversation. For now she would just listen. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
603 | 13 | 39 | 290 | 1,247 | Zam who had proceeded to faint despite they where in the open now so with her out cold Mortosh Grabbed her and proceeded to find a table where he sat Zam down. he then unhooked a jar that hung on one of his ribs it was filled with different flowers that she insisted he collect over the years.
It was only later that he and Zam discovered it healing properties to fairy and its many sub-species and it was by pure accident. she had been harmed by a sail snake Mortosh who then called summon a swarm Fleshlocust which proceeded to devour said beast. after dispelling the spell Mortosh was sent into a panic and had forgotten on how deal with poison in the process and also due it being something rarely he encounters due to him being undead and all.
So he sorta forgot to buy anti-venom so he just put her into the jar filled with the different fauna and ran to nearest settlement he only her Zam yelling from inside the jar. so opening the jar Mortosh explained to her why she was in the jar and that's how he discovered the healing properties of the faunas in the jar.
In the present Mortosh was finishing up Wrapped zam in leaves and put her in his shoulder pocket. after having screwed lid back on and hung the jar back on his rib he sat down a bench with no way to speak to anyone Mortosh began to wait for Zam to wake up and it would be early into noon when she did so he just planed to waited well that was the plan anyway until he heard someone call his name so he turned his head towards the sound. And saw it was Sister Agnes,Vaeri Hanzo and a Half-orc ("Please Trew Don't let it be that this one want's to eat my bones as well ") he prayed remember his last encounter with a orc. He walked over to them sister Agnes asked if he as well was lost he just nodded his head already hating his muteness well always dose but with Zam around it usually feels like hes talking through so his muteness doesn't really bother him but with no way of speaking other then a very crude form of sign languages.
So he simply fallowed the group the Inn and entered it alongside the group they walked to a table with all the people at the shop he sat down in front of the window | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
604 | 13 | 40 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh sat down, as Sana rested her hand on his waist, and spoke. He nodded to her comment, a little bit of a smile crossing his face as he noticed the humor she had taken, though not aware of what at. Sometimes Hugh would notice her laughing or smiling randomly at something he did or said. Her smile was addicting to him and it seemed like he didn't even have to try to make him smile, which was something that he liked. Of course, she didn't have to try to make him smile, either. Every day he would wake up with her there in his arms and as long as that was the case, he was content.
Hugh was staring at Sana for a moment, after she had spoken. His thoughts seemed to be filled with bliss as he looked on her face. The moment was only interrupted by the sound of someone slamming themselves down into a seat at their table. One of Hugh's eyes squinted as he turned his head to see this new arrival whom was in the process of stroking his ego. "Riiiiiiight." Came Hugh's reply to Tobias, with a special emphasis on the sound of the T.
Hugh couldn't help but smile at Sana's mischievousness, as she inquired on whether or not he could outrun her arrow. He snickered and said, "Or my AX!" The last word seemed to come out a lot louder and with more enthusiasm than he had originally intended, and left him scratching his chin at how it had happened. Hugh finally laid his tobacco pipe down next to his plate and started eating a little food, vigorously maneuvering his fork from the plate to his mouth with its cargo.
He was in this process for awhile, not paying that much attention to the rest of the group, until he felt his free hand gently squeezed by Sana. Her hands were so soft and it caused a tingling sensation where she touched, with a little tingling sensation going up his spine. His attention was then diverted towards the little goblin that had appeared. Hugh gave a great big cheerful smile at the little goblin's appearance, happy to see someone he had liked appearing with their new group. Hugh was in no disagreement with paying for the little one's meal and he showed it by nodding towards Sana and the barmaid enthusiastically.
Of course, this was also interrupted by the sudden appearance of a nun. Hugh assumed she was the quest giver, but he hadn't met her yet. She seemed eager to give them a host of vials and bottles, leaving them next to their area. "Good luck, indeed." He muttered, as the nun exited and he surveyed all the bottles and vials they would have to fill.
One thing Hugh was rather intent upon was enjoying another peaceful night with Sana, as there would no doubt be no time and they would constantly be surrounded by other people. Soon they would embark on a strenuous and stressful adventure. Of course, it might have its high moments. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
605 | 13 | 41 | 1,533 | 1,707 | As time flowed onward, more and more citizens entered and exited the inn, most of which were likely seeking breakfast. Melvus was no different, most of the reasoning behind him in the inn was breakfast... Well, food in general, really. He hadn't had a real meal for nearly twenty-four hours... He could only take so much.
After he'd taken his seat at the group's table, which he presumed was not intended for that purpose, Hugh, the larger man, called a barmaid over to order food. Not long after that another fellow, by the name... Tobias approached the table and took a seat, not after explaining all of his mischief. The others joked as a nun, Melvus recognized her a sister Agnes, appeared and wished them luck on their quest.
"What about that? Are we going to split ourselves into two groups? We couldn't afford any smaller groups - the beasts will certainly be a difficult opponent... If we split ourselves into two groups we can collect everything much quicker but we risk everyone dying. What will it be?" Most of his question/small rant was directed at the one who referred to herself as Sana. | Removed |
606 | 13 | 42 | 54 | 1,340 | The Inn
The barmaid took the time to get each persons order that had not already gotten food for the morning before wandering to the kitchen area to take care of getting their requests. Sana leaned back in her seat as she finished eating and pushed her plate away somewhat; taking a look at the group as a whole and wondering how capable they were. Some looked far more capable than others granted looks could be deceiving. Of those there she only knew two personally and she knew they could fight well but of the others it would take seeing them in action to see if they were going to be a help or a hindrance.
Looking over at Hugh as he seemed to get rather excited when he piped in about his ax she chuckled and rested her hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently as she did so. Turning her attention Melvus as he asked if they should split up Sana shook her head slightly as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I don’t like the idea of us splitting up until we know how well each other fight and who works well with each other. The fact we have to get blood from a dragon alone makes me worry. They aren’t exactly the easiest of creatures to take down if it comes to that. If they were everyone would have dragon hide armor,” she commented as she rose from her place. “One thing is for sure, we do need to get moving,” she said as she pulled her cloak from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders; taking a moment to lace it in place.
The barmaid came back several times and placed plates of food in front of each person that had ordered food or drink before going back to take care of the few other patrons in the inn. Glancing out of the corner of her eye there was one that did not sit right with Sana. Someone who had situated themselves in corner and seemed to have been watching the group intently for some time but had not said a word to anyone and was not part of the group that had quickly formed. Turning her attention to Hugh, Sana rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. “I am going to ready our horses, can you get our things from the room when you are done?” she whispered softly against his ear before placing a kiss on his cheek. Leaning back she smiled as she headed out of the inn; picking up the box that the nun had brought over for them as she did.
Heading out of the inn she glanced around before making her way to the stables where she and Hugh had rented a place for both of their horses the evening before. Glancing around as she walked she had that gut feeling she got from time to time and sighed. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes darted around a bit and she noticed several others that did not seem to fit in such a town. They didn’t look like typical townies nor did they look like adventurers. Stopping at the stable she placed the box down by the feet of the old man who was puffing away on his pipe and rose a brow.
“Know them?” she asked after she instructed the stable boy to get the horses and saddle them up for her. The man took a long drag from his pipe and shook his head no slowly. “Trouble?” she asked quietly and the man nodded slowly. “I see,” she said before sighing deeply. She really didn’t want to deal with anything yet, they were not even out of town but then as she turned around she noticed something she had seen before when she was younger. It was the emblem of a slaver, her troop of gypsy had been attacked at one point when she was young, they wanting young women to sell. She knew these types of people were not exactly picky and with the announcement that went out seeking adventurers she wondered if it had brought the Slaver as well as his associates.
Between the one she had seen in the inn that seemed off, the slaver that was walking down the main fairway of the town that made two. How many more where there? Stepping around next to the stable owner she leaned back against the fence as she waited for the horses, taking a leisurely pose as she watched the town and counted to herself. ”One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Pair on the roof, which makes seven. Three in the alleyway by the inn makes ten and one in the inn makes eleven.” Tilting her neck from side to side as she watched the one that had been in the inn stroll out and begin speaking with the one that had the mark of the Slaver on him. Sana grumbled, she hated slavers and even though this wasn’t technically what they were being hired for she couldn’t in good conscience do nothing so she decided to run a little test.
Pushing off the fence she began walking across the street towards the general store as she pulled the hood of mantle back. Giving the men a sultry smile as she did so and swaying her hips slightly in the process. The one from the inn that was dressed more like a thief than anything glanced her way as did the slaver but they said and did nothing to approach her. Perhaps she was wrong? Turned out she wasn’t as she passed an alleyway and a rather large man that appeared to be a bandit stepped in front of her path.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out all alone on these dangerous streets?” he asked in a deep voice. Sana stopped in her tracks, looking him over slowly as a smile crept across her lips.
“Just needing to pick up a few things. Excuse me,” she said as she took a step to the left to try to move passed him. He mimicked her step and blocked her path once again.
“Aww love, don’t be in a hurry,” he said as he reached out to brush some of her hair out of her face. Sana took a step back and smirked.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she retorted in a coy voice before spinning down and sliding passed him and coming up behind him; continuing on her way. The man growled slightly and grabbed her by the arm.
“Well ya ain’t me love,” he snarled and Sana just laughed.
“Oh you are in so much trouble,” she said in a flat voice before turning her head towards the Inn. “Hugh!” she bellowed out loud enough to be heard in the inn, her voice echoing through the quiet village. The Slaver and the rest of his group starting to come forward with their weapons drawn. There were nine total on the ground and the two that were on the roof of the general store and the apothecary with compound bows could be clearly seen when one exited the Inn.
“Aww, calling for help. Ain’t no one gonna help ya now love. You’ll fetch a pretty penny,” the man who had a grip on Sanas arm chuckled in a depraved manner. “Well maybe we’ll just keep you for us.”
“Yup, you’re gonna die,” Sana said in a rather calm voice as she stood there.
"What? By you little thing?" he asked as he pulled her close. Sana couldn't help but laugh in his face.
"Oh no, not by me," she said with a bright but cold smile on her lips. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
607 | 13 | 43 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh Smiled well what could count for a smile for a Jaw less skeleton as he watched Zam Devour the Sweet roll he ordered for her Zam who awoken just a few minuets after he had ordered the pastry for her. He was a bit bored which is an immortals worst enemy everyone else at the table seemed to be doing something be it having a conversation or just looking over there own equipment which he could do he supposed but he carried so little on him that he had everything memorized.
so he just looked around he saw a barmaid smoking out of a pipe she turned and saw him looking at her she flashed a grin at him ("Oh Trew not again") he thought for he recognized that kind of grin it was a grin of a predator that had just found herself a perfect prey and he was it. She walked over to him still flashing her predatory grin
"Well hello there Mister Dark and mysterious i couldn't help but notice you looking at me by the way the names Grimhilde" she said all this while trying to make her bosom as noticeable to the poor skeleton who wished for nothing more then one of his many soon to be companions to take notice of his discomfort and help him.
and one did notice it was companion Zam who proceeded to defend his honor and after a brief argument between Grimhilde and Zam with Zam explaining to the Off-Duty Barmaid that he wasn't interested in such relationship at the moment so after being hit on by the Lustful Grimhilde he ended up having surprisingly pleasant conversation with the off duty barmaid who toke the empty seat at the Table she was a bit confused at the fact that Zam answered her instead of him but Zam explained his situation to Grimhilde she soon had to leave to return back to her shift.
All in all its been pleasant well it was until he heard Sana call for Hugh then all hell broke loose he was gonna call for Zam to return to her pocket only to feel himself being dragged out of the window before he could tell he quickly pushed himself of the wall so the bandit holding would lose his balance.
he then grabbed his mace and hit said bandit on the head dizzying him for a little while he quickly stood up("Zam Find Safe And Hide") he commanded her. Zam just nodded and went of to find somewhere safe but where she could still see the action Mortosh heard the Bandit rise back up and the bandit drew out a knife from his boot and got into a stance. | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
608 | 13 | 44 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri had been observing the group idly when she heard Sana's yell for Hugh. She turned towards the source of the yell and spotted the mysterious woman being grabbed by a man and several men with weapons walking towards the human. She took off her hood for the first time since she had arrived in the village and smiled at her new companions. Well everyone would have to see sooner or later that she was an elf, and considering some of the other members of the party, she doubted anyone would really care. As for her disfigurement, well there were more important things to be worried about right now.
"It appears it is now time for me to serve my Lady." Calmly she turned away from the table and walked out into the street. Vaeri opened up her bag and from it began to pull out a handle. On her way out, she felt a hand grab her roughly on her upper arm. It was one of the armed men, he was a couple inches taller and maybe a stone heavier than Vaeri and clad in light armor. In his other hand was a dagger that he gestured with towards her threateningly. Most people expected bandits to be uglier than the common folk, but this man was unremarkable in appearance towards either end of the scale.
"Hey, we've got ourselves an elf here!" he called to his associates before he took a second look at the woman he was grabbing. She was smiling at him, which was disconcerting enough. Most people would be resisting and yelling right now. And what were those scars all over her face. Instinctively, he recoiled from the cleric, letting go of her arm, that now that he though about it was a lot harder than most people's. He regained his composure quickly however, brandishing his dagger at the unarmed woman.
"Look here, elf. You're going to come with me quietly, or else I'm going to have to stick you with this. Got it?" The elf's eyes flicked from the dagger to the thief's face, but her expression didn't change. The thief waved the knife around more, but the elf just kept smiling that cocksure smile. Their encounter stayed at this state for several seconds before the woman spoke up.
"Are you going to attack me, or are you going to stand there waving around your weapon like a fool?" The elf looked and sounded like she was disappointed and confused why he hadn't been attacking. The thief took a few steps back. This elf was mad. He had never killed anyone before, and the thought of actually stabbing somebody made him feel a bit sick. Usually the threat of deadly force was sufficient enough to keep people in line, and if they got violent one of the bigger, more fight-oriented men would step in, but this, he didn't know how to handle this. Still, he couldn't just stand here and let everyone see him be intimidated by an unarmed elven woman of all things.
The thief rushed the woman, and stabbed at the woman. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see her go down. Out of nowhere, something hard hit him in the stomach, which took away his ability to breath and almost forced his eyelids open. There was a leg there, and it had its knee in his stomach. He looked up to see the elf, the morning sun directly behind her head, giving her an almost divine halo around her head. And a bit above that were her hands, clamped together into a single fist raised high into the air. Suddenly, the thief was on the ground and his vision was filled with dirt. It hurt to breath and his head felt like it was full of mush, but he was still alive.
Vaeri walked away from the man on the ground disappointed. She had been hoping for an actual fight, and instead she got an amateur. She could have easily killed him, but doing so would feel like killing a random insect you found on the road. It was beneath her. Vaeri pulled out the dagger stuck in her armor and some blood on the tip. Huh. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
609 | 13 | 45 | 1,451 | 685 | Having finished her breakfast and paid for the meal, Fiona had just been about to leave the inn and go check on her horse in the stables when she noticed what was outside. She saw Sana, her arm gripped by an unfamiliar man, who was accompanied by a number of others, all armed and dangerous. When Sana called for help, Fiona immediately knew a fight was on hand. She didn't know who exactly these men were, but the village was obviously in danger now, and she felt compelled to act. Drawing her blade, she was one of the first out the door, searching for a foe to cut off and engage.
She didn't have to look very hard. A well-built mercenary in leather armor moved straight for her not long after she stepped outside, a heavy broadsword in hand, his other hand free. Immediately Fiona made the judgement to dodge rather than block; his swings were heavy but slow. She avoided the first slash and immediately went on the offensive, lashing out with quick strikes from her lighter blade. Her pressure was relentless, giving him no time to return strikes between her attacks, and she was soon forcing him away, towards the side of the inn.
Her blade work was superior to his, and soon she landed a quick slash to his sword hand when he missed a block, severing two of his fingers. The mercenary dropped his sword and roared in pain, Fiona following up her attack with a slash for his face. He leaned back, but not enough to avoid getting cut by the edge across his lips and nose. He spun away and stumbled several steps back, dripping blood down into the street.
Fiona was just about to press her advantage when the mercenary pulled a small, one handed crossbow from his back with his uninjured hand, the weapon already loaded. He didn't take long to aim, but she was an easy target this close, and the bolt ended up hitting her in the midsection, near her left hip. She gasped, staggering a step backwards, the mercenary rushing at her, dropping his crossbow. She made an overhand strike for him, but was too slow, and he caught her wrist, his missing fingers sending blood dripping along her arm. His other hand went to grab the bolt, painfully twisting it, and Fiona cried out, struggling to extricate herself.
His weight pressed her backwards, and she was unable to hold her ground, instead being forced away until her back slammed against the wall of the inn, the crossbow bolt still digging in agonizingly. The back of her head hit the wall hard enough to daze her, and Fiona slid down to the ground on her side.
"Stupid girl," the mercenary thug said, looming over her, "shouldn't have tried to fight." Injured though she was, Fiona was hardly out of the fight just yet, as he would soon find out. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
610 | 13 | 46 | 1,293 | 2,511 | Zarxire was shoved into his books when he heard Sana call for help. He quickly shot up and ran outside. There was a large group gathering around Sana. Zarxire lit his entire body ablaze and charged for one of the smaller ones. "You fucked with the wrong group of adventurers!"
Slamming his claws into the man's chest, Zarxire lifted him up and slammed him into the ground. He then proceeded to pounce on top of him and summon a fireball. "May your body feel the eternal blazes of hell!" Zarxire forced the theif's mouth open and shoved the fireball inside causing the man's head to burn from the inside out. It left a gruesome body on the ground as he stood up, looking to the rest of the fuckers. I leave the rest of you to my friends. | Name: Zarxire
Age: 44, but due to Tieflings aging slower he appears 31
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Tiefling
Class: Pyromancer
Appearance/Clothing:
Except with the typical Tiefling horns and tail
Skills: Intimidate, Knowledge (Arcana), Knowledge (Geography), Knowledge (History), Knowledge (Nature), Knowledge (Nobility), Knowledge (Planes), Knowledge (Religion), Perception, Sense Motive, SpellCraft, Pyromancy, Survival
Natural Abilities:
Hellfire: "Tieflings are able to fuel their rage into their attacks, leaving burn marks on their foes without ever summoning a flame."
-Adds fire damage to all melee attacks, can only be used when extremely pissed, which is easy for a tiefling.
Spiked Tail: "Some tieflings tails grow in with a sharp serrated edge. These tails are typically thicker and can be used in combat."
-Can use tail to attack
Magic/Spells:
Fireball: Umm, does this need a description.
Flame Pillar: A giant pillar of flame erupts from the ground, encasing the targeted area in the fires of hell
Blaze Storm: Flames exude from the user, coating the area around him in flames
Fire in the Body: The user coats himself in fire, lashing out at all those around him
Fire in the Mind: This spell makes all of the user's allies feel his burning rage, causing his partners to become more passionate in the fight
Fire in the Soul: The user takes on the form of a 20 ft. flaming beast, although this is an illusion and those with high intelligence or those he has told of this skill are un-affected.
Fire in the Blood (Passive): Whenever the user takes fire damage, he takes no damage and heals for 1/4 of the damage he would have been dealt.
Additional Information: He hates it if someone touches his horns
Weapons: No weapons
Possessions: A long fire-retardant robe and cloak, and fire-proof boots of his design. Backpack full of books he hasn't finished yet.
Personality: Typically a very level-headed and calm person, Zarxire has spent many years training to learn everything he could. Though in the heat of battle, he loses all sense of focus and lashes out at everything that stands in his way until everything that defies him is dead.
History: Born to a small Tiefling community, Zarxire was a rather happy and average child. The day he turned 10, raiders destroyed his town. They were seeking to eliminate the "demon scum". All he remembers of this horrifying massacre were the flames boiling around him before he passed out. Luckily, the raiders thought him dead and passed him over, Zarxire woke up with nothing but burning ashes remaining of his town. After wandering in the wilds, learning all about it and how to survive in it, he finally came across a wizard's home on the edge of the woods. Due to him being young, his tails and horns had not grown in yet, so the wizard thought he was human and adopted the boy. Zarxire learned everything he could about magic, religion, the planes his kind originated from, and everything he could about the people, their culture, and their land. He would walk around the village that was not far from the wizard's house and would study the people, learning how they ticked. Sadly, as he grew older the only magic he could learn was fire magic which hinted at his origins. but when his horns started to grown in, it was obvious. The wizard sold him out the the militia, and Zarxire fled back into the woods, taking all the books he could with him. He built his own shelter, studied the books he had scavenged as well as a couple he had bought at markets if he could hide his horns and tail. Zarxire swore to fight against any and all injustice, whether it was dealt be demon, monster, human, or royalty. One day, he saw the notices for The Convent and saw it as his chance to prove himself. By helping a holy church, it would prove that he wasn't just some malicious demon. Not to mention that but his knowledge of the world would be very beneficial to the group. So Zarxire packed his books and made his way to the Village of Gorlton’s Apothecary immediately, wondering who he would be teamed up with. |
611 | 13 | 47 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob was growing heady in the apothecary, so many smells were making it hard for him to focus. Thankfully, the sister was kind enough to lead him to the others. As an act of kindness, he gave the flowers he used to find the apothacary to her as he had heard the bard tell in tales before.
Not finding comfort on the tables, he took to hang from a rafter and listening to all while watching to see who would be alphas or betas in this new pack. When the alpha female left, he reached down and took her plate to begin licking it clean. He would proceed to do this to all others plates as they finished them off for traces of food or even the cooking grease unless he was stopped. It had been one of his ways to earn his place in the old pack to 'make round clean' so he thought to do the same here as well.
“Hugh!”
He heard the alpha female call, bringing him to attention. Just in time for the one of death to be pulled through a window. In full brachidation, Lob swung and flung himself out the now opened window past the two fighting. Looking around he could see the pack was being attacked by another tribe. In his tribes he was the best climber so he got high as fast as he could. Seeing a hunter on the roof of the smelly place, he moved with as much ease as any child climbing on rocks as he was soon two stories up from the ground to the first beam of the overhanding sign to the wood beam siding and up again to sink nails into the roof beam.
Hanging under the roof, he was past the field of vision of being seen by the archer who thought himself so clever to lay down with his crossbow to steady his aim. A great green grabber got the grafter and glommed the guile from the gable. The attack was sudden, but not enough for the archer to not fire the loaded bolt into the limb reaching for him before all went black.
As the archer fell to the ground below, Lob looked at the arrow in his arm.
"...ow." | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
612 | 13 | 48 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias sipped his drink. "Tastes like feet-flavored ale. Or maybe ale and cow piss," he quipped to nobody in particular. Drink in hand, he settled back in his seat to watch the bizarre spectacle of a barmaid coming onto the mysterious one with the skeleton... fairy... thing.
He remained settled until he caught sight of the man in the corner. Every single facet of his well-cultivated street-sense screamed that he was trouble. So focused was he on the man that it barely registered in the thief's mind when Sana got up to 'ready the horses'.
For a moment, things were quiet. Then, all hell broke loose.
Sana screamed for help from outside - for Hugh. Everyone was on their feet, weapons being drawn left right and center. The strange one, Mortosh, was dragged out the window. Fiona was out the door in a heartbeat, sword already in hand.
Automatically, Tobias was on his feet and sprinting for the doorway. He'd seen enough gang fights to know where this was going, and know that he wanted to be as far away from it as possible.
He was out the door right behind Fiona, tempted to shove her through in his haste to get out of the inn. What he found outside didn't encourage him. Sana had been grabbed, Fiona was sword-fighting someone, the elf was back and looked to be in the middle of throwing someone to the ground, the demon was on fire - why was the demon on fire? It was a disaster area that looked to be getting steadily worse. Without checking his pace, Tobias turned and ran off to the side of the inn, hoping he could lose any pursuers in the alleyway.
Instead, he ran smack into another one of the enemies. The rogue stepped back, shaking his head to clear it, and tried to size up the person he'd run into. He was young; couldn't have been much older than Tobias, clean-shaven, short haired, dressed in all brown leather. In his eyes there was a look more bewildered than threatening, and Tobias couldn't help but wonder what the young man was doing here.
But then the other rogue's gaze set hard, and he pulled a knife from his belt, brandishing it threateningly. Tobias backed away, snapping his head left and right, scanning for an out. There was none. The alleyway was too narrow to get past, and there were probably more down there anyway. Haltingly, Tobias reached up to his back for the knife he kept sheathed there.
The two thieves circled each other warily. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
613 | 13 | 49 | 1,533 | 1,707 | That does make sense… I’ve already considered the danger of that dragon… Before Melvus could voice a reply to the woman, who referred to herself as Sana, she’d already left to ready the horses… at least that’s what Melvus heard before she made herself scarce. Hmm… If we go for the dragon first… that could easily mean that we all die, or it could get what appears to be the most challenging task out of the way early…
It was about then that Melvus heard the cry, “HUGH!” It came from outside, Melvus presumed that it could only be one person… well it had the potential for being several people but it was a female voice, so he assumed that it was Sana. She was likely in some form a trouble judging by her shout… cry? Yell for help? Something to that effect at any rate. It didn’t take very long for most of the other party members to be on their feet and out the door. The skeleton, who Melvus hadn’t been introduced to yet - though he may not want to be - seemingly jumped out one of the windows on the inn. Though it could be something else.
The woman, who revealed herself to be an elf, was already outside by this point and so was the ash-smelling wizard. Melvus stood, made sure he had his things. As far as I’m concerned this has the looks of a bandit raid… though it could be something else - it wouldn’t be thieves, why would they make their move in the daylight? So… Bandits… Then he spotted the man. He wasn’t that far from the inn - he could be seen from the inside. He was, however, on the opposite side of the inn compared to where all of the commotion was transpiring. The man wore expensive garments and seemed to be telling a few of the ‘bandits’ where to go and what to do. They went were he directed.
I’ll have to reassess, these are not bandits… They aren’t worse - just about the same if I had to say… they were slavers… Why would I guess that? Well, I wouldn’t. Thieves don’t attack during the day, bandits don’t give people an opportunity to call for help, they were taking prisoners, and their leader usually doesn’t wear such expensive things… So, slavers. Melvus made his way out of the door, the slaver hadn’t noticed him yet, he was approaching the commotion on the other side. The man made sure not to cut through the inn, the quicker route, but rather began making his way around.
“Evening…” Came a rather quiet voice from in front of the presumed slaver. Who stopped.
“Evening? It’s morning! Whose there?” He asked/yelled, reaching to his side. Melvus took notice that he carried a cutlas on his right side, suggesting a left handed swordsman. “What the hell! What magic is that!” The origin of the voice had been revealed as a man who wore scholarly robes - splattered with dried blood, mind you - and carried a staff, he seemed to materialize in front of the man. “Who the hell are you?”
“If you call off your attack, slaver, you may be able to not lose all of your men…” Melvus said this as he drew his own sword, from his left side.
“Who the ‘ell do you think you are? Huh?” The slaver seemed rather angry now, he drew his cutlas. “Tellin’ me to not get what’s mine? Fuck you.” His spat on the ground. The dialogue confirmed Mevlus’ suspicions that the man was in-fact a slaver. As he drew his cutlas, he took a sword stance.
It would appear that he is trained in sword combat… well, so am I… “Then you are blind… or ignorant… Do you not see the other side of this inn? Those who would choose to follow you are being slaughtered… You would allow them to die? And for what? Your own-“ He was cut off by the man deciding that he didn’t like the criticism. The slaver lunged forward. He’s quick… Melvus sidestepped and kicked the man, he fell to the floor. He quickly regained his footing and took a stance with his sword facing Melvus, his feel spread out but one behind the other and his other hand behind him.
“Have at me wizard! Unless you can’t, then I’ll cut you down here and now!” The man took a stab at Melvus who stepped to the left while performing a sweeping parry, redirecting his opponents blade while allowing Melvus to attack, a rather clever move. As Melvus moved out of the parry, using the force to attack, the other man repositioned his blade to defend. “So you can use a blade?” The man paused and glanced behind Melvus, “Get him now!”
Where… Melvus’ head whipped around to find that there was no one there… Dammit - I fell for the fake… As he turned around he had been stabbed, he had shifted in time so the sword only pierced his right arm. Melvus’ winced but let out no cry. His blood spluttered from his wound. It didn't go through... The warm fluid flowed down his arm as he held it at his side, straight as to not strain it.
“Who the hell are you? Don’t even fucking react to pain?” The man was half proud of his attack and the other half was fearful. He withdrew his cutlas and took a more defensive stance as Melvus regained himself. “What are you gonna do now? Huh? Basterd! You can’t use your blade now!” He was quite right, Melvus’ sword was on the floor and he had no training with his left arm.
“You forget… I am a wizard.” He held out his left hand and from it came a glowing arm which grabbed the other man’s sword and tossed it aside.
“Fucking gods!” The man didn’t seem to expect that. The arm grabbed the man before he could flee.
“As I’ve said… leave…” The arm threw the man down the street, in the direction of the commotion. It wasn’t a particularly violent toss, but he would definitely have a few broken bones. Melvus reached down and picked up his sword with his left hand, struggling to get it back into it’s scabbard. He made his way back into the inn and stopped at the counter, “I’ll take the tab for my friends.” Friends…? Well, we are fighting together already… Not to self: train with my sword more… I’d rather not lose the use of my right arm… | Removed |
614 | 13 | 50 | 2,649 | 479 | After he had been given his supplies for the journey, Hanzo paid a respectful bow to Sister Agnes. Seeing as the multitude of people were starting to make their way outside towards the inn, the monk too took the liberty of following at a distance. He was still wary of strangers, especially in such a large, diverse, and unique grouping such as this.
That being said, however, Hanzo hoped he could manage to pass off well enough to at least help get this mission finished - there was power and safety in numbers, after all. Ultimately, as long as nobody looked to comment on his shaven head, this all might go by rather painlessly.
Hanzo trailed the small horde of adventurers into the inn's main room, a fairly capable dining area. Here, some of Hanzo's doubt began to surface again, as he very rarely stayed around in an eatery like this and usually bought food as trail rations. Though, he had already eaten some before he set out into the village today, so perhaps the monk could get away with not ordering much. Maybe just a drink- a cup of herbal tea could hold him over before he got on the road.
He snapped himself out of his musings with a safe confirmation, hearing a server approach. The monk kindly ordered his cup of tea, then reached for his belt to pull a small cloth wallet from under his robes. Hanzo looked to the others, seeing them all chatter among themselves - the tall, almost bearish man, he had not seen before, but Hanzo eventually worked him out to be the 'Hugh' Sana was talking about.
The server returned with the steaming cup, and Hanzo thanked her, passing along a few silver coins to pay his bill and then some. Most of the money Hanzo earned was from performing acts of kindness and other odd jobs, from people who insisted he be paid for his efforts. There was a time when Hanzo was somewhat against it, but he found the money to be undeniably helpful for events such as this, where he should at least try to fit in. Of course, the monk would still live a miserly way, as he was used to, and in fairness, it probably steered off thieves a bit.
Speaking of thieves, Hanzo was following the gazes of several of his new allies to spy out a gruff, unseemly man in the corner, eying them with a grim face. Normally, Hanzo wouldn't get within a conflict if he could help it, but Sana seemed to be put off about it, as she was first to break away from the group (with a parting kiss to Hugh). The monk carefully turned back to his cup of tea, trying to remain inconspicuous...
Soon enough, a female scream echoed outside, calling for the big man Hugh. The monk was the first to dart from his seat, realizing there was possibly a bandit group surrounding the inn, with one of them catching Sana. Already, the adventurers were looking to give chase outside to help - Hanzo was one of the first outside, trying to assess the situation.
Before Hanzo could act further, however, he instead whirled around to parry an incoming blow from a bandit flanked on the side of the doorway, taking advantage of the havoc to try and sneak an attack out. The monk was barely able to catch the incoming blade, following up with a thrust of the palm of his free hand to force his attacker back. The bandit caught himself on the wall, still brandishing the dagger but now wearing a determined grimace. Hanzo entered a proper ready stance, arms raised and feet spread, perched on the balls of his feet to move and strike at any moment.
"Hm. You got lucky," The dirty pillager belted out, only reassuring himself, "But some fancy fist-fightin' ain't gonna save you, pal." The bandit hauled himself to his feet again, his dagger at the ready.
The monk mentally scoffed at the bandit, but retained his own focused mask of a face. "As if you would know what I'm capable of."
"It won't matter-!" His foe cried out, charging Hanzo again with a lunging stab. As he closed in, the martial artist sidled back, then spun around on his planted foot to land a spinning heel kick into the side of the man's ribs.
The blow took advantage of the failed charge to render the bandit sprawling on the ground to the side with a winded cough, kicking up a small layer of dust and dirt on the beaten path. "You're making a poor choice. If you keep going, you will regret it," Hanzo announced to the toppled man, now working to pick himself off the ground.
Needless to say, the scuffed-up vagabond was not about listen to reason just yet, while he still believed he had a chance. This time, however, he decided to take what he thought to be a more clever approach. As the bandit got on his feet again (and coughed, still reeling from the kick), he suddenly snapped up and threw his dagger at the monk, as quickly as he was able to. Which is to say, Hanzo managed to notice the attack and dodge it, the flying blade whizzing aside his ear. In the meantime, the bandit ran forward again in a shoulder charge, resorting to brute fisticuffs - if Hanzo could do it, so could he, surely!
It was not so. Hanzo firmly placed a hook punch to the man's exposed face, his nose crackling under the force of the impact. With the momentum of the charge yet intact, the martial artist turned, grabbing the bandit's sleeve and shirt collar - then, falling to one knee, he hurled the man into the air. The outlaw flew a good couple of meters headfirst before rolling and tumbling into a limp, defeated mass on the ground.
The battle-worm man coughed and groaned wearily, still conscious but soaking in pain throughout his body. With the few dwindling ounces of strength he yet had, the bandit manged to get on his elbows and knees, his desperate wheeze for breath earning him the dusty air kicked up by his fall to the earth. He looked up, and through blurred vision saw Hanzo approaching him-
"Run. Or you may not survive this next blow."
He let out a defiant growl, but was let little other choice but to comply. The beaten bandit scrambled to his feet and hobbled away as quickly as he could afford. He would later realize that he was leaving a trail of blood drops, beginning with a gash upon his side and ending with the bandit's abandoned knife, whom he had fallen on when Hanzo had thrown him. But before that, as he fled, he let out a final cry of, "Don't think I'll forget this, you smug, bald fuckhead!"
