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700 | 13 | 136 | 2,489 | 654 | Much obliged, Sister, Tobias said as the healing completed. Rolling his invisible shoulders, the thief leaned against a wall. The fight was winding down, and now all the brave warrior men were queuing up for healing. He heard Hugh shouting something at nobody in particular from some distance away - hopefully this would be a better outlet for his... random aggression than Tobias's face.
Someone new had arrived, and from the look of him, he'd done his fair share of the work. He seemed to want to know what was going on, which was a sentiment that Tobias could at least understand as he surveyed the destruction. Nothing could make this make sense.
Tobias had no interest in speaking to any of these people just now - especially being a disembodied voice as he was. He had no idea how such a conversation would pan out. Doubtless it would be far too comical for the mood Tobias was in.
The invisible thief wandered off silently, his feet taking him back to the scene of his battle without him really telling them to. Almost automatically, he began examining the pockets of the still-unconscious men, doing his absolute best to avoid looking at the headless, pantsless corpse. A memory filled his mind.
He was a much younger man - a child really - in that memory, in a city not so far from here. He was talking to three other children, bigger and stronger than him, bullies with matching tattoos. A gang that had heard about the silent thief you lived in the alleyways, and wanted to recruit him.
"Sorry," he was saying to them as he prepared to run, a glib expression on his face. "I don't hurt people for their stuff. I just take it. And more importantly..." he proclaimed as he snatched a coinpurse from the one in front. "I don't share."
They'd caught him, he remembered. Gave him two black eyes and a broken arm for his trouble. Yeah, there was definitely a reason he'd given up on ideals early on.
He looked down at the haul he's been blithely collecting. A purse full of gold, two funny-smelling potions, a magicy looking scroll and - holy shit, a diamond the size of his goddamn palm. At least, it looked like a diamond - experience had taught him to get these things appraised before he let his eyes bug out of his head at the size of his haul.
Narrowing his eyes, he read the inscription on one of the potions. Restoration. He didn't know what the damn thing restored, but he had a hunch he was lacking it at the moment, and he poured the potion down his mouth quickly.
Tobias scooped the rest of his loot into his bag and stood up, feet taking him nowhere in particular. This time he arrived in the inn without really knowing why. Food and drink was being served, but Tobias was neither hungry nor thirsty. Without really knowing what he was doing, the rogue shoved a chair aside, crawled under a table, and pulled his knees up to his chest, rested his head and back against the wall, and closed his eyes. | 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 |
701 | 13 | 137 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix turned away from the busy old woman, content with her answer. He stared at the bloodied men he had slaughtered, and knowing now that they were dishonorable men he simply nodded in recognition of them rather than make a fuss about their gruesome deaths.
The golden eyed stranger tapped the body of the dead bard with the toe of his boot, and his eyes wandered over the dead man’s possessions. There were two magical scrolls, a hefty and very valuable ring on his finger, and who knows what kind of priceless potions filled the man’s knapsack.
Clearly slavery was a lucrative business around this town, Derrix concluded silently as he leaned over to place the dead man in a more dignified pose, rather than splayed out. Even if they had broken a code they didn’t even know of and fell as dishonorable in Derrix’s eyes, he wished he had a shovel, to at least put them out of sight for the town’s people.
He looked around quickly for a place to at least drag the fallen men, after all these corpses were by his hand. | 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 |
702 | 13 | 138 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona had actually wanted to keep going, to get these people back to the village and better comfort as quickly as possible, but once they did come to a stop to set up a small cooking fire and a meal, she could see the use in it. Most of the people in the wagon looked to be near starvation, and the small period of rest would be good for them. Since Vaeri had taken care of the preparations and the cooking, Fiona helped hand out the modest meal, as well as offering small amounts of water to help the weaker ones wash it down. She took only the smallest taste for herself; she was hungry and tired from all the strain of the day, but nothing compared to the people she was helping.
She spent most of the meal with the rescued villagers, speaking with those who were awake enough to converse, and keeping her eye on those that were struggling. She'd never been through anything like this, but she supposed she had a good deal in common with many of them, being a villager who grew up in a place much like they had. A few of them seemed to take a liking to her. The experience of sharing food around a fire as equals was likely quite liberating. Before this she supposed they simply had to fight for scraps.
Fiona took the lull in activity the meal provided to quickly stitch up the small hole in her jacket the crossbow bolt had left behind. By the time she was done, the light was definitely beginning to shift and lead them towards dusk. She glanced around to see where the others were.
"If everyone's ready, we should move on. We can still reach the village before nightfall, I think." | 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. |
703 | 13 | 139 | 54 | 1,340 | The Village
The sun was heavy in the sky but it had not yet begun to set, the air was thick with moisture from the humidity and even though it was beginning to cool down thanks to the midafternoon breeze the heat of battles still weighed on the town and made everything move much slower than normal. Wylsen had been able to talk the inn keeper into feeding those that had fought for the town and put them up for another night, the town owed these adventures and he hoped that it would in small way repay them. It was all they had to offer.
Looking out at the street, Wylsen crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the town folk finally coming out of hiding. The women of the village were busy shuffling food from their own kitchens and the kitchen of the inn into the main room of the inn. The men had gathered up what remained of those that had been slaughtered and drug them to the south end of town where Hanzo and Mortosh had burned the bodies of those that had fallen during the previous battle. The blood still stained the street but Wylsen figured it was nothing that the next rain wouldn’t wash away. Standing there he wondered what had happened to the rest of the group that had headed out hours before to the slavers camp. They should have been back by now and he was beginning to worry that something horrible had happened.
The Journey Back
The now former prisoners were more than grateful for the food they had received from the efforts of Lob and Vaeri. For most of them it had been the first thing they had eaten in weeks and while it was not a feast it was more than enough to sustain them the rest of the journey. They began to open up, not talking about their life since capture but instead looking to what their lives had been before. Some spoke of looking forward to returning to their own villages and cities, to see their friends and their families again. Others spoke of how they planned to build a new life and start over siting that they had nothing to return to. Either way there were smiling gracing the lips of the weary bunch as the wagon pulled out of the forest and made its way back towards the village.
It took several hours to get the entire group back to the village but thankfully it was a peaceful journey and as the sun began to set in the west they could see the small town. Sister Agnes had given last rights to those that had fallen during battle. Such cruel lives were now over and it was time to move on. Taking a deep breath, she leaned on her walking stick she had had Wylsen retrieve from the shop for her and slowly wandered from the south end of town back towards the inn. Stopping as she saw the rest of the group coming back with what appeared to be a large wagon full of people that had seen better days she quickened her pace.
“Wylsen!” she called out and he came out of the inn, wondering just what could be happening now. As his eyes fell on the group of adventurers returning he let out a sigh of relief. They were back, they were safe and they had managed, from what he could tell, bring more back that had been captured. He smiled as he walked over to Sister Agnes and called for the rest.
“They’re back!” Wylsen yelled out to the group that had defended the town during the second attack. Sister Agnes grabbed his arm as she began to count the number of people that had returned and noticed that one was missing.
“The archer isn’t with them,” she said quickly as she looked over him.
“Sana? Wasn’t that her name?” Wylsen said as he returned her glance and then swallowed hard as the nun nodded in confirmation. They day had been long, both parts of the adventuring party seemed to have had more to deal with than they should have had to handle and Wylsen feared the worst. One was missing. | 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. |
704 | 13 | 140 | 290 | 1,247 | When Mortosh and Zam Had returned to bodies to dispose of them like before they had found very little left of the bodies so there was little to loot a couple of rubies,Some Gold and a scroll with a spell called "Divine Light". Why an assassin would carry such a scroll was unknown perhaps it was a payment of sorts it seemed complicated so it might hold some value but it didn't really matter in the end for Mortosh had to get them to the pyre.
Zam was very quiet and that had Mortosh worried ("Something Wrong Zam?") he asked through there link "was it necessary for you to kill them Mortosh?" Mortosh was not surprised by her question it was something he questioned himself on earlier in these few days he had killed more then in his almost entire 700 years of existence. but it seemed that she wanted an answer so he told her ("No It Wasn't But Death Through Battle Never Really Is") it seemed to put her at some ease but it wasn't much.
they had finally reached the Pyre so he dumped the body among the rest | 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 |
705 | 13 | 141 | 677 | 1,382 | The fact that the simple meal she prepared for the ex-captives cheered them up so much pleased her greatly, and the warm meal helped renew her strength, if making her feel more drowsy than she already was. Still, Vaeri manage to keep herself together on the long walk back to the village, although she had a few close calls with eyelids that shut and did not want to open again. About halfway though the trek, she remembered that she had forgotten to don her cloak after discarding it for the battle and quickly rectified that mistake. When she arrived in the village, she assisted all the people from the wagons.
She then turned to the inn, walking into it, vaguely registering faces as familiar from early that morning. Glittering coins were pulled out from the coin pouch at her hip and deposited in front of the innkeeper. He understood coin well enough and handed the elf a room key before directing her towards a room upstairs. Vaeri found her way inside the room and locked the door behind her. She dumped her bag off of her shoulders, leaving it to sit in a lump on the floor before walking over to the bed and falling onto it face first. She didn't even bother to take off her armor before she passed out asleep. | 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. |
706 | 13 | 142 | 2,649 | 479 | Hanzo allowed himself to breathe with more regularity now that his body was being mended. The exhaustion still remained, and he wasn't getting back any of the blood he lost, but at the least his body was undamaged. Hopefully a good night's rest without too further interruptions would do everyone a bit of good.
With a fresh new array of corpses to dispose of, the monk sullenly began the work of dragging them over to the bonfire south of town, still blazing in rage. The heavy smell of burning at rot mixed together as he approached the fire again, one of the bodies in tow. Some of the men peeking out from their houses offered to help, taking up some of the other bodies for disposal. It was a gruesome crowd and a grueling effort, but it would get done in due time-
"Wha- hey! This one's still alive!"
As he was about to heave the first body into the flames, Hanzo snapped to attention at the sudden shout, dropping the leg he was pulling around and looking back to the village.
"The hell is he- augh!"
"He's getting away, quick, someone stop him-!"
It was the thief Hanzo had knocked down before. His company all brutally murdered and his ass beaten twice today, it was safe to assume he had lost this fight. The thief placed a couple of fingers in his mouth and blew a certain shrill whistle, calling his abandoned horse. His new plan was to to leave the town and escape into the forest while the adventurers were winding down; Despite his wounded state, he still had superior agility to the common townsfolk, and he had a horse to carry him regardless.
His mount came galloping out from one of the alleys, and he swung himself up into the saddle as quickly as he could afford while keeping them both moving. His plan was perfect, in his mind - retreat to the southern fort, take whatever supplies he needed, then run away before nightfall and under the cover of night. As long as nobody could intercept him-
A bolt of energy speared the thief in the face, knocking him off of his horse and to the ground, the mount fleeing off into the southern forest. The wind forced from his lungs, he was left breathless and gasping as the monk approached. A hand went to the thief's collar, and the criminal's eyes widened, a mix of exasperation and fear present.
"Please-...don't- kill me...!" The thief rasped out, his gaze meeting Hanzo's tired yet fierce visage. With a pained gasp, he continued to beg, "All the others... are dead-! I-isn't that enough...?"
The monk threw the thief aside, onto his back. Pinning down the man's arms behind him, Hanzo hailed one of the villagers to bring some rope. Then, in a more sinister tone, he announced to the thief, "If I could help it, none of you would've died anyways. The likes of you deserve a proper punishment for what you've done." The criminal groaned and succumbed to his fatigue as Hanzo removed all the loose items on his being.
Besides a purse full of silver currency and a couple of odd trinkets the thief intended to sell, there wasn't anything of note the thief had tried to make off with. It did remind Hanzo, however, that there was one more person whom hadn't explicitly died - the magician. As he allowed some of the local men to secure the beaten thief, the monk returned to where the fire mage lay unconscious. Already one of the men was observing him, seeing as the figure wasn't bloodied or cold.
"He's just unconscious for now," Hanzo told the person as he approached, who gave a doubtful but appreciative glance at Hanzo. "See if you can get some help to restrain him- tightly, so he can't cast anything." The man nodded with some hesitation, and left to grab something or someone. There certainly wasn't much need for a plain village like this to hold any prisoners, but Hanzo wasn't going to kill them while they were already beaten, nor was he going to allow them to escape and grant them the chance to do more harm. If the village so decided, the criminals might just be put to death in any case, but that wasn't Hanzo's matter.
Loose items from the magician included a potion of 'restoration' and a magical scroll with a emblem in fresh ink. The intricate text on the scroll read that it was an enchantment of barkskin that could be applied permanently to the body, by pressing the ink to the desired spot and reading the enchantment. Hanzo could see it being useful to himself, but he didn't want to use it immediately in case one of the others happened to want it - he wasn't the only one, after all, that went so sparsely armored.
Agnes and Wylsen had personally made accommodations at the inn for the adventurers, a simple gesture of thanks for defending their village. Despite being ever the miser, Hanzo welcomed the offer, but still offered up some of the silver from the bag as payment. Hanzo couldn't help but unleash a tired yawn from the day's efforts; he had a feeling he would rest well in a village he knew he had a part in protecting.
The adventurers retreated to the calm and quiet of the inn, and Hanzo followed. Quietly, he ordered another cup of tea.
The sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon as the second group returned to town. Sister Agnes hurriedly called Wylsen out to look, and as he sluggishly did so, Hanzo followed suit. He had almost forgotten about the group Sana had led out to dispatch of the northern camp, and as he saw them return, he could understand why. Drawn by their horses was a large coach wagon, loaded with miserable-looking but thankful people.
The slaves, Hanzo realized. They had rescued the slaves, not just killed off all the slavers. Now this town was truly a haven.
Not so much exhausted as he was sleepy now, Hanzo waved to the approaching group. Cheers and thanks were shared, and some were eager to retreat to the inn and rest. The adventurers had also brought back a tremendous share of money - the spoils collected by the slavers, most likely. Largely satisfied with the lives they had saved today, Hanzo gave a soft, almost dopey smile, for the first time in a while. | 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. |
707 | 13 | 143 | 54 | 1,340 | The Slave Camp
There in a hole dug into the earth lay the bodies of what Sana could only assume where a mother and child. The mother looked to have died a week ago due to the amount of decay but the child looked like she had only passed recently. Closing her eyes as she collapsed on her knees she fought back the urge to weep for the two down there. Then she heard a noise, a soft cry like the coo of a dove and Sanas eyes slammed open as her head twisted to look down. The child staring at her in fear as she clung to the tattered and bloodied gown of her long passed away mother. Sana reached down to the child but she curled closer to the corpse, afraid of the woman that was trying to rescue her.
The gypsy did not know what to do, she did not want to traumatize the child even further by ripping her from her mother but she knew she could not leave her there. Lying down on the ground she held both her hands out to the little one who could not been more than four years of age. Sana waited; speaking soft words of comfort to the child, words to let her know she was not there to harm her but the child understandably would not listen. What had they done to poor sweet soul Sana did not want to think about. She needed to think of something, anything to do to gain the childs trust but nothing came to mind at first that was until an old lullaby came to her mind; one her mother had sung to her in times of trouble as she grew up.
It was a sorrowful tune, a melancholy melody but it words were strong and Sanas voice soothing and calm as she sung. “The lights go out all around me, one last candle to keep out the night,” she sung softly as she pulled her hands back and rested them crossed under her chin as she watched the child. “And then the darkness surrounds me, I know I’m alive but I feel like I’ve died and all that’s left is to accept that it’s over. My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made,” Sana caroled as her fingers gripped the dirt from the ground and let it slip through her fingers as she watched the little one. Oddly Sana began to give off a soft golden hue as she sung, one she did not notice herself. Something that has never happened before but things change; especially when one accepts what they truly are. “I try to keep warm but I just grow colder, I feel like I’m slipping away,” she whispered as she watched the child grip on her mothers clothing gradually loosen.
A soft smile came to Sanas lips as she continued to sing, ever watchful of the little angel before her. “After all this has passed, I still will remain. After I’ve cried my last, there’ll be beauty from pain. Though it won’t be today, someday I’ll hope again and there’ll be beauty from pain,” Sana chanted sympathetically, “you will bring beauty from my pain.” The child slowly turning away from her mother as she listened to the sad song, Sana reaching her arms out to the wee one to help her out but she froze as Sana did. Sana smiled to her and nodded, not pushing for her to move faster than she felt comfortable. So she kept vocalizing to the youngster. “My whole world is the pain inside me; the best I can do is just get through the day. When life before is only a moment I’ll wonder why God lets me walk through this place and though I can’t understand why this happened I know that I will when I look back someday and see how you’ve brought beauty from ashes and made me as gold purified through these flames,” Sana sung in a loving tone as the child finally reached out to her and the gypsy pulled her out of the death from below, encircling her arms around the child and holding her close.
Unsure of what to do next she continued to sing the lullaby to the little blonde hair angels with eyes like amber that now clung to her. “After all that has passed, I still will remain. After I’ve cried my last, there’ll be beauty from pain. Though it won’t be today, someday I’ll hope again and there’ll be beauty from pain,” she chanted as she tapped the girls nose softly and smiled, “you will bring beauty from my pain,” she whispered as she pushed the childs hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Slowly she stood, holding the child protectively in her arms as she rocked her softly; ever singing the now sweet melody.
“Here I am, at the end of me tryin’ to hold to what I can’t see. I forgot how to hope, this night’s been so long. I cling to your promise there will be a dawn,” she whispered as she rested her brow against the sweet ones and walked over towards Rodger, the sound of crackling flames in the background as the sun began to set. Climbing up onto the horse Sana rested down in the saddle, the child still clinging tight to her but Sana did not mind. The child was providing as much comfort to the one that held her as the she was to the child.
“After all this has passed, I still will remain. After I’ve cried my last, there’ll be beauty from pain. Though it won’t be today, someday I’ll hope again and there’ll be beauty from pain. You will bring beauty from my pain,” Sana sung as the song drew to a close and she hugged the child carefully, running her fingers through her hair with one hand as with the other she grabbed the horses reins and almost began to move away from the prison that had been the childs home but something stopped her and froze her to the core of her soul. An ominous feeling came over her as she heard another snap of branch from behind her, a demonic growl coming to her ears and echoing through her being.
The Village
Sister Agnes and Wilson walked over to the group as they pulled into the village proper. Helping the former prisoners off the wagon as quickly as they could, the villagers coming over and several taking in most of them to take care of them for now. They had eaten something on the way back but they would need a long time to recover fully. There was no healing that needed to be done thanks to the efforts of Vaeri at least. The ones that were left the inn keeper took in and put them up for the night, they had to double and triple up in the rooms of the inn but they didn’t care, it was far more room than they had had in the cages where they had been kept.
Some were too tired or weak to speak but most gave out a hearty thanks to everyone that was there helping them. Even those that said nothing had an expression of ever gratefulness on their weary features. Sister Agnes was glad the group had freed them and Wylsen ran off to the general store to get some basic clothing for the people, most of what they wore was covered in things unspeakable and once they were cleaned up they would need to burn what was worn.
Hearing Hugh screaming for Sana the nun had a worried expression fall over her features and nodded, walking over to the fiery red head quickly. “Where is Sana?” she asked in a concerned voice. She feared the worst since Sana had not come back with the group. Had they left her there because of what had happened in the village earlier in the day? Or had the worst happened? Had Sana died trying to free the slaves?
At the other end of town what could be called the towns political party had had the stronger villagers take the people into custody that Hanzo had captured and tied them up in the horse stalls for the time being while they tried to figure out what they would do to them. Most of the village was of the opinion that they should be put to death for all the trouble and pain they had caused though there were a select few that suggested just stripping them down and leaving them in the middle of the wilderness somewhere to fend for themselves, one even suggested they should spend some time as slaves to either the village or the group that had saved them. Whatever the decision would be would be left to the morning. | 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. |
708 | 13 | 144 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona felt a weight lift off her when the village came in sight again, before nightfall as she'd hoped. Her eyes had been starting to droop at the head of the wagon, her weariness catching up with her a little, but the sight of the village was enough to reinvigorate her some. Food, drink, and a bed for the night were on the way. A few of them came out to greet the approaching group, no doubt surprised to see so many where so few had left. Fiona made it her priority to help the weakest of the rescued down from the wagon with Vaeri.
Of course, her attention was soon taken when Hugh and Hanzo approach, and the former of the two quickly became frantic upon not seeing Sana with the group. Finishing the task of helping an elderly woman down from the wagon, Fiona walked quickly over to Hugh, trying to get in front of him and get his attention. It wasn't an easy task, considering how large he was, and how he wasn't looking for a woman with fiery red hair.
"Hey. Hey!" she shouted back, grabbing hold of his arms and doing her best to keep him still, difficult as it as. "Hugh, right? Look at me. Sana's fine." She waited until she had eye contact, and then tried to nod encouragingly. "She's completely fine, she just needed to stay behind a while for a personal matter. She'll be here soon." She hoped that would be enough to keep him together. Releasing him, she took a step back. "I don't think it's my place to explain. I'll let her tell you when she gets back." There was a chance Sana would want to keep whatever happened there to herself, Fiona supposed, even though she seemed very close with Hugh. Regardless, it was not Fiona's decision to make.
Seeing Sister Agnes nearby, Fiona went to approach her next. "We're all fine," she assured the woman. "No injuries that Vaeri and some potions couldn't clear up." Looking around now, though, Fiona frowned. The signs of further battle were obvious enough, and the place still reeked of fire and death, recent enough that no clean up efforts could wash it away just yet.
"Did more attack while we were away?" she asked, worried. She hadn't expected retaliation so soon, or at least thought they would've run into more attackers on the way if they'd come. If they attacked while half the group had been gone... it was fortunate the village still stood, with only the wounded and weary to defend it. "I wish we could have been here, too."
