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800 | 13 | 236 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri wasn't exactly sure how to reply to Derrix. Out of all the people she had to explain this to, he was the first to demand something of this nature. A lot of humans wrote it off, but a statement of cultural exchange was difficult to reply to.
"Perhaps I will tell you about 'my people' later." She felt uncomfortable using the term her people. Vaeri had limited experience with elves outside of her village. She had been told about some of the others growing up, and once every decade or so, a wandering trader from another land would arrive bearing exotic goods and requesting news of the local area, but otherwise she just knew what she had learned from her own childhood and in books.
It was then that the fairy that she had seen hanging around suddenly pop in, introduce itself and the skeleton before leaving. For several seconds she stared at the space where the little thing had been, unsure of what to make of what had just happened. | 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. |
801 | 13 | 237 | 914 | 1,884 | Before Derrix could agree with Vaeri, a large bug whizzed by his face. Instinctively he went to swat it away, but as soon as it started to speak, Derrix paused. As his eyes adjusted on the talking figure he realized it was not a bug, or one he was familiar with at least.
It introduced itself and motioned over to a sitting skeleton. Derrix’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the living dead being, as he tried to hide the grimace that wanted to form on his lips. He had seen worse, sure, but it doesn’t mean it’s a pleasant sight.
“I think your friend could use some sun,” Derrix replied, trying to erase his disgust, “he looks a little pale.” | 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 |
802 | 13 | 238 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana looked over to Fiona, having been slowly brought out of the daze she was in by her words. She could only nod slowly to answer her question, a bit too much in shock to form any coherent words right then. Sana had one sister but the woman that the child could not have been her. The woman had dark hair, which was not a trait of those born into the family. If that had been Arianas mother, she must have married into the troop from another group. The Rawn family though had been large, so the best Sana could conclude was that Ariana was a cousin in some form. Either way, the child was blood, most likely the last living relative she had. Sighing slightly she took a long breath and pulled back from the childs embrace.
"Well, I think you need a few things," Sana said in a shaky voice. "Done eating?"
"Yup, yup," Ariana said joyfully as she rubbed her belly. Sana nodded and rose from her place, taking the little ones hand and walking silently out of the inn towards the general store. Sana had told the sister she had wanted to get the child some clothing before they left but right then, what she needed the most was some fresh air. She figured the walk to the general store was as good an excuse as any. She had told Hugh that if they were not still eating when he came down where they would be. She groaned inwardly as Ariana skipped next to her thinking about everything she needed to tell Hugh. This could turn out to be a rather awkward conversation.
Sister Agnes watched the events unfold from her seat in silence, wondering to herself what was going to happen now. Hearing a door shut upstairs she glanced towards the stairs to see Fiona descending from upstairs. Rising from her spot she walked over to the fiery haired woman and smiled.
"Fiona, a word?" she said in a kind voice from the bottom of the stairs. "I have spoken with the people of the village. Well those that had influence as it were. Yesterday morning some asked what all we could provide and well, there was nothing but now after the events of rest of the day we would like you all to take the horses that were the slavers as well as the wagon you brought the freed back in. I hope that is okay, I figured it would help make the quest go faster being able to either have everyone on horseback or in the wagon instead of having to walk constantly. Is that alright?" | 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. |
803 | 13 | 239 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona greeted Sister Agnes with a smile as she reached the ground floor of the inn, and listened to what she had to say. "That should prove very useful, if the village has no need of the horses or the wagon." There were at least several in the party who had arrived on foot, and with the wagon even if they didn't know how to ride they could keep up with the rest of the group's increased pace. Fiona nodded agreeably. "Thank you, Sister. I'll see that they're cared for well."
She didn't know if it was appropriate or welcome, but Fiona ventured a gentle hug, briefly squeezing Agnes before releasing her again. "Thank you for all the help, you've been working tirelessly since we arrived. We'll be back with those ingredients as soon as we can." Exhaling, she nodded to herself, and gave Agnes one last pat on the shoulder. "Now, I should be going, make sure those horses are ready to leave."
Stepping out of the inn, she made her way to the stables, where the five horses they had recovered from the slavers awaited her. Most were in good condition, certainly better than the dogs they'd found. It made sense, considering that these mounts were their most reliable escape method. She checked over each one in turn, making sure they were properly fed and equipped to ride out. After that it was time to prepare the wagon, which first needed some cleaning.
While she was clearing it out, Fiona found a folded parchment under the main bench, which proved to be a map when she took a closer look. Taking a seat on the bench, Fiona studied it. It was quite detailed, trails marked out clearly, as well as certain locations the slavers avoided due to monster concentrations. One such marking was a cave northeast of their current location, apparently filled with eyewings. It was some ways past the next village they would pass through along the road. No doubt all this information would prove useful to them.
Folding the map back up and tucking it under her belt, Fiona finished clearing out the wagon and readying it for transport, hooking up two of the newly acquired horses to the front, and leading them out of the stables. When she had all the horses, including her own, out in front of the inn and ready to leave, Fiona switched back to her own horse, and spent some time studying the map more, while she waited for the others to finish readying up. | 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. |
804 | 13 | 240 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh waved, a cheerful smile on his face as he lied in bed, observing Sana and Arianna departing from the room. With the room suddenly vacant, Hugh wasted no time in sitting up at the edge of his bed. He reached for his pants, pulling them on, slowly as he went. He wasn't particularly determined to be downstairs in a rush, as today they seemed to be heading out for parts they hadn't traveled before.
Hugh pulled his shirt on, and the rest of his garments, ending with him throwing on his armor; the chain mail and his pauldrons. He strapped his new found sword to his back, and rotated his neck from side to side. He stood tall and stretched his arms out, trying to be rid of the achy muscle sensation. It was a little routine that ended with him feeling much better than during.
After this little binge of activity, he sat back down and grabbed the bag containing his pipe. He took out the tobacco and crushed it inside, packing it with his dowel. He fetched his little bow from his bag and began using it to spin the dowel, eventually causing a coal to build up enough to stoke it till it smoked. After this painstaking process, he puffed away at the pipe and headed for the door, laying the saddle bag over his shoulder.
He swung it open, with a little bit of a bang as it smacked the wall that stopped it from going further. He stepped out, taking a moment to look around before stepping towards the stairs.
He trudged down, paying more attention to his pipe, but merely walking out of habit. He came to the bottom of the steps and stopped, his gaze looking over the Inn for his party. He observed the stranger whom had saved them the day before conversing with the elvish woman, with the company of the thief.
Hugh strode over, his feet falling heavily what with the weight he wore. Hugh felt slightly sluggish from the strenuous activity of the day before as he walked, taking up a plate and arranged food items on them. He clenched his teeth holding the pipe with them, as both his hands were preoccupied with the food and a cup.
Claiming a seat next to the thief, Hugh laid his consumable items out in front of the chair on the table. He sat down, taking his pipe from his mouth and laying it upright on the table right behind his plate. With that done, he shouted "Good morning! Everyone!" and actually turned around to look to everyone in the Inn, starting with any strangers and looking from each party member to another, giving them all a nod and friendly smile of acknowledgement.
With that done, he proceeded to politely eat his food, not in any particular hurry as he fueled his body for the day to come. | 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. |
805 | 13 | 241 | 54 | 1,340 | Hanzo looked around at the going-ons as he continued to eat. Sana brought the child she rescued down to eat, looking for all the world like a parent with their daughter. It was a bit heartwarming to see, even if Hanzo didn't try to think too deeply of it due to his own experiences. Mortosh was off in one corner, seeming to be asleep, but probably more accurately meditating - he actually didn't even notice the skeleton until Zam came up and pointed him out to the newcomer.