Hanzo only gave a sigh through clenched teeth. So much for avoiding a comment on his shaven head. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
615 | 13 | 51 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakAs the call for action went up throughout the inn and across the village, Drizzak happily munched away at a leg of ham that had been so courteously purchased for him by the more familiar of his teammates. He did not know what he had done to deserve such kindness, nor did he think on it for too long. Food was food, and he was ravenous. He could have eaten the legs off a horse. Frankly that didn't sound too terrible at that moment in time. Might have even been funny.
With a satisfied burp and a grumble, Drizzak threw a bare, pockmarked bone to the table. His jagged teeth shone in the light as he smiled wide and pushed himself from the stool, landing on his clawed feet with a thump. He was outside in a flash, watching as the opposition was soundly defeated by his compatriots. Injuries occurred everywhere, on both sides, but the battle was turned in their favour as soon as the fool brigands chose to take up arms. With everyone occupied, Drizzak almost felt despair at the lack of quarry for him. His bloodlust would go unfulfilled. For a moment, he felt sad.
But only for a moment.
As he looked around, he felt a sharp, hot pain in his shoulder. It struck him with force enough for him to feel it WITHIN his body. It felt warm, and cold at the same time. The goblin stood still and silent as he looked at his shoulder. Sticking from it was the shaft of an arrow. Black as night and fletched with white, it stuck out of his shoulder and pierced straight through to the other side. Desperately, he looked around yo fins its source, and he found it. There in the distance, an archer atop the roof of the village's general store. He stood, unmolested and rejoicing in his successful shot.
Then the anger came. Like a great wave of red it washed over Drizzak's vision. He was angered to the point of a growl bubbling its way up from his gut. His fangs bared, he smiled slightly as he realised that he had found his quarry. The archer stared at him, as if daring him to make a move as he nocked another arrow and drew back threateningly.
Drizzak looked him right in the eyes and took hold of the arrow already in his shoulder, before snapping it off mid-shaft.
Then he leapt forward, breaking into a sprint toward the building as he drew for his whip. The archer loosed another arrow that skimmed Drizzak's face and took a chunk from his ear, but he was far too angry at this point to care. He pushed himself to run faster, and then jump. He flew for a moment, before colliding with the side of the building and digging his clawed fingers in between the stonework. He scrabbled quickly to the roof, growling still.
The archer stood alone as Drizzak pulled himself to the roof. He wasted no time in closing the distance, making sure he could get another shot off. The archer drew a short blade from a boot sheathe and brought it upward diagonally, scoring a red streak across Drizzak's face. Another mark of war, another trophy to be proud of. It bit deep enough to draw blood, but Drizzak was far too quick for the hit to slow him as he fell to the ground and slid between the thug's legs. He stood at the edge of the roof, just a step from the open air and right next to a crossbar structure, probably used to hang signs or banners. Drizzak already knew what to do.
In one fluid movement, he leapt off the roof and over the crossbar with a twist, drew his whip and thrust his arm out at the archer. As he turned, everything seemed to slow. The whip flew out, dancing wildly before coiling around the man's neck and tightening. The shards of steel and bone woven into the whip bit into the flesh of his neck as Drizzak began to fall. He toward the ground, but the tension of the whip around the archer's neck and over the crossbar flung him just beneath the overhang of the roof, and he planted his feet on the wall solidly. Then he pulled.
Archer fell from the roof onto his head with a sickening crunch. Drizzak also fell as the tension faded from the whip, but at least he only fell a few feet.
Drizzak stood and walked over to the fallen archer, now breathing weakly. The shards of his whip had done a number. His neck was red and he gurgled every couple of seconds as a fresh gout of blood seeped from some of the bigger gashes in his throat.
Drizzak sat on his chest and made it harder for him to breathe, turning his gurgling into gurgling, wheezing and soundless pleading. Drizzak was mad, but his face was like stone. Unamused, he stuck a claw into one of the gashes on the side of his neck and pressed in further.
"Why? Why you hurt Drizzak? That not nice."
The man replied in panicked gurgles. He didn't moved his arms or legs. He couldn't. The fall had snapped his spine. Drizzak withdrew his finger with a sigh, displaying his claws for the man to see.
"Now Drizzak have to hurt you."
He looked down at the man for a moment before he pounced, driving his clawed thumbs into the archer's eyes as deep as they would go. By the time he was finished, he arms were red up to the elbows and all that was left of the archer's head was a red jellied mess.
Drizzak looked back at the others, finished with their enemies long ago. All seemed safe and mostly healthy. That was a relief. All seemed impressive in combat as well, even artful, one could say.
But Drizzak still thought that he had painted the prettiest red flower. | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
616 | 13 | 52 | 54 | 1,340 | Center Of Town
Sana eyes narrowed as the man tightened his grip on her arm but the smile on her lips slowly formed into a cruel Cheshire grin as she heard a low growl coming from the direction of the inn. "Like I said, not by me. By him," she spat coldly as with her free hand she pointed in the direction of the growl. She knew that growl and it only ever seemed to happen when anyone put her in the most remote sense of danger. Hugh was a loving man and was tender with her and those he cared about but to cross him always meant blood was going to be spilt. As he came close she leaned back, the glass from the cup shattering around her and her free arm coming up to block it from going into the flesh of her face. The man had not let go but he soon did as Hughs massive hands clapped against the ears of her assailant.
She spun out of the way quickly and rubbed her arm where the man had gripped her; nodding to Hugh when he asked if she was alright. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she started and was about to add more when the man came back and thrust his dagger into Hugh side; causing a blood curdling scream of no to erupt from Sanas lips. Her bow was quickly unslung from her back; she was about to go after the man but she saw a second man coming up behind Hugh and had to direct her attention to him. Flipping her bow over in her hands she used it as a lasso of sorts, flipping it over the secondary mans head and spinning behind him; pulling him back, choking him between the wood of the bow and its silver string. Whipping him around and sending him into a post that held up the roof of the porch that jutted out from the general store. The mans nose crushing against the wood and blood pouring out of the now broken nasal passage.
Flipping her bow off his neck she turned her attention back to Hugh as she slung is over her back; kneeling down next to him and placing her hand over his that was covering the wound. Taking a slow breath she bit her bottom lip in worry and his words caused tears to well up in her eyes. “No, no, no, no...,” she stammered, tripping over her words before she began to look around frantically for someone to help. The archer was normally a rather emotional person, she was loving towards Hugh, quick to talk to get answers and prone to snapping at people verbally that ticked her off. Something Sana was not was a crier. She had only shed a single tear in the last ten years and now they were flowing as free as a broken dam.
Sana did not know what to do, she was not a healer and she knew there was nothing she could do for him but her eyes fell on one that she thought might as Sister Agnes came out of the Apothecary to see what was going on. “Sister!” Sana screamed in a desperate voice and the old nun came over as quickly as she could. “Please, do something,” Sana begged in a trembling voice as she reached up with her free hand and grabbed the robes of the old woman. The woman knelt down and nodded; a look of concern on her features as Sana begged for her to do something, anything to save Hugh.
“Don’t worry young one, I have him,” she said as she pulled Sanas bloodied hand away slowly a reassuring smile on her lips. “What’s his name?” she asked trying to get Sana to stop crying.
“Mine….I mean Hugh, his name is Hugh,” she whispered as she tried to wipe the tears away.
“Okay, Hugh, just relax,” Sister Agnes said in a calm voice as she placed her hand over Hughs side and began to chant, a warm white light emitting from her palm and covering his wound as it began to heal. Sana looked at the sister and then at Hugh, reaching up and cupping his face in the palm of her hands, resting her forehead against his.
"Just hold on damn it," Sana whispered through trembling lips. "This isn't a fucking happy ending, a happy ending is," she began, trying to talk through the tears as her fingers shook with worry as she held him. "Well it's growing old together, and it's" she added, trying to continue but her heart was pounding so hard and she was so full of dread that she could barely think. Taking a long breath to try to calm herself before continuing she had a moment of brief clarity.
"It's me wearing one of those stupid gowns and marrying your ass and having mini yous running around giving me gray hair cause they're off running into a damned fight against a wolf armed with only their sisters fucking tea set!" she said bluntly. "Now until we have that your ass doesn't get to go anywhere without me, you hear me!" she snapped. Sister Agnes reached over and touched Sanas shoulder with her free hand and motioned for her to look.
Sana saw the blood pouring from the wound begin to cease and she leaned back slowly, nodding she began to understand that Hugh would be okay. As it slowed Sanas expression turned from worry to calm to anger to some sort of demented twisted smile as she turned her attention back to those that were part of the crew that had dared to harm the one person she gave a damn about anymore.
The man whom she had broken the nose of was running off and Sana looked over at the corpse of the one that had stabbed Hugh; a light seeming to come to her eyes as an idea formed in her mind. A horrific idea that under any other circumstance would have repulsed Sana but at that moment with Hughs blood on her hand it was the most glorious idea she had ever dreamt of.
Unslinging her bow from her back and drawing an arrow from one of her quivers she smirked; nocking the arrow into place. Taking aim she let the arrow fly; it hit the man who was running away in the calf and caused him to stumble. Placing her bow back in place before anything else she pulled her dagger out; then she grabbed the hair on top of the head of the corpse and with one fluid motion she freed the mans skull from his body. Blood spilling from the two halves onto the ground; Sister Agnes gasped and turned quickly, throwing up in the dirt from the sight. Sana didn’t take notice much more than to tell the sister to keep healing Hugh; taking a deep breath she began to walk.
Stalking the one that was now limping away as she slowly swung the head by its hair like a pendulum, an arrow in his hand from where he had pulled it out of his calf. “I am going to skull fuck your eye socket with my arrows,” she hissed. He tried to run but between the blood from his nose, the welling up of tears in his eyes and the damage to his calf he was not moving quickly and even at Sanas slow predatory pace she was able to catch up with him quickly.
Taking the skull she wielded it like a club and bashed the man in the back of the head with it, causing him spill out onto the ground. The last sign of the fork still sticking out of the bottom of the skull as it leaked blood onto the ground as she stood over him. The man coughed as he spit out dirt that crashed into his mouth, rolling over as he grabbed the back of his skull. Sana tilted her head to the side as she watched him with some cruel mirth in her eyes before she kicked forward and her boot connected with his groin. The man cried out but took the arrow and stabbed at Sana as she moved to strike him again with the head of his fallen comrade. The arrow went into her forearm deep and came out the other side; causing her to drop the severed appendage to the ground and grunt in pain. Reaching to pull the arrow out the man kicked at the back of her knee as she turned causing her to fall to one knee just as she was able to pull it out; screaming slightly as she did and dropping the remnants of the arrow to the ground.
He went to punch her but Sana rolled out of the way and went to move further out of his reach before he grabbed her cloak and pulled back hard, sending her slamming into the ground and the wind being knocked out of her. Gasping for air the man managed to get up as Sana rolled over onto all fours trying to catch the first breath once again. Reaching down his fingers wrapped around her throat and slowly lifted her off the ground, Sanas hands coming up and trying to pry them away but his grip was far stronger than hers. She knew she couldn't break free that way and opted for another choice. Arching her leg out and up she managed to get her foot over his head and slammed it against his opposite shoulder. He lowered her enough to where her free foot was on the ground and that was what she needed to get enough leverage to spin slightly and push off the ground, as she tucked her body in; her waist bending as her other foot came off the ground and locking with her original foot around the back of his head and flinging him over her back, his grip on her throat finally releasing.
Landing down on one knee, she pulled the lace of her cloak and let it fall into the ground behind her. “No capes,” she muttered. Standing up straight she rubbed her neck before pulling an arrow out of her side quiver and unslinging her bow from back. Taking quick aim as the man lay on the ground she let it fly, imbedding into the back of his left shoulder, ripping through the flesh and going into the ground; locking the man against the road.
“I’m not done with you yet,” she hissed as she knelt down next to the man before she pulled the arrow out of the ground and out of his shoulder; tossing it to the side. As he screamed out she balled her fist up, rage still filling her eyes as she punched him square in the face; the man falling limp against the ground unconscious. Shaking out her hand before looking over towards Hugh and the Sister and then back at the man lying on the ground and then the head over to the side. Picking it up she looked around until she found Drizzak. "Drizzak!" she yelled out and launched the skull towards him. "Have fun with it," she said before turning her attention back to the motionless body on the ground near her feet.
Grabbing his ankle she began to drag the body back over to Hugh, Sana cringing in pain from the stab wound in her forearm and limping slightly from the blow she had taken to the back of her knee but she was full of anger and rage; seeing only crimson right then. "Let’s take a walk,” she sneered as she trudged along, determined to finish exactly what she said but she wanted to let Hugh deal with him first.
As she got close to Hugh she let go of the mans ankle and sank down to look at Hugh. Slowly moving over to him and resting down on her knees in front of him; her back to what she assumed was a still unconscious man yet he was starting to come around.
"You better be alright, I don't get all mushy over just anyone," she said catching her breath, her blood covered hands clenching the fabric of her skirt. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
617 | 13 | 53 | 2,489 | 654 | After another moment of circling, Tobias opened his mouth to try and reason with his opponent. "Hey, look, neither of us want to do this. How about you just -"
The man cut him off with a swing of his blade. Tobias just barely jerked out of the way of the attack and answered with one of his own, shifting to a reverse grip and attempting to strike diagonally - the other rogue, unfortunately, stepped back before the blow landed. This became their new equilibrium: a cautious strike and a hurried dodge, a stab and a block, and it continued for a few moments or a thousand years, give or take.
Tobias brought the knife high to fake a cut then retracted, changed his grip again, thrust it forward under the man's hurried guard. Blade met body with a strange, sickening noise, and the other man grunted in pain and surprise as the stab connected on his abdomen. Pain and fury played across his face and he lunged forward with a cry advancing on Tobias and slashing with every step. Tobias matched his pace hurriedly, stepping back from the first cut, the second -
The third, though, came with two steps instead of one. The knife came diagonally down and across Tobias's chest, leaving a line of white-hot pain as it passed. Clutching his wound, Tobias staggered back, hunched over and still trying to hold the knife out threateningly.
His opponent advanced again, confident, looking to finish the conflict quickly. He aimed an overhead stab down at Tobias, whose arm barely shot up to make contact with his in time to prevent it. The two men struggled with each other for a moment, every second bringing the red-stained blade perilously closer to Tobias's face.
Tobias lunged forward in a headbutt, cracking the two rogue's skulls together hard. The world went white, and the men staggered apart, cradling their heads. Tobias was just shaking clarity back into his vision when the other man's tackle hit him.
They crashed to the ground in a heap, sending the knives clattering away. Bloody, wounded, they struggled with each other. Tobias brought his fist up and punched the other man in the face. The first hit snapped his head back. The second broke his nose. The third crashed into his teeth, mingling blood from the other man's mouth and Tobias's split knuckles all across the scene.
His opponent lashed out an elbow, made Tobias's head bounce off the ground painfully. Before he could react, he'd been rolled to his back and his foe was on top of him, crushing him. The smell of blood and sweat and fear was inescapable as the other rogue wrapped his hands around Tobias's throat and began to squeeze.
Tobias fumbled for the dagger in his belt, but his arm was pinned under the man's weight. He clawed at the man's back with his free hand, he thrashed and spit, he tried to bite at his opponent's arms, anything to relieve the crushing pressure closing around his neck. Tobias gasped for air and found none. Everything was beginning to fade, and the last thing Tobias would see would be the sneering, bloody, broken, triumphant face of the man who'd just choked his life out.
Fumbling, Tobias brought his hand up, jerking it ever higher up the other man's body. To him, it must have seemed like the dumb animal flailing of the nearly deceased, a plea for mercy in some curious language without words.
Just as the world was going black, Tobias jammed his thumb as far as it would go into the man's eye.
The other rogue screamed and fell back clutching his face. The terrible pressure was removed, and Tobias gasped for breath as he bucked with his body, sending his foe spilling off and to the floor. Tobias was on him in another moment, the knife from his belt in hand. He stabbed downward - once, twice, four times, seven. He lost count after that.
When the body of the other rogue was finally still, Tobias rolled off him and leaned against the wall of the alley. The knife slipped from his grasp as the terrible pain from the gash in his chest made him grit his teeth. Clutching his wound, Tobias shook and struggled, attempting to work his way back to his feet. He was barely squatting when he slipped in a pool of blood and was sent spilling back down again.
Trying to hold his wound shut, coated in the blood of two men, sucking for oxygen with every frantic breath, Tobias rested his head against the wall at his back. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
618 | 13 | 54 | 290 | 1,247 | Zam was hiding behind the windowsill her head peeking over the edge so she could watch Mortosh's Fight. The bandit had charged at Mortosh but he dogged but then felt himself being dragged down to the ground by his hood which drew down his hood dispelling the enchantment that kept his face hidden the bandit had a bit of a shock at the fact he was fighting an undead but he quickly got over it and stabbed Mortosh's skull. Mortosh unhindered by his wound looked for his mace which had been dropped when was dragged to the ground.
When he found it he quickly grabbed it and proceeded to swing it in the direction of bandit who was crouched over him trying dislodged the knife from Mortosh's skull. the blow struck the bandit throwing him of Mortosh as well as dislodging the knife from his skull and in the process breaking the top of his skull leaving a gaping hole in the process. Mortosh quickly rose up as did the bandit so they where back to the beginning both standing across from one another but both were now sporting minor wounds.
"You just made a big mistake there you undead shit" said the bandit who was now blinded in one eye from Mortosh's blow Mortosh just stood and stared for he was unable to think straight at the moment for the scent of blood it was all around him it was on the roofs it was everywhere even on him and it was getting to him. He tried to ignore his instinct to just charge at the being before him and just end him where he stood but it was just too much.
"Oh whats the matter freak did you just realize that i will be seen as hero for kil" he never got to finish the sentience for Mortosh released a inhuman moan/howl and charged at the bandit tried to dodge but he was to late for Mortosh was already upon him he looked at his assailant and looked into the now empty sockets where before they held a glow of intelligence now they where just empty and hollow then Mortosh delivered a punch to his head and again and again he just kept beating the bandit and with a final blow to his head the bandit who was already starting to slip into unconsciousness was laid to rest but he didn't he just continued beating the bandit until managed to break open the bandits skull exposing the beings brain he quickly grabbed it and tore it out.
He then began to try to devour the organ but his lack of a lower jaw left little results other then just covering his already dirty armor in more blood it was then he heard it was a small voice "Mortosh stop this he's already dead Mortosh" he turned to the voice and saw a small being floating before him.
Zam was in distress she had been trying to stop him but she didn't know what to do so she tried to but nothing seemed to work he wasn't responding to anything that was until she tried to tell him to stop he looked at her she smiled thinking finally she had stopped him but when she saw his socket they where missing the glow of intelligence they where just empty it was then in her little observation that he charged she flew upwards to dodge him he then tried to grab her he was clawing at the wall in attempt to catch her "Mortosh What Wrong Stop This this isn't funny Mortosh" he wasn't responding what could she do she had no idea on what to do.
She then remembered that strange technique that mortosh sometimes she remembered that he even once used it on a berserk Orc who they where healing it calmed the rampaging orc but she didn't know how to do it but she had to try so she flew back down and in front of mortosh briefly stopped clawing at wall was prepared to strike her but stopped when he felt an energy begin to enter him.
("Zam? Where Am I?") She Did it she had manged to calm him down. Mortosh was confused when did Zam get here he thought he had told her to hide he then looked around himself he was still in the alley way he then looked down and saw his armor caked in gore then he saw the bandit who's head was cracked open it didn't take him long to figure out what had happen.
("Zam? Did I Do This?") she just nodded ("Oh Trew What Have I Done") he said Zam flew in front of Mortosh and said to him "Mortosh you wasn't in control you just lost yourself" Mortosh nodded ("But I Almost Hurt You") "you almost did Mort but you didn't so quit your whining and let find sister Agnes" she said as she began to fly out of the alleyway ("Yeah Lets Do That") | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
619 | 13 | 55 | 1,451 | 685 | The mercenary standing over Fiona obviously did not expect her to rise quickly after the wound she'd received, as he took his time in winding back for a kick, ignoring the brutality around him while he neared in on a kill. Fiona was hardly beaten yet, though, and she pushed back up much quicker than the mercenary anticipated, ramming her shoulder into his gut and trying to drive him backwards in a tackle. He was taken off balance for a moment, but frustratingly he managed to dig his feet into the dirt and bring her momentum to a halt.
"Give it up, I'll make it quick for you," he sneered, reaching down and grabbing the crossbow bolt in her side again. Fiona couldn't suppress another gasp, but she soon converted it into anger.
"Screw you... asshole." She brought her right knee up as swiftly as she could, ramming it between the mercenary's legs. He had some protection there, but not nearly enough to be unaffected by the hit; his face instantly showed his pain, and he released her, reeling. Fuming, Fiona slammed an uppercut into him, dazing him heavily, before she grabbed him by the back of his armor and charged him forward, slamming his face into the wall of the inn as hard as she could. He left a bloody stain on the wall, turning away from it, only for his nose to find Fiona's palm, and it easily cracked, blood running freely now. His face was a bloody mess, blocking off his vision, and allowing Fiona to have her way.
Rather than kill him, she spun about him and slashed her sword deep into the back of one of his legs. Howling, he fell to his knees, and a hard kick to the center of his back from Fiona was enough to land him face first on the ground. Descending on him, Fiona planted one knee into his back, the other in the dirt, and pinned him down. Looking around, there were no other immediate threats to her, so she sheathed her sword.
"Got any rope on you?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "Of course you do, look what you're here for. Stealing people and dragging them away, right? For coin? Despicable." She pulled a line of thin rope from his belt and proceeded to bind his hands together behind his back, digging her knee painfully into him all the while. She was panting from the fight and obviously pained by the wound in her side, but the thrill of victory was clear on her features as well.
"You're one of the lucky ones, you know that?" she asked, temporarily shoving his bloody face into the dirt. "You could've had the goblin go after you, or the half-orc, or a bloody wizard, but you got me. Harmless me. And you thought you'd have some fun, didn't you? Didn't you!" She'd nearly choked him on dirt and his own blood before she let up, and the mercenary coughed heavily when he could breathe again.
"Sorry I wasn't as fun as you hoped." Having finished binding his hands, Fiona moved to take hold of the crossbow bolt, still keeping her knee dug into him. "Now... gah!" She carefully pulled it free from her, discarding it. It was a small bolt from a small crossbow, but painful all the same. She pressed a hand to the wound to slow the bleeding. "Now the others can decide what to do with you. You'd best hope none of them want to have any fun of their own!"
Her voice had been little above a hiss, but she now looked up and raised her tone to a shout. "Hey, got one still breathing here!" She winced from the effort, looking down to see some blood slipping between her fingers. She moved her other hand there to help. "And Sister Agnes, when you get a moment, I could use a little help." | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
620 | 13 | 56 | 677 | 1,382 | The fever of the battle wearing off, Hanzo looked around, his expression turning grim. While the bandit he had faced was willingly left to escape, the other other adventurers were far less forgiving. Where there wasn't a body on the ground smoldering with discharged magic, there was instead a bloody brutalized corpse wading in puddles of their own blood. And above most of the latter respective corpses stood the slightly less bloody adventurer that put the respective outlaw down.
For a moment, some undesirably memories flashed in the monk's mind; he quickly shook them away, rubbing at his temples with a pair of fingers each. While he needed to remain in the now, this 'now' contained the overly brutal remnants of a battlefield. Hanzo forced himself to deliberate upon this - did he really want to travel with these folk, so eager and willing to spill as much blood as they could?
Unfortunately, sources were steering towards 'yes'. Not necessarily by choice, mind, but because Hanzo didn't stand much chance at gathering all these materials alone, especially if it meant he needed to draw blood at some point.
The monk then suddenly became aware of a stinging sensation on the cleft of his right ear. Reaching his hand up to gingerly feel it, Hanzo received a faint wet warmth on his fingertips. He returned the hand to his vision: blood. Far more than the tiny sputter on his fingers, too; there was a large gash on his right palm, which proceeded to burn with a far more noticeable pain when he exhaled on it. That dagger had been sharper and closer than he thought, then...
Or perhaps he was getting a bit too soft.
Back to the matter at hand, Hanzo reassessed his 'allies'. Several of them did seem to be quite wounded from their own scuffles, and while Sister Agnes did wish to help, there was only so much one person could do (and she was currently in the process of retching over Sana's brutalities). The warrior lady, Fiona, looked to be the closest and not as injured, so Hanzo decided he would offer some of his own aid.
"Here, I can help you," The monk announced to the adventurer, approaching her with his hands open and at his sides. It seemed like a display of disarmament, showing he had no weapons, but closer observation would reveal a slighting glowing hue outlining Hanzo's hands. "Relax, hold still. This may feel strange-"
With his assurance, Fiona removed her hands from the wound on her flank. A stray bolt had driven into her side, and while she wasn't bleeding excessively, it was still a deep wound. Yet, Hanzo remained sure he could handle it. Falling to one knee, he placed his bleeding right hand atop his left, and then carefully pressed his left palm upon the wound. With practiced, serene focus, the monk channeled his inner energies into her damaged form, sending a hot but painless sensation pulsing in her side and tingling through her body.
A few long moments drew out into an agonizingly spacious minute, and then finally Hanzo removed his hands with a breathy exhale, sounding spent. Fiona would find the wound was closed, though still warm and somewhat sensitive to the touch, as if she could still feel the pain. The spilled blood was mostly left drying on her skin now, through some had smeared on the monk's left hand.
"There. It may still hurt some, but you are not damaged," Hanzo concluded, standing up and nodding to Fiona. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
621 | 13 | 57 | 1,533 | 1,707 | You didn't kill Fabricant... Why? We lost territory because of your weakness! A man, dressed in steel heavy armor, yelled at a near unconscious Melvus who was barely able to stand. "A draw means nobody wins! Neither Aesil nor Goetia won... because of your hesitation. You say you're loyal to the One True Queen? You're a vagabond, not loyal to anyone but yourself." The armored man kicked the wizard's feet from beneath him, he fell to the ground with a crunch. His right arm had taken all of his weight and the bone snapped.
"AGH!" Melvus passed out from the pain, not before letting out a cry which could be heard throughout the Aesil battle-quarters.
He woke up later, in the a sickbay. His arm held straight by a plank of wood wrapped with thin rope. He could feel it mending itself. There must be a healing spell on my arm... He tried to move... His nineteen year old self wasn't trained to withstand pain, he fell back onto his back with a cry. A healer rushed into his room to make sure he was alright...
I need to stop daydreaming... He held up his right arm, observing it, as he made his way over to Sister Agnes, who was tending to Hugh who seemed to have taken a few blows himself. Melvus could see the blood seeping from the wound, the warm liquid soaked his sleeves and, now, dripped down to his elbow. He did not break anything major, there's not enough blood for that - this is a minor wound... That slaver... He left, and took some of his men...
"He should have listened to me... He could have saved them, but now they are gone forever... Their lives, scattered in the wind..." Melvus whispered to himself as he watched the nun heal one of his, newfound, companions. He remembered the break in his arm. His bones, he was told afterward, had broken through his skin and yhe break nearly became infected... More than that, he had lost a lot of blood. They were able to recover most of it, however, probably using some magic. | Removed |
622 | 13 | 58 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh seemed to just drift off as he looked up into the sky, as Sana was taking care of another hooligan. He seemed to smile at the sky as the faces of people he had lost floated across his vision. With how terrible he felt at the moment, he didn't feel like dying that day. He felt like everything would be okay, but then again, he was in a lot of pain.
He snapped out of his trance as Sana's face was suddenly in front of him, and all he seemed to think about was how beautiful she was. He had a rather stupid looking smile on his face as he watched her expressions, but the smile faded after seeing how worried she was. "I'm real sorry about... the mess." He gurgled the words out, feeling choked up. He watched as tears began to stream down her face and soon they started to stream down his. He didn't understand everything that was going on, but he knew that Sana was crying, and that was a rarity in itself.
"You shouldn't be crying." He said, the tears streaming down his own face as he tasted the salt of his own tears on his lips. His face showed his worry on it. "Every... thing... is gonna be... okaaaay." He slurred the last word, seeming to lean in different directions barely holding himself steady.
In Hugh's dazed state, he felt a warmth coming from his side, and things started to feel better all of a sudden. His vision cleared and his head started to feel better. He heard a voice say his name, telling him he would be okay. It was a mostly unfamiliar voice.
This was not the best thing he was feeling at the moment, though. What made him feel warm and fuzzy inside was having Sana rest her forehead to his and cup his face in her hands. He felt there tears and sweat mixing together as she spoke to him, and he seemed to joyfully laugh with her words.
"You would look beautiful in one of those stupid dresses." He said, his words seeming to flow out lazily, though choked from the tears of joy that she was there with him through all of it. He put his hands on her, letting them rest on her hips, and nodding to everything she said. Every time she said something, He would grin sheepishly and respond with a choked out "yes" followed by a slight joyful laugh. Not a laugh at something funny, but at something wonderful.
There were still lapses in Hugh's consciousness, as Sana suddenly disappeared before his eyes, leaving his hands limply hanging at his sides. A stupid grin was fixed on his face, tears were still running down his cheeks, and he would let out a joyful laugh every now and then as his eyes lifted up towards the sky, his head thrown back. He stared gleefully, knowing that it would all be okay soon enough. He would survive this. Both of them would survive and finally have that happy ending.
Before he knew it, Sana was back, before his eyes. His consciousness was still blurring in and out, but he was coming back to reality slowly, and his reality was that Sana was dragging a body out in front of him, holding it by the leg. Then she was there in front of him on her knees, now bloodied, and with a new feature. She had a wound on her arm. She was hurting and Hugh's expression went sullen.
"You're hurt." He said, his worry very plainly visible in his expression. "I'll try and," He swallowed, his own recovery from his wound still in progress, "help." He scooted on his knees closer to her, reaching his hands out to hold her arm. He took it up in his hands and started looking it up and down, not really realizing that a healer was right there beside him.
His attention was unfortunately diverted towards something behind Sana. He didn't think much of it, as he ran his hands along her forearm, feeling along it for any other wounds. Behind her there laid the man, whom appeared unconscious, but was regaining it slowly.
Hugh had nothing to bandage her arm except for his shirt, which he willfully removed to wrap around her arm. "This will help-" His attention was suddenly diverted towards the man behind her who had started moving and coming back into consciousness. Hugh thought quickly in a moment of adrenaline pumped action, picking himself up taking one of Sana's silver arrows from her back, and standing over her. He gently pushed her body to the ground, as he stepped over her towards the man, with the arrow in hand. He didn't want her to get hurt in this business, not again. Both of them had taken a beating from all of the fighting.
A scowl appeared on his face as he stared the man down. The man himself recovered and stood to face Hugh. Hugh took two quick steps forward, stumbling as he went at the man. He managed to catch himself, and with one violent and uncoordinated action, he stabbed the arrow into the man's sternum, pressing it up and twisting.
All Hugh could gather was that this man had suffered much and that he had made Sana suffer. Now he would no longer be a problem to Sana and Hugh. They could take it easy.
Hugh allowed the man to drop to the ground, the arrow still stuck in the man's chest. He returned to Sana, grabbing her by her hand that did not belong to a wounded forearm, and picking her up, setting her on her feet. Bringing her close and wrapping his arms around her, he said, "You forgot to mention the mini yous that I would play tea party with who would grow up to give me heart attacks every time they ran off with a boy. Yeah, they'll get their hearts broken a few times and they'll break a few too." He said, giving out a chuckle. "Yeah, let's have a happy ending." He stumbled a little, as the adrenaline wore off and he was beginning to realize just how much blood he had lost. Obviously, there was still more healing to be done, but now, this was all the healing he needed. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
623 | 13 | 59 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob was looking around from his perch on the smelly house for the next opponent when he saw something amazing. The little him started climbing up a building, just like him! Next it threw a hunter off a roof, just like him! It had an arrow sticking out, Just like him! Now it was on top of the hunter ripping it apart, just like... wait.
It seemed like the little one was getting ahead of Lob so now he had to catch up. Looking down at the hunter on the ground, he did the simplest of things: he let go. Falling faster and faster, he SLAMMED down into body with a sickening crack under his bare feet as it erupted from the force. Looking around, he saw the alpha female bringing back her prey to the sister, so he did the same, dragging half a body across the village square to the alpha female with a huge ignorant grin like a dog. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
624 | 13 | 60 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakThe action had taken almost everything out of the little goblin, now thoroughly tuckered out and in great need of catching his breath. Drizzak heaved and wheezed, he was not in the best shape he could be in. Sure, he could have toned it down a bit, but he had to make a good first impression on those around him. His teammates needed to know that he was not to be trifled with and that he was to be relied on in dangerous situations. He was not going to be carried around like some high-born's pocket pet. No sir. He wheezed to himself as he laughed, but his concentration broke as Sana yelled over at him.
There was a pain in his chest and neck as he watched the severed head sail through the air over to him and hit the ground with a series of wet squelches. One of the other baddies had met a quick end, by the looks of it. A jagged, painful separation of head and shoulders. Drizzak examined with slight interest but also slight disdain. He could have made a cleaner cut, probably. Probably. He wheezed out a growl as the lifeless, glossy eyes of the bandit stared him down from half-lidded sockets. The fact that this head had the gall to look him in the eye, even though he was dead, made Drizzak even angrier than he was before. He didn't know why, or how. He just felt a burning, like bile in his throat threating to spew forth.
Drizzak had only one option. He screamed at the head. His voice was shrill and harsh as it exited his mouth, but he could feel the heat of his anger spilling out at the severed head. The head looked on in dumbfounded fear as he continued to scream his already burning lungs out. He was stronger than this head. He was stronger than anyone's head! And he would scream louder and louder until everyone knew that! He took a breath, turning and crouching to get into a more optimal screaming position before letting loose with another volley of vicious vocalisation. But this time was different.
Instead of sound emerging from his frightening death-trap of a maw, a small gout of flame puffed out and singed the head's facial hair. Drizzak immediately stopped himself, throat raw and aching, to stare wide-eyed at the small black patch where the head's neck touched the ground.
What.
What the hell just happened. Drizzak shook his head and rubbed at his throat, before kicking the head away quickly, hoping none had seen. Confusion ran rampant through his skull as he advanced back toward the others in a limp. He must have imagined that. Bloodloss and all. He was seeing things. Just like he was seeing a dead man walk before him. He stopped himself and his thoughts as he came across Little Blue Lady flying out of an alleyway between the buildings. Within the alley was the Blue Robey Man, Mortosh. He looked a bit worse for wear than before. Drizzak couldn't help but squint at him as he approached and offered a hand.