Obviously what they'd done in the forest was necessary, both to end the slaver trouble and free these people, but Fiona would've been crushed if the people had been killed behind her while she ran off to take the fight to the enemy. | 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. |
709 | 13 | 145 | 1,533 | 1,707 | The archers wasted no time, the one on the right knocked an arrow as the one on the left drew a short sword and advanced. And here they come... Melvus drew his straight sword then twisted his body to avoid the first arrow. Bringing up his sword horizontally he blocked downward slash from his opponent. He took note of the archer reloading while he stood, sword holding the enemy's blade, in between the two. As the archer took his shot, Melvus wasn't there anymore and the other man stumbled forward as Melvus' sword disappeared and an arrow lodged itself in his gut.
The wizard didn't have time to notice the dolops of blood soaking the ground as his opponent fell to the ground, in what was now a puddle of his own blood, the scarlet liquid changing the color of the dirt. Melvus was in a hurry. Six seconds left... I need to get into position... He though as he maneuvered himself closer to his enemy, knowing that there was no way the archer would notice him. Three... He was within reach of the archer. Two... Now behind the archer. One He raised his sword and lunged forward as he rematerialized, lodging his blade into his opponent's back. That's what the plan was anyway.
As the blade appeared behind him the archer dropped to the ground, twisting around on the way down. As his back touched the dirt on the ground his right foot shot upward striking the wizard's hand, knocking the blade from his grasp.
Melvus jumped back as his blade clattered to the ground, he'd lost sight of the archer. Where..? His gaze quickly shifted from left to right as he realized Down... He looked down in time to see the fist. As his back slammed into the ground beneath him, his hand shot forward and an arm sprung forth. The archer, now on his feet, sidestepped around the glowing appendage and fired an arrow at Melvus who caught it in his left hand, effectively knocking his staff to the ground. The spellcasters reached over with his right hand and, painfully, ripped the arrow from him. As it exited it took chunks of his palm with it, spraying blood over Melvus. The glowing arm shrunk and moved closer as it picked up his staff.
Replacing the staff on the wizard's back, many swords appeared around him, they revolved and whirled at great speed. The archer's next few arrows were swatted away. Realizing that it was a futile effort, also having noticed his comrades falling around him - the archer attempted to retreat back into the fog. As he reached the edge, he was shoved to the ground by a rather large horse, one of the beats large hooves crushing his head, killing him instantly.
"You! Bastard!" Came the voice of the rider, clearly not concerned that he just killed one of his own men.
"Ah... Slaver, I told you not to return..." Melvus said as he drew his sword in his right hand, ready for a fight.
"Dammed wizard! Think you can best me!" The man jumped from his horse, landing in front of Melvus, his sword drawn. Melvus unsummoned his swords, leaving him with the one. The man lunged.
Melvus sidestepped then pivoted, facing the man again, his sword held in a Mid-guard position. "You are the calm eye of the storm as your opponents rage around you..." his friend and teacher's voice, Cylus, came into his head. "Let their power work for you..."
"You can't avoid me forever!" The slaver yelled at Melvus as he swung his sword at Melvus' right side.
The wizard brought his sword up and swept his opponent's away then returned to a guard position. "Why do you torment this town?" Melvus asked the slaver, his expression not changing as he ducked, avoided, and blocked.
"Do you know what profit is boy? I do it for the fuckin' gold! Now have at me dammit! I want to see what you're made of!" He stabbed at Melvus' center.
The wizard swept the sword away, using the sweep to power his own attack. He brought his sword around and cut into the man's right leg. Nothing major, it would hinder his movements but the battle wasn't decided yet. "You see the world in such simple terms as power and profit... I envy your ignorance."
"Dammit!" The slaver yelled out of frustration. He reached into his pocket and pulled a scroll out. "Let's see how you handle this!"
A magic scroll... Can't allow him to use it... Melvus became invisible. I can only keep this up for a moment... He could tell he was weak... his spell wouldn't last as long as it usually would. He ran forward.
"Where?" Is what the man said as a wizard materialized in front of his, grabbing the scroll from his hands. His first reaction was, stab. And that's just what he did.
As Melvus took a sword in his gut he remembered what Cylus had told him many times, "Do not rush your opponent without a plan... They have a weapon and will not hesitate... Melvus silently cursed himself as he reached forward, grabbing the slaver's sword he pulled it toward him, he could feel the point against his back, not yet piercing him, but it pushed against his skin, threatening to break through.
"Gods!" The slaver yelled as he let go at the sight of the man pulling the sword into himself more, blood pouring into the ground. He looked as though he would hurl. The wizard winced at the pain. I have him...
From Melvus' hand shot a larger, glowing hand which grabbed the man and brought him closer to Melvus. "Pain means nothing to me... I have suffered a thousand deaths before you have met your on-" The slaver spat on Melvus' as he spoke. "And I will suffer more after your own death." With that the wizard ran his through, several times until the man's screaming died down and his eyes rolled back and his head hung, limp.
==============
Melvus was grateful for the food, he couldn't seem to speak as he ate. Afterward he made his way to the room, provided by the inn. He had given his cloak over to a wash lady to be cleaned of all of the blood spilled on it. Hopefully the smell would, be gone, but he couldn't get everything. He fell asleep almost immediately as his head touched the pillow. Nearly two days without sped cent sleep will do that. | Removed |
710 | 13 | 146 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakAs the party returned to the village, Drizzak found himself thinking rather introspectively. In the past day he had spilled so much blood, and for the first time he felt that it was not necessary. Sure, he may have enjoyed it, but there was difference between needing slaughter and wanting it. He was a good goblin, or so he thought of himself. No one had really told him besides himself. A good fighter, yes. A good ally, yes. Even a good cook once. He had cooked bone and onion soup. It was delicious. But still, he was not told if he were actually doing good.
He needed to find out, he had decided. After the disagreement with the dispatching of the slavers in the village and his duel with Xilipha, Drizzak was left with a strangely bitter taste in his mouth. He needed something more. Something more than just killing to kill. He needed a reason to do what he did so well. He departed from the rest of the party and began to seek his target, looking left and right as he limped around in search of Sister Agnes. When he left for the slaver's camp, he was to bring her back the finest warrior's hands as a trophy, but now he could barely even think of defiling Xilipha's corpse in such a way. He did not want to be a butcher without remorse or reason. He wanted to be hailed as a hero, to be revered and ascend beyond the common goblin. He felt a need to protect the weak.
Among the gathered masses is where Drizzak found Sister Agnes, tending to the weak and weary. He wasted no time in advancing and attempting to grab her attentions, interested only in furthering his goals. He pushed his way through the crowds, now that the slaves were safe and his companions were tending to both themselves and those weaker. With a tug on her skirt, Drizzak spoke directly to Sister Agnes.
"Lady Eggness tell Drizzak how to be big good guardian. Tell Drizzak how to be goodest. Drizzak want prove he good goblin."
As he stared up at her with those large eyes, the glints of gold in his wounds shone in the light. Like little jewels beneath his skin. | 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'. |
711 | 13 | 147 | 54 | 1,340 | The Village
Sister Agnes let out a sigh of relief as Fiona grabbed ahold of Hugh and let him know that Sana was alright and that she would be back later on. The news was a large weight lifted off her shoulders for the thought of losing just one while helping the village and the former slaves made her queasy to her stomach. Taking a long calming breath she kept tending to those that needed her help. As Fiona asked about what had happened she pulled her aside, not wanting to worry the captives that already had been through enough. She explained about the battle that had occurred while she was gone, letting her know that a few had been taken captive and would be dealt with in the morning along with informing her that everyone was okay and either eating in the inn, helping around the village or asleep at this time recovering from the battle.
Going back over to the new additions to the village she did what she could until she felt a pull on her robes and looked down to see the little goblin that Sana had referred to as Drizzak. He looked slightly different to her in some ways. She could tell he had been injured in places but it wasn’t scars that made it look like he had but where wounds may have should been where now golden as if they had repaired themselves in some exotic fashion. Kneeling down at his words she looked into his eyes and gave him a soft and genial smile with a quick nod. Seeing his change in demeanor and his profession of wanting to be good she started to put two and two together and had a rough idea to why the change could be occurring. She dared not say anything because if she was wrong it could be heartbreaking and if she was right it could be overwhelming.
Instead she took his clawed hand in hers as she would a child and gave it a soft pat as she righted herself before leading him to the apothecary where they could talk alone. Wylsen was busy with the new villagers so she knew they would have some time. Walking into the shop she closed the door behind them and motioned over towards a stool that Drizzak could sit down on. With all the blood and death that surrounded the village that day it was wonderful for her to see some good come out of it. Not only the freeing the villagers of the horrible darkness that had been placed over the town by the slaver but the freedom of the captives and now one that wanted to be better than he felt he was.
“You wanting to prove you are a good goblin already tells me that you are,” she said in a kind voice to Drizzak as she stood before him. “To be a good guardian one must weigh if death is truly needed and only harm when needed. Even the great paladins of the past had to defend themselves and those they cared about, even killing. But death is a part of life; it comes to all in one form or another. It is measuring if death is truly needed and to what extent. Death, while sometimes needed does not always have to be brutal,” she said as she looked out the window. “Today some deaths were needed to save the greater good, though some deaths needed not be as vicious,” she said before looking back towards him.
“To walk a path towards the light, at first one must walk away from the darkness of the past,” she said in a gentle voice as she pulled out her prayer beads. She had not granted atonement in a very long time but it was not something she was unfamiliar with. Taking the beads she placed them in Drizzaks hand and gave him a soft smile, resting her hand over his and the beads before she began to pray. As she did a holy light came from her palm and slowly enveloped them, a cleansing light to bring his soul into the a righteous state that could perhaps eventually find a lawful existence of good at one point. As the light faced she closed his claws around the beads and nodded.
“What you do now is up to you, your soul has been purified. You have a clean start in life now to choose the path you wish to follow. Where it goes will depend on what decisions you make with the choices that are provided to you,” she said as she stepped back. She took some time to explain to him the difference between good and evil, that it wasn’t so much of the actions one took but the reason behind such actions. She told him this and much more in hopes that he would understand.
“Don’t worry if you falter, we all do at one point in our lives. The biggest challenge you will face in the future is admitting your faults and correcting them,” she said as she stepped back over to the door and opened it, motioning to him that he was free to leave then. “I wish you the best and I look forward to when you and your group return from your task to see how far you have traveled,” she said in a light hearted voice filled with confidence for him. “You already at least have one friend in this group, I am sure there will be many more. Now, go eat and rest. You have earned it little one.”
The Slaver Camp
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a cold voice echoed through the air and cut through the moment like ice, sending a chill through Sanas spine as the child whimpered in fear. Sana turned her head slowly, the smell of sulfur wafting into her senses as she swallowed hard; her eyes falling on the one that had spoken. A cruel looking man with a face that was scarred beyond recognition beheld the pair; a dark armored knight who felt as if he emanated an evil aura rode atop a beast that was not of this land. The beast was a hound of sorts but that was the size of the draft horse Sana sat upon, with fur the color of rust and blood. Its teeth and mouth the color of coal and its eyes shown in the late day sky like two balls of fire; drawing a large dark blade Sana had a flash of tales from so long ago, tales of the dark one that would roam the night steeling children from their bed and hunted down the purest of them all. Before Sana rode a man that was anything but a Holy Warrior on his mount of a Hell Hound.
Even at her best Sana knew she stood no hope of survival against the foe before her, it would take all that stood to have a chance but could she reach them in time? Could the old steed out run this beast and get them to safety? She had to try.
“Hold on tight,” Sana said in a commanding whisper to the little one and the girl clung harder to Sana.
“That child is mine,” the man growled.
“You can’t have her,” Sana spat before driving her heels into Rodgers flanks and the horse took off through the woods. Whoever this man was knew of the child and in the gypsys mind meant he was perhaps the sole cause for all the death and destruction that she was trying to escape from as the flames flickered into the air and the smell of roasted death became fainter. Sana wished she was on Epona, this was something her own horse was built for, speed and agility. Rodger was not but she had to try, it was their only chance. The Hell Hound bayed as Sana sped through the forest, the girl clinging to Sana; trying to remain on the horse. The howl ripped through Sanas ears, it was hollow and empty and the smell of sulfur grew with each step the horse took, the beast closing in quickly.
“Come on Rodger, faster!” Sana screamed as she pushed the horse harder and faster than she ever remembered him moving, then again they had never been together while trying to run for their lives. Sana almost lost the little one a few times but managed to keep her in the saddle with her as they drove towards the village at a breakneck pace. She could not slow down; she refused to lose one more soul to this evil. So many had already been lost; how many she may never know but in her arms clung an innocent and she would save this one from his clutches no matter the cost. A quick turn in a different direction and they were able to shake the monster that was nipping at Rodgers heels and make a break for it on the straight away towards the village; it coming into view quickly. Sana just hoped that once she reached the small town they would be ready to help. She did not know what had happened to those that had been with her on their way back to the village nor what had happened to Hugh and the rest that had stayed behind but there was nowhere else to go, no place else to turn. They would have to push forward to save this last one.
“To arms!” Sana screamed as she saw the village, screaming it over and over again. She didn’t pay attention to any that may have been in the streets, she just keep pushing Rodger further into the village until they reached the inn and she leapt off with the child in her arms; tucking and rolling into the dirt as she did and coming up to her feet. She didn’t stop and kept running, clinging to the child protectively as she ran towards the entrance of the Inn. “Run Rodger!” she screamed at the horse and he took off towards the other end of town as Sana ran inside. Pushing passed any that may have been in her way and weaving through the inn.
The foe was not far behind Sana but slowed his pace as he came to the edge of town and nearly trotted his beast into the village, a look of fury coming over his features. He was livid that he had been outrun by a woman and child on a mere horse. He was out for blood and he would have it. Sister Agnes and Wylsen came out as they head the cries of Sana echoing through the night, looking on in horror as their eyes fell onto the man that chased Sana into the village and the monster he rode.
“What in gods name is that?” Wylsen muttered as Sister Agnes gripped his shoulder, her fingers trembling.
“That is nothing of Gods making….” she managed to say as she looked on the pair that trotted into town. “You know that,” she added as she looked over to the apothecary, fear in her eyes. Wylsen nodded, he knew it wasn’t. In a distant past he had run across such beings and he just had hoped that his old eyes were playing tricks on him.
“Bring me the child!” the demonic voice demanded as he brought the beast to a stop near the inn. It would be evident to all what he was and what he rode. The man did not hide what he was in any sense of the word. Sana ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time and kicked a random door to a room open before darting inside and prying the child off her.
“Hide,” Sana said as she set the childs feet on the ground.
“Don’t go,” the little one pleaded as she tried to cling to Sana but Sana held her back.
“I have to, you have to hide,” Sana whispered as she brushed her hair out of the childs face and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise,” she said quickly. The child did not like it but stopped trying to cling to Sana as Sana pulled the lace of her cloak and handed it to her. “Hide, don’t come out no matter what until you hear me,” Sana said quickly as she ran back out the door and the child went to find a hiding spot. Sana unslung her bow from her back; leaping down from the second floor to the first. Her face was not angry or vengeful; it was the look of a mother protecting a child. Sana was no parent but she had found the child and was the closest thing she had to one right now.
“Bring me that child!” the man bellowed once more from outside of the inn. Sana nocked a silver arrow into place as she stepped slowly outside of the inn, back towards the street, and aimed towards the evil being trying to take the little one back into his custody.
“Over my dead body,” Sana hissed; she was in no condition to fight but so few were right then. Her clothing was singed, torn and tattered from the battles of the day. Her exposed skin had been burnt; blisters and raw flesh exposed to the night air as her arms trembled to just hold the bow string drawn back. Blood caked to her face from the gash in her cheek, it coating her shoulder where the dog had ripped into it and her legs marred from the same jaws. It didn’t matter, nothing else did in her mind right then. Sana stood there unwavering in her determination that he would not lay a finger on the child that was now hiding.
“So be it,” he retorted as he drove his heels into the beasts flanks he rode and charged Sana; a dark blade drawn to strike her down. His face looking as corrupted as his soul and looking as much as a demon as the very hell hound he rode. Sanas lips parted but she did not move even as he charged her like a bat out of hell; a slow calculated breath escaping her mouth as her fingers let loose the arrow and it shot forward, whistling through the air and cutting into the flesh of the hounds shoulder. It drove deep, the silver cutting into the meat and lodging into the bone but the beast kept charging.
Sana had held her ground until the last possible second, removing any chance of leaping out of the way but the arrow hitting had helped and thrown the man off balance as the hell hound stumbled in its attack. Instead of his sword tearing through her flesh his arm came pummeling across her chest and sent her flying through the air from the front of the inn, across the street and slamming back against the post of the apothecary on the other side of the wide road. Sanas bow soaring from her fingers and to the wooded porch in front of the general store as her body crumpled into a heap on the ground. The man pulling back on the reins and the beast coming up on its hind legs as is spun before its paws came back down and dug into the ground, ready to attack again.
Sister Agnes screaming out as she watched Sanas form take the hit and rushing to her side, pulling her into a seated position as she looked over to her. Wylsen kneeling down next to the two and trying to open the archers eyes that were now closed to see if she would respond; pulling her lids up carefully. Sanas eyes fluttered slightly signaling she was still alive but not by much, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The blow and subsequent crash into the post had crushed her chest and shattered her bones.
“She’s alive… barely,” Wylsen said quickly and Sister Agnes nodded. The nun had used most of her healing earlier in the day trying to help the others after the previous fights and tending to those that had returned to the village. She was not sure she had enough left to save Sana but if ever divine grace was needed, it was needed now in their darkest hour as the moon peaked through the clouds from above. Wylsen looked over to his old friend as if to plead her to at least try and the sister understood, moving slightly as Wylsen pulled Sana over him to and rested her down on the ground fully; Sister Agnes resting down on her knees and leaning over the nearly lifeless body of Sana, saying a quick prayer for the strength that would be needed as she began to heal the injured archer. The nun just hoped she had enough in her left to so what was needed.
Carefully read through the OOC post before posting!!! | 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. |
712 | 13 | 148 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri awoke to the sudden shout to come to arms. Her body felt a bit torn and sore from the battles earlier today, her arm wounds now crusted over with ugly scabs. Well, she figured looks like I will have two more scars to bear. Vaeri had had several hours of sleep, enough so that she was probably in the best condition she had been in today since she first arrived in the village. From the noise outside she could tell that something was wrong. Some foul being wanting a child. And it was strong. The cleric removed her cloak and cast it aside. She withdrew her weapons from her bag. Across her back was the bow and in her hands, her powerful axe. The last item she pulled from her bag on the floor was the Scroll of Protection from Evil. It was soon than Vaeri expected to need it, but no use being stingy in battle.
She read the scroll out aloud and allowed its magics to infuse her before tossing it onto the ground. Silently, the elf stepped over her bag on the floor and looked out the window at the unholy warrior, grinning from ear to ear. Vaeri took a few slow steps back before leaping out the window, landing in a crouched position on the street below.
"Felling a beast such as yourself would greatly please my lady, and I would be doing the world a favor." Vaeri stood to face her opponents, at the moment alone, the recklessness of her actions not registering in her head. | 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. |
713 | 13 | 149 | 2,489 | 654 | Whatever that potion was, it was working. Tobias was feeling positively recovered after his nap under the table, and was helping himself to a hearty plate of on-the-house stew (being a hero had perks - he got it free and didn't have to steal anything). The jovial expression was returning to his face as he eyed a group of local girls, trying to find exactly the right words to tell the tale of his earlier heroism. Indeed, it seemed the worst was behind him, at least for today.
That was when the heard the hoofbeats pounding. You have to be fucking kidding me.
Sana burst into the room, carrying something precious - the rogue caught a glimpse of blonde hair and saw that it was a child. She ran up the stairs and back down almost as quickly, and that was when Tobias heard it.
It was like nails on a chalkboard - it hurt just to listen to. "Give me the child!"
A child. Tobias could let men, women, dogs, cats, horses, dwarves, elves, orcs, and halflings die without guilt. Why was it always children?
Tobias was out the door just in time to see Sana crash to the ground. It was out there, massive, riding some sort of demon-dog. If the rogue hadn't been so dehydrated, he was sure he would have peed.
The elf crashed out the window and faced the monster without fear, an actual smile on her face. For his part, the rogue stepped forward, a dagger in each trembling hand. His throat was dry, but he managed to choke out a statement. "Y... y... you're not getting any kids. Not while I'm here." | 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 |
714 | 13 | 150 | 54 | 1,340 | The Village
The old apothecary sat there next to Sana as Sister Agnes rested on her knees across from him, he watched intently as the nun began to heal Sana but he was worried. Sister Agnes’ healing light was faded and did not possess the same strength that it had held earlier in the day. With all the healing she had done for the groups over the length of the day the sister had used most of her power and energy. Slowly Sanas crushed chest began to reform and take a more normal shape, the wound on the side of her face closing gradually as the burns down the side of her body from earlier healed but it was a slow process making it painful to Sana. Sanas fingers flexed and clenched as agonizing hisses passed through clenched teeth. Wylsen took Sanas left hand and held it, trying to give her some comfort but he knew it wasn’t going to help. He did have a few potions left in his shop for healing but he restrained himself from retrieving them, this battle would be long and there would be many injuries; as long as Sister Agnes could continue to keep them alive he wanted to save them for the last possible moment.