Speaking of, that knight from yesterday was making himself known to the party, introducing himself as Derrix; he apparently heard of the recent blight of Cinder Sickness and wished to help Sister Agnes, and by proxy this band of adventurers. Soon thereafter, he wound up in a conversation with the elf, Vaeri. So it would seem that they had yet another ally in this quest... what a group!
Hanzo finished eating shortly after Fiona went upstairs. He returned the dishes politely and, following Fiona's instance, returned to his room to pack up whatever he had. Luckily, it wasn't much to begin with - just his wallet, clothes, and that one magical scroll he found. The monk had been slightly out of it last night, so he's probably go an offer this to the rest of the group properly before they all set out. Or, possibly, Hanzo could use it on himself. The scarring from the battle with the mage still ached on his chest, showing a scar with a minor seal of deep red around it...
Again acting on some indeterminate impulse, Hanzo pulled open the scroll- and then realezed he had no idea how to read magic properly. What a foolish gesture. Still, it knocked him back into sense, to at least offer the others before taking up the offer for himself.
He returned back downstairs quickly, seeing how most everyone had left to prepare for their departure (or was already mostly so). In that case, the monk decided to lounge outside for a bit, to take in the morning air still fresh with the dew of the deciduous climate. He would simply stand outside of the inn, occasionally leaning on the wall of inn. Out of curiosity, he glanced south. The fire was long gone, the pillar of smoke that hailed it before being no more. He sighed. So many lives still taken unjustly- though perhaps he could say the same about those whom were killed, those slavers.
Hanzo turned back, and noted Fiona taking out five horses and a cart from the slavers. His memory was foggy from last night, but he seemed to recall the cart, and some of those horses looked like the mounts from the slavers. Of course, the best way to find out was to ask. The monk walked up near to where Fiona was setting up everything; she was currently studying some sort of map. "Are these the same things procured from the slavers?" | 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. |
806 | 13 | 242 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona's attention was drawn away from the map by the voice of Hanzo, who had appeared out in front of the inn, looking ready to depart. She nodded in response to his question. "Yeah, we found these at the camp. Sister Agnes let me know that the horses and the wagon are ours to use, to help speed things along." Her own horse stamped his foot lightly a few times beneath her, and Fiona reached down to pat the side of his neck. "Except Liam here, he's mine."
She looked back to the other horses, awaiting riders, if anyone wanted one. "They're good animals; not like they knew what they were being used for. As for the wagon, we can always use it to carry those that don't want to ride, as well as any excess supplies we gather, or other things we want to bring along with us." | 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. |
807 | 13 | 243 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri noticed the movement outside and left the inn to see what the commotion was about. As she left, she greeted Hugh a good morning and gave Derrix a brief farewell. It was awkward enough with the silence that came about from the interruption of the fae whose name she had forgotten, leaving without a goodbye would feel even odder.
She arrived outside to find the horses the slavers had previously used and the wagon that had been used to transport the former captives. Luckily, her ride with Sana had been short, so she did not experience the riding soreness that she had heard about, but she was not keen to experience it firsthand. Not to mention that she preferred traveling through the wilds on foot. It was easier to maneuver. Horses were designed for plains and cumbersome in dense underbrush, so if she had to choose one of the transportation options blatantly presented before her, it would be the wagon every time. For the time being she would hang around in the general area of Fiona and wait. She seemed to be on top of things. | 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. |
808 | 13 | 244 | 914 | 1,884 | With little more to say, Derrix decided to quietly follow suit with the others. As he exited the tavern, he slid his helmet back on, watching the rays of the morning sun dim behind its restriction. He took in a great huff of lavender and turned to his massive white destrier. the morning dew glistened in his silver fur and the icing of a roll crusted along his lips, but an overall content smile dazed the horse’s eye.
“Charroux,” Derrix smiled warmly behind his mask, and the stallion nuzzled him in greeting.
The two butted heads for a moment before Derrix slipped to the horses side. He snatched the tied lance and quickly released the knot before swinging himself up unto the tall war horse saddle.
He booted the stirrups and raised his lance under his armpit like a flag, the sharp point spearing far above him. Derrix armed his free hand with a cavaliers shield that was tied to the saddlebags of Charroux, and after a quick look around, he was sure he had everything he had brought to this town.
Charroux stamped his hoof and Derrix looked ahead, all was ready. | 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 |
809 | 13 | 245 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana sighed deeply as the door closed heavily behind her once she entered the room. Glancing around she found her things and quickly began to finish getting ready; it didn't take long and once she was finish she slung her bow into place and grabbed her bag before heading back out. Moving quickly she brushed passed those in the inn silently and made her way over towards Ariana, kneeling down before the little one who had been enjoying herself by spinning around and twirling in her new dress.
"Okay, remember what I told you?" she asked the child as she took her hands and Ariana smiled, nodding her head vigorously.
"Yup, yup! Stay with Sister Agnes," she said as rocked back and forth on her heels.
"And?" Sana asked as she reached up and brushed the child's hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"You'll be back," Ariana giggled. Sana forced a smile and pulled the little one close, hugging her tight.
"That's right," Sana whispered before standing back up and looking over towards Sister Agnes. "Keep her safe," she said before shaking the old woman's hand.
"I will," the sister said gently. With that Sana turned, walking out of the inn quickly without saying another word. Glancing around a moment she headed away from the inn and the stables and walked towards the south end of town; wanting to check out the pyre to ensure things were taken care of before they headed out.
Getting there she noticed the villagers had relit it overnight and now it had died out, nothing but bones, metal and ash remained. Kicking the armor pile of the former being that had demanded the child she perked a brow as something shown through the ashes, a ring lay there peeking out at her and shining in the sunlight. Reaching down she picked it up, looking it over and then tossing it into her belt pouch; figuring she would deal with it later.
Satisfied that things had been taken care of Sana turned and began to make her way back towards the stables; wanting to get this underway as quickly as possible and still trying to figure out just how to speak to Hugh about everything going on with 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. |
810 | 13 | 246 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias picked up the group's outward momentum rather quickly, it seemed it was time to get this doomed show on the road. Orphans and gold, Tobias. Orphans and gold.
The rogue went upstairs took little time packing his belongings (and a few of other people's - old habits died hard). It came down to a few trinkets, a few extra changes of clothes, road supplies... nothing extravagant.
Tobias slung his pack over his shoulder and proceeded outside, where the rest of the group was making ready their horses. It seemed that someone had been kind enough to donate to the cause - a few more horses and a wagon were available for their use.
Immediately, the thief hopped up into the wagon and wasted no time making himself comfortable, laying back and resting his head on his pack. "For me, guys? I'm flattered, you shouldn't have. I guess saving the day is mighty tiring work..." the rogue closed his eyes and began to fake snoring loudly. | 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 |
811 | 13 | 247 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Long nights with little to no sleep... They are not they best, they could be the best but they lose any real potential to be the best by dint of them being sleepless - many people just love sleep. Melvus rather enjoys sleep, he tries to as often as he can, but that doesn't seem to be as often as he'd like it to be. Melvus was already awake when the sun rose - more like stabbed his eyes with its glare - he hadn't really slept, if that hadn't been obvious by the bags underneath his eyes or how he slumped over in the chair in his room.
The wizard stood up, gathered his possessions and left, it had been a while since the sun rose but Melvus hadn't really taken notice. As he opened the door he noticed that his cloak was hung on a hook, near the door, usually reserved for keys, it held the cloak just find. It had been completely cleaned of all of the blood and stitched where it had torn. He grabbed it and slid his arms into their respective sleeves and made his way downstairs. He took a seat and ate his breakfast quietly, taking no notice of what, if anything, was happening around him. | Removed |
812 | 13 | 248 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana looked towards the dusty ground as she trudged towards the group that had gathered, ready to leave. Her eyes seemed hollow as a hand came to her temples, rubbing gently as she brushed past them to the stables needing to ready Epona for the journey ahead. Her mind was swimming in thoughts of yesterday and today, what all she had gone through, all she had learned, all she had witnessed. The usually bright eyed and boisterous woman stood there moving in a mechanical fashion as she placed the saddle on her horse and secured her bags.