"Drizzak help blue-man. Get him to people make feel better. Come."
He held his hand out to the strange smelling man, covered in blood and flashing his horrible knife-filled smile.
He looked trustworthy. | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
625 | 13 | 61 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana
Sana looked over to Hugh as she sat there and sighed deeply, he had gotten hurt because she had called for him. She had never expected him to come running without his armor or his weapons, she thought he would have been upstairs getting their things. As he moved closer to her and took note of her wound she shook her head. “No, I’m okay, it’s only a flesh wound,” she said softly as she watched him. He never ceased to amaze her; there he was injured, having lost a lot of blood and he was still trying to check to make sure she was okay. She knew better than to protest when he removed his shirt and wrapped it around her arm.
“Thank you,” she said softly and was about to tell him to sit down and rest but she perked a brow as he stood up, he had that look in his eye that he got when he was protecting her; a look of concern falling over her features as he stood over her and pushed her down. Leaning back she rested on her elbow as he stepped over her, turning around just in time to see what he was doing. Cursing herself for just not taking the man out quickly she sat up and stared at Hugh as he let the man fall lifeless to the ground. Turning she saw the half-orc had drug the body of his assailant over to them and perked a brow. It reminded her of how Delia had acted when they first met, not saying much but acting as if she believed Sana to be some form of Alpha. Looking at Lob she smiled and nodded towards him. “Good job,” she said towards him.
Sitting up she saw Hughs hand come to her and she held her own out, letting him pick her up; her own arms wrapping around his waist as he did. At his words she chuckled slightly and shook her head. “Yeah, well you are in no condition to do anything but sit down right now,” she said in a concerned voice. “Don’t worry, we’ll have it,” she said as she leaned close and kissed his cheek, referring to the happy ending he had spoken of to her. Stepping back she helped brace his balance and pushed him down slightly to make him sit. “Now, you sit here and don’t move. I will be right back,” she said softly as she ran her fingers down his cheek. Standing up she began to make her way towards the Inn to retrieve their stuff, stopping she glanced over his shoulder and gave him a firm look. “I mean it Hugh, don’t move,” she said before she continued on her way quickly, running passed the rest of the group and back into the Inn.
Taking the steps to the second floor two at a time she ran into their room and began to gather their things. She stopped for a minute and collapsed on the bed. She was hurt and needed healing but that wasn’t bothering her just yet. Seeing Hugh hurt like that sent her emotions into a spin and she dropped everything she had gathered on the floor. They had been through so much just to get to this point but she had never seen him injured like this. It was something she never wanted to see again and it made her want to scrap the entire thing and just find somewhere else to be but she had told the nun that they would help and they would. She promised herself though that no matter how much danger she was in the future she wasn’t going to call for Hugh to help her again. She refused to be the reason he got hurt again.
Drawing a deep breath she wiped the tears away and plastered a smile on her face as she picked up their gear and made her way back out of the inn. Before she did she stopped by the host and paid their bill and added some more in for the damage that had been done to the building during the fight. Turning she came back out of the inn and walked over to Hugh, dropping their things on the ground next to him before placing her fingers to her lips and giving out two different whistles quickly. Rodger and Epona, their horses came running out of the stable area and trotted over to her. Rodger was a large draft horse that Hugh had had since long before she had met him. Epona was a smaller mare, the color of sand, which they had purchased during their travels.
Kneeling down next to Hugh she pulled a fresh shirt out of his pack and tossed it to him. Grabbing a rag from her bag she rested down on her knees next to him and began to clean the blood from his side carefully. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again,” she said in a rather upset tone as she tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. Taking a deep breath she sighed. “Sorry I snapped,” she said as she stood up and began to move their things and pack them on Epona. In Hughs condition she was not going to let him ride by himself and Rodger was plenty strong enough to carry both of them until he fully recovered.
Sister Agnes
Sister Agnes didn’t know what to think as she looked around in horror to what had happened in the small town. She had seen some of these vile persons before, in places she would go to pick up new orphans for orphanage, she had had to out run them several times on horse to keep the children out of their grip. She couldn’t help but feel some relief that they had been taken care of but the manner than many of them dispatched the horrid people frightened her. She had never seen such bloodshed. Turning she looked at Sana and Hugh, seeing how they acted with each other and concluded in her mind that perhaps the viciousness of the attack had been brought about because of protection of each other instead of outright blood lust. At least she had hoped that was why. Either way she felt they would have a far better chance gathering what was needed than she or the other nuns could do.
Turning she watched Lob bring the body over and gasped slightly. Were they all protecting Sana? She hoped so. She froze in her place for a moment before noticing that Lob was injured. Taking a breath she walked slowly over to the half orc and smiled. “Let me,” she said before placing her hand on his wound, a soft warm light radiating from her palm as he sealed up the wound and caused the blood to stop. Pulling her hand away she wiped the blood from her hands on her habit and smiled warmly to him. “Better,” she said before she turned to see if anyone else needed help.
It seemed the group had some healers in the group and that they were beginning to tend to the rest of the party, which was good; she would not be with them on this adventure but she felt they would need more than just healers and turned to go to the apothecary shop. As she did her eyes fell on Mortosh and Drizzak, they both looked injured but she knew there was nothing she could do for Mortosh personally but she had an idea. Walking over to them she smiled. “I have an idea, just wait here,” she said to the two and pushed her way into the apothecary, coming out a few minutes later with Wylsen in tow that was carrying a box of various bottles and vials.
Reaching into the box she pulled out one that held a substance that was dark in color and pulled the cork out. “This, may sting,” she said to Mortosh before pouring it slowly over the wound he had received. The liquid would seem to seep into the undead and slowly his form began to mend. “This is inflict wounds. It hurts most people but for you, well it mends the body like a healing spell does for the rest of them,” she said in a kind voice before turning and pulling out three more vials of the dark liquid and handing it over to Mortosh. “For your journey,” she said before turning to Drizzak.
“Now you I can heal, so hold still,” she said as she reached out and placed her hands on him, the warm light emitting once again from her palms as she moved them slowly over his form to heal him. Once she was finished she turned and reached into the box and pulled out a bottle that was filled with a light green substance that seemed to glow. “This isn’t anything special but you may find use for it. It is essence of mint ice. I use it to sooth a burning throat, others use it on burns,” she said with a wink, having seen what happened with the head. She wasn’t going to say anything but she felt maybe it would help.
Turning she instructed Wylsen to hand out the rest to the group in general. Wylsen nodded and made his way to each person, setting the box down and pulling out various bottles and vials. Each person received something. Vaerie and Hanzo were handed three vials each of inflict wounds potion and instructed that it could be used to injure or to heal their unique party member as he pointed over towards Mortosh. When Wlysen reached Melvus and Zack, he handed them each two vials of Mage Armor Potion and explained to them that it would give them an hour of mage armor on any clothing they wore, causing it to be as real armor. Fiona was handed three vials each of both purify water and purify rotten food potion vials. Wylsen explained that it could be used on any type of water, meat or vegetation that was too far gone to actually consume and it would make it to where it was drinkable, edible and safe to be consumed; that she would only need a drop out of each vial to clean enough for one person. Walking over to Tobias, Wlysen handed him four vials of invisibility potion and told that they would do as the name stated for fifteen minutes for each vial, he just had to drink it. Walking back over to Sister Agnes and the ones that were near her he stopped, not sure who the rest was for.
Sister Agnes pulled out a vial that contained a liquid that swirled orange and handed it to Sana. “This is for him,” she said pointing to Lob. “He puts this on any weapon of his and it will permanently do slightly more damage than it currently does. Sana nodded and took the vial before walking over to Lob and smiling as she popped the cork out of the vial. “Better smash,” was all she said before she poured it over his club. The sister walked over, having taken the box from Wylsen and kneeling down next to Hugh. What remained was various healing potions of different strengths. “After watching the two of you, I think you will need these,” she said in a concerned voice.
Sister Agnes watched the group, they seemed to have found a bond of some sorts in the fight, some of the bonds seemed to have been established long before the group had fully come together in Wylsens shop. Hugh and Sana had obviously known each other for some time and Sana had admitted to knowing Drizzak before today. Sana walked back over to Hugh and Sister Agnes and the nun took note of the injuries that were becoming apparent on Sana. Blood had soaked through the shirt that Hugh had tied around her arm and she was limping. Sister Agnes took Sanas arm and removed the shirt.
“You need healing,” she said as she looked at Sanas wound.
“I’m fine, it will heal,” Sana stated flatly. She hated being healed and was content to just put a few stitches in on either side, bandage it up and go on her way. The sister was having none of that. She didn’t listen to what Sana said as her hand began to glow again and healing the wound quickly. “Damn it nun, I said I’m fine,” she snapped.
“Well he isn’t,” the sister said as she looked over to Hugh. “You are easier to heal, so you are going to be healed,” she added before her hands moved down to the back of Sanas knee and healed there as well. “Now, anyone else?” the sister said as she turned around and looked at the group to see if anyone needed tending to. Sana grumbled as she turned and began to pack up the rest of the gear on Epona as the host of the inn came running out with the box of vials that Sana had brought in and had been left at their table when the group ran out, setting it down next to Sana before scurrying back in and away from this odd group. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
626 | 13 | 62 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona's instinct told her not to let anyone else lay hands on her while she was wounded, but all the same, she made no move to get away from Hanzo, and moved her hands away from the injury when he knelt down beside her. She wasn't the most experienced in judging character, but for whatever reason Hanzo struck her as completely trustworthy. Something about his demeanor, perhaps. She had to remind herself that she often jumped to conclusions, but in this case, she went with it.
The feeling was very warm without being painful, pulsing gently through her body, and the tingling made her shudder slightly, though nothing about the experience was unpleasant. Fiona had never been healed with magic before; if the Sister hadn't been able to help her, she was prepared to just try and stitch the wound up on her own when she got the time. When Hanzo removed his hand from her, she examined the injury through the small tear in her clothes. It seemed now that her jacket and undershirt were the only things that needed stitching.
"Wow," she said quietly, looking back up at Hanzo. "Thank you, that's much better." Noticing that his hand was still dripping blood that was clearly not her own, she pointed to it briefly, some concern showing on her features. "You should get yourself looked at, too. That looks painful."
While she may have wanted to speak with Hanzo some more, it appeared as though the fight was now over, their enemies all dead or scattered. Indeed, Fiona was a little shocked to see the ways in which some of them were dispatched, but she wasn't weak stomached, and resolved to mostly ignore the dismembered bodies. Looking around, she didn't immediately see Tobias. She did hope he hadn't run off... and that he was alright.
Sister Agnes was assisting by healing those that needed it and hadn't received any attention from one of the others, while Wylsen was handing out items to the party. Fiona accepted the potions he offered with a grateful nod and a brief thanks before he moved on to the others. Potions of purify food and water would undoubtedly come in handy, if they were out of any towns or villages for a while.
Lastly, there was the matter of the man in the dirt, with Fiona's knee still digging into his back. He had been offered no healing, and would likely receive none, unless his facial injuries were preventing him from speaking. As of now, he looked as though he could speak just fine. Perhaps he was just too humiliated to open his mouth. Glaring down at the back of his head, Fiona stood, grabbing the back of his collar and hauling him to his feet.
She marched him over towards Sana, watching him closely for any sudden moves. She'd noticed the scene between Sana and Hugh, and while she didn't want to interrupt anything, the bow-armed woman seemed to be their elected leader, and she would probably have quite the say in what to do with this man. "Thought we might want to ask this one some questions," Fiona said, presenting the captured mercenary to the rest of the party. She kicked her foot into the back of his injured leg, forcing him down to his knees. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
627 | 13 | 63 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias was bleeding to death. The terrible gash in his chest was oozing red, creating an extending pool of blood mingling with that of the corpse next to him. The rogue couldn't stop it, he couldn't stand up, couldn't do anything. He tried to call for help and all that came out of his mouth was a sort of... raspy gurgle. He couldn't even reflect on his choices, decide just where he'd went wrong that had landed him gutted like a fish in some back alley, couldn't conjure up any charming last words or dying hopes. He couldn't think of anything but the terrible hole right through the middle of him, and how much he really, really didn't want to die.
A face swam in front of him, strange and beautiful and webbed with scars. The elf. "I am a holy woman, you can trust me to be able to heal your wounds," she said, in a voice soft like pine needles. The rogue stared back at her, whimpering nothing in particular - Tobias didn't even know what he'd say if he could say anything.
She put her hands to his chest and he was filled with an entirely alien sensation. A deep sense of wellness filled him, as though the whole world wanted very urgently to tell him something: that he had done well, and had nothing more to fear, that he was a warrior and he would not die today. The flesh on his chest began to knit itself closed like it was just waiting for someone to ask it nicely. When the healing was done, Tobias let out a few wet coughs.
The rogue sat up and beheld the scene. He was absolutely covered in blood, both his and his foe's. In front of him was the elf, still looking at him, and past her... the dead body of the man he's killed.
Tobias rolled to the side and retched. When he was finished, he looked back to the elf, holding a hand out to him. Warily, he leaned back against the wall and scrambled to his feet on his own.
"Um... thank you," he said. "Not that I, you know, needed it, I was doing fine on my own. Just a papercut, really, could have walked it off. Wish I could say the same for this guy, but, uh... guess that's what he gets for crossing Fortune and Glory here." The rogue held up his arms to flex them and jumped slightly when a an old man tapped on his back. Tobias recognized him as the apothecary.
"For you," he said, handing him a few vials of clear grey silvery liquid. "Invisibility potions. They work for fifteen minutes."
The rogue accepted them with a nod. "Uh... thanks," he said, but the man had already moved on to hand something to Vaeri, uttering a brief explanation before he left the pair. Tobias was just thinking of what to say next when his eyes caught Vaeri's hand on her side, red between her fingers. "Oh, shit, you're hurt." And she'd chosen to heal him instead? ... Weird. The rogue offered his shoulder to the elf to lean on. "Uh, come on. We should get you to someone who can patch that up." | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
628 | 13 | 64 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri watched the strange, little man retch at the sight of the dead body behind her before shakily pushing himself off his butt. Despite being at deaths door less than a minute ago, he claimed to not need any help. Vaeri stifled a giggle as Wyslan appeared and gave Tobias some invisibility potions and her 3 Inflict Wounds potions that were promptly shoved into a side pocket of her bag. They definitely sounded like they could come in handy, not just for healing Mortosh if it came to that. After Wyslan left, Vaeri addressed Tobias with a politeness that was as easily seen through as his fake bravado.
"I am sorry if I inconvenienced you, Sir Tobias. I fear the next man who crosses you might end up like one of the men out in the street." Vaeri couldn't control her expression, a bemused smirk forming against her will despite the condition she was currently in. She nodded no at Tobias' offer to help support her.
"I can heal more than one person a day. This is nothing I can't handle, and I've been cut up worse than this before." Vaeri pulled up the left sleeve of her cloak to reveal her arm covered in similar, larger scar wounds as the ones on her face. "There are more people who need help first, I can wait until everyone else is taken care of first." Vaeri could control her breathing, taking slow, measured breaths, despite the fact that the wound in her torso flared up in pain every time she inhaled too much. She walked back out into the street confidently, the stench of blood not even phasing her. It appeared that Sister was able to handle most of the others who had been injured. The monk had a few cuts, the robed man still had his stab wound, and she had her own to tend to. Vaeri walked over to Melvus and raised her hand towards his arm.
"Relax, I'm about to heal you." Vaeri's hand began to glow gold as she placed it over the wound. This one was far less severe than Tobias' so it would take less time and magical energy for the elf to heal. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
629 | 13 | 65 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob had a lobsided smile when he was told he did a good job. He had pleased her so she would accept him, all is good in the pack. He watched her speak to *snifsniffsniff* yep, definitely her mate. At her request for hugh to stay with sternness, he inched closer o enforce her command as well as be available for hugh to not need to move.
"Stay, mego."
His attention was drawn to the side as the smelly house woman tended to his arm. Having traveled with the healer, he was familiar with the magics and so did not flinch away as the warm wash went through his limb stealing away the fire and any possible poison. He purred a gutteeal sound of pleasure and licked the sisters healing hand in appreciation but now he had a new neat thing as he slid the intact arrow back and forth through the healed hole like a body piercing.
"Oohhhh..."
This was entertaining long enough for the alpha female to return with items for all, including a potion she poured over his club. "Smash better." Well that was all he needed to know as he sat down in the dirt and began to stroke his bone for all to see, working the oil into the knob and shaft. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
630 | 13 | 66 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Melvus wasn't paying attention as Sister Agnes went about healing his comrades. His thoughts were rather shifty, he had lost a considerable amount of blood, there was a small puddle forming at his feet. He pierced the muscle, there will be more blood than most other wounds... He wasn't going to ask to be healed, if no one offered to heal his wound then he would wrap it with a bandage and make a stop at the apothecary shop. Healing magic is a beautiful thing... Hugh's wounds closed within minutes and where the blood flowed, it had ceased...
After a healing a few minor, and a few more major, wounds the good sister made herself scarce with a promise of returning soon. After a few minutes had passed, Agnes returned to the scene with the man who ran the apothecary shop. They began passing around vials and potions of different sorts. The man handed Melvus and the other Wizard, Did he call himself Zach? That's a curious name..., two vials each. He said that they were mage armor potions and explained their effects. Melvus realized that his head really hurt. I've lost a lot of blood... It doesn't help that I didn't sleep last night...
The potions remonded him of something the Aesil would use called 'Angel's Raiment'. He fumbled to get the vials into the inner-folds of his robes. After a few minutes, nearly everyone was healed but Melvus and a few others. Though most of the other members of the party were in more serious situations than that of Melvus, the she-elf, approached him.
"Relax, I'm about to heal you." Melvus elected to say nothing, no protest as Sana had and no pride. Mvus didn't posses healing abilities, he would have to rely on his new comrades for a great many things, healing was one of them. His arm became warm, then cool, as the wound was mended. When she had finished Melvus opened his mouth, "Thanks yo-" then he passed out. | Removed |
631 | 13 | 67 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana
Sana continued to load up Epona with her and Hugh things, going back and forth between grumbling to herself under her breath and sighing deeply. She hadn’t meant to snap at Hugh and she felt awful about it but another part of her wanted to tear into him more for letting his guard down and taking a wound such as he had from a piece of garbage bandit like the one that now lay decapitated on the ground. She knew he had only been trying to protect her but if it had been anyone else he wouldn’t have let his guard down like that. Reaching up she rubbed her temples out of frustration and then glanced over as she heard Fiona.
Turning she looked over to the man that was now on his knees and walked over to them; looking him over for a moment before locking eyes with the female warrior. “You were obviously thinking more clearly than I was,” she admitted before kneeling down before the man and tilting her head to the side. “Seems you got lucky, had it been anyone else you went up against,” she said in a flat voice as she turned to look at the carnage around them, “I doubt you would have made it out so unscathed. So, let’s not try to push your luck and you may yet walk out of this alive.” Turning to look back at the man her hand flew up as he spat in her face and slowly wiped the spit away. “Or not,” she said as she rose from her place and wandered over to the man that Hugh had killed with one of her silver arrows.
Ripping the arrow out of the mans sternum before shoving it into his eye socket and pulling the eye ball out. “Told you I would do that,” she said before making her way over to their prisoner, twirling the arrow in her fingers with the eye ball sliding up and down the shaft of the arrow. Dropping to her knees in front of the man she held it up for him to see. “He got off lucky, he’s dead,” she said as she grabbed the man with her free hand by the shoulder and placed the tip of the arrow near his eye. “You on the other hand are not, so this may hurt,” she warned as she moved the tip slowly towards his eye. The man struggling but Sana moved her hand on his shoulder to the back of his head and held him still. “Last chance.”
“Wait..wait damn it,” he stammered and Sana stopped the advancement of the arrow.
“Oh, you wanted to say something?” Sana said with a bemused look on her face.
“What do you want to know?” he asked through heaved breaths.
“Oh the answer to life, the universe and everything but I will settle for who are you, who was the slaver and if this was your whole merry bunch.”
“I…I tell you that, you’ll let me go?” he asked looking at Sana frantically.
“You have my word,” she said in a flat voice. “Now talk.”
“I… I’m Grent, I work for Sal and that was all of us, I swear it,” he said. Sana was not so convinced and began to move the arrow closer to his eye. “Alright damn it, there was a dozen more of us outside of town in the woods to the north. Just let me go, that’s all I know, I swear it!” he said. Sana could tell by the fear in his voice that he was speaking the truth, or at least as much truth as he knew.
“Alright,” Sana said, turning her head for a moment as she looked around at the group and her eyes fell on Hugh. “I did say I would let you go.”
“That’s right you did! You gave me your word,” Grent said letting out a sigh of relief as the arrow was slowly pulled away from his eye.
“That I did,” Sana said in a cold voice as her head turned and she looked at him in the eye before shoving the arrow right into his eye socket and into his brain, killing him nearly instantly. Pulling the arrow out, along with the eye she let go of the back of his head and let his body drop to the ground. “See, I let you go,” she said before she spat on the corpse and walked away, grabbing the two eye balls off her arrow and throwing them to the ground before letting the arrow drop back into her quiver. “I never said I would let you live,” she muttered as she went back over to Hugh.
Sister Agnes
Sister Agnes watched the scene unfold and she didn’t know what to do other than to turn her head as she leaned against a post and threw up again. She was not used to this type of carnage. Wiping her mouth she looked around and saw that there were still others that needed healing and she went to each one of them in turn and healed them with her abilities, talking to them in kind words and trying to push the mental image of Sana with her arrow in the mans skull out of her head. She healed Hanzo first and then Vaeri before noticing that one of the group was now passed out on the ground.
“Well that is not good,” she said quietly before looking around and taking a deep breath; walking back over to Sana carefully. Sana turned her head and looked at the nun as she head the old woman clear her throat. “It seems someone is in need of rest,” she said pointing over towards Melvus. Sana glanced over and grumbled slightly before looking at the group.
“Okay, I know we have a job but I really don’t like the idea of slavers wandering around freely. Seems less than ideal. So who is up for another fight and who needs to rest,” she asked as she ran her fingers slowly through Eponas mane. “We need to make this quick before they decide to come after us instead. Volunteers?” Sana asked as she unslung her bow from her back. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
632 | 13 | 68 | 290 | 1,247 | After His healing Mortosh had asked sister Agnes where he could go and wash his armor and she pointed him towards the the back of apothecary where he of course proceeded to wash his armor and skirt but it seemed that his gauntlet were a lost cause for the blood seemed to have fused to the steel Possibly by the negative energy that allowed for his second life.
He hung his robe and skirt up to dry which left him mostly nude (is nudity even applicable to a skeleton?) being that he still wore his boots and belt which held the three vials that the nun handed to him. when he was finished he went to the front of the shop and sat down next to Hugh whose only reaction to his presences was him giving him a quick glance and saying nothing, if his appearance bothered him then he didn't show it so in relevant silence Mortosh quietly watched The Eager half-orc polish his Bone up, down from the shaft to the top he was going so fast that splatters of the potion that he was rubbing onto it was being sent flying.
("Let's Just Hope The Next Town We Will Enter Won't have Witness Such A Violent Battle") he thought still watching the Half-Orc whose rhythm in the rubbing of his bone was almost hypnotizing.
Mortosh had heard the integration Or Zam did she then just described to him what she heard. it was later that Sana came back to the group and asked them if there were to be any volunteers who would go with her to get rid of some slavers. while he did not enjoy idea of letting slavers wander freely he believed that there was just as much work in town as well they sill had to cleaning up the bodies.
So Zam told her that and they went to back of the shop and Mortosh got himself dressed. | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
633 | 13 | 69 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri's eyes widened when Melvus just passed out. People usually didn't react that way when they got healed. Given the amount of blood on the ground, it was probably due to blood loss from his wound. Vaeri didn't remember seeing him try to stifle the blood flow, so that may have been a contributing factor. Despite all these rationalizations, Vaeri took a step back from the man's unconscious body and looked away at something else.
That something else just so happened to be Sana's interrogation of the man captured in the last battle. Sana's tactics while brutal were effective. Perhaps she still felt vengeful after the injury suffered by her mate, but that did not quite matter right now. They could not allow the slavers to attack this village again, especially after the bloodbath this skirmish had been. Besides that, Vaeri still had yet to have a real battle and didn't want the stab wound in her midsection to be for naught. 'Twould be embarrassing.
"Ah, thank you Sister." Vaeri said to Sister Agnes when she healed the wound in her torso. Vaeri would have easily been able to heal it herself, but given that there would be a second battle, it would be for the best to save her remaining healing for later.
"It would be wasteful if I did not join in." Vaeri piped in when Sana asked for volunteers for people to fight the camp of slavers. "I have yet to adequately serve my Lady, and I can not stand for these men to escape. I have the feeling that it would not be difficult for them to recoup the losses suffered today." It was then that Vaeri remembered she had never gotten around to finishing what she had started when she left the inn. The cleric reached out behind her back and pulled on the handle sticking out, freeing from the enchanted pack a two handed axe a good 3 feet long and rested it on her shoulder. She was not going to let herself be attacked while unarmed again. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
634 | 13 | 70 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona held the mercenary still while Sana questioned him, observing her methods with interest. She had a feeling she wasn't quite capable of what Sana was doing, waving a an eyeball around on an arrow like it was some kind of shish kebab. She wondered if it was just the extra years of adventuring that had hardened her enough to be able to be this vicious. Or perhaps it had something to do with Hugh's injury. Fiona couldn't say.
She was a bit shocked, however, when Sana chose to execute the mercenary, deliberately misleading him, and Fiona as well, into thinking she would spare his life. Seeing as he was dead almost instantly, Fiona released her grip on him, and he thumped to the ground on his back, one more body among the others to be cleaned up. Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but the words died when Sana spit on the corpse and walked away. She stood still for a moment, glancing down at the body, but in the end went to retrieve her own horse from the stables.
She spent a few moments debating what had just happened with herself, realizing that she really hadn't thought it through. Her gut told her that killing the man, a defenseless prisoner, was not the right thing to do, but wondering what he might do if they let him go made her doubt herself. He worked for slavers, meaning he would probably return to them, maybe even bring more, or warn them. Nothing good would come of his release, surely. But executing him? Fiona shook her head. At least the decision hadn't fallen to her.
By the time she returned, leading her horse, Sana had proposed an attack on the remaining slavers, splitting the group to account for those that needed to recover. Hanzo's healing having restored her to just about full strength, Fiona felt that she was definitely up for another fight. It would likely be a no-prisoners affair, and while she wasn't fond of killing if it could be avoided, it seemed their only option here.
She nodded at Sana, resting a hand on the hilt of her sword. "I'm up for it. This fight here will have been a waste if the slavers are just allowed to regroup." | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
635 | 13 | 71 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob took a few more moments to work his weapon until it positively glowed, he shuddered from the effort but finally felt that the work was finished and licked his hand clean of the last remnants. While he had been polishing his pounder, he watched the alpha female do her work to gather information. When she dropped the eyes off her arrow, Lob loped over and took the two s he got closer to her but a respectable distance.
"Lob find good! Find them!"
He sniffed the eyeballs in his hand and emulated the tracking of a dog to squat next to the dead mercenary. With his first tribe he had lived with the dogriders and slept with the dogs at night. He had learned to track by scent, a skill apparently lost to most of all races and most rangers. They needed the stink of ten orcs to track them a mile, he could fine a single orc over ten miles. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
636 | 13 | 72 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias was still rolling his shoulders as he sauntered up to the rest of the group. Vaeri had just finished healing an unconscious wizard, the goblin was running around nearby, there were corpses everywhere, and a massive orc-looking... thing was siting calmly, vigorously working lubricant into the shaft of his bone.
Tobias was, for reasons he couldn't put his finger on, quite relieved to see Fiona was alive, at least. Not only that, but she'd also acquired a prisoner. Tobias watched the interrogation with morbid, horrified attention, turning a very distinct shade of green as he did so.
Sana was crazy. Stark raving out of her mind. She was twirling an eye, an actual human eye, around on an arrow like a fancy hors'dourve. Tobias had known people like that, and none of them he would ever want to work with.
He stood, paralyzed, while the interrogation closed. He watched speechless as she executed - murdered - the man kneeling in front of her. It was brutal, barbaric. Insanity. And now they were going back for more. Sana wanted to go after the rest of them, and was asking for volunteers. Already, the strange orc-thing, the elf who'd saved his life, and even Fiona - sweet, naive, innocent Fiona - had agreed to go with her.
Without knowing what he was doing Tobias stepped forward and opened his mouth. "You people are fucking insane."
The silence hung in the air like a corpse from a noose. Clenching his fists, Tobias continued. "No, I mean it. You just killed him, Sana. He's dead now. D-E-A-D. You didn't like him, so you shoved an arrow through his eye socket. He did what you asked, told you what you wanted to know, and you fucking killed him anyway. That's not acceptable, that's not what people do."
His voice gained power as he paced back and forth, trying to make furious eye contact with every one of them. "I know what you're thinking - here comes the criminal, lecturing us about right and wrong. And yeah, I'm a thief. I lie and cheat and steal for a living, I do a lot of bad things, but I don't kill people. I just killed someone for the first time in my life, and it was in self-defense, and I think it may have been the worst thing... ever. But you people? You made a fucking day of it. And you didn't just kill these people, you butchered them! Look around!"
The thief stopped and pointed to a skull at his feet. "Someone was cutting out skulls. That's delightful. I'm glad to be a part of their team." He walked another few steps to where something shiny lay in the ground. Picking it up, he displayed it to the group. "A fork. It has blood on it. Someone stabbed somebody with this." He walked another few feet and pointed to a foul-smelling, vaguely human shaped lump of charred flesh and ashes. "What the fuck am I looking at right now? Can anyone tell me? Was this ever even a fucking person?"
Another brief walk - this time, he held a mangled dead body up. The spine was snapped, the neck was shredded, the face (eyes in particular) were puddles of gore. Tobias felt his stomach turn as he displayed the corpse. "AND WHAT IN THE NAME OF HOLY FUCK HAPPENED TO THIS GUY?"
Tobias dry heaved a little as he let the body collapse, then straightened back up to face the others. "You say these guys were kidnappers, slavers? Stop them, by all means. Rough them up, imprison them, 'bring them to justice', all that shit people are always trying to do to me. But don't pretend this was anything other than a massacre. And if you guys are going to go hunt for more of this? Good luck and leave me out of it."
It occured to Tobias that Sana could probably kill him now if she wanted - she had a bow, and he was still too woozy to be dodging arrows. Fucking... whatever.
The thief turned and walked back towards the inn. "Try to have fun, dearies. I'll be here in case you decide to start saving orphans again." | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
637 | 13 | 73 | 2,649 | 479 | As Sana pushed Hugh, he staggered and fell back, catching himself and planting himself in a sitting position. He thought it was smooth, but he realized that he fell because Sana pushed him and he was suffering from blood loss, so he didn't have very good balance in the first place. He seemed to bob back and forth, feeling the adrenaline wear off from the fight. He was so lost, he didn't even notice that the giant orc had sat down to keep an eye on him, until the orc said some orders to him.
Hugh nodded, looking a little dazed from the ordeal, as he rocked back and forth. He finally started looking around, noting the suddenly missing eye from the body in front of him and the missing arrow he had stabbed into its chest. "Huh." He grunted, not in a particularly caring mood. One thing was for sure, he was in a more weakened mental state from before. As soon as he regained his strength back, he might be a little more alert, and back to his former self.
He started playing with his curiosity a little more, looking from different body, to body, examining them. He soon came to the body of the one he had killed, only there was a new feature to this one. It had no head. In a moment of realization, he skittered backwards, crawling on his back. There was fear in his eyes as he stared at it, "All dead." He said in a more panic attacked whisper. He put one hand to his head, covering one eye, and holding a little of his own hair. His breathing was faster as he looked back at the headless corpse.
It had been so long since he had felt or seen any triggers for these flashes of memories of decades ago. A headless corpse wouldn't have triggered anything not too long ago. Now it brought back memories of when Hugh was much younger. More stupid and frightened, but now he felt like that young Hugh. The little 20 some years old paladin from the last battle. All of his friends had been crushed before his eyes, and when he came back to find them, their bodies were desecrated, defiled. Some of them were stripped naked and hung from posts. Some of them were headless, and their heads were stuck on spears.
Count to four, inhale. Count to four, exhale.
He felt like he was somewhere else, looking at all the different mangled bodies. He felt like he couldn't breath from the stress. His heart beat loudly, pounding in his ears, and he couldn't hear anyone. Before he knew it, everywhere he looked, he saw something from his past. Faces of friends he had lost passing before his eyes. He started mumbling different things, meaningless to anyone else, but to him, they were the memories. They were names and places of where he met them, and where they died.
It was a long list, as he covered his eyes with his hand, and kept going. It was comforting to him, somehow. He hadn't forgotten anything. He remembered everything. "I'm sorry, I wasn't good enough." He said, finally finishing the list. His face looked tired all of a sudden, as the trigger slowly subsided, and he came back to reality. He seemed more sullen than before, looking nearly exhausted.
It was no wonder why this memory was triggered and was so lucid. He didn't just remember the things about his family. He remembered everything that came before, that caused different struggles for him to deal with as he moved forward in his life. He felt tired, now. Not just tired from the moment. He felt tired from all that he had gone through. It seemed like every time he settled down, some kind of tragedy took everything from him and stole away any semblance of happiness he tried to have.
He just needed something to eat and drink, and he would be back to taking names and cracking skulls. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
638 | 13 | 74 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana
Sana nodded towards those that had agreed to come along with her; seeming the only ones willing to go where the women and the two that most of the world looked at as monsters. Perhaps they were but right then Sana didn’t care. With what happened to Hugh she wasn’t thinking or acting like her usual self, the fact that it had been slavers that had brought this on only made matters so much worse. Turning as she heard Hugh she ran over to him wondering what was going on. She had never seen him like this and had no idea what had caused the sudden change in his demeanor.
Resting down on her knees next to him, reaching up and trying to cup his face in her hands but his hands were covering his face and in his hair. The way he was acting was frightening her and as best as she could she couldn’t make any sense of the words he was uttering, the only thing that made any sense was him apologizing for not being good enough but even that didn’t sound right. He had done fine today, had gotten hurt and scared her but he lived and she lived. Was it something from his past? One of those horrors he had mentioned to her in passing but refused to speak about?