The Anti-Paladin whipped his head around as he heard a woman speak and the crash of a window; following by a rather trembling voice trying to muster up courage. Pulling the reins on his mount he turned to face them, his sword still drawn. He smirked; if you could call it that for his face was so scarred the only thing one could see was that his jagged lips curled slightly to one side. Kicking his heels into the flanks of his hound from hell causing it to rush the two lone opponents that stood before him; rushing forward the Hell Hound opened it black jaws and a blast of fiery breath came out of his mouth towards Tobias. As it did so the Anti-Paladin, riding his mount came past Vaeri, his dark blade coming down hard and striking towards the elf-womans left arm. The hell hound turned quickly, as it stopped its charge and spun around to face them once again, its back now to the inn and it looking to charge right through them towards the two that were bent on getting Sana back on her feet. | 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. |
715 | 13 | 151 | 1,270 | 2,337 | What a day Lob had had. He had thought he would have enough energy to go back for the alpha after getting the wagon home. Sadly the first fight, the trip out, the fight with slavers and dogs, the breaking of tree limbs, and hunting down the rabbits on the way back... All of that left him well and truly bushed as he found his way up to the top of a thatched straw roof and he collapsed against the stone chimney for heat and shade.
Hours must have passed before he awoke to the sound of the alpha screaming. Crawling to the edge of the roof, he could feel the wrongness even without his ability to sense danger. He watched as others came out while the wolfrider ran them down and his dog gouted flame like a dragon. Club in hand, he took a silent run across the Inn roof and leapt down with the oiled bone in a two-handed overhead strike.
No funny stuff, this one was wrong and needed to be stopped now and fast. With all the strength of a fire giant and the hush of a hunter, he hopped and hoped to cave the chestplate inwards on the badknight with a single silent strike in surprise from the shop's shadow to hide his own. The dog would be next. | 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 |
716 | 13 | 152 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona wasn't naturally paranoid, but tonight she had deemed it best to keep what armor she had on, at least until Sana returned safely. It had been an incredibly eventful day, and a dangerous one too, and Fiona was trying to stay prepared for any more slavers, if some still lived that hadn't been dealt with yet. Staying awake as long as her body would allow, she preoccupied herself mostly by making light conversation with other party members and villagers who stayed at the inn.
As it turned out, she was right to be ready for another fight, but wrong to be expecting more slavers. Sana's scream drew her attention outside, where she laid eyes on the dark creature riding something straight out of hell. Fiona's initial confusion and alarm settled on a few questions, like why this thing would be drawn here, and why it was after the child Sana had. Did she find that child at the slaver camp? Had they missed her? Was this thing involved in the sickness affecting the others?
It seemed too great a terror to be coincidence, but for now, Fiona's goal had to be dealing with that terror. They could find out where it came from afterwards. Quickly Fiona consumed the Bull's Strength potion she had acquired earlier, having removed it from her saddlebags upon leaving Liam in the stables. Drawing her sword, she stepped outside shortly after Tobias, noting the severely injured state of Sana, and Vaeri's arrival from above as well. "I've got your back," she said to Tobias, hoping to be of some reassurance. That he was out here at all astounded her a little. "We can do this."
With that, the combat began, and Fiona waited for a moment to strike. She chose to move forward when the beast had its back turned. She moved to strike at its back left leg, targeting the weakest-looking point and making a two handed slash of her blade, hoping her enhanced strength could severely damage it and cripple its movement. | 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. |
717 | 13 | 153 | 54 | 1,340 | The evil one went to charge once again on his hell hound towards Sana and through the rest of the group but the sudden slam to his Hell Hounds neck right in front of him caused the best to stumble as his head went down; the club that Lob wielded breaking through the skin from the force of the bash and causing a decent amount of blunt force trauma. The knight of darkness did his best to stay on his mount but as Fiona came in from behind and sliced with her blade he tumbled off the large monster to the ground; Fionas blade catching the tendon on the back side of left rear leg and cutting it clean through. The Hell Hound roared in pain as the wound oozed a dark fluid that looked similar to blood but seemed to have a much deeper hue to the gooey substance.
It growled deeply, baring its teeth as it turned its attention towards Fiona; the beats head whipping around as it moved on three legs, refusing to put the injured one on the ground at this time. It was injured but far from being out for the count. The Anti-Paladin grunted as he hit the ground but managed to tumble and come up on his feet, his blade still in his hand. Dirt and dust falling off his dark armor as his fingers flexed, gripping his blade tight in one hand as the other hand fanned out as if to say come get me. That smirk on his lips was still there, as if he was enjoying it and he held no care if his mount was already injured.
“First you, then the child,” he said in a low guttural voice towards the group as he waited for the next onslaught of attacks. | 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. |
718 | 13 | 154 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh continued to search frantically from person to person, anyone with a similar hair color was a target for his hand to grab them and turn them to face him. He kept searching through the people, until his attention was grabbed by the human female, Fiona.
Her words made him more at ease as she explained, but he was perplexed. Personal reasons? He hadn't a clue, but his mind sought through many different possibilities before he shrugged it all off and decided on helping the people out of the little wagon.
He would offer his hand to the old and feeble; he could scoop up the children in his arms and set them on the ground, gently. He had no idea where to take them, but they were all evidently weaker than he, so Hugh kept up the process till the wagon was empty and the group of refugees headed off in different wayward directions.
Hugh seemed to stand proudly, and had a contented smile on his face at seeing the people free from slavery. He stood for a long time, looking around the town at the different happenings. The bodies had been cleaned off the streets, but not before Hugh could nab a few goodies. He himself was wearing a brand new set of chain mail, and had acquired many other strange trinkets.
He felt slightly thirsty from all of the fighting, so he took out this odd vial and held it to the sky, looking it over. "How bad can it be? My liver is amazing, after all." And so, he popped the cork, and downed the vial. Didn't taste like poison, but it would take enough poison for a horse or a bear to put Hugh down, so he wasn't exactly scared.
The liquid didn't seem particularly nourishing, but he didn't feel any adverse affects from it. "Alright, looks like everything is gonna be okay-" His attention was suddenly diverted towards the sound of hooves and then yelling from one particularly familiar voice.
Hugh turned and faced the direction of the sound and there he saw Sana, galloping on Rodger, with something cradled in her arms. The closer she got the less happy he was to see her, as something seemed to be coming up behind her. "Ahh fuck." He stepped back a ways, as both characters rushed through, Sana coming through first and charging into the Inn. It wasn't long before she was back again and facing down this monstrosity.
It was a towering hell hound bearing none other than an antipaladin. For a moment he wasn't sure whether or not it was a good thing he had left behind being a paladin long ago, but he shrugged that off, as things got far more ugly than had started out.
Hugh was on edge, and drew his falchion the moment he saw the antipaladin charge towards Sana. He felt a little overly confident, watching Sana take on the beast. The thoughts going through his mind were that the demon would be shot off his mount, but he was gravely wrong.
His jaw dropped, and so did his sword, as he watched Sana get thrown against a wall like a rag doll, dropping uselessly. He screamed out in agony, as he watched her fall.
He rushed to her side, skidding to a stop. He was at a loss for words, as the nun scrambled to save her. There was reference that she was still alive, but barely. Hugh, however, couldn't speak as his mental state seemed to degrade. To him, it looked as though she was dead, and he couldn't hear what anyone was saying, as his ears seemed to suddenly start ringing and his mind began to grow dark with despair.
There was a sword that was strapped to Sana's back, that Hugh hadn't taken note of, as he stared at her. She seemed lifeless, and so did Hugh's eyes at that moment. He felt like all of the life had been crushed out of him, and that now he was losing everything he had to hold onto. As a random unconscious movement, Hugh drew the sword from her back and turned away, diverting his attention towards the hell hound and it's master.
There it was; he had lost it all. He felt empty, as he walked towards the beast, this new large sword in hand. Lifting up the hilt to his face, he spoke several simple words, before holding it with both hands. "He that lives by the sword shall perish by the sword." He spoke these words as a curse upon himself, almost like it was his time to go. Maybe he was cursed; cursed to relive the same agony and anguish for an eternity. Like an affliction from some benevolent god.
Now, the antipaladin had been knocked off his mount and was standing, ready for a showdown with Hugh. Hugh didn't think they would be a good match, nary, Hugh was going to disembowel the dark knight and parade his entrails around the town. He felt focused and as though no pain could bother him at all.
Hugh marched up towards the man, quickly closing the distance, before shouting to draw his attention, "SURPRISE, MUTHA FUCKA!" With that, Hugh swung his sword at the midsection of the antipaladin, bearing it down on him with all of his force. | 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. |
719 | 13 | 155 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri stifled a giggle at Tobias' attempt at bravery. He was not a strong individual, but he got an A for effort. Coming out to face this foe in the shape he was in took real guts. This brief lapse in concentration cost her a second of reaction. Vaeri managed to barely step out of the way of the charging hellhound and received a deep, ragged gash in her left arm for the trouble. She took a second to check that her arm wasn't completely useless. There was no bone showing. It'd have to do. From there, Lob and Fiona entered, managing to injure the Hellhound and knock the antipaladin off. Just as well, it would make retrieving the first ingredient and smiting the unholy man all the easier.
She spotted Hugh charge in to attack with a sword, and decided to help a brother out. As he came from the front, she rushed in from the back. Vaeri lifted her axe well above, letting her hands slide to the very bottom of the handle, optimizing its strength and range for this attack, but here she was committed to the blow. It would be hard to recover. The plan was to split the anti-paladin's skull like a watermelon whil distracted by Hugh. Or be gutted by Hugh while he was distracted with the axe. She wasn't picky. | 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. |
720 | 13 | 156 | 2,489 | 654 | It's a good thing Hanzo is a light sleeper.
He'd trained himself with that habit for whenever he found it necessary to sleep while on the road or in some uninhabited area. There was no telling when whatever shadows or rogues of the night would come forth and attempt to take their picking on one's sleeping form. Now, it was more than enough to be alerted by the blood-curdling scream of Sana, and a subsequent cry or roar from some other sinful-sounding entity. It was what looked like an evil or demonic paladin, riding what could only be a hellhound.
He demanded a child, some specific one that was here, and did not hesitate to attack when the others tried to assault it. Sana got herself badly injured, and Hanzo himself weighed the options of how well he could fare against this beast. But then again, who would this monk be if he were to refuse to aid?
Gathering his will for the incoming fight, Hanzo opened the inn's window wide, backed up, and performed a running headfirst leap out of the second story. Throwing his body in a forward twist, the monk righted himself to fly at the antipaladin with an outstretched kick, hoping the force could knock the corrupt man to the ground. | 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 |
721 | 13 | 157 | 54 | 1,340 | The Anti-Paladin stared down Hugh as he watched the man leave the side of the woman that he had already dispatched in his mind, that smirk widening to a large and cruel smile, brown teeth showing from behind the mattered lips. He brought his sword out to strike but because his focus was on Hugh he did not notice the elf woman coming up behind him. Vaeri was able to bring her axe down and take a good gash out of his left shoulder causing the swing he was trying to take at Hugh to block to fail. Hugh swung the sword towards the evil one and it sliced across his chest from right shoulder to left hip but due to his armor it did not take him out of the fight yet but it was enough to break through the mans armor in some of the weaker places and pierce his skin. If that wasn’t enough he suddenly dropped to one knee as he was struck from above by an unknown assailant. Hanzo managed to take advantage of the situation and strike true but it was only enough to knock the Anti-Paladin down on one knee, though his scalp had a nice gash in it from the force.
Even with all three of heroes landing their blows it wasn’t enough to stop the man. He was not able to return any of the attacks but rolled to the side and came back up on one knee facing the three before him, placing himself between them and Sana. The three had been lucky to hit the Anti-Paladin and not each other. Tobias, however was not as lucky and then again was lucky in the same breath. As he came down to attack the Hell Hound turned his attention to him and leapt out the way, a move that would send Tobias to the ground instead of into the monsters back. The beast swung his claw towards Tobias but had jumped too far and just missed; his claws coming dangerously close to the thief.
Sister Agnes concentrated on healing Sana instead of the fight but Wylsen watched with worry between both scenes. What the man had just been hit with he should have been at least knocked out cold but no, he was crouched there and ready to attack once again. Sana suddenly gasped for air and sat up straight, Wylsens head turning quickly to look at her and sighed in relief. Sana coughed slightly and held her chest. She still hurt but at least she was conscience now and sitting up on her own. Sister Agnes falling back slightly to rest against the post, feeling very drained from the amount of healing that Sana had required.
Sana looked at the group and slowly pushed herself to her feet, rocking unsteady due to still feeling weak as she began to look around for her bow. Wylsen grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her but she tried to push him away, yet unable to do so. Wylsen finally took a moment to look at her closely and tilted his head to the side, she hid it well but as she told him to, “let me go,” her gypsy accent flowed through. The old mans hands glowed for a moment as he did something he had not done in decades. Looking at her he found a truth she had buried deep that she may not even been aware of. Sana looked at him oddly as he smiled at her; the glow fading away.
“You know what to do, now do it Gypsy,” he said quickly.
“Then let me get my bow!” she snapped but the apothecary held his ground. “What? Wait.. you don’t mean…”
“Yes I do, now do it before things get worse,” he whispered.
“It won’t work,” she said trying to push away from him but again physically she was too weak.
“Only if you don’t let it,” he said before finally releasing her. Sana tilted slightly but managed to grab ahold of the post and keep herself on her feet. Taking a deep breath she looked at the old man worried who only replied with a smile and a motion with his hand for her to do whatever it was he was speaking about; the nun looking on had no idea, she was confused as Sana had been at the beginning on the conversation. Sana nodded slowly and turned to face the group that was fighting to keep the child she had brought into the village safe. Seeing Hugh there she knew she had to at least try, she didn’t have the strength to pull back a bow string; even if she did she couldn’t risk not hitting her mark and hitting one of them. | 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. |
722 | 13 | 158 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona's sword came away from the hell hound spattered with a very dark liquid, the relatively poor nighttime lighting inefficient to show any color. Far all she knew, this creature bled entirely black blood. That she made it bleed at all was encouraging; the others who had arrived to fight were preoccupied with the anti-paladin, leaving it up to her and Tobias to deal with the mount.
As the beast turned to stare and growl at her, Fiona paused, widening her stance slightly, preparing to dodge away when it attacked, but Tobias was driven to strike first, trying to flank it while its attention was elsewhere. It proved both quick and aware of its surroundings by getting away from him, and Fiona's eyes widened when it nearly landed a slash on his prone form in return.
Keeping her sword in both hands, she flipped it over backwards and rushed forward towards the hound's side. "Get away from him!" she shouted, just before she raised her arms and drove her sword down, trying to pierce through the hound above the right shoulder, hoping to strike something vital if she could connect. | 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. |
723 | 13 | 159 | 1,270 | 2,337 | The badman had a bigsword, time to take it away. Taking a side swing stance, he moved around to the darkone's side to flanks as the wolves do. He wasn't looking to strike down the man, but next time he wound up for a swing or swung wide then the dragons bone was going to take that sword away. And the hand with it if he could.
The primal mind fought against itself, this man exuded a fear like a dragon and the fire breathing dog did not help. Part of him wanted to run, the part that wanted to eat tomorrow, to live tomorrow. That part knew this was no hunter of people, this one was something wrong with nature itself. Wrong things need to be set right. | 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 |
724 | 13 | 160 | 290 | 1,247 | He wanted to avoid anymore fighting he really did but he couldn't stand seeing his companions fighting a battle alone so he called upon his locust but didn't direct them at the anti-paladin. No he had them cover him so he could chant divine light and blind the hell-hound.
"I Attempt to Remember Everyone I Have Ever Encountered But You Deserve No Such Thing" he said as he stepped towards the battle his voice muffled and distorted By the locust | 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 |
725 | 13 | 161 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Dreamless sleep is the best kind of sleep; you're mind is clear and you're not doing anything but resting. Some argue that dreaming is the best kind, Melvus would disagree. He would, however, agree that interrupted sleep is the worst kind of sleep... That was what his sleep was, dreamless, yes, but it was interrupted... Melvus rather enjoyed his sleep. Why, then, was it constantly being interrupted. It wasn't even anything particularly loud which had woken him, it was just the sound of distant commotion and some yelling from outside.
It would appear that I slept for a few hours... I'll see what is transpiring outside... Melvus got up from his bed, got himself dressed and made his way to the window of his second story room. As he looked out he noticed the woman... Sana? Yeah... She slammed against the wall of the inn, blood splattering from her. He also took note of the nun running to her and a few of his companions outside. They were fighting something. I suppose I should help... I've had enough sleep...
After retrieving his staff and sword he made his way outside, remembering that he didn't have his cloak. My potion was in there... Oh well, I shouldn't need it for this. There was very little light outside, only some ambient torch-light. Even in the low light, he could see the hellhound, mainly because it seemed to be on fire, probably because it was - or rather its oral region was... At any rate, the beast was accompanying a man. He wore black armor and seemed to radiate evil. That's that I suppose.
The monk, the knight, and the elf attacked at once, they landed but didn't seem to do much damage as the black knight rolled, avoiding the blunt if their attacks.
Melvus could feel his own power, it was rather low. He drew his sword and disappeared. I'll use my weaker spells for now... and my sword, I'd rather not pass out here. "My master once told me... I am the calm center of the storm, that I must remain fearless, patient and calm as my opponent rages around me." Melvus' cut into the fight as he materialized in front of the heroes, between them and the dark knight. "He also told me to strike through my opponent!" With that a glowing arm appeared behind Melvus, slamming against the ground, thrusting the wizard toward his opponent, sword at the ready. | Removed |
726 | 13 | 162 | 914 | 1,884 | A blood boiling scream and the command to arm’s had held a significant spark in the soul of the golden eye’d stranger even all the way at the stables, where he lifted his head to listen to what would happen next.
After mere moments, the stranger knew what he had to do. He slapped his palm against the rump of an unusually large snow white destrier that stood by him in the oak pillars of the stables. Leather bags caught his eye, as well as a long glinting object that laid all along the wall at a great length. A familiar glimmer shone in the golden eyes of the man as his finger tightened around the bags.
Minutes passed and no other sound filled the ears of the stranger than those of the pounding hooves of his white destrier and the protests of rushing wind. His eyes were slits behind a thick and strange helmet and one hand held the reigns of the bit while the other couched a long lance. A long red cape fluttered behind him as he charged on top of the great white horse, giving him the view of a hero.
Great armor covered his figure, quickly tightened with the skill of an old soldier, and yet the armor reflected the shining plates of the youth. The man’s muscles strained as his short lived charge came into fruition.
The bodies of his comrades by chance blurred in his vision as his eyes refocused passed the roaring winds of the rush and onto a dark and evil knight. He tilted and aimed his lance, and the great weapon began to glow a white heat as he whispered words of holiness, the words of smite evil. He kicked his horse for one final rush of power and the great beast launched off it’s hinds as the mounted warrior completed his tilt and thrusted his lance forward to end the charge and attempt to skewer the evil before him. | 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 |
727 | 13 | 163 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana took a deep breath, watching the fight as the old apothecary stepped up next to her to steady her if needed. Sana doubted this would work, as far as she knew she had never been able to cast during her life even though she had been taught the songs growing up and had to perfect them. Wylsen nudged her slightly and she could only nod as she began to part her lips. Her voice started out as nothing more than a whisper as the lyrics came forth. “She sits in her corner singing herself to sleep, wrapped in all of the promises that no one seems to keep. She no longer cries to herself, no tears left to wash away. Just diaries of empty pages, feelings gone astray but she will sing,” she whispered in a soft singsong voice but nothing happened and she felt like an idiot standing there singing while they fought.
Wylsen stepped into her line of sight and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have to believe it, do it for them,” he said motioning with his head towards the group that was desperately fighting but unable to get the upper hand.
Sana drew a breath and lifted her head more, trying to believe. “Till everything burns, while everyone screams. Burning their lies, burning my dreams. All of this hate and all of this pain burning all down as my anger reigns, till everything burns,” her voice sang, a bit stronger now and Wylsen smiled as she gave off the faintest of crimson hues from her skin.
“Come on, keep it going,” he urged her as he motioned with his hands, fanning them slightly towards himself.
“Walking through life unnoticed; knowing that no one cares. Too consumed with their masquerade, no one sees me there but I will sing,” Sana sang, her voice growing strong with each note that left her lips, her eyes closing slowly. Her sultry voice growing in strength as each word passed through her lips. The crimson hue that had been so faint was growing in intensity, her hair and clothing moving slightly as a wind seemed to pick up around her; Sana feeling the change continued hoping that it was working.
“Till everything burns while everything screams. Burning their lies, burning my dreams. All of this hate and all of this pain; burning it all down as my anger reigns,” she sang with force as her hands and body began to move, the crimson shaded light now bright and swirling like a blood drenched fog caught in the winds.
“Till everything burns,” she sang as her voice carried to the ears of each of those out there and her foot slammed into the ground below her; eyes slamming open, consumed with the shade that whipped about her. Her hands thrusting out as she continued, the light seeming to funnel through them and shooting out to each member that she considered an ally in this fight against the Anti-Paladin. “While everyone screams; burning their lies, burning my dreams. All of this hate and all of this pain burning all down as my angers, till everything burns!” she sung, holding out the last word as long as she could as the crimson light created an aura around each of them. They would feel courage building within them, fatigue fading away as it did, feeling themselves heal from wounds not yet tended to.
Sanas voice began to soften as she continued past the last held note, the hue fading from around her friends and the winds relenting around her form. “Watching it all fade away,” she managed to whisper as she drew her song to a close. The effect would continue for her party for some time but she was spent from having cast it. It was her first true cast and she was already weak. As her hands began to lower she began to wobble on her feet, Wylsen rushing to come up behind her and catch her as she began to fall. Gently lowering her to a seated position and resting her next to Sister Agnes.