Everything swirling through her mind seemed to cause a buzzing sound in her ears that drowned out what others were saying and the noise of the village bustling around her. Slow breaths caused slumped shoulders to rise and fall as her movements stopped and she drifted away in thought; trying to focus on a single fleeting and yet ever swirling memory. Newly created memories were like wet paint on canvas, moving quickly and blending together. Shaking her head vigorously as if to try to brush the thoughts aside Sana went back to what she was doing and finally lead Epona by the reins out of the stable and towards the group.
A boot placed in the stirrup and a hand on the saddle, Sana glanced up at the clouds rolling in; grey and ominous. She could feel the chill in the air as the wind whipped through the town and smell the incoming storm that approached as she breathed in. The gentle rustle of leaves finally came to her ears as the sudden cold seemed to bring a clarity of mind through the fog. Taking another breath she pushed off the ground and swung her leg over before settling in her saddle and trotting over towards Fiona and the others.
Seeing Tobias flop into the wagon she thought back to the words they both exchanged yesterday after the first battle and sighed inwardly. They would have to work together, not for their own sake but for the orphans. It may have been cold but the orphans were no longer her biggest concern, she wanted to make this fast and get back to Ariana as quickly as possible. If she had not already given her word to help she might have just walked away from the entire endeavour but in her mind that was not an option at this point.
Reaching into her pouch she pulled out the Ring Of Chameleon Power that she had retrieved from the ashes of the fallen and tossed it over to him without a word, it landing gently on his chest with a slight thump. Looking over towards Fiona she noticed the parchment that the fiery haired woman had been going over and perked a brow.
"What's that?" she inquired at the pointed to what Fiona had been perusing. | 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. |
813 | 13 | 249 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona smiled to herself while she continued to look over the map, the expression brought on by Tobias's arrival at the wagon. He certainly didn't need any more encouragement from her to keep acting that way. Honestly, she felt a little juvenile from finding some of the things he did funny, but then, he seemed to have that effect on her.
Her attention was pulled away when Sana came up beside her on her own horse, pointing at what Fiona had in her hands. "Oh, it's a map the slavers made. Found it under the bench. Some useful markings here about dangerous areas we might want to avoid. Here, have a look." She turned her horse slightly, before holding out the map for Sana to take. She noticed that the woman's demeanor was still a little sluggish. Before, she'd seemed refreshed, maybe even a little upbeat, despite all that had happened.
"Everything all right?" she asked, gently. They'd only known each other a very short time, after all, and while fighting together tended to bond people quickly, it was difficult to call them close just yet. "If it's none of my business, just say the word. I don't intend to pry." | 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. |
814 | 13 | 250 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana perked a slender brow at Fionas description of what she held in her hand, perhaps it would prove useful. Listening, she reached over and took the worn parchment from Fiona as it was offered to her and looked it over slowly; her eyes drifting over the markings and taking in what paths and routes were laid out. As she saw one area on the map she pulled out the piece of paper that Wylsen had given some members of the group the day before and looked over the list of ingredients.
At Fionas question about her well being her eyes slowly lifted from their focus and sought out the fighters eyes. "Not really," she said in a hollow voice before averting her eyes and taking their attention back to where they had been. "And it's okay, you're not prying," she said as she folded the ingredient list up and tucked it back away.
Changing the subject back to the map she pointed out the cave beyond the next village. "Looks like this is our next destination," she said as her finger pointed to the Eye Wing note on the map. "From the looks of things it should take a couple of days to reach the next village and then another day to reach the cave," she said handing the map back to Fiona. "Good a place to start as any."
Resting back in her saddle she glanced around and took a quick count of who was there and who wasn't. Hugh being one of the ones that were not out there yet she felt both relieved and worried. She needed to speak to him and him not keeping near her was odd but then again she wasn't exactly acting like her usual self either. "So, who's going to drive that thing?" she asked around in general. Three of them already had their own personal mounts, at least one more would if not more, and someone had to take control of the wagon. | 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. |
815 | 13 | 251 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias opened his eyes when he felt something soft bump into his chest. He looked down and saw a small, unadorned ring. The rogue raised an eyebrow as he inspected it - was it a trick ring? Trapped somehow? No, physically, it seemed to be what it appeared - just a ring. He looked around for who'd thrown it and put on an expression of mock joy when he saw her.
"Sana?" He said, bringing a hand up to his mouth. "For me? W-why, this is so unexpected! I don't know what to say. I mean, I was always hoping, but I never dared to dream..." he trailed off. "Yeah, that joke's run its course." The rogue rose and hopped down, moving around the cart. "Artful dodger to the rescue - I'll take the driver's seat. Don't worry, I know how - pretending to be a carriage driver is a really good way of breaking into places."
As he walked past Sana, he leaned in to whisper. "You and I need to talk. Alone. Not a fight, an... accord."
He kept walking as though nothing had been said, clambering up into the driver's seat. "To high adventure! Let all tremble at the passing of... Tobias's Terrors! No? Fiona's Furies? Hugh's Heroes? Vaeri's Vipers? Hanzo's Helions? Sana's Skullfuckers? We can workshop it." | 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 |
816 | 13 | 252 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh's gaze went up to Sana as he smiled to her cheerfully, waving without a care in the world. Everything seemed peachy to him. He didn't notice at first that Sana had blown by without a word, as the little one had come to him filled with excitement and joy at her new clothing, successfully diverting his attention before he could discern anything negative from Sana.
Hugh could only greet Arianna with glee, as he was more than happy to see her smiling face and her showing off the dress and shoes to him. It made him remarkably happy, and he wasn't one to let that go for the time being. He laughed and even clapped for her, the smile glued on his face.
It didn't begin to show wear, until he heard Sana mention to the sister that the little one would be staying with the nun. His smile almost completely faded, as his eyes wandered to the floor, staring blankly.
His moment was interrupted by a hand falling on his shoulder and his attention went upwards to the newcomer. It was, in fact, the nun.
"I think you two need to talk."
Her words were meant with a very quizzical expression from Hugh. "Okaaaay." To say he was confused was an understatement.
Of course, Hugh began to understand a little as Sana blew past him again without any recognition. He looked at her in awe, just wondering. He was perplexed.
He stood up, took a few steps before ending up standing in front of Arianna, and squatted down in front of her. "Hey, my little princess." He picked up one of her tiny hands with his fingers, "We won't be long. We'll be back. I promise." He said.
With that, he let go of her hand, and ran upstairs. Moments later he came down with a rucksack slung over his back. Taking quick steps towards the table he was previously on, he swept up his saddlebag in hand, and placed his pipe in his mouth.
Before exiting the room, he lit the pipe, and waved to the little one, giving one last goodbye before he headed off to do something strictly for the money and the orphans.
He slipped outside, making his way towards the stables. There he found his most fondest friend, Rodger. The horse greeted him by throwing back his head and snorting in acknowledgement. Hugh grinned happily at the sight of his old friend, and started leading him from the stables.
With his horse out in the open, he acquired the saddle and threw it over Rodger's back. Fastening it tightly to him, he threw the reins on him, arranging them methodically.
Then Hugh attached his saddle bags to the back of his horse, and swung himself up into the saddle, his feet firmly placed in the stirrups.
Hugh felt proud as he rode his horse out into the street from the stables. A smile seemed to be fixed on his face, as he emerged.