“Hugh,” she whispered as she tried to get his attention. “Look at me Hugh,” she said in a soft voice, “come on look at me.” As he seemed to calm down she sighed deeply, he seemed to look exhausted from whatever had just happened. She wanted to know what it was but she wasn’t going to push for answers, not now. She was afraid it would trigger something else. Instead she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close; resting her head against his. “It’s okay,” she said in a loving voice, “I’m here, everything is alright.” Running her fingers down his cheek she pulled back and tried to smile at him. “You stay here and rest. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” Leaning in she kissed him softly. ‘You’re gear is right there,” she said pointing to the items she had brought down from there room earlier, they were only a few feet from them.
As Tobias went on his rant Sanas eyes narrowed as she looked towards him and rose from her place; fingers trailing off Hugh as she stood there. A look coming over her features, one that Hugh would know well and perhaps Drizzak would remember. It was the same look that came over her when a certain former associate of theirs snapped over keeping a Lich alive, a lich that had just tried to kill each of the party they had been with at the time.
“There are monsters in this world and most of them take the form of humans,” Sana growled as she stood there. “Have you ever dealt with these people before? Any of them? Do you know why they did what they did? No, anymore than we know why you have done what you have done to get by in this world. So fine, stay behind, tuck your fucking tail and run from it. Let them stay out there and turn a blind eye. That’s your choice but you tell me this. With more of these monsters in the area, you really think there will be any orphans left to save when we get back? Or what will happen to them once they are healed?” Sana snapped in a cruel tone that rarely ever left her lips.
“Yeah, he’s dead and you know what he won’t ever get to imprison another child, another son or daughter, another mother or father, another friend or loved one,” she added before rubbing her temples and began to throw as much stuff off Hughs horse Rodger as she could as quickly as she could. “Anyone coming with me, get your horse, we ride out now,” she said as she swung up into the saddle on draft horses back and held her hand out towards Vaeri. “You ride with me,” she said waiting to help Vaeri up and to settle down behind her. “Drizzak, you’re with her,” she said pointing over towards Fiona.
“Alright Lob,” she said turning her attention to the half orc. “Find the pack,” she said, waiting for Lob to lead the way.
Sister Agnes
Sister Agnes leaned against the post where she had last thrown up near and sighed as she took a deep breath. She watched the thief tear into almost everyone there, seeming to direct most of his attack towards Sana personally. She understood his anger and she couldn’t fault him for it but when Sana tore back into him she wasn’t surprised. Watching Sana mount up on the large horse she took a deep breath and stepped over to her.
“Be careful, these are cruel people. I have dealt with them before. They have kidnapped many in the area and…. We have found bodies in the forest and along the road of those they have taken that did not survive…” she added as she looked at the five that had decided to hunt down the rest of the slavers. She couldn’t condone what they had done or what perhaps they had planned to do but she wouldn’t try to stop them either. It was bad enough to lose children to an illness they couldn’t cure but to lose them to what Sana referred to as monsters was far worse.
Sana nodded towards the sister and looked over towards Lob, waiting for him to lead the way before she kicked her heels and pushed Rodger forward to keep up with Lob. She just hoped with all the yelling and fighting between the group and only being five of them it would be enough and that not too much time would have passed to let the slavers regroup. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
639 | 13 | 75 | 1,451 | 685 | It wasn't shaping up to be the easiest first day for a group, and Fiona felt a little uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Watching the separate exchanges from Tobias and Sana, she was quite certain that while both had strong points, neither really understood where the other was coming from. They were very different people from probably very different backgrounds. Tobias wasn't a warrior who dealt with problems like this, and Sana... well, Fiona was choosing to believe that she was not herself currently. Seeing a loved one in a great deal of pain could make a person do things they normally wouldn't, and judging by the way she and Hugh were together, they were definitely in love.
She was willing to forgive Sana the brutality, and she was willing to try and understand Tobias's viewpoint as well. That said, she was a very forgiving and understanding person, and there was no guarantee the rest of the group would take things as well. She'd make sure to try and speak with Tobias when she got back. For now, Sana was right. These slavers were a serious threat, even more than the sickness. It would be a great waste to find the ingredients only to return and see the village ransacked by thugs and kidnappers.
And apparently she would be riding with the goblin. Fiona's young adventuring career had led her to do a number of things she thought she never would, but very few of them had involved goblins. Considering that her horse wasn't the most trusting animal, she hoped nothing would go terribly wrong here. Swinging her leg up over the saddle and mounting up, she listened to Sister Agnes speak to Sana. It was starting to remind her of another situation, the one she'd found herself in when she met Tobias. That one hadn't ended well for her, largely due to a lack of planning on her part.
"We should try to scout out any traps or ambushes they may have set up, rather than just charging in. Make sure we know what we're up against." She knew Sana was currently acting a bit rash, but hopefully that would cool down quick enough, and hopefully Lob or Drizzak would be of use in getting them the upper hand. Looking down at the goblin from atop her horse, Fiona took a small breath, and held out a hand.
"Come on, up you get." | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
640 | 13 | 76 | 290 | 1,247 | he wandered the village in looking for the bodies of the previous battle for even bandits deserve a proper burial It was one of the duties of being a cleric of Trew and it helped Mortosh went some frustrations for he was angry at Sana.
Angry at the idea that she would go out of her way to end more lives then needed. why couldn't they just and gather the ingredients they had found the first body it was the one that Sana had killed during her interrogation it only made him more angry but he realized that it was pointless to get angry but he couldn't help himself many would question why a cleric of a god of necromancers would be angered by death he should be overjoyed but many forget that Trew also a god of joy and death brings misery.
so he just hefted the body over his shoulder and carried him to the inn perhaps Hanzo or Tobias could help him in there burial Zam looked at him with concern ("Zam We Didn't Come Here To Cause Death Did We?) "no we didn't Mortosh" she answered as she pointed to a pile of ashes that wind hadn't blown away. Carefully placing the bandit down Mortosh quickly put all of the ashes into a jar then picked the bandit back up as well as the jar.
He shook his head ("We Came Prevent It But I Am More Sad Then Angry Zam For The Fact She Would Go Out Her Way To Cause More Misery Truly Saddens Me") he said to her as they approached the inn | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
641 | 13 | 77 | 677 | 1,382 | So their little group would be all the women, Drizzak and the big, green brute whose name she didn't actually catch so far. Considering the shape of most of the party she had not expected much more, but the thing that really surprised Vaeri was Tobias' outburst. He did not seem the type to chastise others on the morality of their actions, let alone being able to express himself as well as he did considering the mental and physical state he was in. Perhaps it was because he had just gone through what he did that he could say what he did. Vaeri knew she hadn't actually killed anyone on this battlefield or really injured anyone more than necessary so she felt a bit distanced from his harsh words. Even if she had, Vaeri was a cleric of a War goddess. War is a messy, chaotic brutal place, and to ignore its uglier aspects or presume to be above them would mean that she was devoted to a fake, idealized version of war and therefore her goddess. However, upon thinking over Sana's actions, she decided she would try to have a word with Sana, despite her less than impeccable mental state.
Vaeri pulled her cloak back around her body and pulled up her hood up over her head. She carried all her belongings on herself, so there was not much preparing she needed to do. She grabbed Sana's hand and settled on the horse as best as she could. Horses weren't the animals most adept at climbing trees, and to gallop at full speed they needed to constantly weave through the dense foliage, so the art of horse riding was for the most part neglected in Lianyu. In her century and a half of living, Vaeri had never actually ridden on a horse. Well there was a first time for everything. But that wasn't her biggest concern.
Vaeri remained quiet for a few seconds, her stomach turning as she struggled with deciding whether to talk to the woman in front of her. Quietly, she leaned forward and whispered to the lady that could easily kick her off the horse if she so desired.
"Sana, I'm not here to pass judgement on you for your previous actions. I do not know you, nor you I; however, you did say that most monsters usually take human form. Just be careful that you do not become one yourself." This was about as tactfully as Vaeri could think of saying what she had. Now was probably not the time or place to say it, but waiting for the perfect time to speak was a fine way to never speak again. But Vaeri had a feeling that she had just ensured the rest of the horse ride would be awkward at the least. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
642 | 13 | 78 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias snorted in amusement as Sana's retort bounced off his back. He flung the door open to the inn and allowed Hanzo to enter, bearing the wizard Melvus over his shoulder. Before he retreated inside, the thief stuck his head out once more. "Tell yourself whatever you have to, Sana. I don't give a shit," he said, and slammed the door.
He glanced around the inn to find a room full of people staring at him. Tobias looked down at his clothes and beheld them soaked in blood and slashed to ribbons. "... Oh." The crowd was silent, and Tobias waved their gazes away, exhausted. "Don't worry, the bad people are gone," he said, unsure of who he was talking about.
The monk had inquired as to his well-being, and Tobias sighed. "Oh, I don't know, I stubbed my toe something dreadful out there. I also got a little bit disemboweled, killed a man, and saw more horrible things than I'm going to be able to have nightmares about, so it's really not been the best day." He shook his head. "When I saw her... pull that shit with the arrow, I thought she was just crazy. Sounds like it's even worse, though: she thinks she's justified."
Without waiting for a reply, the thief marched up the stairs (gripping the bannister tightly as he did so - he was still pretty woozy from blood loss) of the inn. None of the doors to the rooms were locked, so it was quite simple to rifle through them until he found a set of clothes that could replace the blood-soaked ones he was wearing. The thief got dressed quickly, a skill learned from many early-morning escapes, and proceeded back down the stairs, hoping that the owner of his new clothes wouldn't notice.
He was in luck, as every eye in the building was fixed on a stranger sight - that zombie from earlier had brought a corpse inside. Tobias rubbed his temples and resolved not to deal with it.
"Something strong, please," he asked a nearby barmaid, and moved into the crowd to look for Hanzo. On first impression, Tobias wouldn't have trusted the monk, but he'd seemed to side with the thief in the conflict of 'sanity versus bloodthirstiness', so clearly he wasn't all bad. Worth getting drunk with, at least. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
643 | 13 | 79 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakAs his wounds faded from the touch of Sister Agnes, Drizzak found himself as fascinated as ever with the soft, soothing ministrations of the positive energies that healing magicks brought. He could feel as though his wounds were pulling themselves back together, a familiar but still strange feeling. He coughed, throat still burning as he was given a large bottle by the kindly holy woman Agnes. She spoke softly, and shared a rather unchaste wink in his direction. What was this... feeling, stirring his heart into an inferno at the sight of such a gesture? Was it because of her pure nature? Was it her kindly manner?
He pondered for a moment before realising that, no, it was in-fact his heart being stirred into what felt like a literal inferno. Quickly, he sparingly quaffed from the bottle of mint-ice before slipping it into a pouch in his small pack. He tied it with string, and patted it as if to ward off bad luck. Whatever had happened earlier, it had torn his throat up something fierce, but he could feel the cool effervescent flavors of the mint and the soothing textures of the ice almost massaging his throat like a caring lover. Had he just screamed too much? Was he too dizzy? Drizzak looked down at his hides to find only red. He stunk of blood, from his fingertips to his elbows and all over his face and chest. Regardless, he looked to Sister Agnes and pounded his fist against his chest. A sign of respect. He could not talk for fear that his throat would tear itself apart, but he could show his thanks. She was nice. He would have to bring her back the hands of the strongest warrior he found whilst on the hunt. Surely she would appreciate that.
Sana's stern order snapped him from his pondering, once again. If he could talk, he would have chattered laughter at the prospect of another battle not far away. But for now he simply wheezed in joy. Checking his whip and blade, Drizzak turned to Fiona upon her steed and took a moment to consider the enormity of the beast compared to himself. The fair, fire-haired woman was looking down at him expectantly. He was to get up on the horse? They expected him to climb all the way up there? Ludicrous. Outrageous. But Drizzak, to this day, has never turned down a challenge. Especially not from one who had nothing to expect from him. Drizzak walked around to the rear of the horse, patting its flank with a silent nod before crouching down and curling his toes to grip the earth. Then, with an explosion of muscular strength, he propelled himself into the air like a majestic bird of prey taking flight.
As he landed square on the horse's behind, he scrabbled his way to the saddle with various sounds of mute frustration and struggle. Yes, he was a strong goblin, but this was a live, moving animal he was dealing with. All kinds of difficulties were present, evident in the fact that he fell out of the saddle and off the horse twice before managing to grab onto Fiona's shoulders for support. He said nothing, for he could say nothing. He simply nodded that he was ready, dwarfed by the human in front of him and looking like a particularly bloody backpack in comparison. | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
644 | 13 | 80 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob was confused, why did the That One Speak to her that way? THey were bad, they were dead, he wasent mad she took his kill, he was mad that they did kill. Those had weapons, they would kill, it was a good fight, it was good deaths. He was just dumb, dumber than Lob.
“Alright Lob, find the pack.”
All other wonders were gone as he was given an order, he moved from the eyeless to the headless to the limbless, each one had a scent and he was weaving them together, he found places where others had run off but circled the plaza once more before he bayed a fercious howl and took off on all fours, massive bone slung over his back as he began the tracking.
Now, aside from being a beast, he was still a barbarian. He survived by avoiding the obvious dangers. He kept his senses alert for hiding holes, snares and traps. he tracked by smell but watched and listened for danger, tracking a wounded animal often meant facing a cornered animal with nothing to loose. here were many scents to follow so there was more than one to watch out for.
He took them north, the smell is easy enough to follow with the woods on either side, he stuck to the brushes
and the lowest of tree branches. Soon he could smell the rotting flesh and meat, offal and gizzards traveled for miles untill the scent of smoke filled his nose, he stopped when he could smell dog and did not bring them any closer.
Looking around he gathered up a set of bear dung and began to slather his arms and chest with the droppings while looking for more for the others to hide their scent. Looking to the others he began to use tribal sign language of hunters to keep silent while talking in case others did not talk in sign.
"Many and dogs, one long away. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
645 | 13 | 81 | 54 | 1,340 | Group A
Sana rolled her eyes at Tobias and resisted the urge to smack him upside the back of the head, she had more important things to tend to than the ravings of someone that gutted someone and then had the lack of thought to chastise her for killing someone who had tried to either kill or enslave them. Following Lob she made sure to make the ride as easy as possible since she didn’t know how much the person behind her had actually ridden; those that tended not to have a mount tended not to know how to ride. Hearing Vaeri speak made Sana swallow hard and she let out a long sigh.
“I’m trying not to,” she said as they continued on their way. Taking a breath as the thought of Hugh injured coming to her mind. “I went overboard I know that,” she added in a remorseful voice, not for killing the man but for the brutality of it all. “Seeing Hugh like that… It made me snap. The man has been through more in his life than I would even wish on people like these slavers,” she added trying to explain why she had snapped the way she did. “He saved my life, has taken care of me, watched over me and it was my fault he nearly got himself killed. If I hadn’t called for him, that stab wound wouldn’t have happened, the thought of losing him…” Sana said as she tried to speak more but found herself choking back tears. She had more to say but she couldn’t continue and she rode the rest of the way in silence.
Lob led the way from the town and Sana kept pace a little bit behind him, weaving Rodger from the road and through the woods. He wasn’t as agile as Epona was but he was a good horse and was doing well. There was not a lot of underbrush to worry about thankfully. A smell started to emanate from the woods and Sana found herself having to struggle to keep from gagging. She had never smelt anything so horrific in her life; something on the wind smelt like rotting flesh, fire, death and other things too horrible to speak of. Just what was causing it she was afraid to find out but whatever it was Lob seemed to be following it.
Small streams of smoke came into view as they got closer to the camp and Sana could hear dogs barking. Oh joy, she thought to herself, just one more thing they didn’t need. Slavers were enough to deal with but dogs on top of it was not something she had counted on; granted she hadn’t counted on anything since she wasn’t thinking clearly from earlier and now because of the smell. Another thing she hadn’t counted on was the sight that came quickly into view and Sana pulled back on the reins of the draft horse and brought him to a sudden halt as the camp came fully into view and she gasped in horror. “Oh my god…” she whispered as she looked over to the others that were with her. It was worse than she had ever expected.
The camp seemed to be set up as a holding position for the slavers. There was a wagon that was full of men and women that looked like they had been locked up in it for weeks nearly starved to death and at least a couple from what she could see that were already dead and being stood on top of. There were several cages hanging from the trees with individuals in that looked to be in even worse shape. One man was tied to a post who had his back torn open by what it looked to be whip marks barely holding onto to life and a woman who had been hung from a tree; how long she had been dead was anyone’s’ guess.
There were several horses tied up around the camp that looked to be far better taken care of than the captives and more than a dozen dogs with teeth bared looking like they were ready to rip her and her companions throats out. There were only a little more than half a dozen of the slaves party there and the rest where nowhere to be seen but there were horse tracks that led out of the encampment and Sana worried that they were headed back to the village to finish the job off. She wanted to turn around and head straight back out of worry for Hugh and the rest but she knew she couldn’t turn back now.
The part of the slavers group that remained was armored up in chainmail and had their weapons drawn. Three carried twin blades, one with a bow, one with a whip and two with axes. The one with the whip looked at the group and smirked as he began to release the dogs and commanded them to kill. Sana jumped down and drew her bow quickly. “Make it fast, kill them quick,” she said to the group before she drew an arrow from her quiver and took aim. She wanted this over fast; one to get back to town as quickly as possible and two to get these poor people out of their confinement. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
646 | 13 | 82 | 1,533 | 1,707 | The monk let out a breathy sigh through his nose at Tobias's response. It quickly turned from sarcasm to reality, however, as he commented on his own near-death experiences, topping off his lamentation with Sana's strangely violent behaviors. The rogue seemed especially off-put at how justified Sana seemed in her actions, and Hanzo realized that. These were criminals, and they likely always had been, but the gypsy woman seemed nigh-insistent that these were practically monsters in human form. Then, perhaps, she was too justified...
It wasn't going to change Hanzo's own viewpoint upon it. As unseemly lives as they led, the monk believed they all deserved another chance. An opportunity to realize their wrongs and turn their lives around for the better. Loathe as Hanzo was to admit it, such happenstance probably wasn't going to happen - these bandits either believed they had no other choice left at this point, or some really were so beyond regard for humanity.
As Tobias went up the stairs, Hanzo followed, needing to put their unconscious wizard to bed. "It just seems so... dissonant," Hanzo explained absently. "This morning, she was different than this. I can understand the want to get rid of these criminals before we set out, but she is taking this matter to an extreme. Certainly, it doesn't help that most of the others are privy to such violent murders, but..."
Hanzo trailed off, and by then Tobias was already off on his own-rooting through one of the rooms. The monk exhaled strongly again, the burdens of being associated with so much death weighing heavy. He looked into one of the rooms that was obviously unoccupied, and gently laid down Melvus on the bed within. Hanzo took some of the loose items on the wizard's person and laid them on the bedside table for him to find. If there was anything the caster was missing, Hanzo was not aware of it.
While Tobias changed into a new set of clothes (that weren't his?), the martial artist went downstairs. While Sana had taken a group out to get rid of the remaining slavers, that left the men here who were either resting or cleaning up the mess. Those corpses wouldn't disappear on their own, after all. Realizing that he had allowed one of the bandits to escape, Hanzo suddenly hoped that the slaver camp hadn't been informed of the skirmish at the town, as it might prove disastrous for all of them - both Sana's group, if the bandits were ready for them, and the town, if they sent out a stronger party to raid them.
It certainly looked like Mortosh was covering the corpse plan, though, as when Hanzo came downstairs, he witnessed the undead about to walk through the door with a dead body over his shoulder and a jar of ashes tucked under his other arm.
Noting the surprise still coming from the inn's remaining patrons, the monk put a hand up to stop Mortosh from dragging blood into the inn. "Here, I can help you burn the deceased. We should do it outside the town, so we're not polluting the local air," Hanzo offered to the undead warrior, motioning outside. | Removed |
647 | 13 | 83 | 1,451 | 685 | Easy, Liam, Fiona whispered to her horse as they rode out, able to tell that he was getting quite nervous. The smells of death and decay were putting him on edge, as was the half-orc leading them along. Not to mention the creature on Fiona's back. Drizzak had apparently wanted to make his way onto the horse without any of her help, which she could respect, but after the second failed attempt, she was beginning to get a bit nervous herself. Finally, when the goblin had a hold of her shoulders, she offered no protest, considering that they'd delayed long enough. It wouldn't be a lengthy ride to put up with, at any rate.
Trying to ignore the fact that Lob had smeared himself with what she was quite certain was bear droppings, Fiona instead kept her eyes on her surroundings rather than her companions. It was unfortunate then, when the camp suddenly came into view, giving them no chance to sneak up on it or prepare an attack. It probably couldn't have happened with these dogs around, anyway.
From atop her horse, Fiona was momentarily stunned, even more speechless than Sana was, her mouth hanging open in shock at the scene. So many people... she didn't know what she'd been expecting. Maybe that the slavers hadn't been this successful? It horrified her to see, and filled her with an anger that she knew she would need. Looking at their opponents, it barely occurred to Fiona that they were outnumbered and facing more heavily armed enemies. She had no complaint to Sana's order. If she had to kill, quickly was how she preferred it.
Kicking her heels into her horse, Fiona drew her sword and charged forward, figuring that Drizzak needed no warning. She could carry him into the fight, and she was quite confident that he would find a way to make the most of the situation, and the height advantage of being on horseback. There were many foes to choose from, but it was the dogs that Fiona made contact with first. A downward stroke of her sword slashed into the neck of the first to come in range. Poor beast, she thought to herself.
Breaking off towards the right, Fiona urged her mount towards a pair of axe-wielding slavers, two men that looked so similar she thought they might be twins. Just as she was about to reach them, however, she saw a set of jaws out of the corner of her eye, and raised her left arm, her sword arm, to protect herself. The dog looked more like a wolf than anything, but Fiona didn't have time to think much about it. Teeth bit deep into her arm, and the force of the leap took her from the saddle. There was a brief moment of weightlessness before her back hit the forest floor, the fall knocking away all of her wind. She and the dog rolled over once, until the beast was on top again, thrashing her arm. Out of the corner of her eye Fiona saw her horse careen away and out of the fight.
Being more preoccupied with the dog tearing into her arm, Fiona quickly drew her knife from her thigh, awkwardly since she had to reach across her waist to do so. When she had it, she immediately plunged it into the canine's side, before shoving it off of her, and stabbing it again in the chest to kill it. Withdrawing her injured arm, she found that she could barely still hold her sword, and as she scrambled back to her feet, the axe-twins were already closing in.
"Got a cage all ready for you, lovely," the one on her left said, grinning. "Put the sword down now. Can't sell a corpse for much. Well, not to most people." Fiona glared back, her anger evident in her eyes, though they seemed hardly to care. She tried to hide how weak her arm felt.
"Your friends were torn to pieces in the village," she snapped back. "You'll get the same, for what you've done to these people." | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
648 | 13 | 84 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh nodded in agreement of Hanzo Statement and followed him outside. Both Zam and Mortosh Found Hanzo to be of pleasant company he spoke very little he really spoke only when there was corpse to be carried they eventually had gathered up all of the corpses and toke them to an occupied plane.
Mortosh and Hanzo had set up all of the corpses in pile. they where ready to sent them all on a journey to the afterlife. Zam was playing her flute as Mortosh was preparing to light the fire when he finished he held his hands together and Began To Chant.
As You Retreat To Your Afterlife
I Hope You Left Your Sins Behind
And Forgive Those Who Caused You Wrong
For A Heavy Heart Shall Lead You To Nothing But Dust
I Ask You To Walk In Peace And Let My Words Be your Guide
To Your Chosen God
Amen
When He Finished he gestured Hanzo to light the fie | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
649 | 13 | 85 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri let out a small breath of relief that her words did not cause Sana to become even more angry than she had been before. In fact it seemed like the anger she showed in the face of Tobias' accusations were partly a snap retaliation, and partly a facade to cover her emotional turmoil at nearly losing a man she clearly held dear. Guilt for actions that one didn't quite have control over was a common reaction Vaeri had seen during her travels. Although it was true that had Sana not called out for Hugh, he may not have been injured, it was a certainty. Had she not called for help, she might not have been able to avoid capture or injury herself. And it was not her fault that Hugh walked out into active combat unarmed and unarmored, but none of that was important when combat would soon be upon them.
Vaeri had seen and heard the anguish of those held prisoner in slave camp before Sana or Fiona did, and so had more time to steel herself. Silently, she gritted her teeth together. Brutality in combat was one thing. It was a life or death struggle, and limiting yourself with too many rules was a good way to be injured by less scrupulous opponents. And Sana's execution, while less justifiable, was a single decision and had been a surprisingly quick, clean kill. What these slavers had wrought upon their captives was not a single hastily made decision, but a routine. Cruelty made consistently over a long term due either to a lack of empathy or suppression of such. She was not quite sure which one was worse. Back in the village, Vaeri had resolved not to underestimate her next foe like in the previous fight. Now she resolved that she would not show them the mercy of a painless death.
The elf jumped off the back of Rodger as soon as they had entered the bandit camp. The dogs would almost assuredly attack the horse, and although it was a powerful beast, she doubted that it would be able to handle so many hounds at once. If they needed to retreat, an injured horse would only slow them down further.
"Lady Menhet, give me strength!" she shouted, casting off her cloak as she began to glow with white light. These slavers would know the full extent of Vaeri's Divine Power. The cleric gripped her axe two-handed with about a foot of distance in between them, a good deal of haft on both sides. Her power and range would be lessened with a grip like this, but the maneuverability and speed would prove invaluable against the dogs of war. The first dog leapt directly for her throat, Vaeri responded by thrusting the center of the haft in between her hands into the beast's neck, knocking it straight back. At the same time, another dog ran up and grabbed ahold of her left forearm, drawing blood with its teeth. She grabbed the hound's throat and in an instant crushed its windpipe the same way one would snap a toothpick. The beasts did not know better than to protect their masters. Their deaths would be swift. Vaeri tore the dog off her arm, causing further damage to her appendage before throwing its body at the one that had attacked her first.
The dog managed to dodge the body of its fallen packmate and charged again in a fury, only to be met with the blade of Vaeri's axe that split its skull into tiny shards of bone, blood and brain matter. She looked up from the corpse of the dog to see two men, each equipped with a knife in each hand flanking her, one to her left and the other on her right.
"You will not receive the mercy your hounds did." she spat at them, bringing her axe back up into a guarded position. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
650 | 13 | 86 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana
It was hard for Sana to get over the rage she felt building inside her from seeing the sights before her. It was beyond anything she had ever imagined. A part of her, that part that had snapped earlier wanted to brutalize these people the way they had those they had captured but it was getting pushed down and even with the rage she felt more like herself in this battle than she did the last one. Hugh wasn’t there with her, he wasn’t before her injured and bleeding and wasn’t there protecting her while laying his life on the line. Somehow that helped her keep her rage in check. She still wanted to put these people down and out of the worlds misery but beyond that now it was just a job to do and not pure vengeance. There were people suffering and dying, who were being held captive; that changed things.
Sana had taken aim and let her first arrow fly, it imbedding into the chest of the first dog that was closest to her and it tumbled over dead in its tracks. Turning she slapped Rodger on the side and yelled at him. “Get!” Rodger ran off quickly away from the danger, Sana knew he would either just stay back or run back to Hugh. Either way it was safer for him to be away from the fight. Sana was slammed in the chest by the second dog that was charging her and the third was quick behind it, biting down on her ankle as he fought the other off with her bow, barely being able to hold its jaws out of her face as it snapped at her; landing hard on her back in the ground. She kicked the dog on her ankle with her free leg, sending it yelping towards a tree and crashing against it before being able to throw the one in her face off her.
With a quick kick Sana was back on her feet, bow still in hand; running she charged towards the dogs that came at her from both sides and leapt up, landing on the side of a wagon as she drew another arrow and took aim as the dogs turned and ran towards her. The arrow flew through the air and went into one of the dogs necks; sadly in Sanas mind not killing it out right. These dogs were trained by these horrible people; it wasn’t their fault that they were after her and the rest of the party that was there. It was unfortunate but there was going to be no stopping them at this point. She just wished she had made a cleaner hit on the second dog like she had the first.
The third dog began to climb up the wagon trying to get at Sana, slinging her bow over her back she flipped backwards and landed on the ground down on one knee, the tear in her ankle from the bite was impeding her agility and she cringed as she righted herself, coming back to a standing position just in time to enjoy the feeling of her face being cut open by the tip of a whip. Spinning in her place she saw the man who controlled the dogs watched her with a cold smirk on his lips.
“Don’t worry lass, I won’t mess that pretty face up too much,” he laughed as the whip recoiled. Sanas eyes narrowed as she felt the blood from the gash roll down her cheek and drip from her chin. Putting the dogs down fast was one thing but this man was making her want to gut him but as much as she wanted to, she didn't have time for games and these people had seen enough horror in her mind to last a life time.
"You know, I told one of your friends I was going to fuck his eye socket with my arrow, I think I will extend you the same courtesy," she said as she unslung her bow from her back once again. The man drew back his arm and let the whip fly through the air as Sana nocked an arrow into place and took aim. The third dog coming up behind her ready to tear her apart but she held her ground waiting for the right time to let the arrow fly. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
651 | 13 | 87 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakFrom horseback, the world seemed so much smaller to Drizzak. It was strange to see the world from the perspective of a horse and human, when he had been looking up at them for so long. He felt the power, but at the same time he felt that he was too high up. Too vulnerable. He needed to get off as soon as possible. But for the moment he would ride with Fiona. She seemed nice, and both she and her horse didn't seem to mind that he smelled like an abattoir and a burnt brothel all at the same time. He smiled, and patted her on her half-plate clad back before doing similar to Liam, the horse beneath them. Liam did not seem to like him as much.
Drizzak was surprised to hear of Sana speaking about her regrets on the ride to their destination. She and Vaeri spoke softly about the earlier talks with Tobias as if they were tragedies not to be named. Why? Why had the thief been so appalled? Why were the others that stayed back so terribly affected? They had a good scrap, and the enemy died good deaths. Sure, he went a bit overboard with the whole leaping off the roof thing, but what better way to prove he was useful? Sana and Vaeri spoke of monsters and men, and monsters within men, but Drizzak was stuck long before that. He was confused. If only monsters fought like they fought, and took blood for blood, did that make him a monster? Sana said in her talks with Vaeri that she fought because she was afraid to lose Hugh. The others fought to protect themselves, or prevent more slavery. But then, why did he do it? Someone said badguy and he jumped. For him, it was just all he knew. Born and bred alongside violence.
Drizzak scratched at his neck, feeling for the mark he had been given. He knew what it was to be shunned for differences, but to be shunned for similarities? None of it made sense. Food for thought, he supposed. It took a moment for him to snap back to reality and realize that the charge into battle had already begun. Had they reached the camp that fast? How long had he been deliberating over the words that were said? Lob had definitely led them well, if they had arrived so easily. The slavers seemed disorganized too. No lookouts and no perimeter patrols? Terrible effort.
Fiona looked to be driving the horse straight into battle and towards a pair of axe-wielding miscreants, but Drizzak had his sights set on another target. A lonely woman with a delicate piece of silver in each hand. A blade-dancer. He wanted to face her, the sudden fire from before rising again. But looking between them, he found several hounds eying him hungrily as if he were a snack to be snapped up. He didn't like that. With a final pat to Liam's flank, Drizzak set his sights on the first hound and leapt from horseback straight into it. Waiting was not his style, as he found himself wrestling with the hound, punching its neck as it snapped at his face and neck in return. He kept it at bay with his forearm while using the other arm to batter it away. He froze for a moment as his strength faltered and the hound was allowed a snap at his shoulder, where it latched on. The goblin felt the teeth sink in and spread pain from his shoulder all the way down to his chest and bicep.
Drizzak used the opportunity to dig his claws into its neck and tear out its throat. The hound went limp above him, and he rolled it off to find the other two looking him up and down, and growling angrily. They were aware of the danger now, wary to come near him as he threw the dog-throat to the side and drew his whip with a snap. They began to circle him, but he was in no mood to play games. Drizzak moved for the smaller hound, twisting his body and lashing out with his whip, seeing it wrap around one of the hound's legs before yanking back. The leg came shooting forward and knocked the dog off balance long enough for him to move in and stomp on its neck, returning a sickening crunch. This dog stopped moving just like the previous and he grimaced before looking to the last hound.
This one moved back as he moved forward, and as he drew back his whip-hand, the dog turned tail and bolted into the treeline. Drizzak stood confused, lowering his whip as he watched it scarper. Well, it wouldn't bother them now, he guessed. No point in pursuing it. The voice from the woman was far more concerning to him than a runaway dog.
"You. Creature."
Drizzak turned, voice returned, and spoke in reply. "Me?
He turned to see a slender woman, lithe and wiry. She wore lighter armor than her compatriots, and hid her face with wraps. She looked human, but Drizzak could not be sure. She was taller than him by about a foot and a half, and in each hand she held a 2-foot long blade of curved silver. She took a moment to point a blade at him. She had the prettiest eyes Drizzak had ever seen, blue and bright like sky-colored jewels. Her voice was soft, but sinister.
"Yes. You. I am Xilipha. I will be your opponent, just as your allies are for mine. I've always wanted a fairy companion, but I suppose you'll do."
Drizzak shook his head, trying to break the shared gaze and concentrate instead on the throbbing pain in his shoulder. His sword arm would suffer for it, but he could manage if he used both hands. He took a moment to put away his whip and draw his strange curved blade. Its surface shone in the light, as he held it at guard with both hands, bringing it up to his shoulder and aiming the point at the woman. He would need to guard high, as she was tall.
"Drizzak. We fight now. Drizzak win in two second. Show you he no fairy."
Xilipha laughed as she advanced slowly, it was a pleasant sound. Like a siren song, or a nymph's giggle.
"Do not be so sure, creature. I am not want to end this romance so soon. And judging by the red on you, you're bound to put up a glorious struggle. Come."
And Drizzak rushed forward, with blade in hand. | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
652 | 13 | 88 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri did have to commend these men on one thing, her foes were professionals. They did not speak crudely like all their companions seemed to, and it was easy to tell from the way they were looking at her and each other that they respected her abilities as a fighter and each other to cover one another. They slowly circled clockwise around Vaeri, who rotated in place at the same pace to keep one from being able to properly attack her back. They were certainly cautious after seeing how quickly she took down the dogs. They were looking for a weak point in her guard, physically or mentally. And that chainmail would be difficult to get past with her weapon. Fortunately, Vaeri already had a plan around that.