“You did good Gypsy,” was all Wylsen said while he rested her back against the post. Sana nodded slightly as her head tilted back and she watched, hoping what she did would help the group over all. Sana did not have to wait long to see the results of her song. Fiona was in mid swing towards the Hell Hound, coming in from the side with her sword and aiming to hit something vital. She did, the sword pierced through the beasts flesh and drove directly into its heart and severing its spinal cord at the same time. It yelped but it was too late, the monster dropped to the ground with a thunderous thud, falling dead where it lay.
The Anti-Paladin saw this and narrowed his eyes, looking for the closest person to take it out on and his eyes fell on Hanzo. Moving to swing and take the mans head off he would have succeeded if it were not for Lob coming up and being ready for the swing. As the dark one swung so did Lob, who had been waiting for the attack and brought down his club hard against the mans arm right at the elbow. The sound of bone cracking echoing through the air as he dropped his sword in the process and stumbled back slightly; grabbing his now unusable arm with his good one. Catching himself before he was able to fall he seemed to growl demonically.
The sound of hooves beating grabbed the Anti-Paladins attention, turning to face it he was left no time to get out of the way as the lance hit him full force in the right side of his body on his chest near his should and lifted him off the ground. The force dented his armor and cracked his collarbone, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the ground, sprawled out just as he had done to Sana. Gasping for air he fought to recover but only managed to sit up before anything else happened. | 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. |
728 | 13 | 164 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri laughed as the anti-paladin's strike was intercepted by Lob. So far in this fight he had had great timing, first dismounting the fiend and now potentially breaking his arm. And now a newcomer joined the battle a mysterious armored warrior on a brilliant white horse. His blow knocked the unholy warrior into a vulnerable position and she could feel the divine magic starting to fade, so she took a hint from Sana's magical music.
"Nobody approach the unholy one! Burn to ashes! Flame Strike!" Vaeri gestured towards the antipaladin, a beam of light signalling where the holy flames would strike him. | 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. |
729 | 13 | 165 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias's attack was brave, ambitious, and mighty, three things that all present would agree were totally unlike him. As such, it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise when it completely failed.
The rogue crashed to the ground, face in the dirt. He was just beginning to scramble to his feet when he looked up and saw the Hell-Hound's slavering visage fixated on him. Well, at least he'd gotten its attention away from Fiona. Hell-Hound bait - maybe they'd put that on his tombstone, if anyone bothered to give him one.
The claws sang forward, eager to usher the rogue off this mortal coil. Tobias closed his eyes and waited for a death that never came. When he opened them again, there was a song filling his ears, haunting and beautiful. Everything burns.
"Get away from him!" Fiona cried as she cut into the monster, her blade finally putting an end to its unnatural life. For a moment, though she was spattered with dirt and blood and gritting her teeth with the effort, she seemed to be the most beautiful woman the rogue had ever seen.
More had entered the fight - the whole gang, it seemed. They were currently dog-piling the rider of the Hell-Hound, even managing to break its arm and knock it prone. Vaeri seemed set to finish the job, appearing to conjure some spell or another over the knight, a beam of light marking it for destruction.
But then, maybe that wouldn't be enough - it had survived plenty so far. Pulling himself upright, Tobias sent a knife sailing towards the knigt, shouting as he did so: "I've got your child right here, fucking prick!" | 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 |
730 | 13 | 166 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakDrizzak had been trying not to think too hard since speaking with Sister Agnes. Her words made his brain do backflips. Wanting to be a good goblin, made him a good goblin? He had to admit he was a bad goblin to be a good one? If he failed to be a good goblin, he would still be good because he tried? The concepts of good and evil, right and wrong, occupied the edges of his mind as he ate his evening meal of meat and bread.
Not great for dinner conversation, so he remained quiet until the time for rest came. He slept near the window that night, looking up at the stars. The cool, soft breeze helped him to lay his wandering thoughts to rest, and soothed his aching wounds. The dog mauling on his shoulder throbbed softly, but the pain was mostly in his head. The stab wound at his other shoulder was slightly more painful. He could feel it healed for the most part, but the feeling of being pierced never went away in truth.
His face was still slightly cut up, and his body was generally bruised all over, but he managed to find some semblance of restful sleep beneath the watching stars. That was until the scream for help went up. Drizzak was slower to move, body stiff and sore, but he moved all the same as he tried to don his weaponry and armor. Whip, blade, pelts and leather. No cloak this time. He liked his cloak too much.
He rushed outside behind all the others and sized up the enemy. A huge, imposing knight and his terribly frightening looking... dog? Was that even a dog? Or a dog-shaped demon? Drizzak pondered as he circled the fight. Now was not the time for thought. His friends were being attacked, and hurt! How could he just stand there as this happened? Now was the time for action and bravery!
Now was the time to be a good goblin, in the way he knew best.
With a bark, he dashed into the frey, feeling the song from Sana empowering his stride and making him feel lighter than ever before. Stronger than ever before. He intended to strike after the divine fire from Vaeri and the knife from Tobias. His whip was drawn, and ready to slice through the air as he flung it toward the Antipaladin's neck. Behind his teeth glowed a golden light, a flame powered by rage. If the whip grappled successfully, he would pull him down and unleash an inferno of flame upon his head in a roar of anger. | 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'. |
731 | 13 | 167 | 54 | 1,340 | And The Battle Draws To A Close
The Anti-Paladin sat there, gripping his arm from the break and the pain of Lobs strike, trying to get to his feet. His eyes widened as he heard the words Flame Strike echo through the air right before he was engulfed in the holy driven flames. He tried to move out of the way but it was all for naught. The flames covered his form and even though the flame themselves caused no burns the holy side of the attack charred his flesh and burned through the armor as if he had none on at all. He was given no chance to recover from the attack as he felt a dagger find the soft spot in the breach of his chest plate that Tobias had sent flying towards him, the break was caused by Hughs strike early in the fight and it provided enough space to wedge through and puncture his lung.
He sat there, burning and bleeding out, hanging on to life by a thread. That thread was cut with the snap of a whip that wrapped around his throat and snapped his neck. The evil being sat there for a moment as the flames faded away and he toppled over to the side lifeless. A stunned look plastered on his hideous face; the whip still around his neck. With that the fight was over and Wylsen jumped up, in a rather spry gesture for a man of his advanced years, thrusting his fist in the air and screaming out.
“Yes!” he hollered before he clapped several times and looked at the group over all with a grateful expression on his face; smiling brightly. Sister Agnes took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh of relief. The village could now have peace, something they had not had in sometime. Tilting her head slightly she looked over to Sana and rested her hand on the archers shoulder. Sana just sat there, still trying to catch her breath and regain her strength from the casting of the song.
“Are you alight young lady?” the sister asked concerned. Sana just nodded, her eyes feeling heavy but she forced herself to stay awake. “What child was he screaming about?” the nun was finally able to ask now that the fight was over. A small smile came to Sanas lips as from the inn emerged the little one, peeking her head out from the door way. Sana lifted her arms up slowly, them shaking somewhat from the strain. The little girl smiled brightly and rushed from the inn, across the street and over to Sana. Crawling into Sanas lap and clinging to her as Sana wrapped her arms around the little girl.
“This one,” Sana said in a tired voice. The little girl looked at the Sister as she clung to Sana and rested her head under Sanas chin.
“Where did you find her?” Wylsen asked as he knelt down next to them.
“Hidden in a hole in the ground,” Sana said in a quiet voice; she rested her head back on the post she was leaning against as she sat there holding the little one.
“Do you know why he had her?” Sister Agnes asked as she watched the little one and then looked over towards the corpse of the Anti-Paladin.
“No idea, ask him,” Sana said with a smirk on her lips as she sat there and then yawned slightly.
“You and the rest of the group need a good nights sleep,” Wylsen said as he righted himself and stood up.
“Need to get,” Sana began before she realized that she did not even know the childs name yet. Looking down at the child she perked a brow. “What’s your name?”
“Ariana,” the little girl said as she looked up at Sana. Sana nodded and smiled at her, running her fingers through her hair.
“Hello Ariana, I’m Sana,” she said in a kind voice. “I need to get Ariana cleaned up and fed first,” Sana said as she sat there. The Sister laughed slightly as she moved and rested on her knees.
“You can’t even stand up right now, I’ll take care of her, it’s what I do,” the sister said gently and held her hands out to the child. The child shook her head and clung tighter to Sana.
“No!” Ariana said defiantly. Sana laughed at the kids tenacity.
“I have her, just find her a place to sleep. I’ll move in a minute, just need to catch my breath,” Sana said as she pushed the nuns hands away before shifting the child in her lap and holding her close. Sister Agnes smiled and shrugged as she stood up, Wylsen helping the old nun to her feet.
“Looks like the village needs another clean up and someone needs to get the claw off the Hell Hound,” Sister Agnes said to Wylsen.
“Right and if they get the blood for me I can make some potions for them by morning,” he said before turning to go into his shop to retrieve some bottles to hold things in.
“I’ll go find the child a place to sleep,” Sister Agnes said as she walked across the street and into the inn; leaving the group to do what was needed to finish. The Sister smiled towards Drizzak as she passed him and gave him a nod of approval before she continued on her way. The bodies would need to be burned after the claw and blood was harvested from the Hell Hound. The Sister doubted there was much left they could use from the Anti-Paladin but there may have been a few items. | 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. |
732 | 13 | 168 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri plated the base of her axe onto the ground and took a few seconds to catch her breath. She had hoped that the holy flames would be enough to off the unholy warrior, but it being the catalyst to his defeat was acceptable. She placed her right hand over the gash in her left arm and made a silent prayer as golden light glowed from her palm. To her surprise, there was no wound to heal. When did that get fixed? Vaeri vaguely remembered her arm feeling weird when Sana began singing, that was probably when the wound was mended. She looked around saw that the only ones injured now were the two dead unholy ones. Justice prevails. Vaeri walked over to the antipaladin's corpse and spat on it before turning to the body of the hell hound.
"I will extract the claws from the hound. I'll be right back." Vaeri walked back to her room, her bag sitting open on the floor. She shoved her weapons back into the magical pack and pulled out her carving knife. The cloak was retrieved from the floor and shaken a few times to remove any dust or dirt that had accumulated on it before she put it on. She decided to keep her face revealed, however. It wasn't cold, the skies were clear and everyone outside had already seen her face. The elf returned to the battlefield twirling the blade in between her fingertips. She was a skilled, practiced hunter. She'd been hunting since she was 25. Granted back in those days she was firing a toy bow at the local squirrels the sly beasties always managed to avoid the arrows no matter how well she aimed. It still counted. Something as simply as removing a few claws should be child's play. Still, Vaeri couldn't completely shake the thought that asked "What if you ruin it now?"
It may have been doubt, it may have been unfamiliarity with skinning canines, but Vaeri actually did screw up her first few tries, causing first two claws to snap instead of coming out cleanly. By the four claw, she had found her stride and extracted 6 of the beast's claws before feeling satisfied. Maybe they only needed one claw, but it was better to have too much than too little. | 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. |
733 | 13 | 169 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Lob looked down at the long black blade, a magnificent weapon in the hands of any warrior. The brute scoffed and scratched some dirt over it like a cat trying to bury its droppings. He had a bone.
Moving over to the hell hound, he approached with caution and put its head upon his lap as he pet it down. He started singing songs of the winds and the plains while he rocked and pet the beast. He sang for this magnificent, if infernal, dog. He would have made it his own and taught it to be a good dog, not the hellish mount of this one. HE sang for this dog, he sang for the slavers dogs he was not allowed to bury, he sang for the dogs of his gone tribe. He sang for the old grays, he sang for the young pups, he sang for every dog that ever died not in its masters arms.
Tears came freely from the brute as he gave all forgotten dogs a name and a voice to let them chase the stars. When the song was done, he took up the horse sized animal as easily as Sana took the child and walked to Wylsen shop.
"No, use all. All skin. All bone. All meat. It-..." Lob takes a moment to check between its legs. He good boy, he help more. Lob help you."
If the silver haired man allowed, Lob would use all his skill as a hunter to skin and dress the helhound on the half orcs poncho as a 'clean space' to work with a surprising practice for the song he just sang. The spirit had been sent to the stars, now the body was needed to heal and help the others. There was more to the animal than just its blood, there was the heart, the lungs that breathe fire, the bones and skin itself to make armor that was immune to fire as well. | 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 |
734 | 13 | 170 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana sat there, resting with Ariana in her arms. She really did not want to get up and move right then, she was exhausted from the day the group had but she knew eventually she would have to scramble to her feet. She was hungry since she had not eaten since morning and her skin still burned some even with the nuns healing. She would be scarred from today but looking down at the little one in her arms she felt it was worth it. Sana had a lot of questions about what had happened while she was tending to the camp alone but now was not the time to ask. Her fathers death was still on her mind as well as the knowledge of her family being gone. She needed to push that to the back of her conscience for now though, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
Turning her head slightly she perked a brow as she heard Lob singing to the Hell Hound. It was odd to her but she wouldn’t fault him for it. Everyone in the group seemed to have their own way to deal with things but at least they were able to come together when it mattered. It put her at ease some with the journey ahead. Vaeri had managed to collect some of the claws, so at least sticking in town for the day had yielded the first ingredient they needed. She hoped the rest of them wouldn’t be as difficult to get but with their luck she braced herself for a lot more hardship over the next days and perhaps weeks. Sana looked over to Hugh and smiled to him, he was safe and seemed uninjured from the fight with the Anti-Paladin. She had a lot to tell him and was probably going to get an ear full for throwing herself right into the middle of the fight and getting as injured as she did.
Sister Agnes came back of out of the Inn and walked passed Sana, retrieving her bow for her and resting it next to her. “Thanks,” Sana said in a tired voice and the nun nodded.
“I have a place for her to rest and the inn keeper said he set up the same room you and your husband shared last night,” Sister Agnes said with a smile. Sana looked at the woman surprised and shook her head quickly.
“I… no, he isn’t my… well husband,” Sana said as she stumbled over her words. The sister looked at her and then over towards Hugh.
“Could have fooled these old eyes,” she said before walking off to see what Wylsen was up to. Seeing Lob come over to the Hell Hound she held the door open for him. Wylsen was inside the shop, behind the counter gathering up what he would need to preserve the claws until the rest of the ingredients were gathered as well as to get the blood from the beast. He looked up as the bell above his door dinged and motioned for them to come on in.
“Yes, that would be good,” Wylsen as he stepped out from behind the counter and laid out a thick cloth on the floor. “Once I get the blood we can take care of harvesting anything else you think may be of use,” Wylsen said as he sat down on the floor near the cloth. “Can you set him down here on the sheet for me? Then we can begin.” | 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. |
735 | 13 | 171 | 1,451 | 685 | When Fiona had first looked out on the hell hound and its rider, she had expected the fight to leave them battered and bloody, wounded and exhausted. But as she pulled her blade free from the beast, which had been felled by her strike, she found herself entirely uninjured, even her fatigue not weighing so heavily on her anymore, due to Sana's song. It was a remarkable end to a remarkable day, and Fiona was glad to be a part of it. They now had the first of the ingredients they needed, and the village would hopefully be safe for the time being.
Everyone seemed to be alright, even Sana, who had taken such a powerful blow to start the fight. The anti-paladin had been beaten, and the hit landed by the warrior atop the white horse had not gone unnoticed by Fiona. Though she remembered seeing him after returning to the village, this was the first time he'd really caught her attention. It was an impressive entrance, to say the least.
Wiping off her blade on a small cloth at her belt, Fiona sheathed it, and allowed Vaeri and then Lob to begin their work on the beast she'd slain. They were far more adept at that sort of thing than she was. Instead she made her way over to the body of the antipaladin, to where his sword had fallen. It was a long, heavy blade, and would probably require both hands for Fiona to use it effectively... but it looked much better than what she had. Her current blade was light and swift, but not effective enough at heavy strikes. This one looked like it could cleave through armor if she put enough weight behind it. She picked it up, held it in both her hands. Perhaps it was a wicked weapon, but only because it had been used by a wicked thing. It had a sort of dark beauty to it, she noted, with the gleaming black blade and elegant handle and crossguard. She would put it to better use.
Coming to stand back in front of Tobias, she noted her appearance, specifically that of her clothes. "Ugh... I need to clean up." A fair amount of the dark blood had splashed from the hell hound when she'd killed it, spotting her clothes, gear, and skin where it showed. She sighed, setting the point of her new sword into the ground and looking back up at Tobias.
"Just thought I'd let you know that it was really brave, what you did. You didn't have to stand up to that thing." A small smile came to her lips. "If you're not careful, you'll start doing heroic things on a regular basis. Couldn't have that, now could we?" | 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. |
736 | 13 | 172 | 914 | 1,884 | The golden eyed stranger reared his horse and turned to the group, lifting his long lance to point at the sky above. He observed them for a while, taking in their activities with his sight and hearing their words behind a muffling helmet. The horse’s stamping hoof caught him from his eavesdropping and he smiled, hidden behind the face of his helmet.
He watched the others pick at their kills and loot the dead man, forcing a small head shake from the stranger as he trotted by, eager to get out of his seasoned armor.
Before he let his horse trot completely past the scene, he laid a hand on its neck and the beast halted so it’s rider and friend could witness the dark knight at a closer level.
He leaned on the white horse and from behind his helmet, a hollow voice broke from his throat, “friend of yours?” he asked to no one in particular. | 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 |
737 | 13 | 173 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri gathered the claws she had collected and held them in her two hands cupped together, like how one would collect river water to drink without a waterskin on hand. The claws were fairly large, too large to easily carry the half dozen she'd harvested from the hellhound in one hand. Lob had taken the body of the beast into the apothecary. He was an odd one. Perhaps he identified more with beasts than he did with people. There had been a few people like that in Lianyu, but they would disappear to become druids rather than mimic the beasts themselves. They were also far less fun to be around. Anytime you'd eat meat around them they would begin lecturing you on ethics and the value of all life.
Fiona decided to take the anti-paladin's sword for herself, a decision Vaeri didn't approve of, but wouldn't discuss. If it were up to her, everything about that man would be left in a ditch and forgotten, but she could understand the use such a weapon would be to someone like Fiona.
"I am not familiar with him. Perhaps Sana knows who he was. She did stay behind to work out some personal issues." This armored man on a white steed was mysterious, he reminded Vaeri of a few human stories she heard. They would sometimes feature a knight in shining armor coming to save the day. It was an odd fixture, but this man had an obvious appearance of nobility. She turned from the armored man and entered the apothecary. The claws were deposited at an empty spot on the counter were hopefully Wyslan would see. | 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. |
738 | 13 | 174 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana looked over towards Vaeri as she heard her name and shook her head. “Your guess is as good as mine. I found Ariana in a hole that was hidden outside of the camp thanks to Hughs steed. Had just gotten her out and was about to head back here when he showed up demanding I give her back,” Sana said as she ran her fingers through the little ones hair. The words reminded her of Rodger and she placed her fingers to her lips, giving out a quick series of whistled calls. Rodger came trotting over from a dark alley and Sana let out a sigh of relief; one less thing to worry about.
Sana glanced over towards the man on the white horse and perked a brow. She hadn’t seen him before but he had helped during the fight; which she was grateful for. “Thanks for the assistance,” she said in a tired voice before turning her attention back to the little on in her arms. She was still a bit too tired to get up and walk back to the inn but figured it didn’t hurt to just sit there for a while.
As Vaeri went into the shop, the bell dinged above the door and Sister Agnes looked over, slightly glad to see someone come in. She had stayed in there to see if Lob or Wylsen needed any help or for her to retrieve anything but she had seen enough blood for the day. Walking over to the counter she took the claws and began to place them in wide mouthed bottles. “Thank you so much,” the nun said in a kind voice as she looked over towards Vaeri before she began to seal the bottles so the claws could be used when the group returned with the rest of the items that Wylsen needed to take care of the orphans.
Wylsen leaned back and popped a cork into the forth bottle of blood he had been able to drain from the Hell Hound, thanks to Lobs help and smiled to himself. Picking up a rag he cleaned his hands off somewhat and patted the half-orc on the shoulder. "Good job, I think that will let me make something very useful for you and your group by morning. What else did you want to get from the creature?" | 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. |
739 | 13 | 175 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias was staring at nothing in particular, flipping a coin across his fingers to try and quell the shakiness in his hands. He was distantly aware of a great many events transpiring around him - Lob and Vaeri carving up the Hell-Hound, the apothecary bustling to and fro, the man on the white horse observing the scene, and Sana sitting with the child in her arms (any other time, he might have worried about that, considering the woman's demonstrated propensity for violence - at the moment, Tobias couldn't be bothered to kick up a stink about it).
He snapped back when he heard Fiona's voice speaking to him, and her sarcastic comment returned a trademark cocksure grin to his face. "Oh, you should know not to worry about that. Spineless weasel's in my blood - besides, I'd hate to make my angel of war look bad."
Tobias's smile faded. He smelled the hell-hound's hot breath on his face, the tempest of smoke and blood. He heard the screaming, the gurgling, the terrible sucking sound of a stabbed chest cavity. He saw the corpse of the man he'd killed, reddened and defiled. He watched Sana plunge an arrow into a screaming man's face, the zombie crack a man's skull open, the dark knight rise from things no man could possibly survive.
"I'm... glad you're okay." Before he knew it, the rogue had awkwardly wrapped his arms around the girl in front of him and drew her forwards to bury his forehead in her shoulder. "I... I had a really bad day, Fiona."
The contact lasted just a moment before the rogue broke it off again just as suddenly. "Eh... heh. I should, I mean, I've got to go... steal something." | 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 |
740 | 13 | 176 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh sat next Sana his hood lowered and Zam had placed herself back in her hidey hole Mortosh who was staring at the child deep in thought ("What Did That Paladin Want With This Child") "Mortosh says hes sorry for not being much use in the previous battle" Zam said to Sana still in her hidey hole "So whats going to happen to her? are we going to take her with us?" she asked trying to start conversation with the Gypsy.