Before long, Hugh and Rodger were standing next to the wagon, ready to leave and head to fairer pastures, along with adventure and danger. | 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. |
817 | 13 | 253 | 54 | 1,340 | Wylsen finally emerged from his apothecary shop, carrying a rather large crate of bottled and vials. Walking over to the group, his old features looked tired but happy. He had finished what he was trying to do and then some and felt good that he was going to be able to provide some more items that would help the group that had already helped his village so much. Strolling over to the back of the wagon he placed the craft down and took a long breath.
“Alright, I have somethings for you all,” he said proudly as he began to lift up various potions that were labeled and could have been easily read for people to see what they were but he wanted to give them a quick rundown of everything anyways. First he held up a dark crimson set of potions, there were four total. “Alright, these were made from the blood of the hell hound. If placed on an item of clothing it will help resist fire damage; magical or natural in nature,” he said before lowering it and placing it safely back in the box. From there he continued as he showed various healing potions of different strengths, potions that would remove poison, ones that would rejuvenate the sense as if they had slept all night, and a couple of sight potions that would help people see in various situations. There was one other that seemed to be a bit ominous in nature but Wylsen assured them it was harmless.
“Now, this one, is a last resort potion. If you come to a point where you get lost and have nowhere to turn, someone needs to drink this. It is a vision potion. It won’t hurt and it won’t make your path clear as day but it may give you a hint. Be warned though, the visions can be brutal, a real mind scramble and they tend to take the energy of the person who is having them and drain them nearly completely. So be prepared that whoever drinks this will most likely need to be tended to for several hours afterwards and sadly the rejuvenation potions don’t counter the fatigue,” he said before sliding it back into the craft and biding everyone farewell. He would have liked to see them off but he had been up over twenty-four hours at that point and barely made it back to the cot he had set up in the back of his shop before he passed out into a deep slumber.
In the Inn, Ariana smiled at Hugh and gave him a big hug before she let him escape to leave. Sister Agnes bid him farewell and good luck before taking the little one by the hand and leading her over to the table where Sana had placed the packages down. Diverting the childs attention while the group left by opening the packages and having Ariana tell her about each item Sana had purchased for her. The inn keeper smiled at them as he walked by with several large satchels full as he headed for the front door. Looking around he waved over to the group as they were preparing to leave, scurrying over to them as quickly as he could.
“Just a moment,” he called out before tossing the bags into the back of the wagon. “You’ll need these,” he said as he slapped one of the bags. “We have water skins full, meats, fruits, cheeses, breads, everything a group such as yourselves will need to keep up your strength on the road ahead. Compliments of the village for everything you have already done for us. Safe travels and I promise a feast when you return!” he said happily as he walked around to each member and shook their hand, a grateful smile on his features before he scurried back into the Inn to help take care of the people that were there.
Sana shook the mans hand and then glanced at the rest of the group, about to suggest they go ahead and leave but was cut off as a woman came out of the general store with one of her clerks carrying several brown paper wrapped packages. “Some blankets, fire starters and other odds and ends you all may need. Thank you so much for what you have done,” the woman said as her clerk loaded up the wagon. It was another few minutes before everything was arranged in the wagon and the rest of the group was readied to go. Sana sat there on Epona silent, not really wanting to speak to everyone that was coming by. “Maybe we should have headed out under the cover of darkness,” she whispered to Fiona, her words may have seemed cold but at least there was some lilt to her voice that showed she was in a more chipper mood than she had been in when she exited the inn earlier.
Once the entire group was together, either on their own steeds or loaded up into the wagon, Sana glanced around and nodded. “Alright, need one volunteer who has their own steed and is an accomplished rider to go with me ahead a few miles to scout ahead to make sure the path stays safe and to provide warning if need be. We will stay ahead until dusk starts setting in and then find a camp site for the group and wait for you all. Any takers?” | 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. |
818 | 13 | 254 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix raised his shielded in recognition of Sana’s words.
“I will ride ahead,” He volunteered, eager to be of use rather than a stagnant man covered in metal. He dug a heel into Charroux and the mighty warhorse silently trotted up to Sana's mount. Derrix's golden gaze glew like a flickering candle past his helmet as he took in the sight of who will be leading the quest, this being the first time he truly got the chance to observe her. After his quick and discreet helmet hidden scaling, he nodded shortly, "ready when you are." | 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 |
819 | 13 | 255 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri jumped up, grabbing the side and climbing into the spot next to the driver's spot, right next to Tobias.
"I hope my presence does not bother you, Sir Tobias." Here she would have the best view of the road ahead and she wouldn't have to be near all the supplies they had just loaded onto the wagon. She would prefer traveling on foot, but this would not be so bad. Considering the luck this group seemed to have, this air of joy and relaxation would not last long. After all, adventures were not all pony rides in May sunshine. | 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. |
820 | 13 | 256 | 54 | 1,340 | Sanas brow rose slightly as she heard Derrix speak up and volunteer for the job of accompanying her to scout ahead; she hadn’t expected him to be the one to step forward but then again she was not sure what to expect from the groups newest arrival. Her head turned slowly as she looked over in his direction and looked him over for a moment, thinking back to the night before when he had charged the Anti-Paladin. He was obviously an accomplished rider, so she wouldn’t have to worry about him not keeping up; which was a good thing because she already seemed to have enough on her mind to worry about currently.
Glancing over towards Hugh, she wondered if he would be okay with this set up; him staying with the group proper while she rode ahead with someone they knew nothing about. Inwardly she groaned because it may cause issues but right then the thought of being away from him to be able to think was appealing. Perhaps this was for the best right now. It would give her a day away so she could sort out her thoughts on the matter and then approach Hugh. Though in all honesty the way she was feeling when the thought of speaking to him crossed her mind made her want to just fight the Anti-Paladin again instead of dealing with it. It would be a bridge that would have to be crossed at one point but right now was not that time. She knew if she was to open her mouth it would either turn into one of her rants or just be a jumbled mess of emotions she was not sure how to deal with.
Righting herself in her saddle, she held perfect posture as she pulled the hood of her mantle up and let her cloak drape across the back of Epona. Looking very much like someone that had crossed paths with Derrix in the past, Sana nodded to his volunteering. “Very well,” she said in a rather stoic tone before looking over at Fiona. “We will find a camp site by dusk and wait for you all there unless something comes up,” she said before glancing over towards Tobias out of the corner of her eyes. “Stay alive and we will speak tonight,” she said as a smirk came across her lips before nudging Epona forward. Coming up next to Hugh she looked at him, it was apparent that she was trying to hold her composure together, looking so much more like the woman that had first walked into an Oasis Tavern so long ago, distant and stand offish than the warmer woman she had become over their time together. She sat there for a short time, simply looking at him before her lips thinned in a forced smile.
“Alright, let’s go,” she said to Derrix as her attention broke from Hugh, her heels digging into the flanks of her steed and tearing off towards the next destination; leaving the rest of the group to head out on their own when they were ready. Tightening her grip on the reins she leaned forward and let the chilled air cut through her as Eponas hooves pounded into the dusty trail that lead out of the village and to the north. She knew that Derrix and her needed to put some distance between themselves and the rest of the group for now so they could take care of the scouting aspect of the journey. She figured she could slow down the pace she had set after a while but for now the need for haste for great. Both for the groups safety and for her own mind. Everything would come to a head at one point but for now she only concentrated on the path before her and the sounds of the forest on either side of the trail that would take them to the next village. | Name: Hanzo Jibero
Age: 26
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Race: Human
Class: Monk
Appearance/Clothing:
Skills:
Acrobatics
Survival
Historical & Religious Knowledge
Climbing & Swimming
Perception
Emotion Reading
Ki Manipulation
Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing
Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human.
Magic/Spells:
Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance.
Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially.
Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities.
Additional Information:
This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could.
This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose.
For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny.
Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability.
Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope.
Personality:
By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership.
As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace.
History:
Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time.
Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind.
Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge.
So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand.
Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her.
He only regrets not having learned her name.
The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had. |
821 | 13 | 257 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona nodded to confirm she understood Sana, then watched as she and Derrix rode off to scout ahead. She would have volunteered herself, but Derrix had beaten her to it. Regardless, she imagined they would need to trade off duties regularly; she'd take up scouting duties when she needed to. For now, the rest of the group needed to get moving. Gently she urged her horse forward to the front, glancing back at Tobias, who had the reins of the horses pulling the wagon.
"We'd best get moving. I'll take the lead." Coming into all of this Fiona hadn't imagined herself as much of a leader, and while she still didn't, she was becoming at least a little more comfortable with the group. It was a rather great departure from working alone as she was more accustomed to, but so far she didn't mind.
Fiona led them at a steady pace out of the village and along the road, keeping a speed that wasn't exactly rushed, but still making good time all the same. The wind was cold and biting at times, but Fiona had dressed warmly enough to tolerate it, and she was a northern girl besides, used to conditions such as this. She occupied herself mostly by absently sharpening her blade with a whetstone, the motion nearly subconscious for her as her eyes stayed up, watching their surroundings. Her newly acquired blade, from the Anti-Paladin, required no sharpening as far as she could tell, and it stayed strapped to her saddlebags in a makeshift sheathe, but her lighter sword had seen a fair amount of use, and wore down like any other common blade. Considering the amount of danger she'd faced the day before, it seemed wise to be as prepared as possible. | 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. |
822 | 13 | 258 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh raised an eyebrow and gave a quizzical expression towards Sana as she took up the knight as her scout after he had volunteered. He was aware that the man was an excellent rider, and had no ill opinions of him as of yet. Aside from that, he felt some strange ire rising up inside of him. It seemed as though jealous thoughts were perverting his mind, filling him with ire.
That wasn't even the half of it. She mentioned to the thief how they would speak tonight. His reaction to that was confused, to say the least.
He looked to Sana upon her passing by him and made eye contact. He didn't even attempt a smile. He kept an odd quizzical expression on his face as she passed him. When she appeared to smile, Hugh's eyes drifted away off past her. It was more than obvious how forced the smile was and he wasn't inclined to acknowledge it, letting his face become straight and emotionless.
Hugh seemed to stare off for awhile, confusion, sadness, anger, and jealousy filling him. The only way he could react was sitting in his saddle completely calm, with bleak eyes. Why had she given such a natural smile to everyone else? Why was it so forced towards him? What was this bitter feeling building inside him?
His focus was completely off as he let the horse lead him along with the wagon after Fiona confirming they had gone far enough ahead of them and had taken the lead.
"Off we gooo." He muttered. He wasn't all to enthusiastic, almost feeling like turning his horse around right then and there and going back to the Inn. Maybe he could take care of Arianna himself, but what would he do? A father figure and no mother figure? He dismissed the thought and maintained his trajectory, riding along next to the wagon.
He kicked Rodger's sides just a little bit and caught up with the horses leading the wagon, staying beside them and within earshot of Fionna and Tobias. He hadn't much to say, his head filled with too much to handle as it was. | 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. |
823 | 13 | 259 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana kept pushing forward, driving her horse further and further down the path; her cloak whipping in the wind as the chill in the air stung her exposed skin but she didn't care. She was too lost in thought for the elements to register to her senses. The last twenty-four hours had sent her world spinning out of control and she was unable to grasp on how to handle the emotions that were swirling through her. It seemed to drag back to a place she had thought long put behind her, that same feeling of helplessness that had driven her away from the family she had known so very long ago.
Watching Hugh nearly bleed out the previous morning had brought out a wrath in her that she had never thought possible. A brutality that scared her as much as the thought of losing him did. Her mind flashed with the memory of the rage that boiled in her blood when she stared down those that had hurt him and it sent a chill down her spine. She never wanted to feel that type of desperation again and though she felt remorse for the harsh death she had caused by her bare hands, she knew that if any where to harm him in such a manner again she would not hesitate to repeat such again.
That alone would have driven her into cold demeanour she was in but the days harshness had not ended there. At the slavers encampment she had found her father there, tied to a post and his back split open again and again by the whip of the slaver she had fought. His words rang still in her ears that her family was gone, echoed by his last breath before his eyes closed to never open again. The loss stung in a way she had never imagined and there was no condolences for the daughter of a gypsy.
Finding sweet Ariana had helped to break the darkness that was beginning to consume her, yet it was only for a short time. The seeming peace broken by the filth that chased them down on his hound of hell. Sana had lost so much in a single moment she had foolishly stood her ground alone against such a foe and nearly lost her own life in the process. Her body still ached from the night before, her chest being crushed and her back breaking. She had been healed but remnants of the damaged nerves remained, perhaps they always would.
Her world had spun and turned out of control, flipped upside down and she had been left on the sidelines to watch the man she adored face the Anti-Paladin with the others, fear welling back up within her that the same would happen to them that happened to her. Coaxing from one she did not know gave her enough willpower to sing. She had thought nothing would come from it but something had changed and an ability that had laid dormant for her entire life broke free and came to fruition.
Her mind flashed to Hugh after the battle and though he did not know the details of her father's death, no condolence came from him for her loss. No acknowledgement came from his lips of her change. He knew her songs well and knew she could not cast and yet not a word was spoken. Both she had chalked up to the excitement of battle and the late hour of the day but it still stung that she had gone through so much and not a word was whispered.
Adding to all this was not so much Ariana, because the child brought a smile to her features and warmed her heart, but the implications of her presence complicated matters. Hugh had been happier than Sana had ever remembered seeing him since the appearance of the little one and that brought joy to Sanas heart but it also scared her. Her single biggest fear since she had learned of Hughs loss had been that she would end up being nothing more than a replacement wife and mother; it was a concern Hugh had been made aware of so long ago and one he promised that would never occur. Yet to Sana it felt as if it could very well happen now.
Ariana was a Rawn, so no matter what happened Sana felt the child was her responsibility but what would happen between her and Hugh because of the entire situation? They had never spoken of marriage nor children, only enjoying each other presence and living life as much as they could. Sana cared deeply for Hugh, he was her only love though she had never spoken the words, and though she thought Hugh felt the same of her he had never spoken the words either. Sana had wanted to tell him for sometime but had never wanted to push him to feel he needed to say them just because she had so she had waited. Perhaps she had waited too long?
Sighing deeply she pulled back on the reins and brought Epona to a steady trot. She knew Hugh did not know what was going through her mind but it stung that she had been through so much that he did know of and her emotional change was so obvious; yet he still offered no comfort when she was around him or even a single question. Those that had just met her, who knew nothing about her, knew something was off about her. The man that adored her did not? Where did that leave her?
Taking a deep breath she pulled the hood of her mantle down further to cover her melancholy expression and continued on, trying to focus on her surroundings and the path that lay before her. Attempting to push the turmoil swirling through her out of her mind or at least burying it deep within but it was difficult. How could she speak to Hugh about these feelings if he didn't seem to even acknowledge the change. The look on his face when she left hurt, she had wished he had spoken up, said anything but he looked away from her. Perhaps he was just clueless to the entire situation but if that was the case, what then? She did not know and it caused dread to knot up in the pit of her stomach for when dusk approached. Would it be another evening of silence?
Groaning slightly, she glanced over towards her travel companion for this part of the journey before looking away and back towards the road. Perhaps she should say something, try to be polite but she didn't seem to be able to muster such pleasantries right then. | 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. |
824 | 13 | 260 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix’s eyes darted from tree to rock to shrub. He cocked his head like an owl’s, making sure to study every inch of the surrounding. Even as his mighty war horse slowed to match Sana’s, his bouncing golden gaze did not cease.