One of the men stepped in, thrusting his blade forward, Vaeri responded by shoving the haft into his midsection, making him step back out of striking distance. At that time, the other man began moving forward. Vaeri aimed the pointed tip of her ax at him, trying to pierce him through one of the gaps in his chainmail, but it was a feint. The man sidestepped and slashed her thigh which was unprotected by armor. Vaeri stepped around and backed up to face both men. Her movement would be limited thanks to this injury, but now she was no longer flanked. She readjusts her grip so as to hold the bottom of the haft while keeping the same space between her hands, increasing her range and power further, but diminishing her ability to quickly maneuver the weapon. Each strike would have to be more deliberate. Any time one of the men would move in to try reestablishing the flank, a quick swipe of the ax would stop them in place.
Soon the men came to the nonverbal agreement that they would not be able to use the same tactics as they had begun with and shifted their stances to more aggressive ones as they charged in, weaving around and feinting as they went to throw off Vaeri's ability to defend. Instead of backing off as they thought she would, Vaeri advanced, taking a large step forward. One of the swordsman tried to stab her, but she let go of the ax with her left hand and grabbed his forearm before he could finish the thrust. In a moment of visible panic, he wildly slashed at her, cutting her face straight down the cheek, her right arm horizontally below the shoulder and the arm that had an iron grip on his. Each blow was like a hott needle being dragged across her body, but Vaeri maintained her composure. It did not matter if her limbs were injured, for her strength did not come from her muscles but her faith. And in the heat of battle, even the most grievous could be ignored.
With a mighty roar, Vaeri threw the man's arm to the side and grabbed him by the neck. That roar only grew mightier as she lifted him into the air and in a move that mimicked the previous fight with the dogs, threw him at his advancing partner. The human was not as agile as the hound, they slammed into each other into a groaning heap on the ground. Vaeri then extended her left hand, facing her palm down at the men on the ground.
"Perish! Flame Strike!" A beam of light pinpoints the men on the ground before a pillar of fire descended from the sky, scorching everything withing a 10 foot radius of the designated center of impact. Metal armor would not protect them from the holy flames, but would only serve as a conduit to better kill them. When Vaeri looked around, there were no more enemies to face. All the other men and the few remaining dogs were preoccupied with the other members for the hunting party. No longer in immediate danger, Vaeri silently prayed in thankfulness that she had been granted a spell that allowed her to dispatch the swordsman quickly, for they were skilled. Without Flame Strike, she might have even lost. Might have. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
653 | 13 | 89 | 1,270 | 2,337 | The slavers scene was as savage as any tribes victory, ravaging the dead or eating the fallen are things he has seen before in his life many times over. Savagery is a staple to a savage. He had smelled the enemy scent before and gave them a chance to approach with stealth before the engagement but the group was too loud and large for such an way. Lob had done his best to prepare them before the fight began, anything more would be up to themselves as those others entered the clearing.
Lob did not.
He stuck to the brush, keeping his stink as he slipped in a circle around the main fight. Against a single tree was a cunning enemy, a very fat 'hunter' who did not release his dogs but rather stayed behind the three while he knocked and drew as he took the time to drown-out all the noise to approach the tranquility of the shot. Sadly that zoning out wound be his downfall as the beast climbed up the back of the tree the archer was using as a shield and drew his club.
He hooked the ball of the club at the base of the branch and hopped back, letting his three massive frame swing down and SLAM into the archer, the shot going wide as all of the kinetic energy transfered to the overweight opponent to stagger off against a tree with a sickening crack as he fall down at an impossible angle.
Now Lob had a problem he hadn't considered as the three dogs now had him surrounded with them chained and nowhere for them to escape. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
654 | 13 | 90 | 1,451 | 685 | The axe-armed twins were unimpressed by Fiona's threat, and began their attack, immediately forcing Fiona on the defensive. Their axes were light enough to be swung with one hand, the attacks swift enough that Fiona couldn't reliably dodge them, forcing her to block instead. Each clang against her sword sent rippling pain up her forearm, and her enemies quickly took note of the pained expression on her face, not to mention the blood dripping from the bite wound.
They were done with their taunts, all business now, but so was Fiona. Arming herself with her dagger in her off hand, she found a loose and light branch on the ground, subtly hooking the toe of her boot under it, and kicking it up into the face of one of the twins. It struck him near the eye, and he recoiled, giving Fiona a brief opening to dart away from the swing of the other, and assault the distracted foe. His armor was solid, but there were weak points, and Fiona was quick. Her first knife stab found the side of his leg, drawing blood when she ripped the blade free, the man's pain allowing her to shoulder him to the ground, where she descended on him, stabbing again near the armpit, going for his heart. She missed slightly, but certainly got a lung instead, judging by his wet wheeze of a breath he tried to take.
Anticipating the other brother coming to the rescue, Fiona lashed out with a wide slash of her sword, nearly catching his throat as he jumped back. Wounded as the one beneath Fiona was, the brief break in her attack was enough for him to retaliate, bringing his knee up into the middle of her back, pitching her forward onto her face and off of him. Without thinking she tried to rise by putting too much weight on her injured arm, the sharp shock of pain making her waver for a moment. Next thing she knew, a heavy boot kicked into her side, sending a jarring pain through her ribcage as the force rolled her over.
The injured brother was unable to rise, but the one that had kicked her was quickly on her, striking down with his axe with rage. Having risen to her knees, Fiona deflected the blade aside, at the cost of her sword, which slipped from her grasp. The man's free hand went straight to her throat and clamped down tightly, picking her up to her feet and driving her back until her back slammed against a tree. His next axe strike she managed to block with her right forearm, the plated guard there protecting her from most of the damage.
His knee thudded hard into her abdomen, weakening her further, and immediately she was shoved back against the tree, the grip constricting her windpipe again, and while she still had the man's axe locked up with her dagger, she knew she wouldn't hold out for long. It was extremely fortunate, then, when her attacker was entirely distracted by the large flaming pillar that burst down from the sky nearby, incinerating two of his allies. He looked away, unconsciously loosening his grasp, and immediately Fiona took the opportunity to stab her knife up under his chin, the blade sinking in to the hilt and killing him instantly.
She gasped in a ragged breath when she was released, falling forward onto her hands and knees. The other brother had stilled, appearing to have bled out, or his lungs had failed from being filled with blood. Regardless, he was dead. Groaning, Fiona sheathed her dagger, picked up her sword again, and then slumped her shoulder into the tree for support, while she caught her breath. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
655 | 13 | 91 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana
Behind Sana the dog tore through dirt and earth, its claws gripping the ground with each long purposed stride it took; jaws open and a snarl on its features making it look near rabid as it charged towards the archer who stood there frozen in place. She took her time as she took aim; this was one shot she refused to miss. In front of her stood her target, the man that she thought was the cause of the lash marks upon the back of the man still tied to a post at this point; the one that had caused the laceration on her own features. The muscles on his arm rippled as he snapped the whip towards her, uncoiling as the world seemed to move in slow motion and everything but her target blurred around her.
Lips parted as a slow breath passed over them and her fingers released the arrow from its home and sent it on its path; cutting through the air towards its target but Sana was unable to see if it struck where she had desired it to. Piercing and burning pain tore into her senses as teeth bit down on her shoulder from behind and she leaned back, the crack of the whip echoing through the air as her bow was snapped out of her fingers when her hands came up. The bow flying to the side as Sana reached up and tried to rip the beast from her flesh but its jaw strength was far too powerful and Sana looked around as she continued to try to pry it off her. She screamed out as it continued to bite, small nips to deepening its grasp.
Falling to one knee she tried to flip the beast off, slamming her back down on top of it but it held its bite with a vengeance. Rolling over the ground Sana saw one of the fires flickering not far and did the only thing she could think of through the pain and blood. Rolling quickly she put herself and the beast into the fire; the flames flaring up around the beast, Sanas right shoulder and neck being scorched in the heat before it let go. Sana scrambled to her feet as she draw her dagger and lunged at the burning beast who yelped out in agony as she drove the dagger into its chest and ending its life. Faltering back into the dirt she frantically patted her clothing to put it out and cringed in pain. From her elbow to her ear she was burned on her right side, her cheek was cut, her right shoulder torn open from the beast as well as her calf from earlier.
Reaching into her pouch on her belt she pulled out one of the vials of healing that the Sister had given her and Hugh and drank it quickly. It stopped the bleeding and closed up some of the wounds but there was still damage; Sana didn’t care though, at that point it was enough to keep her moving. Stumbling to her feet she pulled the dagger out of the beasts chest, sheathing it and picked up her bow before it dawned on her that she still did not know if she had hit her mark. Turning on her heels she looked for the whipmaster, seeing him on his back on the ground. Walking over to him she nocked another arrow into place and aimed for him but it was not needed. Her first arrow had sailed true and embedded itself directly in his eye socket, killing him instantly. Taking a deep breath of relief Sana dropped her arrow back into her quiver and slung her bow across her back.
Drawing her dagger she ran over to the man tied to the post, his face buried beneath hair as his head had fallen forward and his back was to her. Sana reached up and quickly slashed through the binds that held him up; pulling him down slowly to his knees as she did. “It’s okay, I got you,” she said in a tired but kind voice, resting him against the post as she took his wrists and began to get the rest of the bindings off him. The man wobbled weakly, his head tilting back so he could see who was helping him. From behind matted hair dark eyes with flakes of amber fell on Sanas features and he trembled, his lips parting as a single word slipped over them.
“Sana?” the man whispered before he weakly onto his back. Sana looked at the man oddly, his face still mostly covered. Sana looked at the man quizzically before she slid over to him on her knees, how did he know her name? Pushing his hair back from his face Sana gasped. It was a face she had not seen in nearly fifteen years. He was much older than she remembered him but it was no doubt the same man that had tried to keep her from leaving the gypsy troop of her people a lifetime ago.
“Papa?” she whispered as she leaned over him, the man weakly reaching up and taking her hand, through all the pain he smiled at her; the same smile that came across Sanas features so often when not in the middle of a fight. The man simply nodded yes to his daughter as she sat there in shock and placed her free hand against his cheek. Sanas eyes looking at him and she couldn’t believe that he was there but what of the rest of her troop? “Where is mama? Ramara?” she asked quickly and her father looked away from her slowly.
“Gone,” was all he would answer. “I’m sorry for driving you away,” he whispered before he closed his eyes and the last of his breath fell from his lips. Sana started shaking her head quickly.
“No! Papa!” she screamed as she patted his cheek softly, shaking him somewhat but there was nothing that could have been done. He was far beyond help by the time Sana had reached him. There he lay, still holding his daughters hand and a small smile on his lips that had at least seen her once more before he died. Sana began to weep as she leaned over him, gripping his hand in hers; rocking back and forth slowly as it sunk in that she had not only lost her father but that her entire family was gone. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
656 | 13 | 92 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Melvus didn't see the point in respecting those who chose to brutalize, murder or otherwise harm innocent people for profit. He decided to find out what had happened while he had passed out. He looked around the inn, from what he understood only about half of the party had gone, so there should be someone else in the vicinity who could answer a question. There... At the bar. Melvus had spotted the, seemingly uneasy, man who had referred to himself as Tobias, he had what appeared to be an ale.
Melvus made his way over to the bar and claimed a stool adjacent to Tobias'. "Perhaps you could answer a few questions I have..." Melvus couldn't tell if he'd received the man's attention, he continued anyways, "While I was unconscious, what happened here? Most of our 'companions' have disappeared and the citizenry look like they've seen something terrible..." | Removed |
657 | 13 | 93 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias took a long pull of the drink in front of him. It tasted like a sweaty pig smelled, but the rogue figured a few mugs of it would do the trick.
His plan to drink himself into a stupor was interrupted early on, however, when the groggy-looking sorcerer pulled up a seat next to him. "Oh, hey, sleeping beauty. Have a nice nap?"
The wizard wanted to know what had transpired, and Tobias rubbed his brow with a sigh. "Let's see, what'd you miss. Well, you may or may not have seen Sana go skullfuck crazy, and I'm being literal about that - she managed to get one of those guys to tell her where their camp was, then murdered him. Her, Fiona, the elf, the goblin, and the orc-thing went off to go find more people to kill, I told them off and stayed here. Baldy sided with me and carried you in here, he and the corpse are out burying dead bodies, I think. Big Brut Pally Hugh's around here somewhere, and the demon's... actually, I don't really know where the demon is." The rogue wrung his hands nervously. "That's not what you want, is it? Want to keep track of the... demons..." he trailed off.
The rogue regarded the wizard and shrugged. "Well, in any case, those guys should be back by tomorrow, doubtless knee-deep in blood. Not sure what's gonna happen then, but hey, at least we got a few quiet hours without any stabbings." | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
658 | 13 | 94 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob now found himself staring down three other muzzles, he rose up to his full height to try and intimidate the beasts into cowing. Unfortunately the chains left them nowhere to run so they were effectively cornered animals, the most dangerous kind. He began to laugh as one of the songs the bard tried to teach him came to mind.
"Nicknack!"
The great club came down on the one on the far left as a hound leapt on his arrow skewed arm.
"Paddywhack!"
He struck the fletching of the arrow, driving the shaft through his healed hole in his limb into the roof of the mongrels mouth.
"Give a dog a bone!"
Another beast began to flank him and bit at the back of his calf and had a deathgrip on it with his backswing that let the teeth tear more of his flesh than the bite alone would do. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
659 | 13 | 95 | 677 | 1,382 | The glow coming from within Vaeri faded almost immediately after she finished off her foes. Divine Might, while a powerful spell, did not last long and she could only maintain it for about a minute as it stood. For several seconds, she just stood there catching her breath and watching. Fiona was leaning against a tree, her right arm torn and bloodied; Sana was crying over a dead man's body. The green dog-man had vanished into the forest before the fighting began in earnest and Drizzak was facing a mysterious woman who wielded two silver swords. Mostly confident that there wouldn't be any more combat in the nearby future, she shoves her axe back into her backpack, freeing up both hands to help with freeing the former captives and anything else she may need them for. Slowly, Vaeri limped over to her robe and picked it up off the ground. She placed her left hand on her thigh and healed up her leg before she walked over to Fiona.
"Allow me to heal your wounds," Vaeri said to Fiona, her right hand glowing gold. "I know you are about to say that I need it more, but I can't heal much more today. It would be better to get you back into top condition than to partially mitigate the damage I received. I'll be fine." If Fiona accepted the healing, then Fiona would fix her arm quickly, and still turned it down, well at least she tried. Maybe Lob or Drizzak would need the magic more. "So..." what was her name again? Scarlet? No, that was her keyword that was connected to, "Fiona. You appear to have be rather skilled with the blade despite being so young, who did you learn from?" Now probably was not the time for small talk, but Vaeri preferred it to waiting in silence on a battlefield with a complete stranger. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
660 | 13 | 96 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh was completely unsure of why the men he had killed were suddenly mutilated, but he knew the memory it had caused him to relive. He knew it all too well.
His fear began to subside as he felt the soft hands of Sana bringing him closer to her. He felt relaxed, as he closed his eyes, exhausted from everything. The day had started out so good, but now it had gone so wrong with a simple vision and a bad dream. If he had known what Sana had done, before he had allowed the trigger to affect him, he would have been holding Sana and assuring her that everything would be alright. He would have gone off with her to the camp, but now he was stuck in the town, compromised physically and mentally. His body needed to fully heal. It was nice to have all of the damaged tissue repaired instantly, but the blood was always something he had to regain from rest and relaxtion..
He had lost too much blood, most of it bled out onto the ground or on his shirt, which was now wrapped around Sana's arm. He was now wearing his other shirt that Sana had brought him from Rodger's saddle bags. He was in desperate need of a few new shirts, but this would do for now.
He seemed to fully come back into reality when he felt the soft kiss of Sana, her smell entrancing him, and the taste of her leaving him with slightly extended lips. He looked stupid. Quite stupid.
The memories of how it was back when Hugh was young and stupid, and he had lost everything in one day, were drifting through his mind. He remembered crying like a child, screaming at the heavens, and swearing up and down about how they would pay for all of this. They would continue to pop up in his mind, pictures of everything that would cause him to shudder and shake it off.
Hugh was alerted by Sana to the whereabouts of his items that he had left in the room. Though he was confused why she had brought them down, as he was under the impression, from when they talked earlier, that they were heading out in the morning. He relented, however, and finally stood up. He shook himself off, and began collecting the strewn items, regardless of the plans.
Hugh was busy on this task, when he heard a familiar spark in Sana. That familiar spark that filled him with pride. He looked at her and gave a satisfied smile, looking like his usual self from her response to the thief.
Her words soon finished and Hugh went back to putting his gear on and collecting it. He wasn't intent on wearing it all. He just had his weapons attached and slung his chain mail and other clothing pieces over his shoulder. Soon his task was finished; finished in time to watch Sana head off with the others on a party somewhere to fight a personal war.
Hugh sighed, looking onwards, before heading inside the inn. He stopped and survived the room, looking through the smoky haze, before seeing a familiar face. It was the thief who had joined up with them. The one who could talk haughty and then lose all of his calm when a few bad men got killed. Hugh had caused much cruelty, but he had only done what he thought was necessary to survive.
He remembered acting like he was about to die and lose it all, and how he was sorry it had to be like this to Sana. He remembered her snapping on him for his cynicism and scaring her so much. He felt remorseful at the thought that he had done that to her. That he had been so stupid as to let the bandit get away and not finish him off, like he should have. He had dropped his guard too quickly.
Hugh walked over to the thief, dropping his gear at the feet of the bar stool. He was no longer wearing any of his gear, including his weapons, it all in a pile on the floor at his feet. He heaved himself over top of the stool, loudly seating himself. Giving a quick request to the host for a cup of coffee. He was considering drinking something far stronger, but decided to refrain for the moment, as his body recovering
Hugh didn't notice that the wizard known as Melvus showing up, until he heard Tobias mention the name of Sana. Hugh nearly snapped at the bad mouthing of her by Tobias, but restrained himself, simply taking to glaring at his cup. He shot a glare out of the corner of his eye towards Tobias at the mention of Big Brute Pally Hugh, not really certain how that name started. Finally, Hugh put his hand on the counter and turned to face Tobias, "What fucking demons?" He said, speaking loudly. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
661 | 13 | 97 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona wasn't about to reject the healing from Vaeri. Her sword arm had become more or less useless from the damage it had taken in the fight, and she was little use to the group without it. Allowing Vaeri to heal her, she found that same warm, painless sensation flowing into her limb, the damage soon completely healed, and she twisted her hand and fingers about when it was done, testing it, and finding that she had her strength back. Nodding her thanks to Vaeri, she looked around quickly, to find that the fighting was winding down, and that they could get to freeing these people soon. Sana appeared to be distraught about something, but... perhaps it was best to allow her some distance?
At Vaeri's question, Fiona actually laughed softly, trying to avoid letting the sound carry far. In addition, laughing too loudly would certainly put a strain on her torso, which was going to have some decent bruising soon. "That was skill, was it?" she said, looking skeptical. "If it hadn't been for the distraction of your spell, I think I'd have died. I think I've a long way to go before I can call myself skilled." Vaeri was at least somewhat right, though. For a simple farm girl, Fiona handled herself better than most would in a fight.
"There was an old swordsman in my village, though. Said he used to be a knight, though I don't know if I ever believed him. He showed me a few things when I could sneak away, got me started. After that... well, I think it's the bruises and cuts that teach me the most." She had a tendency to learn things the hard way, and supposed it was lucky none of those things had killed her yet.
"Come on," she said, gesturing with her head towards the prisoners. "We can talk while we help." She started off towards those captured by the slavers, feeling more steady now that she'd caught her breath. "What about you? Where'd you learn to fight with that axe?" She had to admit it wasn't the weapon of choice she'd have guessed for a woman of the cloth, but clearly she wielded it quite well. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
662 | 13 | 98 | 677 | 1,382 | Do you think of it like that? From my perspective, you managed to single-handedly defeat two foes who were both better equipped than you and were adept at working together. I may have lent some unintentional assistance, but your quick thinking allowed you to take advantage of his lack of focus. As she listened to Fiona talk about her past, she idly licked the wounds on her arms. They probably would not see adequate healing until tomorrow, when her abilities would refresh, and saliva was an efficient way to clean them. In fact, it was practically routine for her to do this. IN the middle of licking her arm she remembered that humans thought this behavior odd and stopped herself. Vaeri smiled nervously at Fiona before answering her question.
"I was not always a holy woman, in my younger years I was something of a wild child. I picked up the axe because of its versatility and power. Nobody else used the axe other than for chopping lumber, so I taught myself from the beginning with wood cutting techniques and went from there." Vaeri followed Fiona as she idly chatted. Alone she probably would not have the focus to free these people, as aside from being injured Vaeri had been awake for about 20 hours now and after the adrenaline faded it had begun to affect her. She figured that she would be able to help and carry conversation well enough, but not too much more than that. "I have had a bit of divine guidance since then, but for the most part I'm self-taught and still learning. Of course, I have had far more time to hone my craft than you. I do not know if you have met any of my kind before, but we live much longer than you do. I'm currently 148 years and five moons old. I would suppose that would translate to about 26 years at the rate humans age. Truth be told, the axe is not actually my best weapon, that would be the short bow. I've been using it for as long as I can remember, as all children in my village do." | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
663 | 13 | 99 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakThe serpentine blade glimmered in the light of the day as it sailed through the air and looped around the small, bloodied goblin. A blur of metallic sheen waved in-front of Drizzak's face as he redirected another sweeping cut and lead it down to his lower left-hand side before whirling the blade back up to its high guard and twisting his body around to deliver a broad horizontal cut. A defensive move, but an effective one. Where Xilipha had size and two weapons, Drizzak was able to balance the conflict with greater speed and a propensity for surprisingly effective acrobatic displays. The air parted with a whistle as he spun the blade back to high guard and rolled to the side to avoid a slice-stab-slice combination from the formidable young woman he was facing. Drizzak could have sworn she was cracking a smile beneath those wraps of hers. As she wheeled around, Drizzak took the opening and dashed forward with his blade held flush in his hand. The opening was small, but just small enough for Drizzak. With a swift slice, he scored a cut along the woman's thigh, truly aiming for the stomach but being unable to catch her properly as she back-wheeled and retaliated mid-step. The silver of her blade caught him much more soundly, an advantage of her size.
With a flash of silver and a spike of literally blinding pain, Drizzak lost the sight in his left eye. The entire side of his face felt warm as he stumbled and rolled to the floor, clutching his face in pain. Xilipha squeezed at her thigh before uttering a weak giggle at the fallen heap of goblin. Her step was staggered, but she still attempted to wiggle her hips a bit as she sauntered over to Drizzak and raised a blade, point down and ready to deliver the coup-de-grace. The act was set into motion as the blade came down quickly, careening towards Drizzak's exposed back like a hawk after its prey. But it was an act that never went through, as Drizzak rolled over and threw a handful of soil at her eyes. Xilipha screamed inarticulately and recoiled, ceasing in her attack for long enough that Drizzak was able to leap to his feet and bring his blade up in a two-handed strike intended to separate one of her arms from her body entirely. Though he connected, the cut was too shallow and she moved too quickly. The shrouded woman was left with an ugly red fissure between her breast and her bicep, carving its way up partially as it began to seep dark red onto her cloth vestments.
Xilipha's hand went to the wound quickly, and came back dappled with dark crimson, as her eyes darted from the blood to Drizzak and back again. It was only a few moments before she dropped one of her blades and tucked her arm close to her side with a groan of pain.
"You have torn one of my silver sisters from my grasp, Creature. Now I've a want to take that lovely snake-blade of yours for my own keeping. As compensation and an apology."
Drizzak looked through his one eye, yet unbloodied, at the coy but dangerous woman. Then he looked to his blade. The slender, waved blade edged with her warm red. With no more than a second thought, Drizzak advanced on the woman wordlessly, transferring his grip on his blade's hand-and-a-half handle from both hands at high guard, to a single hand in a reversed grip, with the blade extending behind him. Xilipha paused for a moment, before advancing as well, faster yet than Drizzak was striding. As the neared him, her pace quickened from a power-walk to a charge. Her blade reflected light into his eyes as she raised it to ready for a thrust. Drizzak smiled and twisted his body in preparation for a gut-spilling horizontal slice. He kept smiling as he stopped in his tracks and felt the blade enter his shoulder with slight resistance. He could not move, for fear that her blade would cut and tear deeper. He could only grimace and continue smiling as Xilipha leaned down, pulled down her wraps to reveal her comely features and smiled at him.
"Ever so sorry, Creature. Looks like its the fair lady who sticks it in the monster this time." She giggled as she leaned in closer, now almost breathing into Drizzak's mouth with her sweet-smelling scents. "I would offer you a rematch, but it seems that you're a one and done kind of deal. A shame."
Drizzak then made a move, when all thought he was done for. He put a vice-like grip on her wrist and pulled the blade into his shoulder deeper, to draw her in closer, before chuckling darkly. His lips slowly curled up to reveal his predatory fangs and beady eyes, like a creature staring out from the shadows of a nightmare. Her smile faded as she felt herself being drawn in to the world spoken of only in the bawdiest of myths and legends. Softly, their lips touched, as the goblin continued to chuckle and giggle maliciously. The feeling of his lips, slick with blood and scarred beyond belief, was like laying a sloppy smooch on a bowl of boiled worms. Terrible. Disgusting. Painful. Very painful.
Xilipha looked down to see that she had been pulled to her knees in the struggle. And there was a strangely familiar snakelike blade peeking out from a dark patch on her chest.
Drizzak burst out into full-bore mad laughter at that point as he twisted his blade and tore it out with a wet splat and a series of squelching gurgles. Xilipha fell to the ground, lifeless on impact, and leaking a wonderful shade of red onto the ground. With the blade still in his shoulder, piercing all the way through to his back, he cackled until his laughter died down to a grim setting of his face. Drizzak brought his blade down firmly, feeling the red spray from its surface and onto the ground to join the rest of the red. He had won, and it was fun. So, why did he not feel great about it? Why was he not feeling the same relief burning in his chest, instead being harassed by the very literal burning in his chest, like some sort of punishment? His mouth tasted bitter and metallic, his face hurt and his entire body was dirty and bloody.
He looked down at the lifeless body of the young woman and slumped into a sitting position, looking like a fish that got hooked incorrectly with the blade in his shoulder. With a hint of malice, he spat on the ground to his side, away from the body. The taste wasn't fading. Nor was the burning, as he looked into the once-bright blue eyes as they began haze over and lose their spark. A silent, painful moment passed before Drizzak looked down at himself and then to the girl once more before looking to the blade stuck in him, sighing.
"Yes. Shame." | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
664 | 13 | 100 | 1,270 | 2,337 | It was unsettling to Hanzo, not getting rid of the dead like this, but doing so with essentially a reanimated skeleton. The monk and the living undead shared few words in the meantime, only when needing to coordinate their work. The strange blue faerie creature tried to strike up conversation a couple of times before ultimately deciding against it, considering the circumstances. Certainly, Hanzo had not seen anything quite so unique of life as this man and his companion.
It was something of a long and grueling process (made far more delicate by the many pieces some of the bodies were blasted into) to assemble all of the death outside of town, but they did it. In about an hour, Hanzo and Mortosh had a pile of cadavers (and most of the pieces they were broken into) at their feet, all of them soaked in the smell of dried blood and paling flesh. Mortosh had carried out a torch to light the pile, which he passed over to Hanzo for him to do the honors. Before they were to start the burning, however, Mortosh was insistent upon perform a ritual to allow the dead to properly leave the world. Hanzo had no quarrel with the idea, his clan performing similar deeds to their own fallen kind.
Zam took out a tiny flute and began to play a slow song upon it, while Mortosh chanted out a parting prayer for the dead men. Hanzo mumbled a few words of his own, from what he vaguely recalled of his own ritual. He couldn't bring himself to think much about the dead bandits here, for each time, his mind drifted back to that gruesome, fateful battle years ago.
At Mortosh's go-ahead, Hanzo laid down the torch at the base of the pile, setting the cloth of one of the cadaver's legs alight. He stood back, and motioned for Mortosh and Zam to do the same. Soon the fire spread to the vulnerable flesh, fanning out to engulf the cadavers like a disease. Cinder sickness, he realized. This pile of burning dead could be those children if their cure didn't arrive in time. Whatever the adventurers were doing here, killing slavers to protect the populace, they very soon needed to start saving lives over ending them.
Eventually, the bonfire was in full force, billowing out deathly plumes of smoky, ashen remains. The smell of death and burning was overwhelming, standing in its awe like this, and Hanzo found himself a bit overwhelmed, it being all to similar to that day. Gods above, why couldn't he stop thinking about that!? Dwelling so much upon his history would do little to change it, and he couldn't secure the future if he kept himself in the past!
But this time just didn't feel good. The scene gave him a bad feeling in his abdomen, all while Hanzo fought to not let himself drift away to just pull from the scene and go rest at the inn. He turned and paced back onto the dirt road to fulfill the thought, but all too suddenly the feeling in his gut redoubled.
This wasn't normal. Something was quite wrong, and he knew it.
Slowly, cautiously, Hanzo looked around, his senses sharpening again. Whatever could set him off like that had to be something Hanzo had felt well before; if it was what he thought it might be, they were in trouble. He remained silent and focused he directed his attention to the south; there, as the dirt path lead out of town, the forest grew to obscure the view on either side, and then the road itself curved off sharply to one side.
A couple of slow steps further, and his senses intensified. Faint traces of a burning scent entered his nostrils, far different from the scorched corpses: sulfur. Joining it soon thereafter was the bestial growling and barking of dogs, not at all akin to the sounds of the forst surrounding this village. His eyes narrowed, almost zooming in...
The riders quickly rounded the bend soon after he heard them. Three men led the pack - one dressed in some vague regalia whom he presumed to be the leader, and two more gruff men aside him: a younger one with a scarred face, and an older with beaten-
Oh no.
Hanzo snapped free, his expression turning to panic. "Run- back to the town! We have to warn them!" The monk cried out to Mortosh, backpedaling to start running back to the village. He hurriedly explained along the way, "The slavers are back, and they're armed. Get the others from the inn- I'll get the people inside!" As the two of them split up and dashed into town, Hanzo bellowed out in warning to the townspeople, warning them of another attack. He was hoping to get everyone inside before the slavers arrived, and pray that his meager half of the adventurers could hold them off... | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
665 | 13 | 101 | 54 | 1,340 | The Slavers Encampment – Group A
The world seemed to fade away around Sana as she sat there on her knees rocking back and forth as she held her father’s hand; her eyes closed tight as she fought back the tears. This had not been the best day. She had almost lost Hugh earlier in the day and now she comes to find out that she arrived too late to save her father. What if she hadn’t taken the time to snap back at Tobias, would she have made it in time? She would never know now. Two sets of tears in a single day, it was not something Sana was emotionally used to. Since she had left home more than a decade ago she had only shed a single tear before today and now the tears seemed to be trying to make up for years of being held back.
Sana leaned back on her knees, still holding his hand as she looked up at the sky breaking through the tree tops. Her and her father had not parted on the best of terms. She had been raised a gypsy and her parents had been told by the troops divinator what her life was supposed to be, a courtesan. When Sana had aged enough she found out exactly what that meant and it had infuriated her. It drove her to learn to protect herself and to leave her family long before they could push her into it; before she could be touched. Why her parents had seen nothing wrong with it was always beyond her grasp other than they had just been raised that way and it was how it had been done for hundreds of years. You were given your lot in life and you dealt with it. It was supposed to be an honor and she was supposed to take over as the matriarch of the troop because of her position but she refused and left.
Only her sister Ramara understood, and though she pleaded for Sana not to leave her, she let her go eventually so she could make a break for it, to freedom and that was how Sana had lived. Free for so many years from her past and now it was right before her and she wept over it. It didn’t matter her past anymore, her father was dead, her family gone from what she knew and even with all her skill in battle she couldn’t save them. Had she stayed behind could she have? It was another thing she would never know.
Sana sighed deeply as she reached over and closed her father’s eyes as she sat there. “Rest in peace papa,” she said as she looked at him and pushed his hair out of his face. Taking a deep breath she slowly rose from her place and let her father’s hand falls from hers, wiping the tears away as she stood there. There was nothing she could do for him now but morn and there was not time for that. She had wasted too much already.
“You all did good,” Sana said after she cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said in an appreciative voice as she began to rummage through the pockets of the various dead slavers that were scattered along the ground; finally finding what she was looking for, the keys to cages. Tilting her head to the side as she stood over the whipmaster her eyes narrowed somewhat. Reaching down she snapped a chain off the mans neck and held up two rings that were hanging from it; looking at them carefully, a set of wedding bands, the intricate carvings in the metal very known to Sana. They were at one time her parents, bands they had worn as long as she could remember while she was growing up. Tying the chain around her neck she tucked it under what was left of her shirt that was scorched and burned from the fire.
Walking over to the main holding cell she fiddled with the keys for a bit as she tried to find the right one. One slipped in to the lock and the tumblers turned as she twisted the key, the lock popping open. Hooking the keys to her side she slid the chain off the bars and opened the cage; it squeaking as she did and it took some effort to get the door fully swung open.
“It’s okay, we are going to take you somewhere safe,” she said softly to those there, they were afraid and it was understandable. They were not sure what was going on; they were starved, hurt, thirsty and standing on the bodies of those that had lost their lives to such hardships. Sana could not blame them for their wide eyes and trembling features. Sighing deeply as she turned to Vaeri and Fiona.
“Can one of you grab some water for them and another start tending to their wounds. Nothing major, just enough to make sure they survive the trip back to the village. We can feed them back at the inn,” she said as she dusted the rust from the bars off her hand and began to help the frightened people out of their confinement; holding her hand out to each one in turn as he helped them down and away from the cage to sit down on the ground for a bit until she figured out what to do next.
Looking at the group that came with her she couldn’t help but be proud of them. They did what needed to be done to help free these people. Death was not something Sana found fun but sometimes there was no other choice. They wouldn’t have released these people and would have continued to traumatize them for whatever reason. What Sana could not figure out was why they would want to capture people to sell into slavery only to hurt them and starve them to such a point they would never fetch a decent price on the slave market. Taking out the cruel factor, it just didn’t make good sense money wise and that was usually why people like this did this; to make money.
Shaking the thought from her head she looked over towards Lob and pointed up to the two cages that were handing from the trees that a person each in them. “Lob, can you get them down safely?” she asked as she watched the creature offering to lick Vaeris wounds. He was different but he got the job done and seemed kind in his own way. Reaching down she unlatched the keys from her belt and walked over to him and handed them over. “Be careful,” she said as she reached out and took one of his hands, placing the keys in them. She hoped he could do it, if not she would have to think of another way to get them down.