Mortosh rose from his seat and took Zam out of her Pocket ("Zam Will You Be fine With Staying Here With Sana and the Child For Tonight?") she nodded but she was a bit confused at the request"sure but why?" Mortosh turned of Chatter so he could speak to her naturally which sounded muffled "I Am Going To Clean Up the Corpses Before We Leave Tomorrow Morning I Will Be Able To Get Rid Of Them During The Night For I Don't Need Sleep But You Do. So I Am Asking You To Ask Sana To Let you Stay With Her Tonight" He Said to her as he left for the door. | 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 |
741 | 13 | 177 | 2,649 | 479 | As Hugh stared down the enemy on its knees, he felt no remorse, only rage and the overwhelming feeling to rip him apart. His wrath was unrelenting when coaxed out, but something seemed to quell it.
He heard a voice, a soothing one, giving him relief and causing his rage to dissipate. The best part was that he knew the voice, but it was more beautiful than he heard before. A smile seemed to come across his lips, as his features smoothed out. He had to turn and look to see her, Sana, still alive. Not as well as he, but far better than when he had first saw her.
Here she was, the woman he adored and whom he had taken for deceased, now standing up and singing a beautiful melody. He didn't see any need to care about the anti-paladin, as the bastard was on his knees, and was soon beaten to the ground by the others.
A character Hugh hadn't anticipated was the knight, charging in on steed with lance in hand. The man destroyed the anti-paladin. Unfortunately, the anti-paladin was still alive, but barely. It gave Hugh some peace of mind to see him suffer the same way he had made Sana suffer.
Then, the man was lit on fire and burned to death. Hugh was more than just content at the perfect end. He was rejuvenated, as the woman he adored was still there and still his. He had a charismatic smile glued to his face, as he walked over to her.
She was joined by a little child, but Hugh's attention was drawn somewhere else. He caught a glimpse of the thief, a person Hugh hadn't been given the best impressions of, but that was subject to change at that very moment. Hugh perked a brow as he saw the thief let himself dissolve into the embrace of the other fighter. A little smirk came across Hugh's face, "Hm, what a softy." He said the words with a little chuckle, before turning his attention back to Sana.
"Hello. How are you, my darling, today?" He had a stupid grin smeared across his face, adding to his infectious happiness. | 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. |
742 | 13 | 178 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana looked over towards the unique pair as they came over to her. Sana was humming gently to Ariana and running her fingers through the little ones hair. At Zams words Sana smiled slightly and shook her head. "No worries, I wasn't either. Well other than being a wonderful rag doll that got tossed away," she said in a light hearted voice and then cringed slightly in pain. "Oh, don't laugh, reminder to self."
When Zam asked about the child Sana sighed deeply. "No, it would be too dangerous for her to go with us," Sana said sadly. Ariana looked up at Sana and pouted, clinging tighter to her.
"No, I go with Sana," the girl protested. Sana felt horrible when she saw the pout but she couldn't let the little one come with them. Kissing her brow lightly and sighed.
"It is too dangerous but I'll make you a promise. When we are done I will come back and see you," Sana said in a firm but caring tone. Taking the chain off her neck, that held her parents wedding bands, she placed it around Arianas. "These were my parents, I'll come back for them. You keep them safe okay?"
"I will!" Ariana exclaimed as she looked at the rings. Sana giggled and rest back once again. As Hugh came over she reached over with one hand to take his and lace her fingers through his own, keeping the child cradled in the other.
"Well, we fought off slavers today, you nearly bled out, we got to the camp, took care of some there. Dog bit the crap out of me, had a whip slash my face, got burned," she said pointing to the scars that now dotted her form. "Then my dad died in my arms, found out my family is dead, buried bodies, found Ariana here," she said as she squeezed the little on in a hug gently. "Then got chased down by a mad man, knocked around like a rag doll, find out I can apparently cast magic and now am sitting here feeling like Rodger ran over me a dozen times. So all in all, I am peachy," she said as she laughed sarcastically and then cringed again in pain.
"Another note to self, don't laugh," she said as she weakly pulled Hugh over to her and kissed him softly. "And you?" she asked softly as Ariana smiled at the two.
"Ooooo," the little one said with a giggle. Sana looked at Ariana slightly stunned at the reaction and gave her a mock stern face. Ariana grabbed Sanas cheeks and smushed them together playfully to which Sana stuck her tongue out at the little one. Ariana responded in turn by sticking her tongue out at Sana which caused Sana to bust out laughing between cringes of pain. | 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. |
743 | 13 | 179 | 914 | 1,884 | The stranger idled on top of his horse for a moment as he stared intently at the small child. The innocent youth softened the corners of the stranger’s heart as he stared, and yet an itching intuition bit at his heels.
This wasn’t his mess, nor was it his business to get involved, but at the very least, he could make sure the child lived safely from this point on, and being abandoned into the arms of a place that was just nearly sacked didn’t seem to be the best place for a child that which a dark knight was after to hide in. To the stranger, he thought, it seemed like an inevitable way to run into a problem down the road, whichever road that may be.
After his quick pondering, he felt his golden eyes tug back onto the image of the youth, and he sighed a tired exhale, but not one of physical exhaustion, but rather of exhausted experience.
The stranger swung his leg over his horse and dropped to the dusty road with a poof. The white stallion grunted curiously and the armored man laid an idle hand on its muzzle as he turned to the child.
He took a few steps forward, blurring all others out of his sight, and out of his mind as he squatted to reach eye level with the cradled child. He lifted his gauntlets and slowly removed the heavy helmet that had caged his head. The thick nauseating smell of sweet lavender permeated from a thick and strange leather mask that was strapped to the inside of the helmet’s facemask.
The stranger blinked his golden eyes that sat on his spiderwebbed scarred face, and caught the gaze of the child. A soft and fatherly curve practiced on his ruined lip’s and he spoke gently through a rough throat that had the salt of a commander seasoning his voice, “how old are you little one?” | 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 |
744 | 13 | 180 | 1,451 | 685 | A short and somewhat surprised "oh" escaped Fiona when Tobias hugged her. Her hands had been on the hilt of her sword in front of her, so she couldn't even really return the gesture. She didn't have the time anyway, as he broke the contact almost as soon as it began. It left her a bit confused, though she began to understand well enough when Tobias struggled to return to his usual demeanor.
"I'm fine," she assured him, "and you're fine, too. We made it. What we went through today will make tomorrow better. For these people, certainly." She also wondered if Tobias hadn't learned something about himself today. That he was capable of things like this, perhaps. He was a lot stronger than he thought. Fiona couldn't be the only one who thought that.
"How about we get some rest instead, hmm?" She put a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him towards the inn. "We'll need the sleep. Got a long day ahead of us, I'm sure." Releasing him once they were just about inside the inn again, Fiona bid Tobias a good night, and began making her way towards the room she'd purchased for herself for the night. She was already unbuckling the straps holding her armor to her on the way up the stairs. Sleep was going to come easily tonight, that was for sure. Fiona was exhausted. | 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. |
745 | 13 | 181 | 54 | 1,340 | Recovering from the blow Hanzo had inflicted to the anti-paladin, the monk considered himself lucky to have struck when he did - the sinister figure had been prepared for another attack, and his sudden intervention had knocked him out of it and likely protected his allies fighting him. Another battle waged behind them, between the hellhound and some of the other, but Hanzo couldn't divert his focus. This devil seemed strong, and even with a new wound in his head he would not be stopped.
However, something suddenly happened. A heartfelt singing voice from elsewhere in the village. Hanzo barely managed to spare a glance... Sana? What was happening? As if on cue for an answer, several serpentine streams of light flowed out from the gypsy woman, targeting and engulfing each of her allies. The monk felt himself surging with courage, his lesser scars and scratched healing themselves fully. Some sort of secret power, of the bardic kind, perhaps? Hanzo would ask about it later. Now, it was necessary to finish the fight, while everyone seemed to be in greater spirits.
As the martial artist faced the anti-paladin again, the damned figure decided to vent some range, selecting Hanzo to be the target of a swift execution. It would've been too close to avoid, a clean cut-off of his head, but he was saved by yet another intervention - the wild orc from long before, bringing a bone club down to break the man's arm at the elbow. A cry of pain followed the sound of cracking, and the fiending warrior dropped to a knee, growing hatefully with his sword clattered on the ground.
Once more, however, yet another interruption ensued, this time from an individual Hanzo did not recognize. Or rather, he had noted the presence of him before, but knew nothing else. The cavalier, charging with lance in hand, speared the anti-paladin hard, carrying him through the air some to send him sprawling out on the ground. And then a yell from the elvish caster to stand back, and then a beam of divine flames struck the struggling man, searing through his armor. And then, again, a thrown knife from the rogue, complete with a furious insult. Battered and broken, the fiendish knight desperately reached out...
Their foe's life was finally snuffed out by a whip from seemingly nowhere, lashing around the throat and bringing a blooded head crashing to the earth. Wylsen, the old man accompanying Agnes, revealed himself, pumping an arm in victory.
Hanzo had to blink several times and look around. It had all happened so fast - the cry for help, the charging demonic paladin, the adventurers running out to confront him, and a stream of moves that combined together to slay rider and mount with extreme prejudice. Hanzo turned back to Sana, now with a small child aside her. The anti-paladin's words... He must've come looking for that child.
With pained breathes, Sana explained everything. While the others had returned with the wagon to bring the slaves to safety, the gypsy woman was mourning the loss of her father and family, separated before but now dead at the hands of the slavers. In the meantime, she had found the child, Ariana, hidden in a hole, whom the anti-paladin was somehow looking for, for some unknown and hopefully now irrelevant reason. Now, at the end of the day, everyone who deserved to be alive was so, and it seemed at last the hard day was over and all could rest well. Even the stranger, having come long after this all began, found some sympathy to share with the young girl at Sana's feet.
Mortosh announced he would take care of the bodies again while the others got some proper sleep. As an undead himself, the animated skeleton didn't need sleep, though he did implore his fairy-like companion to accompany the group to the inn. Hanzo glanced back to the south, a faint pillar of black smoke still making itself apparent in the pale light of the moon. Hopefully, the fire and everything within it would be gone tomorrow morning, and they could bury the pit of bones remaining.
There was scattered talk about harvesting some of the hellhound, and the Lob spoke up with the insistence to use everything - bones, fur, blood, all of it. That was right, Hanzo thought; his old family has also held the tradition of using every piece of every animal they hunted, so that the sacrifice of the animal's life was never senseless or forgotten. It also reminded him that one of the ingredients they were collecting was something from a hellhound. What a happy coincidence, then, that would save them the trouble of having to scour one out elsewhere.
Hanzo simply stood, half-meditating, rather overwhelmed at today's turn of events. He had entered this group unsure of what would come of it, but ultimately it seemed like they were all proving to come together. Their decisive battle against the anti-paladin proved that much. | 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. |
746 | 13 | 182 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh's smile turned to a look of confusion after hearing what Sana had to say. He now had one of those awkward smiles where one is left wondering "What do I do?"
"Okay." Came his squeaked out reply, before she pulled him into a kiss. He squeezed her hand and wrapped his free arm around her, his hand careful to keep the sword blade from bumping into her.
"Well, after you left, I killed two hyenas and three men armed to the teeth. That's really all." He said, his charisma coming back to him. "And all I've been waiting for is to kiss you again." He said, before hearing the little giggle of the child. Hugh's eyes went downwards towards her, and a cheerful grin coming across his face.
Seeing a happy child made him happy, and he couldn't help but grin ecstatically. Before he could really interact with the little one, the knight from before came over, and lifted his helmet to reveal his features. From the looks of it, this man hadn't been as fortunate as Hugh had been, and had seen his share of suffering. Though Hugh had suffered much in his life time, he hadn't been inflected that much on the side of facial scarring, nor had he marked his face with anything permanent, like the tattoos revealed to be on the man's face. Hugh could find himself respecting this man. After all, he had come to their rescue.
Hugh felt a little empathetic uneasiness as he saw the crowd grow larger around the child, giving a scowl as more showed up and stared at the child like she was something foreign. Hugh growled a little towards the faerie as she was the one whom had been told to stay with Sana. "You're not needed, here." Hugh said, his disdain clearly visible.
He turned and looked to Sana as she spoke to him, asking for his assistance. "Yes, of course." He said, dropping his sword and wrapping the other hand around her waist, scooping her up and setting her on her feet. He kept his arm wrapped around her, as he dropped his other hand from hers and reached for the scabbard on her back, "I'm gonna need that." He said, quickly before taking it off her person and putting it over his own body. With that, he picked the sword up with his foot, and kicked it up into his free hand. He dropped his other hand from Sana and put the sword in the scabbard on his back, going back to his previous position of holding onto Sana.
"Alright then, will you take my hand?" He said, looking down towards the child and offering his hand out towards her, his smile still apparent. | 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. |
747 | 13 | 183 | 677 | 1,382 | Thank you for your concern Sister, but I've had enough rest to last me awhile. After she said this, there was a loud gurgling from her Vaeri's stomach. She paused for a second, a rose tint slightly coloring her scarred cheeks. "Maybe a small meal would do me good. I will leave you be. Farewell." Vaeri turned and left Lob, Wyslan and Agnes to their own devices. She estimated that sleepiness wouldn't begin to affect her again until just before dusk. It suited her just fine. After all, the likelihood of tomorrow being as eventful as today was rather slim.
As she left the Apothecary, Vaeri looked at Sana cradling the child, surrounded by a surprisingly large group of people. Vaeri walked past without breaking stride. She was bad enough with humans, let alone children. She'd probably frighten or upset the girl further. Of note among the crowd was the armor stranger from before, now with his helmet removed. Coincidentally, his face was scarred like hers, but whereas her scars were each rather small and compounded into a large network of disfigured skin, his were much larger and easily noticeable. What an odd man. From her bag she pulled out a package of travelling rations and small book. Vaeri walked over to the front of the inn and sat down in front of it. There she read her book, enjoying an impromptu picnic in the twilight. | 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. |
748 | 13 | 184 | 914 | 1,884 | The stranger’s smile evaporated into a face of seriousness, and he slid the helmet back on, trapping the lavender of the mask underneath.
He looked over at the old nun for a moment before flickering his gaze over to the entrance of the tavern and standing up. Without a word he slowly walked past the group and over to the entrance to the tavern, then shifted his sights to the apothecary and back again.
He measured the distances between the two with his eyes as he laid his hand on the pommel of a strange ashen grey metal sword that hung from his hip in an old scabbard. After a few moments of arithmetic he wandered over to a wooden beam that was used to tie horses to and leaned against it, directly center between the two buildings.
He folded his arms and the white horse slowly trotted over to him, lance dragging behind on the end of a quickly tied knot. The stranger shook his head and propped the weapon up against the beam before flipping open one of the leather satchels on the side of the horse.
After a few moment of rummaging, he produced a full feed bag, which he quickly equipped over the mouth of his energized stallion. The horse started to munch, and the stranger smiled behind his helmet before letting a broad shoulder fall onto the wooden beam, where he decided to lean.
He inhaled deeply, ready to start his self ordered duties as a sentinel. He turned his head slightly to the woman who sat by the entrance of the tavern, eating and reading. He squinted his sun irised eyes at the book, but the words were too fine to be read completely at the angle he stood at, so he shrugged and continued to scan the area diligently. | 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 |
749 | 13 | 185 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana felt a wave of relief wash over her as Hugh seemed to take charge of the situation to help her and Ariana get away from the rest of the group; had it just been Sana alone she wouldn't have minded so much and would have tried to stay and answer as many questions as possible but the child had already been through enough and was obviously not feeling at ease around the rest right then. Letting Ariana slip from her lap, Hugh slipping his arm around Sana and lifting her to her feet hurt somewhat but she didn't mind; just feeling his strength again put her at ease.
Leaning against him weakly she slid one arm around his back and rested her head on his chest, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she listens to his heart beat while he secured the sword and scabbard. Ariana stood next to Sana, holding onto her pants leg as she waited. When Hugh offered his hand the child looked up to Sana for a moment before nodding slowly and reaching up slowly to wrap her tiny fingers around Hughs index finger. Sana figured she would walk with them into the inn but she was wrong.
What happened next was completely unexpected as the child took Sanas free hand as well and used her grip on both Sana and Hugh as leverage and then quickly placed one foot after another on Hughs legs, scaling him quickly and ending up with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. Sana perked a brow slightly as she watched the little one and gave her an approving and impressed expression. Ariana smiled as she held herself in place and Sana turned her attention back over to Hugh.
"Okay then," Sana said with a light voice. "Let's get her some food," Sana added before her own stomach growled. Sana let out a slightly bemused sighed. "And me something as well," she said softly as she waited for Hugh to help her back to the inn. Sister Agnes grabbing Sanas bow from the ground and helping the archer sling it across her back before they managed to go on their way. "Thank you."
"Of course, I'll have the inn keeper draw a bath for you and the child so you can clean up once you are finished eating," Sister Agnes said in a kind voice before walking off and into the inn to take care of task at hand. Sana leaned against Hugh as he helped her towards the inn and smiled over towards Vaeri as she noticed the woman was enjoying a much deserved relaxing moment to eat outside.
"Thank you for your help today," Sana said in a kind voice as they passed Vaeri. Seeing the new comer stand there made her curious but she was far too tired to ask him any questions right then and needed to make sure Ariana got settled in for the night. Once they were inside and Hugh helped Sana into a seat, Ariana scrambled down and slid into the chair next to Sana. Food was brought over for all three of them and Ariana looked at it strangely for a moment as if she wasn't sure if it was okay for her to eat.
"Go ahead," Sana said softly as she picked up her fork and took a bite of her own food. Ariana giggled with a curt nod and then tore into her meal; eating like she hadn't in days, which Sana figured was the case. | 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. |
750 | 13 | 186 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh was actually surprised by the sensation of the child's tiny hand wrapping around his one finger. It was a warming sensation, much different than having a woman as your own. The small touch of the child was causing him to melt, inside, and he felt so happy.
It brought him back to a time when he supported children and raised them up, loving them as much as he could. The sudden unexpected turn of having her climb up him and cling to him was slightly familiar and extremely therapeutic. He felt like he had a family again, and he could lay the old one to rest permanently.
Hugh would turn into a savage beast to protect this child at any time, but for now, he would settle for being something to hug tightly.
After a few moments of interaction and short travel, Hugh found himself setting down next to the child, after having let both Sana and Arianna down to sit. He gave a contented smile as he looked both of them over, and turned his attention towards his plate, beginning to eat slowly and methodically. Usually he might devour it, but from some habit acquired long ago, he always ate slow when he had children with him. The idea in his subconscious mind was so that if they got hungry for more, he would be able to offer them more.
He remembered so well, how he had given his own children his food when they started whining about it. He would end up doing the same for any child that ended up in his care. | 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. |
751 | 13 | 187 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana looked over to Hugh and smiled softly as she watched him. He seemed very comfortable around Ariana but that didn't surprise her, she knew of his children and his past. It was something he had told her about long ago. It was nice to see him like this and it did her heart good. Resting back in her seat after she had eaten some Sana found herself feeling much better. The spell cast had taken a lot out of her and she knew she would need sleep but at least now she felt she could walk without assistance. Glancing over towards Ariana she laughed a little as she watched the one reach over and steal a piece of salted pork off Hughs plate and devour it.
Standing up she ruffled the child's hair a moment. "Ariana, I want you to stay with Hugh. I need to grab somethings," she said gently. Ariana looked up at Sana with a mouth full of food and nodded quickly as she swallowed the piece of meat she had snagged before wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
"Okay," she said quickly before snagging a strawberry from Sanas plate and stuffing the whole thing in her mouth. Sana chuckled before walking off and exiting the inn. Rodger needed tending to and Sana needed to check on Epona; as well as grabbing their bags so they had some clean clothes. She didn't have anything that was child sized but she had an idea. As she left the inn Sana whistled and Rodger came trotting over.
Patting the draft horse she took his reins and led him to the stable, putting him next to Epona before retrieving their bags. Inside Ariana kept eating what was on her own plate in between snagging food from both what Sana had not eaten and what was on Hughs plate. She seemed to be a bottomless pit but she hadn't had a full meal in weeks so one couldn't blame her. She'd smile at Hugh, point off behind him and whether or not he turned his head she would snatch another piece of salted pork and shove it into her mouth giggling.
By the time Sana returned Ariana was full and just sitting there making silly faces at Hugh. Sana stood in the doorway for a moment just watching the little one, she was amazed by how resilient the little one was. Taking a breath she walked back over to them and set Hughs bag down next to him.
"So, everything go okay while I was gone?" she asked with a soft smile on her lips.
"Yup yup," Ariana responded in a gleefully.
"That's good, ready to get cleaned up?" Sana asked. Ariana nodded but before she got a chance to answer Sister Agnes came over.
"Looks like she is, which is good. The innkeeper set up a little surprise for your wash," the nun said kindly. Sana perked a brow and shrugged. Stepping over to Hugh she gave him a soft kiss and ran her fingers down his cheek.
"I'll be back in a bit, just gonna get us girls cleaned up. Your pipe is in your bag," Sana said in a caring voice before turning her attention to Ariana who giggled at the kiss once again. Sana just rolled her eyes playfully before taking Arianas hand and leading her upstairs to their room and closing the door behind them.