His mind was blank, and it was cool and refreshing. The cold embrace of work took over, and sent a fresh chill throughout his body, like iced water on a hot day. The busy body after all, kept a clear mind. Then a groan clattered into his helmet’s ear holes and bounced around until it perked his ears.
He turned his head over to Sana, just in time to catch a glance in his direction from her. The warmth of thought started to leak into his cold calculated mind set on work, and it nearly brought a frown to his mouth.
“The sighing breath whispers a full mind,” Derrix stated simply, as if ripping his phrase from an old book, “a full mind has no room for new observations, are you having any trouble?” | 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 |
825 | 13 | 261 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana pursed her lips slightly as she sat there, her back straight and her expression stoic at best; Derrix words coming to her ears and causing a tug in her heart. Even one who nothing of her could tell her mind was swarming with issue and yet Hugh seemed obvious. It caused the pain to sting like salt in an open wound.
"Yes," Sana replied in a morose tone as they continued down the path. She was not sure what to say, she did not know the man so why would she open up to him? Even though she did not know the rest of the group well she half wished that either Fiona or Vaeri were there with her; they at least knew of her father's passing, so she would have something to open up about.
Saunas thoughts drifted to her father and what he had said, about the rest of her family being gone. To her that meant her mother and her sister Ramara had also perished. This added to the turmoil going through her heart. Especially the thought of Ramara, someone she had loved so deeply and cherished; one she would never see again. Sighing as they road she managed to nod slightly through the pain, steeling her features and her emotions before she attempted to speak.
"Thinking of ones I have lost recently, among other things," she managed to say before going silent once again. | 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. |
826 | 13 | 262 | 914 | 1,884 | “Loss is never easy to cope with,” Derrix said dryly, looking back at the surrounding environment and sucking in a deep breath, as if it wasn’t going to be just a puff of lavender.
“Learn from the flower,” Derrix sighed, pulling old sayings into his mind wishing his books were at his nose as he spoke, “we enjoy its sight, but mourn its withers. However, should we feed the thought of it’s passing, we might forget its living. Focus on the having, not the losing, even if the flower is no longer. And remember that we should remember the pink of the pedals in spring and not the brown of the stem in winter.”
Derrix nearly crossed his eyes at his words, not knowing if the old proverbs were really helping. He coughed and nodded to himself, “you’re smart, I think you know what I’m getting at.”
He closed his mouth and refocused on his surroundings, making sure not a rustle or twitch missed his scouting gaze. | 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 |
827 | 13 | 263 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana rose a slender brow as the man began to speak, he seemed to like to speak with a flowery way. She sat there as they cantered along the path, keeping an eye out on their surroundings but taking in what he said and thinking about it for a moment before she decided to speak once again.
"Loss in the winter is expected, it is prepared for, braced for and for some even longed for." she asked as she pulled the hood of her mantle back and let it fall around her shoulders. Turning to look at him and only seeing his eyes through the slit of the helmet.
"And what does one do when the flower is burnt to ash in the Summer of its life?" she asked before looking away once again. She wasn't really expecting an answer nor was she wanting one if she was truthful with herself. Death happened, she knew that and in time the pain lessened either from the simple dullness that time brought about or from finding something that helped to heal the wounds of loss. Fresh wounds though needed to be open to breath otherwise they would never heal, though sadly it was not a way that she practiced. | 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. |
828 | 13 | 264 | 914 | 1,884 | “Remember the pink,” Derrix reiterated. He looked over to his scouting partner. Her covered appearance made him sorta feel he was talking to a forest monk or some pilgrim of sorts, which never was a bad way to spend time. She reminded him of someone he once knew, an old fellow who used to walk the many woods surrounding his home town. The two would ask questions to each other, and sometimes spend days meditating on the meaning of the answer or even question, and other days they would never even answer the question. Sometimes bliss was enough.
Derrix smiled behind his helmet at the memories and turned his head away from Sana. | 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 |
829 | 13 | 265 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana pulled the hood of her mantle up slowly, tucking back her hair as she did; the wind and chill in the air had become noticeable when she pulled her hood back and with everything else swirling through her mind it was taking what was normally a very pleasant experience for her and making it less than so. Glancing over towards Derrix out of the corner of eyes she allowed a thin lined smirk form on her lips.
"One who is colorblind cannot enjoy the pink," she retorted with a slight upswing to her voice before looking away once again. Though the tit for tat that they seemed to be having was not giving her any true answers to what to do it was at least pushing her problems to the back of her mind and giving her something else to focus on. Sometimes that was all it took to come up with a solution. The solution had not presented itself as of yet but for the time being a cleared mind was a much needed improvement to the turmoil she was currently being plagued with. | 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. |
830 | 13 | 266 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix frowned, not expecting such a question, “the reasoning behind the analogy remains the same. Every event is only a memory of what we choose to remember about it, and therefore our displeasures are more in our control than we realize. Should we choose to allow ourselves to be consumed with negative thoughts, our emotions will also be consumed with negativity and utmost displeasure, that can likewise be remedied by switching our thoughts to positive matters, and in turn our emotions will follow.”
“Of course, I say these things as if they are easy, Derrix added quickly, looking back to his revealed companion. At a quick glance, she almost even looked familiar, but such a phantom image was dissolved quickly, leaving only an itch in his thoughts, not able to put his finger on it. | 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 |
831 | 13 | 267 | 54 | 1,340 | Thoughts and feelings are two different monsters, Sana said as she sat there, reaching up and patting Epona a moment to encourage her on. "Even when the thoughts of hardships and negativity are pushed away or even forgotten the pain can remain. Like the phantom feeling of a limb that was lost long ago," she added before taking a breath, letting the cool air enter her senses.
"One cannot seek logic in the chambers of the heart," Sana said lightly as she glanced over towards him. "If we could there would be no need for such discussions."
Taking a moment and deciding to change the subject. "I know why I cover my features but why do you cover yours?" she asked motioning towards his helmet. "Or is the answer the obvious? Just in case of attack." | 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. |
832 | 13 | 268 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix opened his mouth to retort her observation, but she had already changed the subject, so he felt it wise to drop it. He tapped his helmet once with the brim of his shield since his hands were full, “protection.”
“And your hood?” Derrix reciprocated the question. | 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 |
833 | 13 | 269 | 54 | 1,340 | So the obvious, Sana chuckled slightly to his answer, shaking her head a bit with the response. "As for me, multiple reasons. The most obvious is the chill in the air. I suppose the second clearest option is to keep expressions hidden when I chose, so my own type of protection," she said before she rose a thin brow, it arching as she glanced towards him out of the corner of her eye.
"I wonder if I need the protection right now," she mused out loud before continuing on. "Final is this," she said as she reached up to the collar of her shirt and pulled it to the side a bit to reveal the fresh burns that dotted from one side of her chin, down her neck and disappeared under her shirt over her shoulder and down her back. They looked to have been healed somewhat but as if what ever magic used to heal them had been faulty or even just unfinished. The sister had tried her best the night before but Sana had so much damage, the burns were the last to be tended to and as a result, there was just nothing left the nun could do other than seal them and stop infection. Sana could handle the scars, she had never been one to care about her appearance. Sadly though Sana would have to learn to live with one other element of the burn that had not been tended to, the pain of them remained.
Lowering her hand, she adjusted her collar and straightened the hood of her mantle slightly. "Having to get used to these may take a while," she said in a soft voice as she took a hold of the reigns once again. | 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. |
834 | 13 | 270 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix looked over at her burns and his eyes flickered like candles behind his helmet’s visor, “whether or not you think you need to hide expressions from me is up to you, either way, I won’t judge.”