Turning she walked over to Drizzak and knelt down next to him, pulling a healing potion out of her pouch and handing it over to him. “Think we need to get you fixed up my old friend,” she said as she held the vial in her hand and held it out to him. “We still have a long way to go before we can get back to the village.”
The Village – Group B
The sun was high now that the day was over half way through and the village was recovering from the brawl that had broken out in the streets. Sister Agnes was trying to wrap her head around everything that had happened as she walked back into the apothecary. To most it may have been because they assumed that it was something she had never seen before but in all honesty it was something she had witnessed. The sister did not speak of her life before she joined the convent and there was good reason for it. Beneath those robes there were scars; scars hidden beneath the folds of the thick fabric of her habit. Over forty years being a member of the convent could only help to heal some of her past but it did not erase it. The scene that had unfolded before her had not made her sick to her stomach because of the brutality of it all but because of the memories it dredged up.
Wylsen was the only one in the village who knew the sisters past but he would not bring it up to her. He did though see the look in her eye as she looked out the window of his shop. It was a look he had seen on her features before, one that would pop up when she would return from other villages to bring children to the orphanage after she had out run the slavers. They had been a problem in the area for some time but they were never able to do anything about it and the faces changed so often. It seemed they never sent the same team into the town twice. Sighing deeply he walked over to the nun and placed his hand on her shoulder to try to give her some comfort. Sister Agnes looked over to him with a grim expression on her face.
“I don’t think this is over,” Agnes said towards Wylsen; Wylsen nodded. They had tried to resist in the past and it only drove them to send in more to meet their quota. They knew another attack would occur and the sister was placing all her hope in the small group that went out to the camp itself. She never expected what was about to happen to occur.
From the south of town it began about an hour after Sanas group have left for the encampment. The southern road was hidden because of a turn in the road and the trees that lined each side of the dirt path but one that was outside would be able to hear the vicious snarls coming from beasts that were anything but your typical dog and the smell of sulfur was being carried on the air to the village. It would give those outside burning the bodies a bit of a warning but not much. When the source of the smell and noise broke around the bend and came into view it was evident that something horrific was about to happen. This was not a small group coming towards the village and it would seem as if the one that Sana had killed had lied. He hadn’t; he said how many were in the camp and the group to the north. He failed to mention the secondary team from the south who had been called together by the main Slaver and the rest of those that had escaped.
Leading the group was the main Slaver Gal riding a large black horse, behind him were two more on horses; the ones that Vaeri and Hanzo had let get away. They had been healed somehow and were much better equipped this time than the last. If it had only been there perhaps there would have been nothing to worry about but it was the crowd that was behind them that made this a much larger issue. There were a total of twenty-five creatures/persons including the three from the last fight. The group was mixed though much more than the last and much stronger. They were obviously the main force and hadn’t been sent earlier since the village had been deemed an easy place to strike. They were all well armored and there were many creatures among them that seemed to be trained to follow their masters will.
The town had been quiet since the first battle and most of the people in the small village had opted to stay indoors, not sure what to do or think at this point. The stillness was broken as Hanzo yelled. The sudden break in the silence caused the nuns blood to run cold. Then something else hit her sense. Sister Agnes knew the smell of the sulfur and as it wafted into the apothecary she gulped. “God help us all….” she said as she pushed the door open and her eyes fell on the sight before her as they came closer to the town. The sisters hand clung to the door frame as she watched, she couldn’t fight but those that were there would need healing and she was not going to run from those that would need assistance. Looking around at those that were coming to the village she could not find the source of the sulfur smell, it wasn't there but it hung on the soon to be assailants like a bad omen.
Those in the village that had been out and about quickly ran to what they hoped was safety, doors slamming quickly behind them and shuttered being pulled close. Sister Agnes slowly walked away from the door she had clung to and stood on the edge of the wooden patio that was in front of the apothecary. There were so many coming towards the village and half of those that had come to help were gone; those that remained seemed to be the most injured. Could they hold them off? She didn’t know, all she could do was wait until someone needed healing and pray; which she did as her hands clasped in front of her. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
666 | 13 | 102 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias turned and raised his mug to Hugh. "Oh, hey, there he is." He furrowed his brow at the man's confrontational stance and aggressively loud question. "Uh, what demons? Just the one, remember, from the apothecary. Z... something, he said his name was." The thief paused for a moment. "I-it was just the one, right? There weren't... more that I didn't see? That would be bad."
A stranger sitting next to Tobias tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, bruv. I've got a set of clothes just like that."
"Weird," the thief responded automatically, sipping from his mug. Just then, his sharp ears caught a shout from outside and he surged to his feet. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.
This was totally happening, it became apparent as he ran outside the inn and beheld what was on the horizon. There was a small army bearing down on the village, all sorts of bandits and slavers and beasts among their numbers.
Everywhere people were running, making a mad dash for whatever sanctuary they could find. It wasn't going to matter, though - these bandits, these slavers - they'd burn down every house, take everything they wanted, and drag off anyone they thought was valuable.
Tobias leaned back against the wall of the inn, his head swimming from alcohol and bloodloss. No, there wasn't time for that. The thief had been in a lot of close scrapes while more impaired than this, and so he bit his cheek and willed his head to clear, for now at least, while he analyzed the situation.
The situation, incidentally, was totally fucked. Fiona was gone, the elf with the axe was gone, crazy Sana was gone, the orc with the bone was gone, the goblin was gone. All that was left to defend the town and the orphanage - fucking orphans - was a wizard who kept passing out, Big Brut Pally Hugh, a bare-handed bald man, and a bizarre corpse. And me.
Tobias didn't know how to fight, but he knew how to decieve. Sleight of hand, acrobatics, misdirection. Tobias drew his daggers and began stepping, almost serene, against the river of people running for safety. He could do this. It'd be like a burglary, a con, a pickpocketing... but with more, you know. Pain and stabbing. And if that didn't work, he had a secret weapon up his sleeve. He hoped the apothecary was as good as he said he was.
Resolute, doomed and scared shitless, the thief waited for the storm to break. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
667 | 13 | 103 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Melvus didn't notice Hugh at first, until he what could be described as a yell at Tobias... Something about demons. She murdered someone..? Perhaps Sana isn't as savoury as I had initially thought... I'll have to keep my eye on them... Perhaps some are not here to help orphans...
Not long after Hugh yelled at Tobias, the latter was seen talking to a stranger to the group... Perhaps a friend? Melvus took notice that Tobias was wearing different clothes than earlier - he paid it no more mind. This was mainly because the man rose from his bench and left, he seemed terrified. Melvus followed behind him, letting out a quiet yawn.
The man drew a dagger and Melvus could see why there were a great many citizens running about, likely because of the slavers. They were riding into town, swords, bows, axes and other weapons they may have, drawn. They also had a few dogs I should have guessed something like this would happen... | Removed |
668 | 13 | 104 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona hadn't thought of it like Vaeri did, but maybe the elven woman was right. Her sword arm had been severely injured even at the start of the fight, and she'd still managed to hold her own against two opponents. "Thanks," she said, as they walked. "You have a point. It's something I pride myself on a little, I guess. I'm not skilled enough yet to avoid all the hits, but toughness and resourcefulness help me get through them. I'm a work in progress, though, no doubt about that." She did notice the rather odd move Vaeri made to lick at her own wounds, but made no comment on it. She wasn't in the habit of judging oddities like that.
Fiona had come across a few elves before in recent memory, but none had come to be traveling or fighting companions such as what this was shaping up to be. She wondered, from how she described herself, if Vaeri had not been so different from Fiona, wanting to carve her own path even when it seemed more logical to do something else. She was beginning to strike her as that kind of woman, though obviously she had found a calling with her chosen faith.
She arrived next to Sana just in time to hear her say a farewell. The dead man was apparently her father, something that shocked Fiona not only because of the tragedy of it, but the sheer coincidence as well. The woman's luck today was... less than stellar, to say the least. Having no knowledge of Sana's past or relationship with her family, she respectfully maintained silence on the subject, nodding her thanks to Sana's compliment.
"I'll find some water for them," Fiona offered, leaving Vaeri to do the healing. Fiona hardly had any skills in that regard that would help them, but fetching water she could do. The slavers they had fought carried skins of it, and while the two that Vaeri incinerated were gone, the others had some left, and Fiona quickly rounded up a few, returning them to the captives.
The smell of them was heavy, but Fiona refused to show it, trying to offer them what comfort a smile could offer as she crouched before each one in turn and offered a small amount of water. There was only so much to go around, so what she did have needed to be carefully split. A few of them offered words of thanks, to which Fiona responded with gentle squeezes of their shoulders. In truth, she was starting to feel a bit emotional from seeing their states. It was wonderful to help these people, and she was certain the others in the group back in the village would see the worth of this little venture when they returned. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
669 | 13 | 105 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri was a bit taken aback by Lob bursting out of the forest and offering to lick her wounds. Licking your own wounds was one thing, but having someone else lick you was breaching personal space on at least 3 different levels. Hastily, she shook her head in refusal with a quick, "I'll be fine." She did take the bow that was presented to her a bit tentatively. Where did he get this bow and why was he giving it to her? Vaeri didn't know the answer to either part of the question, but wouldn't say anything about it, only nodding gracefully at Lob. It was certainly a well constructed weapon, she couldn't deny that; however, Vaeri already had a bow that much better suited her in her bag. No matter, she would just hang onto the weapon for the time being. Into the bag the bow disappeared.
Stifling another yawn, she nodded at Sana's request. Fiona went for the water immediately, so it would be up to Vaeri to treat wounds. Well, out of everyone here, she probably had the most medical knowledge, but she was far better at divine healing than mundane. Still, these people needed help, and she'd give it to them as best as she could. Vaeri rubbed her eyes, slapped her face a couple times and wiped off any blood that might have gotten on her mouth before she went to work. The captives were certainly in poor condition, but they only needed to be brought up to a condition where they could survive. Returning them to something resembling healthy would take time, food and water. She could heal wounds. Curing starvation, dehydration and disease required aspects of magic that she wasn't familiar with. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
670 | 13 | 106 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Hastily, she shook her head in refusal with a quick, "I'll be fine." She did take the bow that was presented to her a bit tentatively. Lob canted his head to the side at the decline to be licked, but she took the bow so that made him happy. When she walked off, the alpha female came to him with orders. Did Lob do wrong by going to the lesser female before the alpha female first?
"Me lick you?"
“Lob, can you get them down safely?” Reaching down she unlatched the keys from her belt and handed them over. “Be careful.” she said as she reached out and took one of his hands, placing the keys in them.
Looking to the trees, then the keys, then the cages. Slowly his mind worked over the details, he knew that the talismans opened doors, but the how of it escaped him, it was always the knife-ear in his old pack that used talismans to open doors. He missed her, but she was one that fought over metal and rocks. He didn't like the metal and rocks that made others mad.
He took the talisman and put it in his teeth as he set his bone against the tree then ran up the trunk to the lowest branch. Hanging upside down, his one leg would not help him climb well so he used it just draped over the limb dripping blood as he put the other three to work to slide down the branch. He held the chains to the bird cage and grabbed the branch after the chain then began to pull.
"Lob strong, tree weak. Lob strong. Tree weak. Lob strong! Tree weak!"
With the strength of a giant, lob wrapped both legs around the tree as he used his whole body to bend the bough. There was a great groan of protest as the half orc forced himself upon the wood, but it began to crack. The cracks became crackles like a call to thunder as half the branch came falling to the ground. Still holding the birdcage chain, he uncurled and lowered the captives to the ground from above. Once the first was free, he dropped to the ground on three with a river of red running down his right. Working through the pain he drug the broken branch away to the edge of the clearing before heading to the second tree. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
671 | 13 | 107 | 54 | 1,340 | The Slave Camp – Group A
Sana smiled at Drizzak as she knelt there, tilting her head to the side slightly. She didn’t like seeing him injured and she wanted to reach out and help get him healed up but she wasn’t sure how he would react to it. She wasn’t a healer; she just had healing potions from Sister Agnes. Reaching out she took his hand and placed the vial into it. “Sister Agnes gave me this,” she said in a kind voice. “It helped me,” she said as she pointed to the slash on her face and the puncture wounds in her shoulder that while not fully healed were sealed up and were no longer bleeding. Maybe she shouldn’t have left the more powerful ones at the village with Hugh but it was what they had right then and it was enough to keep them going. “Just drink it and it should help,” she said before turning her attention to the sound of cracking wood and looked up.
Seeing Lob in the tree she placed her hands on her hips, stepping over to the cage and helping the man out and over to the rest of the group before walking over towards Lob and smiling, resting her hand on his shoulder before he could climb up once again. “Wait,” she said in a concerned voice as she noticed the blood and ripped off the bottom part of her skirt. “You’re hurt,” she added as she rested down on her knees and began to wrap the wound up. Reaching into her bag she pulled out the last of the healing potions she had brought with her and made a mental note to make sure to get more when they got back to the village. These were items they would need in the future and even with healers it was good to have back up so the health of the entire party was not just on a select few. Holding it out she popped the cork and handed it to him. “Drink,” she said as she placed it in his hand and smiled before walking away.
Even with everything that had happened, the time away from Hugh was doing her some good. Not having to focus on his injury clear her head and act more like the person she was, not the thing she snapped into being because someone she loved was hurt. It was odd, her father had died in her arms but it didn’t affect her as much as seeing Hugh being injured. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her father, she had, but they hadn’t spoken in over a decade and with everything else going on around them she didn’t have time to morn. That would come later. She had shed her tears and those around her needed far more help than she did right then.
Taking a long breath she made her way over to the horses that were there and untied them from the tree they were tied to. Turning she looked around and was glad to see there was a wagon they could use to transport the captives back to the village. It looked like it had been used to transport supplies; it was open, no bars, no chains in it. It would be far more suitable to move them in that wagon than the cage they had been living in. Leading the horses over to the wagon she began to hook the horses up. It would be a slow trek back to the village with as many people as they had to get out of the camp but at least now they could sit down during the trek. As Sana stood there getting everything in order for them to leave a thought crossed her mind. Things looked pretty sparse here as she turned to look around. There didn’t seem to be anything of real value laying out and about but there was a covered wagon that looked like it could be used as a home of sorts on wheels. It was nothing like the wagons she had been raised in but it was something and a few areas on the ground seemed out of place; bushes that looked like they should have been cleared away and piles of leaves that didn’t fit.
“Um, could someone take a moment when they get a chance and start searching this place? Maybe we will find something other than death while we are here,” she said as she finished hooking up the first of the three horses. Even when they got the people back to the village they would need something other than food, water and rest. They would need money to start a new life. The village would need something to help cover the costs of helping them with things like food, water, clothing, shelter. Hopefully they would find something to help these people more than just setting them free. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
672 | 13 | 108 | 1,451 | 685 | Having just finished giving drinks of water to everyone that would accept it, Fiona stood and brushed off her knees. "I'll take a look around, see if I can find anything." It was calm at last, and while the scene could have been better, with less offensive smells and sights of bloodshed, the forested area was peaceful again, something the day surely needed. Fiona was in excellent condition, but she could already tell that she would be in sore need of rest by nightfall.
Just as she started looking for a place to search she noticed her horse trotting back into the camp. Fiona was a bit surprised he hadn't kept his distance, but she was glad all the same, going over to meet him and briefly stroking his neck. "All clear now," she assured him, before leading him over to the covered wagon she could see. That looked like the mostly likely place to store something, and she hoped that with the speed of their attack, the slavers wouldn't have had the time to hide anything valuable, or seen the need to. Leaving her horse outside the entrance to the wagon, Fiona quietly slid her sword from the sheath, not wanting to alarm the freed captives, but also wanting to be prepared if there was anyone inside.
As it turned out, there was not, and her hopes were correct; there were some obviously valuable objects lying about in the wagon. Sheathing her sword, Fiona's eyes were drawn to the moderate sized chest first, and while it was locked, the chest itself wasn't very sturdy, and a quick downward stomp of her boot was enough to break it open. Her eyes widened noticeably when she peered inside. The chest appeared to hold the slaver group's treasure, consisting of silver and gold pieces, as well as a number of colorful gems, few of which Fiona knew the names of. That one was an... amethyst? She thought so, anyway. "Wow," she breathed to herself, shutting the lid of the chest again. That was certainly going back to the village with them.
The rest was scattered in a fairly unorganized manner amidst piles of junk, but some of it was quite useful, as far as Fiona could tell. There were three potions, labeled Bull's Strength, Cure Light Wounds, and Mage Armor. She took the Bull's Strength and Cure Light Wounds potions for herself, figuring those were most useful for her, and set aside the other one. Two scrolls were present, Protection from Evil and Gust of Wind, and there was a cloak near the back which, judging by the inscription on it, was magical, and would increase resistance. Taking the cloak, she placed the potion and the scrolls into it, put it on top of the chest, and then grabbed the chest by the handles on each side, lugging it out of the wagon. It was heavy, but manageable for such a short distance.
"Found quite a bit inside," she announced to the group, setting down the chest. She opened up the cloak to display the items next to the chest, and then lightly kicked open the lid of the chest to reveal the gold, silver, and gems within. "We could take some as payment for the job here, but I think most of it should go to the village. They'll need it to get all these people taken care of. As for the items, I took a pair of potions, but figured the rest would be better off elsewhere. So... take what you need." Considering herself an adventurer and not a treasure hunter, Fiona really had no attachment to any of this. The gold would be useful certainly, but it would be better spent by someone other than her, she knew. | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
673 | 13 | 109 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri had seen to all the former captives that needed immediate attention and patched them up as best as she could given her limited supplies and abysmal working conditions. They would at least be well enough to make the slow walk back to camp without keeling over. She lightly patted her final patient on his newly patched up leg before standing up off the ground. He was a scraggly man who looked to be in his early-thirties, but going from the little conversation she could coax out of him, he was probably in his late teens. She would have prayed for his well being, but the wrong god would be listening.
Sana then asked for the party to look around the camp. Vaeri scanned the area but everything looked pretty barren. Well, it did until she spotted a bit of dark red in some bushes that looked like they should have been long ago cleared away. She walked over to the bushes and after a bit of jiggling the bushes found a small velvet pouch hidden within. She shook the bush it was hidden in violently until the pouch dropped onto the ground. The last thing Vaeri wanted to do was stick one of her cut up arms into a leafy, prickly plant. And who knows what insects might be hiding, waiting to latch on to the next unsuspecting elf. The thought of having some bulbous bug suck on her arm wound almost make her wretch.
After retrieving the pouch, Vaeri dusted off the bag before opening it to examine its contents. There were a few slips of paper, a gem and some gold at first glance. First Vaeri pulled out the gem to find it mostly clear and exceedingly hard. Most likely a diamond. She kept it in her palm to have it remain out of the way as she searched through the rest of the bag's contents. She pulled out a piece of folded paper that as she unfurled it grew to be a rather large piece of paper, judging by the text on it, a magical scroll. She couldn't read it however, so it was likely an arcane scroll. That too joined its diamond companion after Vaeri folded it back into its smaller state. Then came another slip of paper, this one only folded a couple times. On the front was a stylized bull made up exclusively of thick, dark blue lines. On the back was writing describing it as a psionic tattoo of Bull's Strength, once applied it is permanent, and three times a day allowed its wearer to receive the effects of the Bull's Strength power of 15 minutes each use. Interesting, but not for Vaeri. Not because she was afraid of scarring her body further, but Divine Might granted her more power and she didn't want to rely too much on a tattoo she wasn't even sure if it was magic. With the scroll and diamond it went. Vaeri looked in the bag once more and found a silver ring stuck in the gold. It was labelled a Ring of Protection. Well don't mind if I do. Vaeri removed the label before sliding it onto her bloodied right ring finger. The rest of the objects save for the tattoo were placed back into the pouch. Vaeri walked over to Fiona's pile of treasure and tosses her pouch onto the top of the pile of treasure. From the stack she took the two scrolls. Both would probably useful in the future. Specifically against the hellhounds and Pegasus.
"I found an arcane scroll, some gold, what I think is a diamond, this ring of protection and this tattoo in that pouch." Vaeri waved the folded piece of parchment in the air before presenting it to Fiona. "If you apply it, it permanently attaches like a real tattoo, but touching it gives you increased strength as that of the Bull's Strength spell for 15 minutes. It works 3 times a day even. I think you could use it, Fiona. You seem to get into grappling situations often. If it's not to your taste, Drizzak or Big Green would probably be more than happy to take it." | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
674 | 13 | 110 | 1,270 | 2,337 | “Wait, You’re hurt, Drink,”
Lob was about to head back up to the next tree then he felt a hand on his shoulder followed by a potion in his hand. As he drank, she put a strap of her cloth to bind his bite. He would have to think of a way to give back to he alpha as he drank the drink before heading off to the next tree.
With his leg healing by magic, he managed to take a running jump and leap up to the lowest branch with outstretched arms and pulled himself up to the birdcage. Once more he took the chain and the branch to begin his chant as he twisted the teak until it gave with a resounding crash. Dropping the branch but keeping the cage, he lowered the prisoner down to the ground before taking the brush away.
People were safe and the lady licker liked the bow... he needed to find a bow for the alpha female to thank her! He did not need them, but the packs always took the fallen trophies. Setting to work, he took to the fat hunter first to search him over. The last pack hunter told him of 'caches' like squirrel holes in rotten trees or under rocks to hide treasures.
Lob lacked such subtleties so he merely flipped over boulders, tore off the clothes of the slavers or split rotten logs with his bare hands. He founds bags than jungled and tossed them into the middle of the campsite, ate some rancid rations he thohght the dogs would not miss, and SCREAMED in pain as something bit him!
Pulling his hand away, he saw the glistening silver of a blade butting out of s sliver of wood, unmarred by time or weather. He licked his hand for the blood and took the sword. He wasn't sure what kind it was, he didn't use them, but the way it tingled in his hand meant it was either magic or poison.
He brought the blade to the leader of the group.
"Hugh." | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
675 | 13 | 111 | 54 | 1,340 | The Slave Camp – Group A
Sana finished hooking the horses up to the wagon and stifled a deep yawn as she covered her mouth. It had been a long day and it was only half way over; they still had a long way to go. What else would happen before the group was able to rest for the evening? Sighing deeply she pushed her hair out of her face and took a look around, they needed to get back to the village; at least most of them did. Sana had some personal matters to attend to that would cause her to stay behind. As much as she wanted to rush back to the village and make sure the rest of the group was okay she knew she couldn’t yet.
Turning as Lob came over to her she perked a brow as he held up the sword and smiled at him, reaching over and taking it slowly. “Thank you, I know he will cherish it,” she said softly before giving Lob a hug in thanks. Sana had been adventuring with an orc in the past; though Garekk was very different from Lob, he was full orc but they both seemed to have kind spirits. The same kindness she had seen in Drizzak. It was funny to her, some of the people she had come to most trust in her life where anything but humans. Perhaps that was a good thing. Taking the sword she laced it through the straps on her back that held her quivers in place and made sure it was snug and would stay in place.
“Okay, let us get these folks loaded up and back to the village,” Sana said as she turned back to everyone there and began to slowly help former prisoners up from their resting spots and into the wagon for the long trek back to safety and away from this hell they had been living in. Stopping for a moment she looked over what the others had found and nodded. “Nice haul. I am with Fiona; I say give most of this to the village and the people here. At least some of it was probably theirs when they were captured,” Sana said as she leaned down and brushed her fingers through the gold and gems in the chest. “It will take a lot to get these people taken care of and the village itself doesn’t exactly look rich,” she added as she righted herself and went back to helping load up the people into the wagon. Sana didn’t bother looking at what all was there; she wasn’t exactly interested in what was found. Lob had been kind enough to give her a sword she could give Hugh and she had per parents rings. It was more than she had expected and was fine with that little bit.
Once the last person was in the wagon Sana took a deep breath and walked over to Fiona and Vaeri; clearing her throat a bit and standing there looking a little nervous, something that was not common with Sana. “I need a favor,” she started before continuing. “I need you all and the others to go back to the village without me. I need to bury my father and well I need some time to clear my head. I can take care of cleaning this place up and getting rid of the rest of the bodies. These people don’t need to wait around any longer than they already have to get some food in their stomachs,” she said as she looked at Fiona and Vaeri. She wanted to go back but she knew it wasn’t time yet. “Could you let Hugh know I am alright and I will be back by nightfall?” she asked as she looked at the two women that had come with her. “I know he will be worried sick when you show up and I am not there but yeah, I need some time to clear my head. I just need sometime alone,” she admitted. It had been a rough day and right then the best thing for her was a few hours without anyone around her.
The Village – Group B
Gal wore a hate filled smirk on his lips as his group approached the village. Only a small handful had come out to fight and they looked worn and ragged, there were many missing from the initial fight and Gal thought to himself that this would be easier than he had originally thought. He did not bother to wonder where the rest where. They were not there so they were not his problem right then. He never imagined that they were at his camp to the north and were in the middle of bringing back the people his slave group had captured and that those left behind were now dead.
“Kill them all, make it painful, make it last. Let this village know they either come quietly when we are here or they lose everything,” Gal ordered to his minions. “Now!” he said as thrust his sword into the air and the group ran forward to attack those that dared to stand between him and village. The mercenaries who had wolves on chains and the beastmaster who had the hyenas released them from their binds and ordered them to kill anyone on the street; the beasts rushing forward as they did. One wolf ran right at Melkor while the other charged Tobias, teeth bared and snarling as they went. Both the hyenas decided to run towards the largest man in the group, right towards Hugh, bent on ripping him limb from limb as they charged.
The illusionist and the mage stayed towards the back of the group with the bard behind them, the archers and rangers forming a line before them to cut off incoming attacks while the rest of the assailants rushed forward behind the beasts. These were not the same type of group that had attacked the village earlier that morning; this group was ready for a fight. They had their weapons, they were armored and this time they were organized. Sister Agnes stood there to the side of the fight that was beginning to break out and her eyes widened. Could this small group of adventurers really stop this onslaught to the village? She didn’t know but she could keep them healed through the fight.
The archers let off a volley of arrows towards those that stood against them and from behind the line of ranged weapons the illusionist began to chant. From his hand a barrage of flying axes went wising through the air, they looked solid and were meant to cause confusion for the group as a whole. The axes would cause no damage, they were a mere illusion but they looked real enough. The mages spell however was anything but an illusion but it could seem that way. From between the buildings on either side of the village a fog came rolling in, thick and fast until it blanketed the road as either side of the fog banks crashed together in the middle of the village, rising up.
It would make things more difficult to see but for the mage had misjudged just how good it would work for his team and underestimated how effective it would be for those defending the village. The trying to save the village were close combat fighters for the most part. They were not long ranged. Swords, hand to hand, daggers is what they carried and being able to sneak up on their assailants would make things easier. It would also make it harder for the archers and rangers of the slavers to actually hit a target; it was a rare break in luck for the brave souls that stood against the evils before them. Hopefully they would use it to their advantage.
The last one to do anything was the bard. He stood there waiting, his lute in hand before he began to play it once the fog rolled in. He began to try to play a suggestion song as he looked towards the one standing off to the side; Sister Agnes. Trying to get her to heal those he stood with instead of those that truly needed divine intervention at this point. The sisters head felt foggy as the song came to her hears. Shaking her head slightly a she stood there, trying to fight off the effects of the song before she could end up doing something she regretted. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
676 | 13 | 112 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh doing as Hanzo told him had been leading the villagers out of town When he began Smelling sulfur ("Oh? More Death How Wonderful") Mortosh thought sarcastically as he began telling the villagers to hurry up when he toke notice of shifting shapes in the darkness of alleyways there was something in the alleyways.
("Zam? There Is Something In The Alleyways Can You Deal With Whatever It Is? I Have To Finish Here") Zam nodded her head and Began fly away until Mortosh Spoke to her again ("And If It Has Some Sort Of Affiliation With The Slavers, Then Distract Them Ill Come To You As Quickly As I Can") And with that Zam Flew To The Alleyway and saw four masked men, two in each alleyway all armed with crossbows.
recognizing that the colors of the men's outfits matched the one of the slavers Zam quickly flew behind one of two groups and Pulled out her flute, began play a tune that caused the would be assassins to begin relax and to start to seemingly try to shake off there sudden drowsiness the sound off her song seemed to have carried itself to the other group as they seemed to be in predicament as the first.
As she was beginning to fly back to Mortosh she saw swarms of Flesh-Locust head towards her so she slowed herself down to a hover to see the swarms of locusts fly towards the alleyways she then heard tired screaming from the alleyways.
("Zam Are You Coming?") | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
677 | 13 | 113 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias cracked his neck as the strange fog rolled in. On any other day, the prospect of a magic, potentially soul-devouring mist would have concerned him - but with things as bad as they were, he was just glad for the concealment.
Twirling his knives in his hands, the thief jogged off parallel to the incoming force, running behind a building to get a better look at them. His head swam slightly as he did so, and Tobias reminded himself that he didn't have much more blood to shed for this doomed cause. Don't get hit, then. The drink wasn't exactly going to help with that - if he survived this, he'd need to enact some policy about waiting for retribution a few hours before celebrating victory.
Then there was that damned song - he knew an enchanted song when he heard one, and that one was trying to fuck with his head. Why did he never become a bard?
The rogue peeked out from a wall and counted nearby foes. Three men walked past his hiding spot - two in leather, one in chainmail. Worse, the one in mail was walking a dog - no, fuck that, a wolf - around on a chain.
That wouldn't do for all the rogue's clever tricks. Puppy had to go, and puppy had to go now. Tobias stepped silently from behind his cover and sent a dagger spinning forward. The animal was struck with a whimper, but didn't go down - it sprinted, slavering, for the rogue.
Tobias cried out as its jaws enclosed around his arm, falling back from the impact. The beast snarled and yanked, trying to tear his limb off, and with his free hand he stabbed at it frantically, jabbing again and again until finally, its thrashing stilled.
Tobias rolled the animal's body off him and proceeded to have exactly no time to survey his injuries before the mercenary who'd been holding the animal was jabbing at him. Tobias kicked up to his feet and brandished his dagger out. In a blind fury, the bereaved pet owner swung repeatedly, advancing on him, and it was all Tobias could do to duck and dodge each cut. A retaliatory jab skirled off his foe's armor - new plan, then.
The thief ducked a swing aimed to decapitate him and came up, drawing his dagger across the side of the man's arm. It was a barely superficial injury, but it certainly took the man's attention - and so he didn't notice Tobias's other hand nimbly undo the buckle and yank his belt free.
The footpad somersaulted backwards, reeling a little bit at the landing. With an angry shout, the mercenary charged after him, only to realize rather suddenly that his pants were around his ankles. A furious charged turned to a belly flop as his enemy crashed to the ground at Tobias's feet.
By now the others were coming, brandishing knives ready to throw. Quickly, Tobias kicked the longsword away, grabbed the stunned, pantsed man behind him, and held him as a human shield, keeping him controlled with both hands by holding his own belt around his neck. The two assassins paused, daggers still in their hands, unsure how to proceed after this turn of events.
The short impasse was broken when the sound of hoofbeats came through the mist. A fourth man on horseback charged out of the fog, murder in his eyes as he brandished a shortsword. Tobias was able to duck the sweeping blade unharmed, but the same couldn't be said for his captive. The headless corpse toppled to the ground, making Tobias's stomach turn and (perhaps more importantly) leaving him unprotected. A dagger took him in the shoulder, making him cry out in pain. Quickly, the thief yanked the blade out and held it, brandishing both knives at the two oncoming assassins.
His arm bled, his heart raced, his head swam. Being brave would be easier if he wasn't so scared shitless. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
678 | 13 | 114 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakSana's words passed over Drizzak as he glowered down at the twitching body of his former opponent. The silver curved blade stuck out of his shoulder, shining red in the light as it dripped slowly with his blood. His eyes went from the body to his shoulder, then to Sana as he looked at the potion. He felt terrible. Terrible aside from the weapon protruding from his little goblin body. His stomach turned and roiled as he tried to stand and take a wobbling step forward, potion in one hand and the other at Xilipha's former weapon.
'Just drink it...' Sana had said, and Drizzak debated simply swigging the potion to help with his wound, but a spark of brilliance lit a fire in his mind. His claws curled around the handle of the blade before he tore it from his shoulder and let loose a gout of blood. It took a moment, with his injuries, for him to flick the cork from the potion and begin pouring it directly into the wound. It sizzled and burned with a faint smell of herbs. Tears welled up in his eyes, but as the burning stopped so did his pouring, instead choosing to swig the remaining dregs.
The wound seemed to be sizzling itself closed, small wisps of smoke rising from where the skin broke as it began to reassemble itself. It was like being stabbed in reverse, with all the pain being sucked away. Drizzak couldn't help but scratch around it as feeling came back, but what caught his eye was the flecks of gold that lay just beneath the non-healing patches of skin. An ingredient in the potion? Little crystals of blood? Just plain ol' dirt? He couldn't tell, nor did he care as soon as the pain faded.
The slashes on his face and the dog mauling wound on his shoulder glittered dimly with the same golden flecks. This potion was definitely working its magic, but he still felt stiff in the limbs enough to warrant a stretch. A walk around would do just fine, a rummaging through some of the leftover supplies and rations would do even better. A set of saddle-bags seemed to call out to him in the distance, and like a good goblin, he began to limp over. His step was heavy and his pain was dulled, but he couldn't help but turn back to inspect his former opponent.
Best to just let the dead lay still.
Drizzak made his way over to the bags with a grumble, setting his mind to search through them. What he found was peculiar. Three separate vials of liquid, purse of gold and silver coins, some gems and a rather beautiful ring. All of it was rather interesting, but the ring held his attention the most. A ring made of silver inlaid with a band of deep blue along its center, all around its circumference. The band of blue seemed to roll and tremble, like waves in motion.
Drizzak finally found his cheeky, toothy smile as he slipped it onto one of his dirty claws. He would show them all the other stuff, but surely it was finders keepers when you no one else knew you had something. The rest was deposited straight into a sack and then straight into the wagon, as Drizzak hopped up to sit at the step of the wagon. He looked up to those already near the wagon, checked his blade and whip before deciding to hop off and walk, allowing someone else to have his space if they so chose.
He refused to look back as he spoke to his companions, tone a little more chipper than before.
"Drizzak think leave is good idea now. Only dead here. It stink too." | Name: Drizzak.
Age: Goblin equivalent of 20.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Race: Goblin.
Class: Fighter.
Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction.
Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision.
Magic/Spells: None.
Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big.
Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions.
Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor.
Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin.