Sister Agnes watched the two with a thoughtful look on her features before sitting down across from Hugh. "I don't think we have been properly introduced. I am Sister Agnes and you must be Hugh," she said extending her hand out to him. | 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. |
752 | 13 | 188 | 1,270 | 2,337 | Wylsen was inside the shop, behind the counter gathering up what he would need to preserve the claws until the rest of the ingredients were gathered as well as to get the blood from the beast. He looked up as the bell above his door dinged and motioned for them to come on in. “Yes, that would be good,” Wylsen as he stepped out from behind the counter and laid out a thick cloth on the floor. “Once I get the blood we can take care of harvesting anything else you think may be of use,” Wylsen said as he sat down on the floor near the cloth. “Can you set him down here on the sheet for me? Then we can begin.”
Lob stalked in with the limp body and laid it down upon the clean cloth, he reached for a piece of flint and steel for making fires and set the steel to the side. What happened next was rather uncharacteristic for the brute: he was smooth and dexterous as he took some rope and strung up the dog by its ankles to let its head hand down to the sheet. He set a bucket under the hanging head with napped flint between his fingers, he almost seemed to just draw away the flesh as an inch deep cut split open the throat to let gravity drain out the carotid and jugular. Much of the blood had been lost in the fight, probably about half, but with a professional to assist the sage he was about to get a powerful education.
Wylsen leaned back and popped a cork into the forth bottle of blood he had been able to drain from the Hell Hound, thanks to Lobs help and smiled to himself. Picking up a rag he cleaned his hands off somewhat and patted the half-orc on the shoulder. "Good job, I think that will let me make something very useful for you and your group by morning. What else did you want to get from the creature?"
"All. Use all. Skin, bone, meat. Use all."
Unless he was stopped, he would bring the exsanguinated beast back down after setting the buckets of blood to the side. First he made a cut around the anus so that it moves freely from the rest of the carcass. Then a cut is made from that incision to the breast plate to allow the stomach and intestines to be carefully removed. Now the anus can be removed by pulling it down and this whole sack of entrails would be set to the side.
He patted the bladder and stomach. "Wineskin." he touched on the intestine with messy hands then patted the muscles he was carefully pealing from bone and pointing to any hanging herbs. "Food." He touched the lungs that had some strange growth attached to them. "It make fire, we make fire." The bones he laid out one by one and explained them. "Club, shield, arrow, baby food." The last one was accentuated with a breaking motion and a gesture of shaking something out.
Next, the windpipe is cut and all of the upper organs like the heart and liver are removed. lastly he took the skin and folded it with reverence to the side. "Sew holes, make armor. Armor no 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 |
753 | 13 | 189 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh found himself looking in another direction, feigning gullibility, to hear a signature giggling every time he turned his head, only to look back to his place and notice something missing. The ritual brought a smile to his face, as he would look down to the culprit, devouring her spoils greedily.
After awhile of this, and Hugh losing food, the little one was satisfied, and set herself to making faces towards Hugh. He would do his best face attempts back at her, usually ending up looking very much the same.
This activity ceased when Sana rejoined them, setting one of Hugh's bags down next to him on the table, and posing several questions to the little one. Hugh mostly smiled and nodded, before he got a tender kiss from his beloved, letting his eyes close at breathing her in just a little. He sighed as the kiss was broken, a small smile breaking across his face.
He looked to his bag, after Sana had spoke of it containing his pipe and tobacco. He smiled towards her, as she disappeared, the little one in tow. Hugh snatched a light from a lamp hanging from a pillar using a long stick with a burned out tip, before the nun began to introduce herself to him.
Before he took the hand she offered, he lit his pipe with the tobacco crushed in it. With the pipe clenched between his teeth at the corner of his mouth, he smiled took her hand, then clapping his other hand on the back of her hand to make a two handed hand shake, and giving her a tender squeeze with his hands. "Yes, Hugh. Charmed to make your acquaintance. I did wonder whom it was that healed my wounds twice." He said with a smile, and a shake of her hand. After that, he released her hand, and seated himself at the table. He lifted one hand to the pipe and began puffing away, enjoying the pleasant smoke from the leaf. | 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. |
754 | 13 | 190 | 54 | 1,340 | The Apothecary Shop
Wylsen nodded at Lob and gave the half-orc a smile. They had been able to utilize a lot of the beast but there was some damage. When the heart was pierced by the sword it caused a chain reaction within the beasts body that rendered the lungs, what was growing on them and the heart useless. On top of that due to the blow that the orc had given the hell hound at the beginning of the fight and what Fionas two subsequent blows did nearly half of the bones in the beast were shattered. There was nothing they could do but at least there was some that could be used.
“Any meat I don’t think I would recommend eating, just because of the nature of the animal, at least not for humans to consume but you may be okay. The skin and fur will do you some good. Contraireo popular belief they are not fireproof but like the potions that I will brew overnight, it will provide a chance to be unharmed by fire but at best it will be a 50/50 chance. So still be careful,” Wylsen warned. “But it should still provide a very nice additional to your armor and help you a lot,” he added as he rose and wiped his hands off, taking the bottles of blood he had collected and set them in the back of the shop. Coming back out, he looked over at Lob and gave a nod.
“Well once you finish taking what you want, could you please just wrap up the rest and either place it in the burial fire to the south of town or bury it out that way. Whichever is fitting for you,” he said as stepped over to the half orc and shook his hand. “Thank you for all your help, both with this and defending the village. If you ever need anything, please feel free to ask. For now I am going to get to work on those potions for your group, I hope they are finished by morning,” he said before turning and disappearing behind the curtain that separated the main part of the shop and the back area where he brewed all the concoctions that he sold in the shop.
The Inn – Main Room
“Well that has to be the kindest greeting I have gotten in sometime,” Sister Agnes said as she shook Hughs hand before resting back in his seat and watching him for a moment. Glancing towards the stairs for a moment before turning her attention back over to him she smiled slightly as she watched the gentleman sitting across from her.
“You two seem to have a way with that little girl,” Sister Agnes stated. “And in battle. You two are rather…. Protective of each other,” she added as she sat there remembering what had first occurred in the day when Sana was grabbed by one of the slavers and then Hugh got injured. “I will admit at first what happened made my stomach turn and my heart worry that perhaps I had gotten a group of people that was perhaps not the best choice for such a task but after learning a little bit more about you two, mostly from observation, I can only conclude that your actions were driven by worry instead of evil. I hope my conclusions are right,” the sister said in a kind voice.
It was obvious with the expression on her face and the tone of her voice that she was not judging the couple just voicing a concern that seemed to have been cleared up by the end of the day. “As far as healing you goes, it is what I do and I am glad to have helped in some small way though it seems from the look of things that perhaps my healing is not needed. It seems that Sana is fully capable of taking care of such things after what I witnessed during the last battle. She truly is a gifted bard though I wouldn’t have labeled her as one when I first met her,” Sister Agnes admitted as she watched Hugh puff away on his pipe.
The Inn – Sana and Hughs Room
When Sana and Ariana entered the room they were met with the pleasant aroma of rose water and a bath that had been drawn, a layer of bubbles floating across the top of the waters surface. Sana nodded approvingly as she looked down towards Ariana. Ariana giggled in glee and ran over to it. Sana tried to stop her from jumping in clothes and all but it was too late and the water went sloshing every which way, some of it spilling out onto the floor. Sana sighed slightly but instead of yelling she just grabbed a linen that had been provided for them to dry off with and mopped up the mess from the floor.
“Okay, let’s get you out of those dirty clothes,” Sana said as she knelt down next to the bath. Ariana nodded and let Sana help her undress. Handing her a wash cloth, Ariana went to scrubbing herself down after Sana helped to wash her hair. The child was cleaned up in no time but she let her play around in the bath water while she retrieved some items from her bag and got to work. The child couldn’t wear what she had been in to bed so something had to be done about that. Pulling up a chair next to Ariana while she played in the water and got to work; it wasn’t long before she had taken some older clothing, cut it up and restitched it into something the little one could wear.
Once she had finished she helped Ariana out of the bath and got her dried off before helping her into the clothing Sana had made for her and running a comb through her hair. Picking her up she set her down on the bed and decided it was time to get out of her own bloodied and burned clothing. She washed up quickly, glad to get rid of the days worth of fighting and into something clean. Ariana sat there playing with the laces on her top as Sana got cleaned up and dressed and smiled over at Sana when she stepped over to her.
“We match!” Ariana exclaimed. Sana laughed and nodded slightly. Sana had taken one of her extra shirts and leggings and refashioned them, cutting away the excess to fit the little one. They were still a bit big but it didn’t matter. The child had clean clothing for the night and Sana figured she could get the child more in the morning when the general store opened.
“Come on, we need to let Hugh know he can get cleaned up now and then it is off to bed with you little one, you have had a long day,” Sana said picking the child up and setting her down on the ground. Ariana yawned a little but shook her head no. The child was fighting sleep with everything she could but Sana knew the wee one would drift off to sleep in no time once she was in a bed. Taking her hand she led her out the door, both of them in the bare feet and back down the stairs.
Sana smiled over to Hugh and Sister Agnes as they came over to them. It was funny, now that they were both cleaned up and in clothing that didn’t look like they had seen better days the two looked remarkably similar. Ariana hair and bone structure was almost identical to Sanas, even their eyes were the same rich chocolate with amber flecks in it. Sister Agnes looked at each of them in turn and let out a slightly surprised smile. The child looked as if Sana was actually her mother. Sister Agnes looked over to Hugh and smiled as she rose from her place.
“Well I will leave you with your family then, it was a pleasure to finally meet you properly Hugh,” she said in a light hearted voice before turning towards Sana. “I have her set up in the room next to yours for tonight, I will be sharing it with her just so she is not alone. The room is open and has a small cot set up for her,” the sister added before taking her leave of them and making her way out of the inn to check on what was going on with Wylsen and Lob in the Apothecary shop before turning in for the night herself. Sana looked at the woman slightly confused by her words but she passed them off on fatigue. Something it seemed everyone was dealing with.
“Well, in that case, I guess I will get Ariana into bed,” Sana said as she turned her attention back over to Hugh. “Why don’t get you cleaned up and I’ll be to bed shortly,” she said as she hoisted Ariana up onto her hip and leaned over to kiss his cheek softly. Ariana tugged on Sanas shirt for a moment.
“Me too, me too!” Ariana exclaimed. Sana looked at her perplexed but her confusion was quickly put to rest as Ariana leaned over, grasping onto Sana shirt as she did so, and gave a sweet little kiss to Hughs other cheek. “Night night,” she said in an innocent voice. Sana smiled at the little one and at Hugh as Ariana righted herself and wrapped her arms around Sanas neck.
“Okay, to bed with you,” Sana said in a gentle voice as she carried the little on up the stairs and to the room that Sister Agnes had told her about. Opening the door she looked around and there was the cot that was set up for Ariana. Sana was much happier with the idea that the child would be close for the night and in a room that she didn’t have to share with any of the other that had been freed that night. Ariana did not need any reminders of what had occurred sleeping next to her that evening. Resting her down in the bed, she pulled the covers up for Ariana and took a seat next to her.
“Sing,” Ariana demanded as she curled up in bed. Sana chuckled softly but she obliged. Leaving the door slightly cracked when they came in so she would not have to let it squeak when she left Sana got comfortable and ran her fingers through Arianas hair as she began to sing a soft lullaby. | 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. |
755 | 13 | 191 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh nodded, a smile plastered across his face as she referenced how he was the only one to give her such a kind greeting. He listened intently to the woman, still puffing on his pipe while mulling over everything she would say. He ended up raising an eyebrow when she spoke of how Sana was a bard. He knew well of her musical talent, but it hadn't struck him that she was a bard.
He simply nodded the notion off, and continued listening. When Sana and Arianna came down, he looked to them to see to his surprise their similarities they shared. An eyebrow rose as he looked the both of them up and down, first taking a quick glance at Arianna to note her features, and then taking a long time to look Sana up and down, before looking back to Arianna and then back to the nun.
The nun had made the note regarding them as his 'family'. He couldn't help but smile at the comment as she left their presence. He gave a little wave as she wandered off, and turned to meet Sana's gaze.
"Yes, I'll geet right to that." He said, before feeling the kiss on his cheek, and falling into his boyish habit of swimming in thoughts of her. He quickly righted himself, before he was struck by the sweet little kiss of one of the tiniest human beings on the planet.
He was stunned with happiness, as he rubbed his cheek and looked to the two of them as they ascended the staircase.
Hugh shook his head for a moment, the pipe and smile still distinct features of his face. He took a few more puffs of the pipe, before snuffing it, tucking it away in his bag, and heading upstairs, with the bag in hand.
He walked slowly up the stairs, deep in thoughts that made him smile from ear to ear. His fantasies were now more along the lines of thinking of his future. The image of a little cottage and Sana and he living a quiet life with maybe the little one to raise as their own.
Hugh slowly opened the door to his and Sana's room, revealing the presence of a bath. It wasn't fresh, but nonetheless, it was a bath. Without further adieu, he shut the door behind him and threw the bag at the head of the bed. He proceeded to throw his clothes into a pile on top of the bag. Now completely naked, he stepped into the water, lowering himself in, and just relaxing. The water was now lukewarm, but sufficient, as Hugh was more used to bathing in ice cold running water.
He leaned back against the wall of the tub, his feet propped up at the other end of the tub. He just sat back and relaxed, scrubbing his body little by little, and just enjoying the bath. He almost felt like sleeping in it, but he preferred the warmth of a bed, and his beloved to hold over becoming a pink raisin. | 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. |
756 | 13 | 192 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana sung a sweet lullaby to the little one, it was not magic in nature but it soon lulled the little one to sleep; her eyes drifting close as she lay there in bed. Sana continued singing as she rose, kissing Ariana on the forehead before walking out of the and closing it softly behind her. Letting out a sigh of relief that the child was safe for the evening she wandered into the room she shared with Hugh and smirked as she saw him lounging in the bath.
Closing the door behind her she shook her head and wandered over to the bed, removing his stuff from it and placing it out of the way on the floor. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked as the smirk still played on her lips. Stepping over him she knelt down behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. "I'm going to get some rest," she whispered against his ear before reaching over and turning his head as her fingers rested against his cheek; kissing him softly for a moment.
Rising from her place she meandered over to the bed and crawled underneath the sheets, a soft moan escaping her lips as her head rested down on the pillow. She was exhausted from the day and knew sleep would capture her quickly that night. Resting there she thought about Ariana and how Hugh had acted with her. The sisters words echoing in her mind about them being a family and then how the sister had thought Hugh to be her husband.
It was an interesting thought and not one she hadn't pondered before but we're they truly at that point in their relationship? Neither of them had even said the "L" word to the other and until today after Hugh had nearly bled out they had never spoken of children together or her wearing one of those silly dresses. Sighing slightly Sana pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. It wasn't something she was going to bring up. Sana was exactly one for tradition but there were still something's she felt should be left to Hugh if he wanted to move things forward anymore than they were.
Closing her eyes she at least found some solace in the fact that something she had purchased when she left her troop may one day be utilized. It was the one thing she had not told Hugh about, not wanting to color his decisions when it came to them as a couple. Sleep came quickly as she cleared her mind of the many thoughts marching through it. She wanted to just sleep and curl up in Hughs arms. Sleep she had and even though he had not come to bed yet she knew he would pull her close once he came to bed, he always did. | 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. |
757 | 13 | 193 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh perked up the moment he saw Sana enter the room. He gave a cheerful smile towards her, as she came over to him, "Why yes, I am."
He just soaked in her touch and her kiss, drifting off into his head as fantasies began to take over his thoughts. He just continued to scrub himself, taking a peek as she went to bed, before his eyes drifted over to the water, and he finished up scrubbing.
He took a moment to relax again, before picking himself up from the water. It all seeped off him, he feeling thoroughly soaked to the bone and cleaner than he had felt in a long time. Stepping out of the tub, he dried himself off, and put on his pair of black shorts.
Leaving the towel at the toe of the tub, he walked over to the side of the bed he had claimed, and lifted the covers, crawling under them and making himself cozy. Soon, he wrapped his arms around the woman he was sharing the bed with, bringing her close to his own body.
He put his nose against her head, giving a slight kiss to her before he drifted off to slumber. It was about time, as no doubt all of the party was thoroughly exhausted from the rough day. | 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. |
758 | 13 | 194 | 914 | 1,884 | The golden eyed stranger pressed his back against the wooden pole, his thick plated armor scratching against it as he did. He kept one palm on the pommel of his ashen sword and the other wrapped around the reigns of his stallion friend.
Although sleep taunted him, he did not answer, but rather stood diligently, eager to see the rays of dawn and the night clear of danger.
His eyes flickered to the left, and where his horse stood he saw the rotting face of a woman. Her eyes were sunken and a hollow yell echoed from her cut throat. The stranger blinked, and the vision was replaced with his horse happily scraping the road with a hoof.
The stranger let his eyes turn right and he looked at the apothecary for a while. He could hear the roars of flames and smell the acrid stench of cooking flesh. The man’s ears perked at the sounds of helpless bellows and low moans of hopelessness. He shook his head, and the sounds were replaced with the soft trill of the night time song birds and the relaxing song of the lazy crickets.
He sighed, and on his exhale he could taste the salt of blood on his tongue. The stranger frowned at the taste, and it quickly was replaced with the strong taste of lavender that polluted his helmet. His nose crinkled at the familiar smell and he bit his lip, eager more to keep his head where his body is. | 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 |
759 | 13 | 195 | 677 | 1,382 | Think nothing of it. I'm only doing the right thing. Vaeri told Sana as she passed. What kind of cleric would she be if she sat by as slavers and the pinnacle of an unholy man attacked the town and threatened the lives of innocent people and children? Not to mention being able to engage in battle was just delicious icing. It had been several months since she had fought last and it was beginning to itch at the back of her mind.
Vaeri sat in the dim light, reading her book as if the lack of lighting didn't even register to her. As she nibbled at the end of a plain wafer, she noticed the stranger try to read what she was reading over her shoulder. He quickly gave it up and went to stand guard.
"I'm not surprised you couldn't read it. Most humans can't even speak elvish, let alone read it." Vaeri turned another page in her little book. "It's an examination of gods specific to certain races and a dissertation for this phenomena written by High Priest Glorfindel. It focuses mostly on Corellon Larethian but talks about a couple of other gods like Garl Glittergold and Moradin. I find the book interesting, but Glorfindel's arguments are flawed and poorly thought out." | 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. |
760 | 13 | 196 | 914 | 1,884 | The golden eyed stranger turned his head to the woman with the book. He listened carefully before smiling a hidden smile politely behind his helmet, “if I am to be honest with you, I have no idea who any of those people are.”
He paused in thought before adding in, “but I can see why it might be interesting. It’s always good to know.”
A part of him wanted to add in that not only has he never heard these names before, but he wasn’t too sure what ‘elvish’ was, however he quietly decided he had shown enough of his ignorance to this land for now and ended his part with a curt nod, as if punctuating his words. | 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 |
761 | 13 | 197 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri's long ears perked up at his words. She didn't expect him to know the gods she mentioned, since he was human, and they tended to avoid learning about anything they didn't have to directly interact with, but his words opened up an avenue for her to start talking about theology without sounding like she was proselytizing anyone.
"Corellon Larethian is the elvish god of arts and magic. Glorfindel is a high priest under him. Garl Glittergold is the gnome god of Trickery, and Moradin is the dwarf god of creation. Glorfindel's argument is that these gods establish a dedicated following in these groups so that they have a guaranteed base of worshipers in exchange for protecting them over other groups, which is why they're set up like this. However, does the fact that gods have domains already give them an established set of followers from each of those domains? Glorfindel also shows that he has not put much effort into researching many deities outside of his own. Understandable, but it hurts his credibility the few times he ventures out from speaking about Corellon." Vaeri paused to look at Derrix to make sure he wasn't too lost. She could feel that she was about to launch into a tirade and the number of people she knew that would be interested could be counted on a single hand. | 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. |
762 | 13 | 198 | 914 | 1,884 | “I wonder,” The stranger said thoughtfully, “If perhaps this priest was confused, thinking perhaps that the mundane gave power to the divine. Perhaps he has forgotten what it was to be faithful. Those who identify with the god will go to him out of familiarity, but they cannot forget that it is not they who gave the god formation, but vice versa.”
“Should the divines be so worried about lack of followers, then perhaps they are as mundane as us and not truly divine,” the stranger nodded at his words, “or perhaps as I said, the priest simply forgot his faith somewhere in the pool of mundane philosophy.” | 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 |
763 | 13 | 199 | 677 | 1,382 | If the gods did not require our worship, Vaeri replied, the book now sitting in her lap, neglected,"they would not ask us to serve them. I do not presume to know their will beyond what I have been told by my lady, but I presume that they need us to act in their stead in the material world. Our worship allows us to better spread their influence throughout the world. Oftentimes, some of the more niche gods are questioned, or ignored as if they do not matter, so their followers believe it is important to be able to rationally defend their faith against those who would belittle them. This is a text by a mortal for other mortals."
"I do not believe Glorfindel has forgotten that the divines are the ones who give us power. For those in my line of work must ask them daily to lend us power so we can spread their will. When we cast spells, we can feel their grace flow through our bodies, and for others to come and those that tell someone that that feeling is less legitimate because of whom they worship are the people that drive these clergymen to write dissertations such as these. At least, that's how I see 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. |
764 | 13 | 200 | 914 | 1,884 | The stranger studied the woman carefully. He slid his helmet off, and taking in a gulp of fresh air. He let his sun beamed eyes flicker across her face in observation for a little before nodding, not to anything in particular.
“Just ponder, do they require worship, or do they just want it,” He paused, “or perhaps there is a third and fourth option. Perhaps we need it.”