“As for physical scars,” he said plainly, as if he had thought it over many times, “I like to think everyone has them, to the point there isn’t much use in hiding them.” He paused for a moment and shook his head, “you know what I mean.” | 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 |
835 | 13 | 271 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana laughed slightly at his words, not towards him but at the situation in general. 'Yes, I know," she said in a light hearted voice, the truly first one she had spoken with in sometime. "The scars don't bother me, the pain will take sometime to adjust to. That or perhaps I will get lucky enough and it will snow," she said looking up at the clouds that had been rolling in since morning. They grew darker and darker as each moment passed, the sun now being completely blocked out by them and a shadow fell over the lands.
"Granted, my luck hasn't exactly been in my favor as of late," she said looking back towards the path that lay before them. Rain was coming, she just hoped it wouldn't last long. Finding a camp site was one thing, finding a place to stay dry in over night was another. Sana had a tent and she figured some others did but she doubted each person had one and then there were the horses to think about as well. | 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. |
836 | 13 | 272 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh had gotten himself in a comfortable position in the wagon with his hood up and his head resting against the backs of driver's seats Zam was resting in her hidey hole moaning in pain thanks to a stomach ache from eating to much "Told You Not To Eat So Much Zam" Mortosh said as he looked down into the pocket that Zam resided in she just looked up at him and Said "Fuck Off Mort" "Languages Zam You May Be Two Hundred Years Old But That Does Not Mean You Can Use That Kind Of Language With Me" Zam just nodded her head in disinterest this is not the first time that Mortosh has criticized her for swearing
"Do You Think You Can Fly And Tell Tobias Something For Me?" "Not the flying but i can tell him but you will just have lift me up to him" Mortosh Nodded his head and took Zam and gently placed her Tobias's Shoulder "Uh Tobias was it? Uh Mortosh says he can take over driving the wagon during the nights for he doesn't need sleep" Zam explained to the twitchy thief "Also would you mind if i rest here? it get a bit stuffy in Mortosh's Pocket" | 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 |
837 | 13 | 273 | 1,533 | 1,707 | The sun rises, the sun set and is replaced by the moon which follows suit. The days, seasons... Time goes on. Melvus recognized the hallowing from the day before, he hadn't realized it at the time, he still doesn't know who it originated from. It was the sound of loss, he had heard it enough while he fought for Aesil to know what it was. It could've very well been a villager... But it ran the risk of being one of his companions, that would be most troubling. Who would they have lost? And why did I fail to recognize it sooner...
The vagabond had already finished his meal and made his way outside of the establishment, the other members of their group seemed to be ready to leave the village and finally set out to find the rest of the ingredients which may save the children from their cinder sickness, before they burned at least. We have acquired the hellhound’s fang… That’s one item we will not need to bother with... Melvus had his list from the shop, still tucked away in his cloak.
Tear of Eyewing
Feather of Pegasus
Claw of Hellhound
Whisker of Gnoll
Blood of Mist Dragon
The wizard crossed the fang off of the list. Hmm… Sana likely has already mapped out which items we’ll acquire and where- His thoughts were interrupted by the innkeeper. The man grabbed Melvus’ hand and shook it furiously in thanks for his service to the village so far. Before he could reply the man was onto the next party-member. He took notice of the wagon after Sana had left. Everything seems to be happening so fast… Not a chance to ask about things… I suppose I’ll go where the wind takes me… That was about when he noticed the wind, his cloak and robes staving off the cold but his face was uncovered.
Stifling a yawn he found his horse, tied to a post near the inn. He walked the beast to the simple, yet large cart and tied it to one of the back rails on the cart. He then climbed aboard, the man, Tobias, took the reins of the cart and as everyone mounted and climbed they set off. It didn’t take long for Melvus to feel drowsy, but he didn’t want to fall asleep, he rather wanted to speak with his companions and get to know them better - they should know each other if they’re going to fight alongside one another. Sitting on the bench near the front of the cart, his horse trotting along behind, Melvus spoke up. “Vaeri, was it? An elf assisting humans? I mean no disrespect, I’m simply curious.” | Removed |
838 | 13 | 274 | 2,489 | 654 | Of course, of course, my dear lady elf, Tobias responded as Vaeri sat down next to him. "Where to? Shall we visit the emerald woods of the far east, where fairies dance in the twilight? Or the snowy plains of the north, where it is said the skies themselves may nightly open their veins for our wonder? Shall I esquire you to some far southern desert, and dress you as an exotic princess in ill-gotten silks and jewels? Or perhaps the sapphire seas, where I will outwit sirens and slay great leviathans in your honor?" The thief chuckled. "Sorry. City girls love that shit."
Tobias spurred to horses to follow Fiona, and the journey was begun. The rogue was no great traveler - he had never felt the calling of the lone road in his bones. Over the past week, however, he'd found an antidote to the boredom of the road; namely, talking Fiona's ear off. With the rest of the party all around, it seemed only fair that they share in the diatribe. Maybe company was good for something, he thought brightly.
"So. Did anyone catch horse guy's name? He kinda freaks me out. Like he's not telling us something. I bet he's a secret spy - maybe he's working for the mist dragon? What even is a mist dragon? Is it a dragon that lives in the mist? What happens to it on dry days, then? Or maybe it's a dragon made of mist? But then how would we kill it? It's probably just a dragon the color of mist - people are always so poetic about monsters, they just didn't want to call it 'light blue-gray dragon'. I spoke to a dragon once, you know. It was while I was burglarizing his horde - standard adventures for as enterprising a thief as myself. He was really a pretty charming fellow, aside from trying to eat me. Turns out, the trick with dragons is to appeal to their ego - they're hugely narcissistic creatures, naturally. Not that you'd know anything about that. So, what happened to the kid? We should have brought her. I could have raised her with good, wholesome virtues, like selfishness! I could have taught her how to climb things, lie to people, steal things, Vaeri could have taught her forest magic, Hanzo could show her his weird punchy-thing, Fiona could show her which end of the sword is the pointy one, Hugh could do... something... When's lunch? I knew I should have taken more food with me. I could get used to that, just lining up and choosing what free food I want to eat. What's that called? A buff-et? Maybe after we become rich and famous adventurers, kings and queens will invite us to buff-ets at their palaces. I love palaces. Reminds me of the time I stole an evil king's golden emerald-studded crown by pretending to be a fortune teller! Ah, memories."
The fairy flapped up and brought a message to the thief. "Oh. Tell our dearly departed friend that he most certainly may drive the cart, just so long as he promises not to eat my brain. Or any part of me. And, uh... sure, you can nap up here if you want, little... thing." | 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 |
839 | 13 | 275 | 1,533 | 1,707 | Melvus wasn’t sure if the elf heard him over the driver’s rant. Something about dragons and thieving, at any rate - the wizard didn’t understand the man. “I too have met a dragon, it didn’t try to eat me. Well.. not me in particular - it was a village. That village burned though… there wasn’t much I could do, frankly I’m not accustomed to fighting dragons. But yes, I did briefly speak to him, rather narcissistic, everything seemed to be about himself and anything I said, he didn’t seem to hear or care about. Though that could be that my voice couldn’t really overpower his.” He took a breath, assuming that he may ask the elf again in the future if she had indeed not heard him. “But yes, a mist dragon is made of mist. We may want to find some water-breathing potions or something similar before we face it - it could easily drown us.” | Removed |
840 | 13 | 276 | 290 | 1,247 | I Am a Petal Answered Zam who was a bit miffed at Tobias for thinking that Mortosh would attempt to his brain "You don't have to worry about that Mortosh wouldn't do that even if he could i don't think you notice but he lacks a lower jaw" she said before she stood up and put her ear against Tobias's head tapped on it then pulled back and said with a cheeky-grin "Besides it sounds to me like there isn't much there for him to eat"
she then laid back down on Tobias's shoulder with grin "Does either of you have an interesting story to tell?" | 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 |
841 | 13 | 277 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix looked up at the sky and strained his eyes, “I wish it would snow too.”