History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'. |
679 | 13 | 115 | 1,451 | 685 | Uh. Thanks, Fiona said to Vaeri, accepting the small piece of parchment. She wasn't really interested in branding herself with some kind of magic on a whim, but perhaps one of the others would take it. She would ask them later. For now, there was work to do if they didn't want to stay here any longer, which Fiona certainly didn't. Flipping the lid of the gold chest back closed, she scooped it up by the handles and carried it over to the wagon, setting it in the back. It was a bit of a tight fight, but all of the surviving prisoners were able to get inside, with enough space to be relatively comfortable for the trip. She imagined anything would be better than what they had recently endured.
Fiona was glad Sana agreed with her on the subject of the gold. She imagined some of the others might not want to let it go so easily, but these people were in dire need of it. When Sana came over to ask her favor, Fiona nodded immediately. "I'll let Hugh know. Be sure to watch yourself, though. I doubt there are more slavers around, but it never hurts to be safe." She couldn't claim to know what the woman was going through, as Fiona had yet to experience anything like what Sana had endured already today, but some space and quiet seemed like it would help.
"Alright, let's get going. I can drive the wagon." Fiona stepped up to the front end of the wagon and took hold of the reins, waiting to make sure everyone was on. Her horse would follow along on his own. "Lob, can you lead the way? Make sure the path is clear enough for the wagon to come through easily." | Name: Fiona
Age: 22
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration.
Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming.
Natural Abilities: None - Human
Magic/Spells: None
Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm.
Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies.
Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags.
Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated.
History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result.
Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with. |
680 | 13 | 116 | 1,533 | 1,707 | This will be much more difficult than the last time... Our numbers are fewer and theirs are greater... They have the advantage... As the slavers approached, Melvus' right hand rummaged in one of the inner pockets of his robe until he produced a vial. Using his left hand, he uncorked the vial and poured it out on his outer cloak, which was covered in blood still.
The clear liquid pulled itself from the bottle, until the last drop, it thinned itself out until it covered the entire cloak. The fabric maintained its lucidity but was now as hard as armor. One hour... I have plenty of time... It didn't take long for the enemy to get into a formation, archers behind, the slaver, himself, behind them on a horse barking orders at the rest of their lot, a few swordsmen with dogs... No, wolves... Melvus silently cursed. The enemy is more organized this time... Melvus glanced down at his right arm, he figured that the elf's healing magic would be enough, it felt mended at any rate.
Not long after the enemy formed up, the archers let off a volley of arrows at the group. Melvus turned around and pulled his hood over his head. He could feel the arrows through the fabric, it was as though a small child was lightly punching his back. It's effective if nothing else... When Melvus turned around he was met with a wolf. It was in his face, well... not really in his face but it was really close, just a few feet away at this point. Not far behind the wolf was a handler, he was one of the swordsmen, who carried a chain and a longsword.
As the wolf jumped to attack, Melvus brought up his staff and pushed the dog off of him, not before it knocked the wizard to the ground. Melvus quickly regained his footing, by this point the mercenary, Melvus decided that he must be a mercenary or a bandit of some type - perhaps a slaver himself, the merc-bandit-slaver charged the wizard, neither of them really took notice of growing fog behind them. Melvus side stepped as the merc-bandit-slaver lunged. The dog jumped again. The beast broke a few white-yellow teeth on his cloak as it attempted to sink it's fangs into his right arm. Melvus knocked it off with his staff, rearing around he pointed the staff at the hound and whispered "Rain of Light" From the staff burst a shinning spear which broke into many smaller spears, most of which sunk into the wolf, mutilating it beyond recognition. The beast's scarlet blood soaked into the dirt beneath it.
The swordsman was on-top of Melvus by now, the latter attempted to sidestep the charge, as he had done the last time but he tripped on what was probably a stone of some kind. The duo fell on top of each other, the man's sword was knocked from his hand, clattering on the ground. The merc-bandit-slaver threw a punch at Melvus who had no real choice but to take it. The larger man's fist slammed into the wizard's face, breaking a few teeth and rattling the latter of the two. As Melvus was regaining himself, the swordsman took no time in landing a few more punches, Melvus showed no emotion as the man brutalized his face, rendering it to a bloody mess. The wizard placed his hand on the man's neck, the man took notice and moved his hands to remove the wizard's hand. He was likely fearful of what the wizard would do.
Melvus yelled, "Rain of Light!" Blood splattered in a great many directions as the man's head was ripped from his body. From a distance, the wizard placed his hand on the man's neck, yelled a spell, and from the back of the man's neck, as his head was ripped off in a bloody mess, shot a shinning spear which broke into a great many smaller spears which hit nothing, perhaps a wall or something, Melvus wasn't paying attention.
Melvus took notice of two archers emerging from the, now prevalent, fog who knocked arrows and fired at the wizard who had promptly disappeared, their arrows causing dirt to explode up from where they landed. Next to Sister Agnes appeared a bloody wizard, "Good sister, may I ask for some assistance?" Melvus could hardly see, he wiped his bloody face, painfully, with the sleeve of his cloak. | Removed |
681 | 13 | 117 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri wasn't sure why Fiona took the tattoo when it seemed pretty clear she did not want it. She would be perfectly fine with handing it to somebody else and had made it clear so. Perhaps it was more of a taboo in human culture to turn down gifts. Then again, Vaeri had done much the same thing no more than an hour before with the bow Lob presented to her. She dismissed the though though. Vaeri had taken the bow out of bewilderment at the entire situation, Fiona probably took it out of some feeling of obligation. Finished with her rationalizations, Vaeri blinked. When did Sana get here? Wait, she's been here the whole time. Oh. Somehow in the last millisecond all the captives had been moves to the wagon. Vaeri was also pretty sure she had just been about 2 feet to the left.
A bit emptily, Vaeri nodded at Sana's request, not really comprehending what she had been saying. In any case it looked like everyone had started moving, Fiona driving the wagon. Vaeri would follow behind. The movement would help keep her awake. It appeared Sana would be staying behind. Maybe it had to do with her father. She would probably catch up later. Moving alone and on a horse certainly would be faster than with a wagonload of starved humans. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
682 | 13 | 118 | 54 | 1,340 | Sister Agnes
Sister Agnes stood there gripping the post where she stood; the song the bard played made her to rush to his allies’ side and heal them. Her finger nails digging into the wood causing lines to be scraped away and the shaving to curl along her hands. Taking a few deep breaths she was able to resist and shake off the effects of the spell. That was not something she had had to fight in some time, thinking back to her time before the convent and as much as she wanted to dwell in a different time than the horror that was unfolding before her it was not time for such things.
The fog rolled in from the alley ways and crashed to the center of the town, covering what was happening for most of the fight. Lowering her head she said a quick prayer, hoping any god or goddess of good would hear her prayers. The group needed help, any help. Turning as she felt a presence beside her she gasped at the sudden appearance of Melvus; it startled her that one moment he had not been there and then the next he had but that wasn’t all of it, the way he looked showed he had not fared so well in the beginning of the fight. Hearing his words she nodded. She had already healed several that day but she still had some healing left up her sleeves as it were and it was time to use what gift she was blessed with.
“Yes, of course, just hold still,” Sister Agnes said in a caring voice.
Stepping over him close, she raised her hands and placed them over her heart as she chanted to herself before moving her fingers to his wounds and a soft warm light began to envelop him. She did not know if he had injuries besides what was visible but she didn’t want to risk not healing him enough so her hands roamed from his face, down his neck and to his chest where the light quickly grew and went over his entire form. As she pulled her hands away he would find that what flesh that had been damaged was not only healed but looked like nothing had happened, no scars remained and bones reformed. She thought perhaps that she had used too strong a healing spell on him but then she looked back at the fog and knew she had not. They would need every drop of blood they could spare in this fight for it was long from being over.
Reaching into the pocket of her habit she pulled out a clean cloth and dipped it into the water trough before ringing it out quickly and placing it in his hand so that he could clean up the blood now that he was healed. As much as he needed the healing he surely needed to clean away the blood so he could at least see at this point. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
683 | 13 | 119 | 2,489 | 654 | A knife whistled past Tobias's ear as he jerked his head to the side and broke into a dead run. As he closed to a melee with the two assassins, he slashed his daggers out wildly. His attacks succeeded only in putting his enemies off balance and causing one to step backwards - which, of course, was all he was hoping for. Tobias flourished his arm downward and sent one of his daggers flying towards his foe's now outstretched boot.
The man cried out and dropped down to tug the knife out of his foot, grimacing as he did so. This left Tobias with one dagger and one enemy - a net positive change, he thought. The assassin came at him with a flurry of cuts and stabs, which Tobias only narrowly managed to twist his body out of the way of, even taking a superficial cut on his thigh. The wound was inconsequential, but painful, although the blow allowed Tobias to catch a glimpse of what the man was wearing on his belt. Manacles. Slavers.
Tobias sidestepped, bringing his blade up. The assassin's gaze followed the knife automatically as it spun in the air a mere inch from the rogue's hands. A parlor trick, not an attack, but it took the man's attention away from the nimble fingers grabbing at the irons.
The thief, suffice it to say, had a lot of experience with wrist irons. He could even do a trick or two with them.
Tobias gripped the cuffs by one end and flicked the chain up, snapping the manacle shut around the man's wrist before he'd noticed what had happened. A perplexed look just barely crossed the assassin's face when Tobias caught the knife he'd tossed up and tugged at the chain.
With a knife in one hand and the chain in the other, Tobias was able to keep his foe off-balance. The man lunged, Tobias yanked his wrist left with the manacles, sending his charge twisting off and exposing his back to the rogue. The assassin was rewarded with a quick stab for his trouble before spinning around, slashing wildly. Tobias yanked again, downwards, elbowed the man in the face as he went lurching.
The other assassin was recovering now, brandishing the bloody knife that had just been embedded in his foot. Tobias stepped, twisting the man around with the chain to keep him in between the rogue and his comrade.
Tobias heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him and knew that the horseman was making another pass. Instinctively, he tucked his head in and dropped to the floor, and the short-sword went whizzing over his head once again.
Just as the horse passed, Tobias flicked the chain again, snapping the other cuff around the animal's leg and relinquishing it.
The unfortunate assassin barely had a moment to register what had happened before being yanked off his feet and dragged, bouncing and rolling, behind the charging horse, hollering all the while.
Tobias rose and immediately stepped back from the other assassin's attack. The man punched him in the head once, twice, three times, kicked him in the knee and shoved him backwards. The rogue dropped his dagger and fell backwards into the dust.
He scrambled to his feet and held up his empty hands in a show of surrender as the assassin advanced on him. "Alright, alright, you got me! Good effort," he said, breathing heavily, head pounding.
The man gave no reply, save a snarl, and reached for the dagger at his belt to find it missing. Confused, the assassing fumbled all over his clothes for a moment, hands seeking one of his weapons, before he snapped his gaze back to the surrendering thief.
Tobias shrugged slightly and flicked his wrists, sliding two familiar-looking daggers out of his sleeves and into his hands as a grin plastered on his face. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
684 | 13 | 120 | 1,533 | 1,707 | That song... It's a charm, right..? Melvus thought as the nun, who seemed rather fearful herself, which could easily be a misinterpretation of her body language, agreed to heal his wounds. His face stung as he had wiped some of the crimson fluid from it, adding to the already blood-stained cloak. This town has had more promising days than this one. She placed her hands over her heart as she chanted, the old woman's wrinkled hands glowed as she laid them over Melvus' facial region. The wizard could feel his bones mending and his wounds closing themselves, she moved her hands to heal other areas over him. Afterward he felt as though he would after a good night's sleep - well rested, full of energy, unscathed. She handed him what appeared to be a cloth to wipe the blood from his face, which he did, it would be useful to see during a fight. Melvus turned to the nun to say his thanks - that was when he noticed the archers.
It didn't seem as though it had taken them particularly long to find him - he had only gone as far as ten seconds would take him. "Go." Melvus said definitively to the sister. Melvus was reminded of something from his past.
Melvus and three other champions of Aesil had been selected to act as Efrida's escort during a diplomatic visit to the Palace Borough, another faction within the walls of the, immensely large city-state Drisbane. Along with him was Argus, a skilled archer, Helen, an 'assassin', and Cylus, the master of the sword. They made their way out of Aesil territory, the Princess, at the time, received many gleeful looks and cheers as she passed through on her white stallion. her escorts, as was tradition rode brown draft horses, but this was irrelevant. In order to arrive at the Palace's territory they would have to pass through the Neutral Zone, an area guarded by the Guardians, but they didn't enforce as much as they did in their own territories, so it was essentially an area ripe for a free-for-all. If such a thing did happen and the Guardians found out, they would likely incur on the provoker's territory in the name a justice, if there was such a thing in this city... this world.
It was a known thing among the quartet, if any power within the walls would have an attempt at Efrida's head, it would be here - in the Neutral Zone. The aforementioned area within the city was a rather dreary place. There were many people who lived there with no place to call home, Efrida generally invited them to live in Aesil territory - she wouldn't do it herself, but she would send attendants to convey the welcoming message. Today, however, she was on a mission of her own - to establish peace between Palace and Aesil in a greater attempt to silence the wickedness of Goetia. Aesil would say naught about Goetia's most recent incursion to their territory, this was mainly because potential allies had incurred on the evil faction and they would reveal this if they were revealed. Of course, the Guardians knew about the incursions but would do nothing unless directly confronted about it - they didn't really have any real power and to claim justice without genuine cause would be seen as their own unjustified incursion by the populace.
"You will be going no further today, Your Highness!" A deep voice rang out from nowhere - it was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky but it seemed to turn to night.
"Now!" Another, higher pitched voice said, it was like that of a child. Melvus could hear the whistling sound of arrows, before their trip they were reminded to enchant their clothing with vials of 'Divine Raiment' Each of the champions pulled their hoods over their heads. Melvus dove from his horse, knowing that it was gone. When the arrows had all met their marks, most of which hit the ground, some of which hit enchanted raiment, one of which... it had sunk deep into Helen's throat, she didn't have enough time to fully cover herself, or perhaps her hood was pushed aside by an arrow - it didn't matter now. If she wasn't dead already, she was going to die soon.
The enemy must've been far away, they were giving the Aesil faction time to themselves before their next attack... This isn't Goetia... They seem to only have had enough arrows for the one volley... A larger faction wouldn't have to ration their supplies like this... assuming that they aren't just giving us time... Melvus watched as Helen lay in Efrida's arms, she gargled blood as she tried to speak. Her futile attempts to convey information only caused more blood to spew from her grave wound. He watched as Cylus reached down and pulled the arrow from the poor woman's throat, a trail of blood following it as it excited. Her eyes glossed over and her squirming halted.
"Why... Cylus, why would you do that?" Efrida had spoken, tears welling up in her eyes.
The older man kneeled down next to her, "She was too far gone may queen. Even your healing magics could do nothing for her, you know this to be true. Your life is too valuable to risk it-"
"Please, don't" Efrida wiped her eyes, their horses were utter carnage of what they used to be. "We need to prepare, they'll likely swarm this area soon." She turned to Cylus, "Ready our defenses."
"Yes-" Cylus was cut off by a large unit of soldiers emerging from a road out of the area they were in, Melvus realized that it was an old plaza a large crossroads, there were eight roads leading in and out and it was in the shape of a large octagon.
"Attack!" Came the deep voice from before, it was a man with dark skin wielding a rather large axe. A minority within Drisbane, unpleased with the way they were being treated in turbulent times. The unit, with what was about fifty men, not all of which had darker skin, but most of them did. They charged, some of which bore axes, others wielded swords and yet others maces. Most of them had bows on their backs. I was right... A smaller faction... Melvus raised his staff and from it burst a golden spear which broke into a great many smaller ones, they shot forward, true in their direction, many of which clattered to the ground but the rest of them lodged themselves in opposing soldiers. Soldiers...? Hmm... Organized militaries are not legal within the city walls... I suppose the Guardians don't waste time regulating weak factions.
Melvus' attack left about nine bloodied corpses in its wake, the poor souls had no real chance, a few dove to the side to avoid danger and succeeded, but the rest were not as lucky. Argus unslung her bow from her back, knocked arrow after arrow, firing into the oncoming force, they were almost on top of the champions by now. The, now, trio formed a triangle around the Princess as the enemy closed in. As Argus shot off her arrows, Melvus' Arm of the Heavens shot out lifting enemies and tossing them into their comrades. Their numbers seemed to have doubled out of no where. How...
"They're being reinforced!" Cylus yelled over the commotion, pointing to the additional troops making their way into the fray. The old man, himself, seemed to be a fury, taking on a great many of combatants at once, their attacks could not break his perfect defense. He'd already taken down about twenty of their untrained grunts by this point. Melvus had summoned his Heaven's Wheel which shifted to defend and attack. Argus was the first to be overwhelmed. Her bow skills were not very useful at close ranged combat.
She dropped her bow, drew two arrows and was using them as daggers. She used her superior nimbleness to dodge the enemies attacks, all the while getting close enough to lodge her arrows into eye sockets, exposed skin, chinks in armor. She was ducking and weaving. She jumped to the left, avoiding a blade, then dropped to the ground to avoid a swipe which landed on an enemy. She proceeded to kick her immediate opponent's feet from beneath them while stabbing heir throat with her arrow, yelling the entire time. She reached back for another arrow to find that her quiver was empty. Nearly thirty enemies lay dead around her, her breathing had become very heavy. They only reason they'd survived this far was because of their armored clothing... No chinks.
She began to punch and kick, but quickly lost her energy and was swarmed by nearly fifteen enemy combatants, Melvus lost sight of her in the storm. Melvus drew his own straight sword, his swords were fading - he was losing energy. The enemy had been reduced to about thirty from their original hundred... Cylus had taken out most of them, but his old body could not take the strain, he collapsed. His body no longer able to take the stress, Melvus presumed. Melvus guessed that there were about fifty dead enemies around he old man... These people are not well trained... They cannot even compare to a master... Luckily the enemy seemed to assume that he was dead, fell by their swords.
At this point, the deep voice of the man rang out, "Back off! This dog and his queen are mine. Head back to camp." The man approached with two archers at his side, his axe slung over his back and he wore leather armor. The archers stayed back as the man stepped forward.
Melvus turned to Efrida, who was still unscathed, at the cost of two of her most skilled champions. Melvus could see the mangled body of Argus... She was only recognizable by the, now crimson, armor she wore. "Go." Melvus said to Efrida.
"No, I'll stay."
"Go!" Melvus spoke back, he knew that if he lost, she would be defenseless, if the archers tried something he could deal with them, but if she was here when he fell, she would die.
"No-"
"I will defend your life, my queen. But I will not give my life if your death is assured. I will not allow you to stay." Melvus turned back to the enemy, who was waiting for his fight. "I gave my word to bring you to the crown in any way I could-" She attempted to cut him off but her voice was drowned out by his, "Once I have given my word as a solemn oath! On my honor as a vassal of Aesil, I will not betray that oath! The best way for me to assure your crowning is for you to get to the Palace territory alive, I cannot assure that if you die here. Go!" He could hear footfalls behind him as she ran to the exit of the Neutral Zone. Melvus took notice that Cylus was no longer on the floor He went with her... She is safe... The injured wizard turned to the enemy.
"Have at me demons!" Melvus yelled at the archers who stood before him, Sister Agnes behind him and his wounds healed. | Removed |
685 | 13 | 121 | 1,270 | 2,337 | As the adventurers tumbled out of the inn, groggy and drained as they were, Hanzo could only stand and hold his ground at the incoming armament of raiders. They were clearly far more armed than before, even boasting a couple of spell-casters on their side; clearly, these slavers held a far larger operation than any of them had anticipated. In spite of their own beaten-down condition, Hanzo hoped that the adventurers could prove to be more fortunate than their foes.
A great fog began to roll over the town - the work of the enemy mage, it seemed - and Hanzo steeled himself for the assault. That spell-caster was going to be a major problem if he was allowed to lob out any more magic, especially in a layer of obscuring mist. At least for the time being, the monk could sense and see the bandits coming from about 10 feet in front of him, assuredly bearing more clarity than they. Regardless, the enemy charged on, one of the flanks breaking off to aim for the lone martial artist.
Upon the horse, a thief relinquished his reigns in order to pull out a pair of daggers, tightening his heels upon his mount's flanks to steady himself. He flicked out his arm, and one of the daggers went sailing at Hanzo while the horse still came clomping forth. The monk gave his foe less polity this time; diving under the flying knife, Hanzo turned on a hell and threw himself into the side of the charging mount. While it worked to knock the horse off-course to the side somewhat, it also more accurately struck at the thief's taut leg, for a single moment pinching it painfully between Hanzo's shoulder and the mount's flank. As the teetering stallion clomped off aside to regain its own composure, the rider quite unexpectedly found himself thrown off, his sudden leg pain forfeiting his balance.
Hanzo's attention shot back to where the thief rode in from, expecting more bandits to follow. Tuning out the commotion elsewhere, the monk was just able to distinguish the sight of another flying blade as it heaved itself from the fog. Hanzo sidestepped the projectile, a hand axe, with ease, allowing himself a wider motion to ensure he wouldn't suffer an errant cut like last time. Another axe flew out, and Hanzo dove down and forth to avoid it when the sight of two bandits entered his vision from the mist.
Leading the pair was the larger of the two, toting a large warhammer and plate armor. Behind that one was a more hunched-over warrior, bearing less plates but wielding a hand axe - the source of those other thrown axes, presumably. Before he could confirm the thought, the hammer bandit charged at Hanzo with gruesome intent.
The man was big and powerful, but also slow and hefty, and he gave ample time for Hanzo to wind up a heavy punch of his own; the glowing aura growing in his fist cleverly disguised by the light-bathed fog. In the moment that his foe wound up the decisive swing, the monk sprung forth and plunged his fist right into the breastplate with a solid crack - there was a split second before the bandit warrior suddenly recoiled in pain, the wind knocked from his chest and the momentum in his attack lost. Hanzo, meanwhile, did well to hide the fact that the crack came from his own hand.
Hanzo wasted no time in rearing back, opening his fists and mashing his palms together with a clap. He quickly channeled his energy again, focusing within his closed hands and creating a glow of teal light. The bandit's next attempt to attack was instead stopped as soon as it started, a blast of raw power slamming him in the face and knocking him down.
A third axe flew out from the surrounding fog, but it seemed to go wide on the monk's position - until a knife plunged itself into Hanzo's shoulder blade, reflexively urging him to the side. Unable to recover in time to dodge, Hanzo forced his arms up to take the blow from the thrown axe... but then it fizzled right through him with no quarrel. After a brief moment of confounding, he realized that the axe must've been an illusion, but that sharp pain in his shoulder had to be real. The thief must've gotten up! Hanzo whirled around to find the slander bandit drawing another knife, tossing it in his grip-
And then he failed to notice a real hand axe being thrown at him until its whistling entered his ears. He desperately backpedaled away, but too late, the axe smacked itself vertically into the center of Hanzo's ribcage. The monk stamped his foot to the ground, regaining his balance, but he continued to fight to stay standing given the two weapons lodged in his body.
As if it couldn't get any worse, the area he stood then suddenly exploded in flames.
The burst of heat working slightly to dispel the fog in the immediate area, the axe bandit glanced back behind him. Stepping beyond the wall of archers, the fire mage shot a curt smile to the two armored bandits, his hands still wisping with heat from the fire blast.
"Dammit, Cade!" The axe bandit spat out suddenly, turning aside to face the mage, "I had that one!"
Shaking out the curls of residual smoke from his hand, the robed man gave a provoking chuckle. "Oh, Wick, of course you did. I was merely speeding up the process."
"Seriously!?" Wick stomped, and his partner snapped up, drawing his attention to the infighting. "What's the point of making 'em suffer if you just keep blasting 'em to bits!?"
"Uh, hey guys-" a faint male voice rung out from behind Wick. The other bandit warrior took a glance aside, and suddenly fought harder to get up.
"If you knew anything about my magic," Cade retorted to the arrogant axe bandit, getting notably more annoyed, "Then you might actually delight in knowing that it's the burning that kills them, not the-"
"GUYS-!" Another cry, followed by a sharp clashing of blades. The bickering pair finally turned around...
A painful smack echoed out, and with a fresh red sore on his face, the thief tumbled to the ground in a harsh spin, roiling in pain. Standing over him was the monk, terribly scorched and blood drizzling down his chest, but well alive. With a second wind and a heaping of adrenaline, he had deflected the thief's vain effort to defend himself and promptly nailed him with a heel kick to the jaw. Already, the warhammer bandit was getting ready for his next assault, as Hanzo ever so subtly shifted his grip on the weapons previously stuck in him.
A furious Wick was first to act, however, swinging his other axe in a wide curvature to desperately try and claim superiority. Snapping up his own axe and knife, the monk deflected the hand axe upward and followed with a swift toss of his arm, slinging the knife in a counter-attack. Unable to avoid it, the bandit tried to shield himself but ended up with the blade lodged in his arm, ensuing a cry of pain. The other bandit warrior quickly began his own attack, this time a mighty leaping overhead strike that Hanzo couldn't knock him from. And indeed, the monk didn't even try to do so, but instead dove forward to roll under the attack and behind the bandit.
Caught off-guard, the fighter was nigh-helpless as the axe was plunged into his spine. The piercing strike shot overwhelming pain throughout his body, paralyzing him, and the bandit collapsed to the ground. Hanzo's fierce gaze returned to the mage, and the two found themselves locking eyes.
Cade was already preparing another spell, more deadly than a simple fireball. A painfully furious Wick, meanwhile, charged at Hanzo with his fisticuffs alone. The martial artist would have to fend off the closer threat first, and so infused surges of Ki into his fists. Wick's strikes were quick but thrown wide, and Hanzo was able to parry and scrape past them to land his own Ki Strikes on the bandit. These blows were not as focused, however, and so Hanzo's punches could not penetrate his foe's armor well enough to fell him.
The angry warrior, visibly running out of steam, suddenly tried to force himself forward, looking to grapple the monk and crunch him in his grip. A big mistake, as Hanzo was able to quickly shift himself and turn the tides to his own favor. The fire mage finished his magic chants with a final yell, and thinking fast, the monk heaved the exasperated bandit over his shoulder at Cade. A violent comet of fire erupted from the spell-caster's palms, and Wick exploded into flames on contact, tumbling to the ground in a sizzling heap.
Now visibly panicked with his spells being thwarted, the fire mage called out for help, siccing his familiar at the monk. It dove at Hanzo with a screeching cry, trying to claw at the man's head, but Hanzo managed to parry the attacks with his arms, scratching himself less vitally. His attempt to whip the bird away was short lived when it flew out and circled around for another dive. This time, Hanzo focused himself in his stance, and managed to intercept the fly-by with a round kick, knocking the hawk to the ground.
The mage was attempting to chant a quicker incantation, but it was not fast enough, Hanzo able to lunge out and knock the caster to the ground with a flying kick. He leaped upon the downed slaver, taking the lapel of his robes in one hand and raising the other to punch him out cold. With fear plastered upon his face, the mage cried out, "No, wait!"
The monk hesitated, his battle face turning into a scowl. With the opportunity to speak, the man choked out, "Y-you are certainly a powerful fighter - why waste such talent defending this poor village?"
Retaining his scowl, Hanzo took but a second to respond, "You are a wielder of great arcane power. Why waste it on terrorizing such a 'poor' village?"
Fear returned to the mage's visage for a moment, followed promptly by anger, and yet more promptly by a curt, defeated chuckle. "Clever, too... ah, well." Pursing his lips, Cade blew out a shrill whistle that led the blood hawk to claw at Hanzo's head again. With a final cry, he finished his incantation, shoving his scorching palms into Hanzo's exposed chest. "Burning Hands!"
Several moments passed, the flesh scorching under his press, but the monk's gaze only grew more furious as he struggled. Finally, his hand stole a grip on the hawk's neck, twisting into a tight fist that choked the air out of the bird. Horror reclaimed the desperate mage one last time before the fist finally drove down, slamming his skull into the ground and concussing him instantly. Opening his hand, the choked bird fell limp aside its master's head, the last of its life leaving it.
With heaving pants of breath and a painful groan, Hanzo stood up, his adrenaline wearing thin. His skin was burnt and raw in many places, his muscles ached in strain, his head and arms bled with harsh scratches and his chest burned very painfully. If nothing else, at least the gash on his chest was cauterized, leaving a dark scar around a splash of burnt skin, but even then, his ribcage was still pierced from that wound. Much like this whole encounter, it was a far cry from what he had dealt with merely an hour before.
Wiping blood on his forehead away from his eyes, Hanzo raised a hand and weakly called for Sister Agnes, slowly retracing himself down his path of carnage and defeated bodies. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
686 | 13 | 122 | 54 | 1,340 | The Slavers Camp – Group A
Sana nodded to the group as they agreed to take the people back to the village; they needed tending to and who knew what was going to happen on the road back or what was happening in the village itself. She giggled slightly as Lob returned the hug and licked her face, smiling at him. They were a group of people that she had fighting at her side now and she was grateful to them. She hated having to send them back without her, not knowing what lay before them but it was something that she had to do. She really needed time alone, time to bury the past and find a future; whatever that may be.
Stepping over to Lob as he spoke she shook her head and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Please, lead them back to the village and keep them safe. For me,” she asked softly. “They need your strength,” she added as she looked at him. “The rest of the slavers may be headed towards the village and if so they will need all the help they can get,” she admitted as she stood there. Looking over towards Fiona and Vaeri, as well as Drizzak she had a look of concern fall over her features. “Stay safe, be careful,” she said quickly as she stood there.
The forest would be hard to traverse, it would take a couple of hours just to get through the narrow paths with the wagon back to the road itself and then another couple of hours to take the road back into the village. Who knew what would happen on the route. Would they be able to get back without another fight? Sana did not know but she knew that if they did they would need more than just three to get through it. Lob was quick and he hit like an anvil. They needed a tank to help with the speed and spells the others had.
Turning back to Lob she smiled. “Don’t worry, if anything happens I will run. I won’t fight. I’ll stay safe. I will see you all tonight for a much needed drink,” she said with a slight laugh. Sana was not one to drink usually but after the day they had had she knew by the time she got back to the village she would want to drown away any sorrows that were left.
“Oh, make sure to give some of the gold to the apothecary when you get back, I think we are going to need a lot more healing potions if this keeps up,” she said looked back at the rest in the group. “Now, get out of here and get these people some much needed food,” she said before stepping away from them and waiting for them to leave. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
687 | 13 | 123 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh nodded at the thief's answer, a scowl still gracing his face. He didn't mean to scowl, it just stayed there after hearing what the man had to say of Sana a few moments ago. He simply vented his anger in fist clenching, drinking some of his coffee. He felt a little crack on the coffee mug, which he quickly set down.
The little conversation didn't last long, as Hugh had no response to the thief's words, only taking them and keeping them in mind. The thief had found more interest in conversing with a random stranger whom was wearing the same clothes as him, or something along those lines. The wizard appeared to have joined them and conversed with the thief, seemingly ignoring Hugh for the most part.
Hugh simply played with the cup, staring into the drink as reminiscence played through his mind. His mind drifted through the day and the past, reflecting on the trigger from earlier. His mind was a storm of thoughts and memories. He had no control as his mind went through darker places in his life.
The man's attention was quickly diverted by the sudden rise of the thief, as he headed off towards the window. It appeared to be from some commotion occurring outside, as Hugh followed suit. He walked up behind the wizard, taking his time. Though his eyes grew tired as he noted the crowd of rather ugly looking creatures and men, seemingly intent on causing trouble.
He groaned and headed back over to where he had left his coffee. He took the chain mail shirt and put it on, followed by his pauldrons. He didn't care whether or not they were going to fight him, he wasn't in the mood for getting stabbed again, as he was too tired for the work. He finished up his task with donning his weapons, his battleaxe slung across his back.
He strode outside, coming in after the others, as they seemingly lined the street in front of the inn, looking ready to take on this group of prolific miscreants. Hugh sighed and stared at the new group, feeling more tired than usual. "Y'all must be trippin'." He said, sounding like some inner city commoner.
His words were quickly followed by two hyenas, running straight towards him. "Mutha fucker-" His fist soon met the body of one of the hyenas, as both of them jumped at him. One hyena's teeth sunk into Hugh's armor on his shoulder, trying to bite through his chain mail armor. The other was soon lying on the ground on its back as Hugh stepped on it, crushing it underneath his weight. He held onto the other, squeezing it to his chest, hoping that it might break.
The one under his feet was screaming in its odd hyena way, as Hugh broke its ribcage with his weight. Hugh began the process of snuffing its life out, as he began jumping up and down, one hyena in his arms biting into his shoulder, and the other being crushed under his weight.
It wasn't long before he found the other one to stop screaming, giving him a little bit of a break to rip the one on his shoulder off. He started this process by quickly moving his hands up to the beast's jaws, getting a grip on each one and prying the beast from him. It had done its damage, as the pinch alone on his shoulder caused enough pain and bleeding. It would have been worse had the teeth been fully embedded into his skin, but that wasn't the case.
Soon, victory was his, as he ripped the beast from his shoulder, nearly breaking its jaws. He threw it to the ground and stepped on its neck, crushing its airway, before drawing his falchion and stabbing it into the beast's lungs. He repeated the process with the other one, before standing valiantly over the two creatures.
"Alright, who's next?" He said, the combination of a grimace and a grin on his face, as he used one hand to rub his wounded shoulder. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
688 | 13 | 124 | 1,270 | 2,337 | With reluctance, Lob nodded and lead the way. He would up an axe from the dead twins if it was available to begin the brutal clearing of brush. He was not having a hissy-fit, but leading a wagon was not as easy as most thought, moreso with the sick and injured sensitive to any bumps. They got a wagon in, so it would be easiest to lead the wagon out the way it came, a longer lower route but easy enough all the same.
He was told to find for them and so he was foraging while clearing brush. Tearing out a bush by its base, he found a rabbit warren. There was a quick horrific scream and then Lob popped up with a fat lop by its ears.
"FOOD!" | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
689 | 13 | 125 | 677 | 1,382 | As Vaeri walked through the forest, she looked upon the half-orc named Lob and gave him the keyword dog. That one would be more than simple enough to remember. As time past, her mind regained clarity and she realized that she had probably fallen asleep for a couple minutes right before the party began moving. She needed to make sure that such a thing did not happen again. But it was easier said than done, with no more imminent danger, the lack of energy in her body and the heaviness of her eyelids was the dominant thought in her mind. The constant movement of walking the road helped to keep her awake.