His lips formed a line and he blinked a few times, a soft glow cutting the darkness around his face as he thought in silence. | 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 |
765 | 13 | 201 | 677 | 1,382 | An unanswerable question, but one worth asking. We have a symbiotic relationship with the gods, for if we were useless to them, surely we would not be here in the first place. The whys and hows are not important in the great scheme of things. But by asking, perhaps we get closer to enlightenment. Vaeri bites one of her wafers in two, crunching loudly, almost breaking the atmosphere. This stranger's golden eyes were quite the oddity. She had not seen them on anyone before, and the way they seemed to glow almost suggested divine influence. Perhaps he was a cleric like her. However, his lack of knowledge on religion seemed to suggest otherwise. Blinking, she disregards the thoughts as irrelevant. | 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. |
766 | 13 | 202 | 914 | 1,884 | The stranger stood silently for a while, until finally he exhaled. He lifted a gauntlet and rubbed his chin with the metal finger.
"I think," he began, letting his gauntlet drop back to his side, "that the answers are rather quite simple, and that only through our own mortal folly have we managed to make a straight line curved." | 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 |
767 | 13 | 203 | 54 | 1,340 | A New Day Begins
Sana only stirred slightly as Hugh climbed into bed next to her, feeling his arms wrap around her and pulling her close. She sighed gently in her sleep, curling up close to him before she drifted back into deep slumber. The night went peacefully enough but Sana was plagued with a nightmare reliving her father dying in her arms and sometime in the dark hours as the moon hung high in the sky she awoke with a startle and sat straight up in bed; breathing heaving from the dream as she looked around and took a moment to see that she was not at the slaver camp but in facet still in bed. Rubbing her face she slid out of bed and got a drink of water, her hands shaking somewhat.
She was about to turn and crawl back in bed when she heard a soft knock at the door. Perking a brow she wondered who could be disturbing her and Hugh in the middle of the night as she stepped over to the door and listened. It was quiet on the other side, shrugging to herself she opened the door and glanced around. Seeing nothing she about turned back to shut the door and then felt a tug on her shirt. Looking down there was Ariana standing there, Sister Agnes quickly coming up behind her.
“I am so sorry, she must have snuck out,” Sister Agnes whispered. Sana waved her off and picked the little one up, resting her against her hip.
“It’s okay, she can stay with us for the night,” Sana said quietly. Sister Agnes smiled and nodded before heading to her own room. Sana looked at Ariana and placed a finger to her lips. “Shh, we don’t want to wake up Hugh,” Sana whispered gently before closing the door and making her way back to bed. Ariana nodded with a sleepy smile on her lips as Sana sat down on the edge of the bed and slid them both under the covers. Resting down Sana pressed her back against Hugh as the little one curled up in her arms and tucked her head under Sanas chin. It did not take long for both of them to fall back to sleep and Sana was very grateful that the nightmare did not return for another visit.
The sun rose slowly but the town was even slower to rise that morning, many had been up late helping to clean up the town or to take care of the refugees from the slaver camp. The old Apothecary still had not seen his bed as morning came through the windows, trying to finish up new batches of potions he hoped would help the group on their travels. With the money they had donated to the village he would be able to restock his supplies quickly so he didn’t hold back creating things he thought would be of use.
Sana did not wake as the sun rose and even the call of the village rooster did not bring her out of the deep sleep she was in. It did however bring the little one to wakeness, who sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The smell of breakfast was wafting up from the kitchen below as the inn keeper prepared a large buffet of sorts for all the guests of the inn and anyone else in the village that came for breakfast that morning. Ariana breathed deeply and licked her lips but remained in bed, playing with the rings Sana have given her to keep safe. The gentle cling of metal ringing out every so often as she played with them, sliding them back and forth on the chain that hung around her neck.
Sister Agnes woke early and made her way down to the main room of the inn, getting something to eat and resting down at a table. She hoped today would be calm and that the group could head out. They had the first item they needed but there was still so much more to collect and the children over at the orphanage would need it as quickly as the group could manage to gather them. | 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. |
768 | 13 | 204 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias had the running dream again that night. He was in the city again, sprinting through alleyways, across rooftops, the fastest thing in the world. Nobody could have caught him. Nobody could have stopped him. He was free.
But there was something dark just behind him - not a person, not a creature, but a cloud - like the world itself was turning black. It was moving, too - and try as he might, Tobias was always moving just a little... bit... slower.
The thief awoke with a start, sunlight dappling directly onto his face. Hell, whoever'd put that window there had really not been considering late-risers. Where am I who am I what is happening?
The previous day's events crashed back to Tobias all at once. The attack, the death, the murder, the second attack, the hell-hound... Fiona sending him off to bed like an infant... all of it played across his mind in an instant. There weren't supposed to be days after days like that. Everything was supposed to be very quiet, and serious. You weren't supposed to have to wake up, get dressed, go to the bathroom, eat breakfast.
Tobias's stomach had evidently not been informed of that, as it grumbled nonetheless. He readied himself quickly and proceeded down the stairs to where a massive breakfast awaited him. The thief put his head down, did his level best not to be noticed (something he was good at, when he wanted to be), piled a plate with eggs, sausage, and two or three cut up red apples, and moved to an empty table to eat. | 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 |
769 | 13 | 205 | 290 | 1,247 | As Mortosh had correctly Guessed. He had finished removing the bodies and moving them to the pyre, before sunrise however due to not knowing any fire spells he could not relight the pyre and thanks to his dark-vision he had no need for a torch so perhaps he could get someone to light it before they left the village. but his job was done for now so he proceeded to head back to the inn.
when he arrived back the inn the took notice of a quite the pleasant odder wafting the air and saw Tobias sitting at the table, dinning on a variety of different meals so took a seat next to the thief while he couldn't eat himself he felt that it was necessary to get know those he would be traveling with. so he tried to start talking to the thief well that was until he saw something familiar fall from the ceiling and land in the cream filled center of an innocent sweet roll. "And Good Morning To You Zam" Said Mortosh as grabbed a napkin to wipe of bits the filling off that splattered on his chest plate | 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 |
770 | 13 | 206 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona slept comfortably and undisturbed through the night, even the noises of the others who had turned in later than she failing to wake her. Her fatigue had swiftly caught up with her after her fight with the hell hound, and soreness became quickly apparent when she woke in the morning, her muscles somewhat stiff with an ache. It wasn't too bad, though, and she took it as a sign that she was getting stronger.
Having taken the time to thoroughly wash before sleeping the night before, Fiona merely splashed her face with some water to shake off what vestiges of sleep she could, pushing her disorganized mass of red hair off to one side to get it out of the way. She could tell by the general lack of noise below her that she was one of the earlier risers, and figured there would be some time before they set out for the day, to make sure everyone was well-fed and prepared. Leaving her armor and weapons in the room, she slid into some comfortable leggings and laced up a light tunic, rolling the sleeves to her elbows. She pondered a moment going barefoot, but in the end threw on some socks and quickly laced up her boots, heading out the door and down the stairs.
Fiona noted that breakfast had already been prepared for them, and soon noticed with some surprise that Tobias was already down. She'd half expected him to hibernate until she had to drag him out, after his ordeal yesterday. The... skeletal guy, Mortosh she thought she'd heard, had chosen to sit across from him. Fiona considered for a moment trying to rescue him, but figured he could handle himself. Instead she collected a breakfast for herself, eggs and some fruit, and took a seat across from Sister Agnes, who had also arrived before her.
"Good morning, Sister," she greeted, taking a moment to tie her hair back loosely and keep it away from her food. "I hope you at least got some sleep last night?" There had been a lot of work to do, preparing things for the group, which Fiona regretted she didn't have the skill to assist with. "How are the others? The ones we brought back from the camp. Everyone pulling through?" | 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. |
771 | 13 | 207 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri stayed up the rest of the night chatting with Derrix and reading through her book. About an hour before dusk, she heard some clinking of metal inside of the inn. She enjoyed reading, but the night had been long and she could only sit still for so long before she had to begin moving. The innkeeper was probably preparing breakfast, given the number of mouths he'd need to feed, he would probably need some help.
She waved farewell to the stranger (if he was still awake), and stood up to go into the inn. To her surprise, she was almost immediately turned down, the innkeeper citing that she was covered in blood and didn't want any of that getting into the food. Vaeri had completely forgotten. Well it was good thing she'd already purchased a room that she could use to clean up in.
The inn contained far more in the way of ingredients and tools than she carried on her person which allowed her an easier time especially compared with trying to keep meat clean in the middle of a forest. While she was no expert, Vaeri did enjoy cooking and had a decent knowledge of recipes that she was mostly confident in making. However, since she was cooking for a large group, she opted on easy things that could be left together on a plate. She found most of her time being devoted to cooking eggs. Lots and lots of eggs. She had to whisk so much that it made her battle-hardened arms feel like limp noodles.
Shortly after Fiona came down to eat, Vaeri walked into the dining room for the first time since visitors started coming out to eat carrying a plate of bread rolls. She wore no cloak or armor and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She had on a tan long-sleeve shirt tucked into a pair of loose-fitting brown pants. The sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing her scarred arms in all their glory. She wore no shoes, revealing that even her feet were as scarred as the rest of her body. Even dressed as informally as Vaeri was her necklace was still worn for all to see, a thin chain supporting a pendant of a red disk encircled by a serpent.
"These are sweet rolls that my mother would make when I was a youngling. I would appreciate it if you tried one." There were about two dozen bread rolls in all, set down next to a plate of pork sausages. | 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. |
772 | 13 | 208 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh found himself rising from slumber, as the sunlight flowed into the room, and he heard different sounds. The rooster had slowly brought him from slumber. He came to consciousness at the sound of little metal clinks, his view obscured by a pillow. He rolled over reaching his arm over Sana and felt a slight brush of someone's clothing whom was sitting up in the bed and was not Sana.
He lifted his head up to peer beyond her and noticed there sat Arianna, playing with something made of metal. He hadn't the foggiest of what it was, as she was turned away from him. Hugh brought his other arm underneath Sana, wrapping it around her waist. He then poked Arianna, and simple stated "Good morning, beautiful" with a cheerful smile on his face. | 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. |
773 | 13 | 209 | 54 | 1,340 | Ariana turned to face Hugh as she heard him and smiled, dropping the rings against the outside of her shirt and reached over to him, pressing her tiny finger against his lips the way that Sana had done to her during the night. “Shh,” she whispered quietly and then pointed at Sana still sleeping peacefully there. Pulling her finger away she smiled and went back to playing with the rings but it did not last long; the child grew restless very quickly now that Hugh was awake and began to look around as if plotting what she could get into now. Turning she rested on her knees and faced Sana, tilting her head to the side as she watched her protector sleep; her golden hair falling to the side and the flakes of amber in her eyes shining in the early morning light. Then the child did what most children do when they want attention, she did something to get attention.
Sana could have likely slept for another several hours but it was not an option at that point, the little one was getting anxious and was tired of waiting. Feeling a push against her forehead Sana slowly opened her tired eyes and could see Ariana leaning over her, pressing against her head again and again. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, reaching down slowly as she pulled Hughs arm from around her waist and then quickly scooped the child into her arms and tickled her as she sat up in bed. The little one giggling and squirming as she tried to get away; Sana finally stopped, laughing slightly as she sat up and kept the child in her lap.
“That’s what you get for waking me up,” Sana said in a light hearted voice as she tucked Arianas hair behind her ear. Ariana stuck her tongue out at Sana before sliding off the bed and running to the other side of the room.
“Can’t get me,” Ariana taunted as she held her hands up, pretending to be a cat and rawring at Sana. Sana chuckled as she shook her head some but slowly moved her legs to hang off the side of the bed. “Rawr!”Ariana said playfully and Sana pounced, pushing off the bed and wrapping her arms around the little one, spinning her around before flopping the child gently on the bed next to Hugh.
“Gotcha,” Sana teased. Ariana just lay there laughing; Sana sitting down on the edge of the bed watching her and enjoying the moment. Ariana seemed to have a lot of spirit to her, even after everything she had been through here she was; up and playing as if it was any other day. She had to admire the childs resilience, few adults could have survived what Ariana had been through, much less wake up with such a positive attitude about life. If only everyone could recover from the trials that life threw at them that quickly. Sana knew that Ariana would need a lot of time and that she may never fully put behind her what happened but seeing her sitting there laughing gave her hope that at least what she had endured had not destroyed her.
Looking over to Hugh, Sana smiled. “Good morning dear,” she said in a joyful voice before leaning over and giving a quick kiss. Ariana giggling once again at the sight. Sana shook her head slightly and looked over towards the little one. “Okay, enough of that. I think a big breakfast is in order this morning, what do you two think?” Sana asked as she righted herself and sat there watching the two.
“Yes! Smells so good!” Ariana exclaimed happily before she took Hughs hand and began to pull on it trying to get him out of bed. “Come on, come on,” she said as she tried to move the man. Sana had to cover her mouth due to the want to laugh hysterically at the sight of the child trying to move Hugh under her own force.
Sister Agnes glanced towards the upstairs as she heard the laughter and smiled to herself, it seemed Ariana was awake and having fun already. After everything that had happened with Sana with the first fight she had been worried when she saw her ride into the town with the child but after seeing her place herself between the child and the Evil one on his mount from hell without a thought to her own safety put Sister Agnes’ worries to rest. The woman might have it in her to be brutal but then again, didn’t so many when someone they cared about were put in danger?
She pushed the thought out of her head and smiled as Fiona came over and sat down with her. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she finished the bite of food that was in her mouth before she answered; nodding slightly in the meantime. After a moment the old woman placed her fork down now that she was able to speak. “Morning Fiona, I trust you slept well,” the sister said in a light hearted voice. “And to answer your question, yes I did, thank you for asking. Was up a little bit after Sana got Ariana in bed since the wee one decided to take a walk last night but as you can hear,” the sister said pointing up stairs about the time Ariana was rawring and laughing. “She decided to sleep elsewhere. So I was able to get some very peaceful rest,” she said before taking a drink of the water she had next to her plate.
“Everyone you brought back was settled down nicely last night. Some here at the inn, the rest were placed with families in and around the village. Thanks to what you all brought back for the village we will be able to get them back on their feet. We are truly in debt to your group for what all you have done,” the sister said in a grateful voice. Turning as Vaeri spoke the sister took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “Those smell wonderful, you are going to spoil the village if you keep cooking like this but I won’t complain. Thank you ever so much,” Sister Agnes said towards the elf woman. The group had really come together to protect the village and keep it safe and it lifted a lot of stress from the nun to know that the slavers would not be bothering them again.
Rising from her place she looked back towards Fiona and smiled. “I think Wylsen was up all night, I doubt he stopped brewing potions after him and Lob finished up taking care of the Hell Hound, I am going to take him some food. Excuse me if you will,” she said in a kind voice before stepping over to the food to fill up a plate for the old apothecary. She wasn’t sure if Lob was still with him or not so she grabbed another plate and filled it up as well, not exactly sure what to put on it she stuck with a variety of things just in case before heading out of the inn and towards the apothecary shop.
Glancing over to where Derrix had made his self-appointed post she smiled towards him. “Have you been up all night?” she asked, though it was came out as more of a surprised conclusion than a question. “Please, go get something to eat; there is more than enough for everyone,” she said in a gentle voice before continuing on her way to the shop to see what Wylsen was up to. | 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. |
774 | 13 | 210 | 914 | 1,884 | Hanzo awoke surprisingly late in the morning than he typically might, with the sun's rays of light already shining through the window of his room. Though, perhaps, he wasn't always one to sleep in a bed, especially not after fighting a horde of bandits and a hellish paladin. whatever the case, the monk awoke quite late and quite hungry, and was hoping to at least sate the latter half of his immediate predicament.
Making his way down to the main room of the inn, he was greeted by a few others and informed there was a buffet going on. Basically, when explained, a sort of 'choose your own meal' event. Hanzo couldn't exactly claim to understand it, but he went along anyways. As faithful as he tried to be, sometimes it was nice to try something different, something more than what one was used to. Thus, after gathering a muffin and some berries, Hanzo decided to act upon some unseen urge and turned it into a more high-piled breakfast, like his comrades were helping themselves to.
Taking careful strides up to the table where Fiona, Tobias, and some of the others were gathering around, Hanzo greeted them. "Good morning. I trust everyone is alright after the- well, excitements yesterday?" He spoke, seeming slightly out of character than yesterday's counterpart (something his plate could attest to).
Taking a free seat, Hanzo began to dig in to his food, mannerly as ever in that regard at least. He would certainly admit, a warm meal like this was a lot more sweet and wholesome, especially when one had been conditioned to live much on the road. For a moment, he considered the fact that not every person in the world who awakened this morning would not have the luxuries Hanzo was helping himself to... but, strangely, he found himself shaking that thought away. His thoughts turned to why - it wasn't exactly befitting of him to ignore that sort of issue. Was he becoming more like an adventurer, living more in the now and for themselves?
No, he supposed, trying to reassure himself, he wasn't. Hanzo had allowed himself to indulge in some luxuries before, whenever they were so graciously offered by the people he had helped. So, an opportunist, then? Simply accepting gifts like this was more of a courtesy than an opportunity to be seized, he imagined. Maybe so, maybe not, it was hard to tell.
The monk got so absorbed in his self-criticism that his pace of eating slowed to a stop, until he was just sitting there pondering. A moment later, he shook himself from his trance and returned to his food. It probably wasn't so healthy to be judging himself like this, anyways. Why not simply take what life gives you?
Well, Hanzo thought, maybe I just don't want to be a terrible person. But in a world like this, sometimes it's hard to know what that means. | 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 |
775 | 13 | 211 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana smiled as she watched Ariana but she knew that they needed to eat and Sana had a lot to take care before they left to try to find the rest of the ingredients for the orphanage; the most important of which was making sure Ariana was going to be taken care of. Rising from her spot on the bed she pulled on her boots over her pants legs and laced them up. Leaving her shirt untucked she wandered over to her bag and pulled out her brush, running it through her hair and then walking over to Ariana and sweeping her up in her arms. Setting her down on the floor, Sana sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed the young ones golden locks. Once she had finished she tossed the brush back in her bag and stood up.
“Ready?” Sana asked the little one in a soft voice and Ariana nodded quickly with a broad smile on her face, holding her arms up to Sana; apparently wanting to be carried instead of walking. Sana smirked slightly but acquiesced to the childs silent request and propped Ariana on her hip before strolling to the door. Reaching for the handle she smiled over to Hugh. “Going to get her fed and then need to get her some more clothing. So we’ll either be down stairs or in the general store,” Sana said lightly before heading out, closing the door behind her.
Making her way downstairs, she took note of those that had already gathered but didn’t see Sister Agnes. Pursing her lips slightly she hoped she could find the nun at one point because she needed to speak to her about Ariana. Pushing the thought out of her head she wandered over to the buffet and set Ariana down before grabbing some plates. “Okay, what do you want for breakfast?” Sana asked as she looked down at the little one who was wide eyed as she looked at all the food.
“All of it!” Ariana exclaimed excitedly. Sana rose a brow and then chuckled.
“Okay, well it won’t all fit on your plate, so what do you want to start with?” Sana asked and Ariana started pointing out various things. Sana piled the food up for the little one and grabbed a few things for herself before turning and looking around for a table to set up at with the little one. She was tempted to pick one that was far away from the rest of the group, not sure if Ariana was ready to be around others as of yet but then she decided to leave it up to the child. “Where would you like to sit?”
Ariana looked around for a minute and then pointed to the table where Fiona was sitting at. “There! She has pretty hair!” Ariana said with a smile. Sana laughed slightly and motioned for her to go ahead. Ariana giggled and ran over to the table and jumped into a chair. “Hi!” she said to Fiona as she sat on her knees in the chair and looked around. Sana wandered over and set the little ones plate of food down in front of her before resting down herself next to Ariana.
“Morning,” Sana said to Fiona before introducing them both. “Fiona, this little one is Ariana. Ariana, this is Fiona, a friend,” Sana said in a kind voice. Ariana waved at Fiona before she began to dig into her meal. | 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. |
776 | 13 | 212 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri stood back and watched the breakfast pass peacefully, certainly far more smoothly than yesterday. It seemed that the group was coming together quite nicely. It was likely that they would need to leave once the meal was finished. One thing bothered her though. The Stranger came into the inn, piling high a load of food onto his plate even though he'd put on his helmet again for some unknown reason. She had spoken to him quite a bit through the morning, but she had never actually bothered to ask him his name or when he showed up. Everyone else seemed to nonchalantly accept his presence, but they accepting a lot of oddities without batting an eye. Taking note of the emptiness in her stomach, Vaeri grabbed one of the warm sweet breads she had set down and walked over to the stranger.
"So Stranger, I take it you're coming with us? You came after finding one of the cinder sickness flyers while Sana, Fiona, Drizzak, Lob and I were busy dealing with the slaver camp up North, right?" Vaeri took a large bite out of the bread looking expectantly at the stranger. Really, it was the only option that really made sense. Unless he was just a traveler who happened to pass by last night. Maybe he didn't actually make it into town until the fight with the anti-paladin. Well, no matter when and why he arrived, nobody seemed to know anything about him. | 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. |
777 | 13 | 213 | 914 | 1,884 | The stranger turned to the woman he had chatted with all night, and behind his helmet he studied her carefully.
The names she listed off were of no recognition but he remembered a handful of other fighters in the recent battles, however, it wasn’t the names he was interested in.
“Sickness?” He said abruptly. | 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 |
778 | 13 | 214 | 677 | 1,382 | The cinder sickness. So not only did he not know of the deities of non-humans, he was not aware of the cinder sickness. "You know, when sores resembling tiny fire pits start sprouting on a person, and if left untreated ends with the patient burning to death from within. The orphans in the Apothecary have been cursed with a version of disease that will not leave from normal means of healing. That's why we're here." Vaeri gestured at the odd occupants of the inn, and accidentally flung a bit of icing onto the floor. Vaeri mentally took note of this screw up and then pretended like it never happened, taking another bite from the piece of bread.
"To gather the required ingredients for a cure. I'm sure one such as you could help if you are so inclined. You can speak with Sister Agnes," Vaeri pointed at the elderly nun, "Or Wyslan in the Apothecary if you wish to know, Sir " Vaeri lead off the end of the sentence, trying to prompt the stranger to give his name. After he gave his name, or declined to do so, Vaeri would leave to go to her room, waving farewell to him. About 10 minutes later she would return, now clad in her armor, cloak, and no longer barefoot ready to head out. | 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. |
779 | 13 | 215 | 914 | 1,884 | A strange relief lifted a weight off of the stranger’s chest at the description of the disease. While it wasn’t what he was thinking of, it still was unacceptable. Although now he questioned leaving the strange child from the anti-paladin in this place even more skeptically. He shook off the thought as the woman urged him to give up his name.
“I am Derrix "Nightbane" Herchiv” He said, “and I will help.”
Nightbane wasn’t about to refuse to help the children from their disease and he decided he might as well take a trip to the shop to see Sister Agnes.
The woman he had been talking to suddenly waved to him farewell and started to walk away. Nightbane called out, “you owe me your name.”
With the debt sealed he continued on his way out of the tavern. As he passed his white horse, he laid the plate on the ground. He snatched what cured hams that were laid on top and lifting his helmet just enough to pop them into his mouth before letting the heavy helmet fall back in it’s place.
His horse happily started to gobble wetly on the plate of breads and grains, and Nightbane continued past him and into the shop.
A variety of smells would have assaulted his nostrils if not for his thick lavender mask hiding behind the face of his helmet. He blinked past the light of the apothecary that rivaled the soft morning glow of the sun and laid his eyes on the elderly nun.
“Sister Agnes?” | 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 |
780 | 13 | 216 | 54 | 1,340 | Sister Agnes came out from the back of the shop where she had left off the food for Wylsen and spoken to him briefly as she heard the chime of the bell ring out from above the door. Looking over she saw the man from earlier who had seemed to keep watch over the village the previous night. Stepping over to him she smiled gently and held her hand out to him to shake in greeting.
"Ahh, good morning stranger," she said in a kind old voice as she stood there. "I hope you were able to get something to eat. What might I be able to do for you this morning?" she asked in a gentle voice as she looked at the man. "Forgive me, I didn't get your name yesterday. We were a little, preoccupied yesterday." | 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. |
781 | 13 | 217 | 914 | 1,884 | “I am Derrix ‘Nightbane’ Herchiv,” Derrix replied thankfully, shaking the woman’s hand. He slid of his helmet out of respect for the conversation and scratched his tattooed cheek for a moment, taking in the scents of the shop with a long inhale, doing his best to ignore the polluting smell of lavender from his helmet.
“I have heard you have a problem with a disease,” Derrix said grimly, “and if you would allow it, I would be inclined to help.” | 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 |
782 | 13 | 218 | 54 | 1,340 | The sister smiled at him and shook his hand as he placed it in hers. She waited as he removed his helmet, he looked different than most that she had seen but it was not enough to surprise her; this newest group alone had already proved to be an interesting mix of humans and other creatures so for her it wasn't something she would judge.
"Yes, we are actually," she said as she stepped over to the counter of the shop and retrieved one of the scrolls that Wylsen had written up for the group the day before. Handing it over to him she smiled softly.
"And I am sure the group would welcome you, especially with as much as you have already helped out. I might suggest speaking with Sana. She seems to be the one that has taken the reins so to speak with the group. You should be able to find her in the Inn. Woman, about her 30's, waving golden blond hair, amber tinted eyes. She will most likely have a child that looks like her with her," the sister informed Derrix once he took the paper from 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. |
783 | 13 | 219 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix took the paper and frowned, “I overheard that the small child who was hunted by the dark knight is to be staying here. I won’t insult your judgement but I will ask, is that safe? I only ask because of the infamy this town seems to attract now on top of a plague.”
He set the paper into the hollow of his helmet he had tucked under one of his arms, “I mean no disrespect of course, just voicing my own concerns.” | 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 |
784 | 13 | 220 | 54 | 1,340 | None taken and trust me I have my own concerns as well, the sister said in genial voice as she clasped her hands in the front of her habit. "Though sending her off with the group worries me as well. I plan on speaking with Sana about the child this morning since she is the one that initially rescued the child and seems to taken it upon herself to look after the little one. I feel it would be prudent to ask for her input about little Ariana before any decisions are made," the sister added.
"If there isn't anything else I can be of help with, I should probably tend to that now. Did you need something else from the shop? I can retrieve the shop keeper from the back for you if need be. Or you can walk with me back to the inn and I can introduce you to Sana properly," she said as she motioned towards the door. | 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. |
785 | 13 | 221 | 914 | 1,884 | With a bow of his head, Derrix quickly agreed, “I would be honored to escort.”
While he was sure this wasn’t what she had meant by walking back with her, a noble custom took his instinct as he opened the door for the old nun and offered his armored arm in escort. | 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 |
786 | 13 | 222 | 54 | 1,340 | The honor is mine, she said in a grateful voice as he held the door open for her. Taking his arm she walked out of the shop and made her way back over towards the inn. Once they had reached their destination, she glanced around and was pleased to see Sana sitting there eating breakfast with Ariana and some of the others with the group. "There she is," the sister said softly as she motioned over to Sana as she wiped some milk that had spilt on Arianas clothing. "I'll introduce you two," she said before continuing over towards the group. Sana caught the sister out of the corner of her eye with the stranger from yesterday and rose from her place in greeting.
"Morning sister," she said. "Were you able to sleep last night?" she inquired towards the old woman.
"Oh very well, perhaps more than you," the sister laughed as she looked over towards Ariana. Sana rose a brow as she looked at the little one and smiled.
"Actually, she went straight to sleep. No problems. So what can I do you for?" Sana asked as she looked back over to the sister.
"Actually, yes. Two things. First would be I would like to introduce you to Derrix Herchiv, he was asking about the cinder sickness and seems to want to help," the sister informed Sana. Sana nodded and turned her attention to the man escorting the sister. Sana looked the man over for a moment before extending her hand to him. Sanas lips curled slightly into perhaps what would have been a familiar smirk to Derrix, for it was the same one that her sister wore from time to time. Sana and her sister Ramara looked so similar, as if they were twins, minus a few small details and the newly acquired burn scars that peaked up from under her collar and went up one side of her neck.
"Sana Rawn," the woman said as she stood there. "Welcome to join, we can use all the help we can get and you seem to have a knack at fighting as it is already," she said in a welcoming voice. Once he shook her hand or not, she would lower it and turn her attention back to Sister Agnes. "And the second thing?"
"Could I talk to you in private for a minute?" the sister asked and Sana nodded.
"Yes of course," Sana said before turning her attention back to Ariana. "I will be right over there," Sana said as she pointed to another table and kissed the little one on the forehead. Ariana grinned with a mouth full of food and nodded before Sana looked back at the pair. "If you would excuse me for a moment," Sana said towards Derrix before motioning for the Sister to join her. Agnes nodded and followed Sana over to the open table and had to seat, wanting to speak to Sana about her plans for Ariana. | 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. |
787 | 13 | 223 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix shook Sana’s hand and nodded, “Derrix ‘Nightbane’ Herchiv at your service then.”
He stood aside as the two women left to talk privately, presumably about the situation with the young child. While they did so, Derrix scanned the other residents of the table and gave a curt nod of recognition. | 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 |
788 | 13 | 224 | 54 | 1,340 | You have a way with her, Sister Agnes said as she sat there, clasping her hands in front of her. "Do you have a plan for what is going to happen with the little one?" the sister inquired as she looked at Sana with a presumptuous smile.
"Actually, yes I wanted to talk to you about that," Sana said as she down and leaned back in her seat.
"So what is your plan?" the sister asked as she sat down. Sana sighed deeply as she ran her fingers running through her hair a bit to push it out of her face.
"I want to leave her with you," Sana confessed.
"What? At the orphanage, what if she was to get sick as well?" Agnes asked in a worried tone to which Sana shook her head no adamantly.
"No, I want her to go to the convent. The orphanage risks her getting sick, leaving her in the village puts her at risk of another attack. I feel the convent is the safest place for her. At least for now, it is too dangerous for me to take her with us," Sana said as she leaned back in her chair.
"I see, that I can do, but what about afterwards? When you return?" the sister inquired. Sana drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.
"I honestly don't know sister. I am not exactly in a position to raise a child right now; please don't get me wrong I would love to. She reminds me very much of my little sister whom, from what I am told, I have lost but well, to be frank. Aren't certain events in life supposed to happen before one raises a child?" Sana asked as she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.
"Fair enough and yes, they are supposed to but life doesn't always happen in the order in which we think it should," Sister Agnes said in a sympathetic voice. "Have you spoken with Hugh about this?" the sister asked as she leaned closer.
"No, another reason I don't know what I will do yet. That is something we need time to discuss and well, let's just say I don't want to end up being a replacement," Sana said as she glanced over towards Ariana, still tearing into her food and periodically swiping a piece of fruit from Sanas plate.
"A what?" the Sister asked confused.
"Long story, I'll figure it out, but yes, can you take her to the convent? At least for now?" Sana asked looking back over towards Agnes.
"Of course."
"Thank you, before you do, I want her to finish her meal, take her to get some clothing and such before I head out with the group and explain things to her as best I can," Sana said as she rose from her place. The sister nodded in understanding and let Sana leave without another word. Resting back in her seat she watched as Sana sat back down and went back to her meal with Ariana and the rest that were at the table with them. | 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. |
789 | 13 | 225 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias ate like he'd never see food again. The food was good, plenty, and best of all, safe, and so mouthful after mouthful of it disappeared down the rogue's throat at breakneck pace.
The dead would had to have risen for him to be shaken out of his engrossment, which, it turned out, is sort of what happened. The zombie plopped down next to him and immediately began saying... something or another. Tobias was busy gawking, taken totally off-guard by the corpse's sudden appearance and remembering full well his savagery from the previous day.
A small whimper emerged from the thief's full mouth as the thing's pet fey descended and began buzzing around. He was outnumbered. It was time for Tobias to execute one of his favorite strategies - run away.
"Oh, look at the time, got to go steal something over there," he said quickly and snatched up his plate, moving it over to the table where Fiona was sitting with several others from the party. He hadn't forgotten he still had business with Sana - but for now, it could wait.
He sat down and gave a broad smile to the child the party had apparently adopted. "Hey there, smiley. Good food, am I right?" | 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 |
790 | 13 | 226 | 1,451 | 685 | Everyone was getting up and moving around now, making the previously quiet inn a small hub of activity. Fiona started by trying one of the sweet rolls Vaeri offered. She couldn't quite manage any words in reply, but the mm while she nodded would have to serve as her thanks. She was pleased to hear Agnes's report on the people they'd rescued, and nodded when she excused herself to go see Wylsen.
Fiona waved a greeting to Hanzo, though he seemed to be keeping to himself, and she didn't want to bother him. Her attention was soon drawn by a child taking a seat in front of her, Sana following shortly afterwards. This was the cause of all the commotion the night before, and Fiona had to admit this was her first good look at the girl. She was an adorable thing, if a little skinny, undoubtedly from what she'd been through. They'd fix that up soon enough, Fiona didn't doubt.
"It's very nice to meet you, Ariana. That's a big breakfast you have. I don't know if I could eat that much." Her tone was light; Fiona was very used to dealing with children from her village, and she quite liked them. Judging by this one's demeanor, she was a spirited little girl. She had to be, to not be comatose after her ordeal. In fact, she looked cheery even.
They continued their meal until Sister Agnes returned, the stranger from the night before in tow. He was introduced as Derrix Herchiv, and Fiona took note of the name when he stated his intentions to come along with them. When Agnes departed with Sana to speak privately, Fiona caught Ariana's eye again and pointed down teasingly with her fork at the girl's plate.
"Getting full yet? That was a lot to take on." Next to her, Derrix looked to be gazing over the others at the table quietly, and so Fiona put down her utensils and extended a hand out to him to shake.
"Derrix, was it? I'm Fiona, traveling with the party as well. It's nice to meet you. You were most helpful yesterday." After that, Tobias arrived, having successfully escaped and rejoined her. She grinned, glancing at him and bumping him slightly with an elbow in greeting. | 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. |
791 | 13 | 227 | 54 | 1,340 | Ariana smiled with a mouth full of food towards Fiona and giggled, shaking her head slightly before wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “So yummy, want more!” she said enthusiastically before she stole some food off of Sanas plate and gobbled it down greedily. Sana shook her head some and pushed another piece of food over to the edge of the plate, readying it for the little one just in case she wanted to snatch another bite. Sana placed her fork down, having eaten all that she could stomach for the time being. She had been feeling off since yesterday evening after the last fight but chalked it up to stress and casting for the first time. She figured she would just have to get accustomed to the feeling.
“Yup yup, so yummy!” Ariana replied to Tobias as he spoke to her before she picked up a large sweet roll and took a bite, the icing dribbling down the side of her face as she pulled the remainder of the roll away from herself and placed it back on the plate. Sana rolled her eyes slightly as she dipped her napkin into her glass of water and proceeded to try to clean the little ones mouth up before even more spilt onto her outfit.
“So, Ariana,” Sana said with a soft voice. “Derrix there asked you last night how old are you, do you know?” Sana inquired, wanting to figure out more about the child before they left. Ariana nodded and held up her hand, counting off on her fingers as she did.
“One, two, three, four,” she said before stopping. “Four! Almost five!” she exclaimed proudly as she held her fingers out to show everyone.
“Okay, big girl then. When do you turn five?” Sana asked, wondering if the child would know.
“Snow time,” Ariana said as she bounced slightly in her chair. Sana taking that to mean winter and figured that was as good as they were going to get when it came to her age.
“Do you know your parents name?” Sana asked as she sat there, reaching over to tuck Arianas hair behind her ear.
“Mama and papa,” Ariana said before snatching a strawberry off Sanas plate and popping it into her mouth. Sana pursed her lips slightly, that answer wasn’t much help but could she really expect much more from someone so young? Thinking for a moment she tilted her head to the side.
“Do you know your family name?” Sana asked but really wasn’t expecting an answer. Ariana grinned and held her hands up, bending her fingers like claws.
“Rawr!” Ariana exclaimed, Sana sighed and reached out, taking her hands.
“Ariana, not time to play like you are a cat sweetie,” Sana said and Ariana shook her head.
“Yes! Rawr! Ariana Rawr! Like big family cat!” she exclaimed once again and held her hands back up. Sana froze in her place like she had seen a ghost as her hand dropped from trying to get Ariana to stop. She swallowed hard and rested her elbow on the table, her forehead rested in the palm of her hand. Taking a deep and slow breath she looked back over towards Ariana after glancing around for a moment.
“Ariana,” Sana said in a soft voice that was shaking slightly. “Do you mean the big black cat?”
“Yup yup, moves at night and pounces! Rawr!” she said trying to get Sana to play with her. Sana nodded slowly and held her hand out to the little one, mimicking her claws.
“Yes little one. Rawr like the panther, move through the night,” Sana sung in a low voice.
“Pounce and be gone by daylight!” Ariana sung excitedly.
“We’re the Rawn that walk through shadows of night,” the sung together.
“You know the song!” Ariana cheered before wrapping her arms around Sana, resting her head on the archers shoulder. Sana held the little one but the look on her face was that of being completely stunned.
“Yes little one, I know the song,” Sana forced out, her voice cracking some. | 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. |
792 | 13 | 228 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri walked down the stairs, room key in hand. She looked much the same as she had yesterday, mostly obscured by cloak, but the flashes of armor that could be caught showed that at the very least she had cleaned off the blood that had accumulated in the 3 battles for the day before. She walked over to the innkeeper and handed him her key before addressing anyone else. She walked up to Derrix, remembering she owed him a debt.
"My name is Vaeri Dryearurdrenn, pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Derrix Nightbane." Derrix basically came with his own keyword. Less mental work for Vaeri. With that debt resolved, she looked at the rest of the people who had eaten breakfast. Sana and the child were singing something about panthers, Tobias had relocated away from the skeleton and next to Fiona, and Hanzo was keeping to himself. And then it occurred to her that Fiona had just addressed the man before she spoke herself. "Sorry Fiona, did I interrupt? Last I spoke to Derrix, I neglected to give him my name. I had completely missed that you had been speaking with him." | 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. |
793 | 13 | 229 | 1,451 | 685 | No, no, Fiona answered, blinking. "You didn't interrupt. Just making introductions is all." She was looking at Sana and Ariana instead, the girl hugging her new protector. Through the course of searching for the girl's family, or at least a name, Sana had stumbled across something quite remarkable. It would've been hard to believe if Fiona didn't already know Sana had found a family member among the enslaved, and heard of others being slaughtered.
"I don't suppose you had any brothers or sisters, Sana?" the question was asked gently, because Fiona knew well enough not to intrude too boldly on family matters of those she wasn't entirely familiar with yet. The resemblance was clear enough, now that Fiona was looking for it, which made it seem all too likely that Sana had stumbled across a niece in Ariana. Fiona couldn't imagine what the woman was going through, especially since they were going to be leaving the child behind.
Seeing that Vaeri and some of the others were geared up already, Fiona took it as her turn, and having finished her plate, stood from the bench. "I should be getting ready, I suppose. We'll be on the road soon."
After returning her plate, Fiona made her way upstairs and began preparing to leave. Over her tunic she laced up her jacket, having cleaned it of the hell hound's blood as best she could the night before. After that she buckled on her armor pieces, and secured her belt around her hips. Untying and shaking out her hair, she ran several fingers through it while making one last check of the room. It would be good to get on the road. They'd done a lot of good work yesterday, but there was much more to go before the job would be complete.
Satisfied, Fiona exited the room, locking the door behind her, and starting back down the stairs. | 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. |
794 | 13 | 230 | 914 | 1,884 | “Yes, nice to meet you,” Derrix approved as he shook Fiona’s hand, “and anything to help.”
Suddenly the woman Derrix had conversed with all night appeared to fulfill her debt. A smile crossed his tattooed cheeks and he nodded, “a good name. You remind me of someone I used to know.”
He snapped his fingers as his eyes flickered from Vaeri’s ears to her eyes. Derrix opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it into a polite smile, choosing silence. | 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 |
795 | 13 | 231 | 677 | 1,382 | A small bit of relief overcame Vaeri that she didn't barge into a conversation that she was not apart of like an inebriated family member during the holidays (a quirk that she noticed humans had to deal with too). Fiona did not seem particularly interest with continuing conversation with either Derrix or her, deciding to inquire about Sana's family before leaving to don equipment of her own.
Vaeri caught the movement of Derrix's eyes as his gaze jumped around. It wasn't a reaction she was unused to, but usually it did not come from somebody she had spent hours talking to. Then again, human vision was rather poor in dim lighting and he did wear that restricting helmet. He probably did not realize before.
"So you noticed?" Vaeri asked, rubbing the tip of her left ear as if to accentuate its inhuman length and pointedness. "Is this your first time meeting an elf?" He obviously wanted to say something. Perhaps he did not wish to offend or appear ignorant. | 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. |
796 | 13 | 232 | 914 | 1,884 | “I’m not sure what an elf even is,” Derrix admitted plainly. He watched her play with her ears and he lifted his own hand as if to test out his own ear.
“What land does an elf come from?” | 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 |
797 | 13 | 233 | 677 | 1,382 | We're like you humans, but different. Longer ears, different facial structure, leaner builds, slightly different skeletal system and musculature, and a significantly longer lifespan are some of the more obvious physical differences between us. Vaeri spoke as one who had to give this explanation to many people. Most people in the area had at least a passing knowledge of elves, but in many of the smaller villages she had been to, they had not any experience with her kind and would assume she was deformed or some kind of fairy. A couple of times she had been mistaken as some kind of devil, an accusation she did not take well in either case. The trick was to give the proper expression of being different without coming off as self-righteous or overly self-involved.
A lot of people had gotten the notion that elves thought themselves above humans, and while she knew plenty of elves who were stuck up, it wasn't something intrinsic with the race. More puzzling were a separate category of people she met who seemed to believe that since she was an elf, she would somehow be supernaturally wise/graceful/beautiful. Perhaps what tales of her people pervaded the world were exaggerated.
"We tend to seclude ourselves in villages generally comprised entirely of our own, although you'll find elves distributed here and there in human settlements. I come from a forest village maybe 100 miles from here known as Lianyu." | 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. |
798 | 13 | 234 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix’s small smile didn’t leave his face as he listened carefully to Vaeri. At the end of her rehearsed speech the man put her hand on her elbow and spoke gently, yet naturally commanding, “in my eyes, we are one and the same. You will have to tell me the ways of your people, the elves, and I will tell you of the Charlinites and the Karkarthians.”
There was a humble look in his golden eyes, as well as a look of understanding of a possible different interpretation. | 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 |
799 | 13 | 235 | 290 | 1,247 | Zam was enjoying herself immensely as she flew around the table observing everyone at feast and it seemed that she wasn't the only one it seemed that everyone that was awake was having a good time. hell even Vaeri seemed to be enjoying herself then there was the stranger whose she name learned was Derrix appeared to be talk of the table.
she flew to Derrix Zam stopped just in front of his face and introduced herself "Hello i am Zam Mano and I travel with Mortosh Celjust" Mortosh who was meditating stopped when he heard Zam speak of him, turned his head to look at where she was and noticed she was talking to Derrix so he just gave them a quick wave then returned to his mediation. | 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 |
Subsets and Splits