Vaeri looked at the people in the wagon. They were weak, sick and injured, but even ignoring that, they had an air of mixed feelings: Relief that they no longer needed to live stuck in cages, apprehension of these odd strangers who saved them, uncertainty about the future, but beneath it all, was a faint hope blossoming. The hope that maybe they can make something of their lives and that their experiences in the camp could be put behind them. A noble hope, hopefully one that would stick with these poor souls.
These thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Lob shouted FOOD, holding up a squirming, screaming rabbit with a proud look on his face. Vaeri chuckled. Now that she though about it, she could certainly go for a meal. She walked lightly over towards Lob, looking into the hole he found in the brushes.
"Do you think you can find more rabbits? I could cook us all a meal if we had about 5 more of those about that size." A single rabbit could feed about 3 to 5 people if prepared correctly, and counting Fiona, Drizzak, Lob and herself, there were 18 people total. Under a best case scenario, they would need 4 for everyone to be fed. More likely they would need 5 or 6. If they could not find enough, she would do as best as she could and give the remaining hungry some of the dried meat she kept in her bag. It was one thing for everyone to go hungry on the trip back, but for some to eat while the others starved would simply be cruel. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
690 | 13 | 126 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix "Nightbane" Herchiv
The light surrendered to the pitch of the night. A sky without a moon hung ominously over the open field, and there shadowy figures flickered and silhouetted against the dim sparkle of the stars that speckled the endless void.
Although the figures heaved and moved with heavy swings of powerful arms and heavy metal weapons, not a grunt or groan swept from the closed lips of the silhouettes.
Heavy weapons of incredible size glid through the cold night air, without a gleam or sparkle so often seen under starlight. Feet switched, leapt and strived to avoid the swings of the others. Dark grass was bent and crumbled under thick boots, and liquid born colorless without light sprinkled from the wounds caught by the powerful figures and glimmered in the peaceful breeze of the massacre.
A single figure appeared in the center of the monstrosities that were being born on this night. He glew softly, like the dim stars, but he remained faceless like the invisible moon.
As scarlet poured down the bodies of the fighters, so too the dark sky polluted crimson. The glowing figure found the field to be gone, and the grass replaced with a sea of bodies, mutilated and violated.
The vast expanse of discarded corpses were covering the ground so thick, no blade of grass poked through, and doubts of earth being found underneath haunted the mind of the glowing figure.
He stood still while the large silhouettes now fought themselves, backgrounded by the hating red sky.
Eyes hidden behind metal flickered and scoured across the fighters. Blood crusted the beards, and strung throughout the hair of both women and men. Naked and bare the figures fought around the single solemn figure, stomachs split, and fingers ground to the bone as they held fast to the metallic objects used to torment each other.
The glowing angel turned on his heel, and before him a sea of horses pounded across the plains of bodies, dark hair and tails whisking in the calm breeze as the skies swirled and flowed as a river of red.
The horses moved inhumanly fast, and their large anvil like hooves crushed and splatted the mutilated bodies of the ground. Smoke of exhaustion steamed from their heavy breathing nostrils and the fire of the forge burnt out their eyes, leaving in place pink scars.
The black horde pounded closer and closer to the relentless fighters, and the sole figure of light. The acrid breath of the horses burnt the nose of the still man, and soon the crushing weight of the horses were bearing down on him as the fighters wrestled each other, snapping bone and ripping skin. The hooves cleaved the fighter’s eyes shut, and slaughtered all that stood.
Dust was kicked up from the collision, and the scarred hand of the golden eyed man reached out to grab whatever was in reach.
The cloud of dust softened into nothingness as the man’s golden eyes blinked open from his daydream. He was standing not in the ocean of bodies, but rather on a dirt road that lead into a cloud of strange fog.
A cursory glance about himself also revealed that he was not covered in strange thick armor or concealed behind a massive helmet, but that he stood plainly, clothed in a pale green tunic, cut at the sleeves to reveal long masculine arms covered in a never ending and spiraling red scar that marked him menacingly from his fingertips down to his booted feet, carved up his body, over his stern face, and finally hiding underneath short cut black hair.
The broad man’s hand was still outstretched, and it’s palm was laid gently on the leather bound shoulder of a shocked man holding a readied crossbow.
The two men blinked at each other in an awkward confusion. The archer quickly scanned the weaponless man, as did the golden eyed stranger.
There was a shout and the stranger quickly realized what he had walked into. A bolt whizzed by his head and the leather clad shape of another crossbow man caught his attention.
He was under attack. The stranger quickly tightened his grip on the archer in front of him and pulled the shocked man close. The stranger used his free hand to quickly slide a small blade from the crossbowman’s belt.
The captured archer groaned and struggled under the weight of the strangers python arm as it wrapped around him. A flying elbow from the archer however slammed hard into the stranger’s jaw, and gave him enough time to wiggle free while the golden eyed man shook his head free from the dizzying blow, drizzling small speckles of crimson from a split lower lip.
Another bolt whizzed by, and quickly another one. The other crossbowman had the stranger in his sights now, and there was only so many times he would mistake his aim before he struck the golden eyed stranger.
The stranger reached out, and by luck his fingers wrapped around the belt of the fleeing archer he had captured, and as he yanked the cross bow man back against him, he heard the twang of the other crossbow slap against its wooden frame.
His arm squeezed and with a heave of might he spun himself and his captured human shield around, and with a yelp from his prisoner, the bolt of the assailant bit deep into the flesh of the first archer.
The stranger felt the crossbowman’s struggle weaken and he loosened his grasp. As the weakened man started to move, the stranger quickly sank the short blade that he stole from the man into his lower back.
As the body of the archer began to slump, the stranger retightened his grip, pressing the bloodied corpse against him as a shield. Another bolt flung from the other archer, and sunk into the dead flesh of the meat shield.
The stranger groaned in annoyance and grabbed the stiff hand of his cadaver shield, and lifted it and it’s tightly gripped crossbow up. He clamped his hand over the slowly chilling hand of the dead archer, and squeezed the hair trigger of the crossbow, releasing a stray bolt with a twang.
The bolt flew with a whistle and buried itself into the chest of the assailant, sending the man backwards over himself and landing on the dirt with a poof of dust. A soft gurgle bubbled from the man as he laid in the dirt, and for a moment the golden eyed stranger stared, before realizing his fight was far from over.
In the struggle, he had no time to notice the two strange men who were watching his fight, eager to rip him to pieces in a bloody revenge.
The stranger dropped his cadaver shield and it crumpled grimly to the road. The man wiped his bleeding lip with his bare arm.
Before the stranger could react further to the two new enemies, a strange owl swooped down from the sky.
The stranger lifted his arms in defense as the flying creature scratched and pecked at his forearms, screeching a battlecry. It’s sharp ebony talons ripped at his skin and tore scarlet ribbons into his arms as he clenched his teeth in agitation.
A slim blade flew at the distracted stranger by the flick of one of the men, a bard’s wrist. The stranger’s quick steps avoided the blade from sticking into his heart, but instead his tunic ripped and the side of his rib under his arm trickled with blood from the grazing thrust.
The flapping wings and flying feathers obstructed the strangers view of his enemies, and with a frustrated groan he struck out with his left fist. The thick knucklebones connected brutally into the face of the owl, effectively knocking it from it’s flight.
The owl landed on the ground in a flutter, and it twitched spastically as the stranger stepped over it to meet the bard who had closed in.
A flaming axe whizzed by the stranger’s head and caught him off guard, making him stumble backwards. His large boot stomped on the bird with a crunch as he tried to regain his balance. The man who had summoned the axe swore harshly under his breath at the sight of the bird being squashed.
The stranger was quickly brought back to attention as the sharp blade of the bard whizzed by his stomach, just missing it’s mark. The bard thrusted with his blade again, but this time the stranger parried it with his own small blade.
The two aggressively attacked each other. The bards blade thrusted, and the strangers blade snapped up to parry. The bard swung to the left, and flying axes hurled to ease the stranger into the deadly bard’s blow, but the stranger ducked and thrusted his tiny blade forward as he rose again once the danger had swept by him in a low whistle.
The bard was quick and flashed his fanciful blade in a skilled thrust to the stranger’s torso. The stranger moved awkwardly towards the blow and then winced in pain as the blade sunk into the flesh of his shoulder and out the back.
A powerful pain however broke the bard’s joy, and he looked down. The strangers hand was up against his stomach in a bloody mess, balled into a fist. Past the edge of where the fist met the gore of the bard’s stomach, the small blade laid deep inside the man.
The stranger pushed further with the gruesome blade, and the bard was sent back, his blade sliding out of the stranger's shoulder, bringing with it a spray of red.
The bard slumped to the ground in a macabre mess of both his and the strangers blood, the wet hilt of the tiny blade protruding from his belly.
The final man took a few steps back as the stranger leaned over the bard’s body and ripped a lute that was slung around the limp shoulder of the dead man.
Axes started to spout out of thin air and spin wildly at the stranger. His golden eyes widened and he tried his best to dodge them. He lept to the left and rolled to the right, splashing a squirt of blood onto the gravel from his shoulder.
He ground his teeth in a sharp pain as he sprinted his final approach. One of the axes had caught him off guard however and when it dissipated into thin air as it collided with him, not causing him any harm, the stranger squinted his angry golden eyes at the illusionist.
The trickster summoned more apparitions desperately, but the Stranger advanced stalwartly.
Once the golden eyed stranger was in reach, ignoring the false blades that threatened him, he lifted the lute over his shoulder, and swung it heavily back down. The wood splintered as it smashed into the side of the illusionist’s head.
The magician fell to the ground from the powerful blow. The stranger walked over the body to finish the battle, and as he stared down at the crippled body on the ground, the eyes of the trickster dimmed with unconsciousness.
The stranger put a scratched and bloody hand over the hole in his shoulder and frowned before kicking the body gently and stepping over it.
His eyes flickered over the battlefield he had just been thrusted into and he frowned, his head lightening and woozy from the loss of blood. This was not his idea of a peaceful midday walk. | Name: Illyd Dyill
Age: 18
Alignment: neutral
Race: Human
Class: Shepherd
Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots.
He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face.
Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking,
Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed
Magic/Spells:
Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction
Weapons: A Shepherd's crook
Possessed: Yes
Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly.
History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer
(possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp)
So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development |
691 | 13 | 127 | 2,489 | 654 | The assassin threw up his hands as Tobias ran at him, a stolen knife in each hand. The rogue slammed the ends of both daggers on each of the man's temple with the crack, his foe's eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to the ground. Tobias still wasn't executing prisoners like Sana Arrow-Eye, the splitting headache and... potential brain damage the man might suffer notwithstanding.
Tobias turned just in time to see a figure running at him from out of the mists, brandishing a shortsword. Tobias sidestepped the overhand chop but wasn't able to avoid a punch in the jaw that sent him reeling. "Little bastard," the man said, spitting on him.
Tobias looked up and realized the man was vaguely familiar. Evidently, the horseman had dismounted to attack on foot, realizing that another mounted charge would spell the end for the comrade shackled to his horse.
Tobias tottered to his feet and threw a dagger, missing by a mile. His second dagger came as the man was charging him, and though it caught him in the shoulder it barely slowed his furious charge. Tobias dove out of the way a second too slow, and the blade painted a red line across his back. Another scar for the tapestry.
Tobias landed hard and tried to scramble up, to no avail. His enemy was on him, the sword descending, and the rogue was bum out of tricks. Well, save one. The rogue closed his eyes and poured the vial of silvery liquid into his mouth.
The blade stopped mere inches from his face, and a perplexed expression spread across the would-be executioner's face. Tobias rose, cautiously, and took a step away from the man as he looked left and right, wondering where his quarry had gone. Calmy, Tobias moved behind him, threw his arms about his neck, and squeezed.
When the man's struggling stopped, the invisible rogue took a deep breath. Pain and fear began to reassert themselves as adrenaline faded - his wounds burned all across his body, his head pounded, and he could barely stand straight. Limping, holding the cut in his shoulder, he staggered through the fog. "Sister Agnes! Sister Agnes!" he called faintly, rubbing dirt on his face to make the outline of his transparent visage visible. | Name: Tobias
Age: 22
Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish
Race: Human
Class: Thief
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing.
Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness.
Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it.
Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide.
Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot.
Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound.
Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction.
History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive.
Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p |
692 | 13 | 128 | 54 | 1,340 | The Village – Group A
Sister Agnes ducked behind Mevlus, half grateful he was there and half thinking that he was completely nuts. Then again looking around at the group that was defending the village from the attack she concluded they had to at least all be somewhat out of their minds. Looking up before glancing over to him she nodded. “Thank you,” she said quickly and then proceeded to move out of the way and back towards the entrance of the apothecary so she could watch without becoming a target and another victim they would need to defend.
Then she heard Hanzo call out for her; gathering the folds of her habit she moved as quickly as the old woman could over to him. He had managed to take out several of the assailants but they had done their own damage on the monk. Running over to him she took a quick look at his injuries before she reached out as her hands began to glow with a soft white light. Moving them over his body slowly, not wanting to rush the process now that body after body was dropping to the ground, the few that were there taking the upper hand in the battle finally. Hanzos injuries began to close and the bleeding stopped after a few moments, the flesh reknitting itself and healing. There would be some small scars but there was nothing major left once she pulled her hands away and he would be able to function normally once again. Fatigue and blood loss she couldn’t help, she knew of a few spells that would but she did not possess them.
Turning as she heard more of the battle ensue from behind her towards the southern end of the village Sister Agnes perked a brow at the new comer. She had not seen him before; he wasn’t one of the ones that had come into the shop earlier in the day and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Seeing him fight off the evils that were attacking the village she had to say a quick thanks to the Light for sending another person to battle these maniacs. Turning back to Hanzo she smiled. “You need to get to the side and rest, it looks like things are being taken care of,” she said in a kind voice before moving away from him and heading towards the new comer.
“Thank you,” she said to the man that was holding his shoulder as she approached him carefully. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to hurt you,” she said softly. Sister Agnes was your everyday looking woman of the cloth and looked far too old to be in the middle of a battle rushing around healing the younger folk but it was all she could do for them. Stepping over corpses as the fog faded away she came close to him. “Seems you need a bit of healing,” she added as she held her hand out, it glowing faintly with a holy light. If he were to detect her alignment he would find that she was a lawful and good soul that carried no malice in her heart even if she was fatigued from healing body after body this day.
Resting an old and weathered hand atop of his that held his shoulder she said a soft prayer and warmth would fill his form, starting at the wound and slowly spreading out from there to fill his body. It would cause the wounds to close and the flesh to reknit itself as she healed him, the bleeding would cease but sadly the woozy feelings and light headedness would remain. All she could do was heal them from any more blood loss, the rest would require water, food and rest. As she finished she glanced around, wondering if this was it for the day or if there would be more than needed protecting. There was still a smell in the air that would not leave coming from the bodies of those that attacked the town. Whatever the source had been was not there before them and it made her worry that this day was far from over with. She only could hope and pray that the rest of the group would be back soon from their little side quest.
”Sister Agnes! Sister Agnes!”, she heard cry out but she could not see where it was coming from as she stepped away from the new comer and began to go towards the sound of the voice that called to her from seemingly nowhere. Then she saw it, a faint outline of a face seemed to be floating in the air and wobbling with each step.
“I see you,” she called out as she ran over to him and reached out carefully, trying to find his body with her hands since he was still under the effects of the invisibility potion. Finding one shoulder and then the other she opted to heal him as best she could instead of focusing on a single point. She did not know how injured so she did not want to risk not healing him enough. Lowering her head as her stood there she began to glow softly and the light fell from her, enveloping Tobias as she prayed; the light outlining his form as she healed him. It took longer than she would have liked but she was not going to risk not going enough for the thief.
As she finished she took a step back and sat down, breathing heavily on the edge of the walkway of wood that lined the shops of the small village. She had been used to healing people over the years but not having to heal this much so quickly in the middle of a battle. It was something she was unused to and it was beginning to take its toll on the old soul. Resting back against a post she took a few long breaths to regain her composure. She hoped the battle would be over with soon. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
693 | 13 | 129 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh having had finished of the assassins called Zam back and they wandered to Battle it seemed most of there companions had finished there respective fights so it would seem that Mortosh wouldn't be needed here at least that until he noticed Sister Agnes leaning against a post
"sister Agnes are you alright?" asked Zam Mortosh wanted know as well if the kind nun was alright perhaps there was something he could to help she shook her head but it still didn't put Mortosh at any ease there must be something he could do then he thought of one thing. he began casting bless in the direction of Melvus and Hugh. | Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano
Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard)
Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good)
Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III)
Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate)
Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots
(Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin)
Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal
( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills
Natural Abilities:
Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease.
Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks.
Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power.
(Zam)
Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Magic/Spells:
Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels
Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level.
Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear
Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers
Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures
(Zam)
Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh
Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects
Light: Object shines like a torch
lie.
Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath.
The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder.
Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past.
Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare)
Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute)
Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air
EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds
Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh)
History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why?
He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void.
So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning.
this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was.
Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since |
694 | 13 | 130 | 54 | 1,340 | Time To Say Goodbye
There Sana stood, watching them leave as the wind kicked up around the remains of the slavers once proud encampment; a den of horror and savagery. The bodies of their foes scattered the ground. The emaciated remains of those who had been captured but not survived laid with hollow eyes staring out into the abyss of nothingness that was the death that had claimed them; their bodies having been crushed beneath the soles of those that had survived and that were now on their way back to the hopeful safety of the village that was several miles south. Small fires still flickered from the various fires that had been burning when they arrived, one was larger than the rest; the one that had claimed Sanas skin when she was brought down by the ravenous dog that attacked her.
The group slowly moved out of sight behind distance and trees and it was not until then that Sana turned and looked fully at the harsh reality that lay before her. It had been seen on their arrival but battle had ensued quickly and then there were other things that kept ones eyes focused away from the bigger picture. Now she saw the forest that lay beyond the trees. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed behind, alone to face this. Her emotional state was already so fragile but this was something that needed to be done and after the loss of her father and the knowledge that the rest of her family was gone; the gypsy did not need those that did not know her around, nor did she need comfort at that time, Sana needed to be alone.
Life was full of twists and turns but it seemed that no matter how far you traveled you always ended up facing your past once again; no matter how long you had tried to avoid it. For as long as Sana remembered she had fled the life of the gypsy. She had rejected what she was, not wanting to be an entertainer, a vagabond, a courtesan and yet here she was staring at the very face of the one that had been the reason she was born into that world. Life had come full circle for her and her fathers last words rang in her mind, I’m sorry I drove you away. Kneeling down she took his hands and placed them over his chest, “I forgive you,” she whispered; rising she sought out some means to lay her fathers body to rest, eventually finding a shovel she could only assume was there to bury the bodies of those that had not been strong enough for the trade.
Seeking and finding a quiet spot away from the tainted earth of the camp she began to dig, dust and dirt kicking up with each strike to the earth and in turn it being tossed aside. Memories of her life before her days on the road, before the years of loneliness, flooded her mind as she went deeper and deeper. She was not remembering the fights, the pressure; she was remembering the good of watching her father play and her mother sing; them teaching her and her sister through song and tale. With each mound of soil that was tossed over her shoulder was like a weight lifted off her shoulder. She was burying the past and coming to peace with it. With each toss of earth she found solitude in what she was as if it was an unveiling and acceptance.
Climbing from the hole she wiped the sweat from her brow and understood that she did not have to choose between being what she was and what she had been. They were both parts of her and that was okay. Shuffling over to her fathers corpse she hefted it up and moved it to its final resting place deep within the earth below. Pulling a silver arrow from her quiver she placed it over his chest and rested two copper coins over his eyes; climbing back out she did what was needed to cover the body that no longer held his soul. There would be no marker to make his grave known; that was how it was, how it had always been. Closing her eyes she said goodbye to him and her family, souls that she could only speak to now through memory. No tears, not now. She just needed to hold on for now, to hold on to get through the day and the night. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
695 | 13 | 131 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix stood still as rejuvenating energy coursed through him and mended his flesh. He squirmed in place as his skin weaved upon itself and his body closed his wounds, as if it had an alien mind of its own. The sensation was unique and felt as though a thousand ants were crawling over him and quickly sewing him shut, minus the pain of a needle. The feeling naturally gave him goosebumps as it ended and the invading warmth of the woman’s spell faded away to be replaced with the natural breeze that flowed through the town. Of course his head still throbbed and flushed with feathers at the lack of blood in his body. He led his forehead and felt his brain swimming on low tide.
He shook his head to ward off the dizzy spells, and he swore he heard rattling. If he had his pack on him, he figured, he could drink some water to help fill in for the missing red.
The man paused in thought before gesturing at the old woman who had offered her healing hands to him and his throat vibrated with a masculine voice, “who were these men?”
He fanned the area with an open palm, as if reminding her who he was talking about.
Short I know. | Name: Illyd Dyill
Age: 18
Alignment: neutral
Race: Human
Class: Shepherd
Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots.
He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face.
Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking,
Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed
Magic/Spells:
Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction
Weapons: A Shepherd's crook
Possessed: Yes
Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly.
History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer
(possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp)
So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development |
696 | 13 | 132 | 2,649 | 479 | No sooner had Hugh announced his challenge, he was graced with the audience of the beastmaster of whom had so rudely released the beasts upon him. The man wore furs and strange clothes, very different contrast to Hugh's attire. Now it would be a one on one fight between these men, no doubt a good battle to await.
The beastmaster drew his sword, snarling angrily at the man who had snuffed the life from his precious pets. "Those..." He hissed, radiating with anger, "Were my PETS!" He held his sword in a ready stance, staring Hugh down.
Hugh shrugged, "Well, fuck me, right?" Right after issuing these odd words, the beastmaster began charging forward at Hugh, screaming as he came. Of course, this man hadn't counted on one thing; Hugh's tomahawk. With a quick movement of his arm and flick of the wrist, the tomahawk went spiraling through the air, embedding itself into the man's head. The beastmaster collapsed onto his knees, eyes wide open and staring upwards, before falling face first into the dirt.
It was a weapon Hugh hadn't the chance to use in battle very often, as people rarely stepped within the perfect range of it. This happened to be Hugh's lucky break. Not so the man lying in the dirt; he was dead.
Hugh began waving his arms around, rotating them to shake off his muscles and perhaps go back inside to drink more of his coffee. He rubbed his shoulder some more, as it slightly bled, and felt bruised and beaten. It would feel terribly sore the next day, but at least he might only need to get a little rest for this one to go away.
Of course, his relaxation was interrupted by another enemy. More like two enemies; both wielding bastard swords. Hugh groaned in contempt as he finally noticed them. They seemed completely confident that both of them would take down Hugh with ease, as they outnumbered him. Confidence in numbers, they always say.
They seemed not so entertained with Hugh, more just trying to look as intimidating as possible as they approached him. Hugh drew his battleaxe for the occasion, thinking it one of the better weapons for the job. No sooner did he do this, when he felt a blade ram into his side and knock him off balance, causing him to lose his battleaxe as he stumbled away. It wasn't exactly up to Hugh's standard for a fight; they had made the first blow, and it had cost Hugh greatly. All he hoped for was that nothing was broken, as it felt bad enough even without a broken bone.
Wincing, he drew his falchion and charged the one closest to him. He ended up tackling the man to the ground, crushing him with his full weight. To keep the man on the ground, he delivered several blows to the throat, and slammed his elbow into the man's chest, before he felt a bastard sword blade slam into his shoulder and send him into the dirt next to the man.
Hugh screamed out in agony at the feeling of his shoulder. Now he might have several broken bones. It did appear, however, that his shoulder was not broken, just in serious, agonizing, pain. He began rolling away, before finding his battleaxe.
Taking up his most prized instrument of death, he staggered to his feet. It might not have been the best choice in weaponry, as his shoulder was in pain from holding it. He settling for holding it with one hand, letting it hang limply as he eyed the man still standing over the other body. The other man seemed to be sizing Hugh up in his current state, before the man raised the sword into the air and ran at Hugh, screaming his head off.
Hugh, using all of the strength in his one arm, swung the battleaxe from one side to the other, lifting it as high as he could, hearing it rip into the man's flesh. Blood began to spurt from the man incessantly, as Hugh had managed to slice the man's throat open. The figure collapsed, gurgling on his own blood as he convulsed on the ground.
Hugh dropped his battleaxe, went over to where he left his falchion to find both the falchion and the man still on the ground. The man seemed to be groaning and rolling around, clasping his stomach, appearing to be a rather pitiful sight to behold. Hugh picked up his falchion, and confidently strode up to the crumpled figure of a man.
He didn't particularly think the man a threat at the moment, that is, until he felt a blade suddenly stab him in the leg. Hugh glared, looking at the no longer pathetic looking figure, and gasped out the words "You MISSED!"
With that, Hugh brought his blade down on the man's throat, successfully severing his head from his body in one swift motion.
Hugh dropped to his knees, the blade still stuck in his leg, and all the wounds he had gained from the brawl now weighing on him. He dropped his blade and looked to the sky, beginning to scream at it while holding his hands out at his sides to receive anything that might rain down from the heavens.
"I'M. STILL. HERE." He seemed to shout the words as a curse you to whomever was up their listening. He felt all the emotions of it all, his breathing ragged, and his body in pain. "I'll always be here." Hugh ended, speaking softer as he let his head drop, and stare at the ground. | Name: Hugh Van Halder
Age: 45
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Human
Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin
Appearance/Clohing:
He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons
additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor.
He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak.
Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking.
Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human.
Magic Spells: N/A
Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger.
Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe.
Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana.
Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out.
History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped.
They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages".
Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family.
He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage.
He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid.
Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words. |
697 | 13 | 133 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Do you think you can find more rabbits? I could cook us all a meal if we had about 5 more of those about that size.
"Yes!"
Lob's face split into a great toothy smile as he bopped little bunny foofoo on the head like so many field mice and passed the dazed or dead animal to her before he took off for more rabbits. Hare were not too heavy on territory and in-fact were rather communal creatures so it would be easy enough for him to forage for food. Many screams were heard, not all belonged to the rabbits as one got his hand. In the end, many joined the thousand for their friends stopped running today.
After an hour on and off the road Lob returned with half a dozen, two in each hand and two in his mouth. The pelts were not going to make it to market, but they were not there for fur, they were there for food. He hoped the others could cook it, when he tried to feed rabbit to one of the old pack like this one, they got sick because it wasn't over fire first. He could eat them with no fire without a problem, but he wasent them and they needed the fire. | Name:Lob-otto-me!
Age:21 (old for a half orc)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Race: Half-orc
Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0)
Brute
Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive.
Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength.
Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely.
Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions.
The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be.
A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down.
Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter.
Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear.
Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate.
Bonus: Danger Sense*.
Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting*
Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based).
Economic System: Trade-free.
Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system.
Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting.
Special Benefits:
Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor).
Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher.
Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6.
Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks.
A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check.
Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls.
Special Hindrances:
Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12.
Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language.
Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons.
***
Leaping and Springing.
The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions.
Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring.
Back Protection.
Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn.
Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round.
Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability
Appearance/Clothing:
6'4" 250 Lbs
Skills:
Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage)
Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear
Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather
Secondary Skills: Forager.
Bonus: Danger Sense*,
Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies)
Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%)
Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft.
Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains.
Weapons:
CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20)
CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club!
Possessions:
Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine.
Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging.
Personality:
Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things.
History:
About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom.
One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm.
He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people.
The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face.
The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire.
The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick.
***Scent tracking***
Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries..
Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse
Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma.
Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass.
Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung
Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood
Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry
Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower.
Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil
Tobias -sweat and red apples.
Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon.
Zack -Ash
Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent |
698 | 13 | 134 | 54 | 1,340 | Everything Burns
Taking a deep breath Sana swallowed all emotion and her face became a steely gaze of nothingness before she took a step and then another; heading back to the soon to be former prison. Moving from place to place, body to body; slowly dragging each one to the center of the bivouac below the body of the woman who still hung from the high branch above. Perhaps she was meant to be a warning to others to do what they were told or face the same fate; perhaps she had been one of the lucky ones the archer thought, never having to wake up in the middle of the night screaming and remembering the tragedy. Stopping and looking at the pile of bodies, Sana knew there would be many nights ahead that she have to face this scene again; she pitied those that had lived through it for she knew their evenings would be far more traumatic.
Picking up a large hammer she began to break down what remained as best she could, a desire to cleanse the place of the unholy things that had occurred pushing her ever forward. Wood splintered and steel bent under the force of each strike; her muscles burning and her breath ragged as sweat dripped from her body. In turn each piece of hell was tossed over onto the pile of bodies and around them. No tears fell though, there were none left after the moment she held her father as he passed away. There was no anger, no grimace in pain as she continued to push forward. The look on her face remained as empty as the cages that swung from above.
Turning she made her way to the closest tree and began to climb, hands gripping as feet scraped their way up the bark of the trunk. Losing her grip several times and sliding roughly down the face of the plant that seemed to climb towards the heavens; her hands and knees bleeding from the scratches and cuts. It was a long climb to the branch she was after but she eventually made it; straddling it and moving carefully out from the safety of the trunk with a blade clenched between her teeth until she could reach the rope that held the cage. Taking the hilt of the blade in her hand she began to saw the material until it snapped, sending the cage crashing to the ground below. She did this with each one that hung and after each one fell she would climb down, hammer away until it was unusable and toss it into the mountain of death and decay.
Walking to one of the fires she pulled a piece of wood that was burning out of the fire, gripping it like a makeshift torch and tossing it into the pile. It took a while for it to catch what would burn on fire but Sana waited, watching the flickering flames slowly grow from small embers to a roaring bonfire meant to cleanse the world of this sickness. Once it was steadily burning Sana made one last climb towards the light above; one last ascension to free one more soul, the woman who had been hung. The world seemed to move in slow motion as the rope snapped finally; the body falling like a rag doll, tossed aside by a child after outgrowing it, until it crashed into the flames below. The world sped up, returning to status quo and causing Sanas head to spin; nearly toppling out of the tree herself before she regained her mental grip and clung to the branch.
Taking a few moments to breath before climbing down and walking slowly through the encampment; checking to make sure that all was as it should be, at least as well as it could be for now. Rodger slowly coming into view as she spun around hearing a twig snap beneath the draft horses weight. Sana let out a sigh of relief to know he was okay as he wandered over to her and nuzzled her slightly before beginning to push her towards the outskirts of the camp. Sana wondered what he was doing since he was not pushing her towards the village; that was until her foot fell into some leaves and a hollow sound could be heard echoing underneath it. She pushed Rodger back as she knelt down and felt around, pushing the leaves away to reveal planks of wood covering something. Quickly she pushed them aside and gasped in horror and disbelief at what she saw what lay beneath; a hand coming to her lips to cover them.
The Town
Sister Agnes coughed a few times but she nodded that she was okay. It was truth, she was okay but she was tired. Turning as she heard the voice of the new comer she held her hand out to Wylsen to help her to her feet before walking slowly towards him. "Slavers," she said in a weary voice. "They've been plaguing the town for sometime, today they decided to take it a step further," she explained as best she could at that moment before swiftly turning her attention towards Hugh as he screamed out to the heavens. Sighing she wobbled over to him and knelt down with the help of the apothecary.
"Deep breaths, it's over now," the nun tried to say in a reassuring voice but she doubted with that outburst that anything could be reassuring at that moment in time. Looking over towards Wylsen and gestured towards the sword in Highs thigh.
"Hold on young'un," the old man said as he wrapped his hand around the hilt of the blade before yanking it out of flesh and bone and tossing it out to the side. Sister Agnes cringed at the suddenness of the movement but she could only hope it was better that way than for Wylsen to take it out slowly. Rubbing her palms together she reached out and laid them on the most recent wound as she prayed. Her ever soft light slowly reaching out from her and to Hugh, hands moving slowly from his thigh to the rest of his form to heal each cut and broken bone. Letting what good lay within her serve as a catalyst to pull his flesh and bones back together; leaving only the smallest of scars on his flesh. She wished she could heal blood loss and desperation but those were not weapons in her arsenal.
"Wylsen, go tell the inn keeper to prepare meals for these men and water. They need to regain their strength," Sister Agnes said in a soft voice as she cleaned her hands of the blood that was caked to them on the folds of her habit.
"Righto Agnes, anything else," he asked as he helped her back to her feet.
"Yes, see what you can do to calm the villagers once that is done, we seem to be safe for now," she said as she looked around; those that had come to harm the town either now dead in the streets or running for their lives out of the south end of the village. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
699 | 13 | 135 | 677 | 1,382 | When Lob left to retrieve the rabbits, Vaeri set off to gather some supplies she'd need of her own. To properly cook these rodents she would need a fire, and a fire required firewood. Thankfully, it was rather late and the weather had been sunny for several days, so finding dry wood was a simple task in a forest such as this. It took a mere 20 minutes to find what she estimated to be enough fire to last long enough to properly cook the hares. She found a clear spot near enough to the wagon and set up the wood in a clean circle.
From her bag, Vaeri retrieved a set of cooking utensils. They were used to only preparing food for herself, a large group such as this would take more time, but she was certain that once she got moving it would be smooth going. For this, she pulled out a pan, a set of stands that would allow it to safely rest right at the top of where she estimated the flames would reach, a small cooking knife she used for skinning animals she hunted and general purpose cooking and a small container of salt. She then pulled out a piece of flint and a steel fire starter. With 3 decisive strikes, Vaeri created enough sparks to catch the wood on fire. She gently blew into it to strengthen the fire, but soon enough it came to a healthy blaze that quickly warmed the iron pan above.
There she sat and tended to the fires until Lob returned with six rabbits in hand and maw. A smile on her face, the cleric stood up and clapped her hands before took the dead beasts from the half orc. She walked back to her little clearing and dropped their bodies next to the fire. She felt like she was stalling progress on making it back to the village, but really everyone here could use a rest after the day's events. Expertly, she cut up the little animals' bodies into easily eaten cuts that could be consumed by even the weak prisoners that were travelling in the wagon. She didn't have time or mental acuity to do anything particularly special with the meat, so she seared the meat in batches on the pan, salting them as she cooked. Each batch took about 5 to 10 minutes and there were 3 batches in total, within the half hour, the cooking was complete and the food was passed out to everyone present. Hopefully it would be worth the delay in travel and hold everyone until they could reach the village. With her job as chef complete, Vaeri put out the fire and put away her stuff back into her bag before taking part in the meal she had prepared. | Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn
Age: 143
Alignment: Lawful Good
Race: Elf
Class: Cleric/Barbarian
Appearance/Clothing:
Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below.
Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times.
Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild
Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light
Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is
Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell
Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this.
Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient
Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames
Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres)
Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe
Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows.
Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can.
History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man. |
Subsets and Splits