He looked down at the white Charroux, whose ears twitched at the moist air forming. Naturally he sucked in a breath to test the air himself, but of course all he retrieved was thick lavender. His nose tickled and he frowned, lifting his great helmet up over his chin and resting it on the bridge of his nose as he let out a sudden sneeze. His nose wiggled at the freedom and as the air rushed back into his nostrils after the sneeze, the rich flavor of rain danced in his senses. | 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 |
842 | 13 | 278 | 54 | 1,340 | Bless you, Sana said in a kind voice as he sneezed, glancing towards him for a moment before looking away again. They had been traveling a good part of the day already, passing the time with conversation and moments of silence. It had not been a bad experience and thankfully other than the incoming storm it seemed that things were rather quiet. Taking a breath, Sana noticed the smell of burning and turned her head; seeing a a white tower of smoke well off in the distance and slightly behind them. It was left over from the fire she had started the day before, looking like it had burned out finally. They were now down wind of the remnants of the fire so the scent of ash swirled with the on coming rain.
"Guess we are about half way to our goal for the day," she commented as she pulled back in the reins and brought Epona to a halt in the middle of the road. Reaching back she dug through her pack that she had attached to the rear of her saddle for a few moments before righting herself once again. Pulling out a few items she extended some dried meats to Derrix. "Might not be a bad idea to eat a little something as we continue," she said in a kind voice. | 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. |
843 | 13 | 279 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix lifted his helmet completely off and rested it on his lap. He blinked his golden eyes a few times, adjusting to the wider and brighter view that was previously restricted by his helmet's visor. He hooked his shield onto a metal hook on the saddle, resting his shield arm as he extended to receive Sana’s gift. He popped the food into his mouth and quickly chewed it before swallowing. The salt seasoned his dry mouth, and gave a kick to his slowly emptying stomach.
“Thank you,” he contently nodded. He reached back, straining his shoulder as he reached into a leather bag tied to the rump of Charroux. He pulled out a skin of water and took a shallow swing of still cold liquid before extending it to Sana silently. | 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 |
844 | 13 | 280 | 1,451 | 685 | Oh, please don't ask him to tell a story, Fiona groaned from the front, glancing back at the little thing, the Petal as she called herself, on Tobias. "You have no idea what you're in for." She didn't think she would be at first, but Fiona had actually gotten used to the thief's near constant talking on the road. Only the first few days did Fiona feel like she was required to say something in return. At some point, she began to figure it was just a mechanism of his, a reflex that kicked in when traveling, and many other times. Somehow, it had stopped bothering her.
"We'll be camping for the nights, so no wagon driving in the dark. Safer that way, and even if some of us don't need rest, the horses do." Hopefully Sana and Derrix would find a decent place for them, before they reached the next village.
Glancing over at Hugh, off to the side and keeping to himself, Fiona opened one of her packs and retrieved the best-looking apple she could find, of the few she'd grabbed. Trotting her horse slowly over to arm's reach of Hugh, she pulled up alongside him, holding out the apple in her hand.
"Hungry?" She'd noticed his... gloomy, perhaps it could be called, demeanor, and since the others seemed to be making conversation well enough on the wagon, she thought it would be prudent to check on him. "You know, if you're worried about Sana, I'm sure she'll be fine. You two have good horses, and she's very capable, as is Derrix." The invitation to speak his mind to her was left unsaid, but there all the same. Again Fiona had no desire to pry where she wasn't wanted, but she was nothing if not a friend and listener, especially to those she suspected needed one. | 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. |
845 | 13 | 281 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana watched him remove his helmet, for the first time taking in his appearance. He looked nothing like anyone she had dealt with in the past but that did not matter to her. One in the group she looked at as a friend and he perhaps was the oddest looking out of all of them. Thinking back to the group, she altered her opinion some what. Perhaps not the oddest but surely one of the more different looking characters in their band of adventurers. She nodded slightly to his thanks as he took the food and ate it quickly.
"Of course," she said as she sat there before taking the water skin from him and rising it up slightly in thanks. "And thank you," she said in a grateful voice before she took a drink, letting the cool liquid wash over her palate before lowering it once again and handing it back over to him. She pressed her heels into Epona and continued on her way; one hand on the gathered reins and the other holding her own food, taking small bites here and there as they traveled.
"So, where do you come from? If I am not prying by asking," she inquired. He seemed to be an interesting person on some level and since they would be traveling together through out this adventure she wanted to learn a little more about the one that rode next to 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. |
846 | 13 | 282 | 914 | 1,884 | “You’re most welcome,” He smiled.
As the horses started to move once more, Derrix slipped his thick helmet back on, immediately missing the smell of the rain. He licked his tongue across his teeth, taking in the last of the salt. He looked over at Sana as she questioned his origin.
“A very far far away land,” Derrix said with a hollow voice, “and you? Do you come from a place of snow?” | 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 |
847 | 13 | 283 | 54 | 1,340 | Well isn't that mysterious, Sana said with a gentle voice and then shrugged lightly. "As far as where I come from, I don't know," she answered as she thought back to her childhood. "I come from a roaming troop of gypsy known as The Rawn," she admitted.
"We traveled from town to town and city to city for as far back as I can remember. Sometimes we would be where the snow fell deep and the winds cut through to your bone. Other times we would be where the sands ripped through your skin as it burned due to the heat. We never stayed in one place too long. My kind have never been looked at favorably by what is known as civilized society," she said as she remembered many times when her family was driven out of a city just for their mere presence.
It did not make for the most stable of conditions to grow up in but it was one that she found exciting as a child. That was until she educated herself enough to know what her place in the troop was to be and then it seemed that no matter how far they traveled or what sights they saw she was imprisoned to a life that would never be truly free.
"I left that life long ago, but it is odd how no matter how far one travels they always seem to come back to where life decided long ago they should be," she added in a slightly somber tone.
"So, man from a land far far away, what brings you so far from it?" she inquired as they pressed on. | 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. |
848 | 13 | 284 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix nodded carefully at Sana’s words, taking in what she had to say, up until she asked how he ended up here. A small laugh so uncommon to Derrix rippled from his throat, “sometimes I wonder the same thing. I suppose the best way to put it is that I got the short end of a long stick, and coincidentally it got me thrusted so far from home.”
“Sometimes I feel homesick, but as you put it, life has our journey mapped out for us,” Derrix said shifting his voice from a light and thoughtful tone to a concluding baritone, “besides, for now my only concern is completing my duties to this quest.” | 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 |
849 | 13 | 285 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana nodded in understanding, not so much understanding is past or what brought him there but perhaps a little bit of clarity to who he was; which seemed to her to be a rather complicated person but then again, weren't most if you took long enough to get to know them.
"That is does," she remarked in reference to life having a mapped out path for us. "No matter what we wish of it, it seems." Rising a brow to his words that followed she looked over towards him. "Being focused on the current task can be a wise thing but have it be your only concern? Does that not leave you feeling empty at the end of a task before another is presented to you? A gap in ones very existence? Nothing to bridge one task to the next? What do you do then?" she asked slightly perplexed.
Sana had lived her life since she left her troop wandering from place to place, with not much guidance or purpose other than to live and enjoy life but for her that had been enough. The people she had met, the adventures she had had, they all contributed to who she had become; as much as those that raised her, perhaps even more. Even though her main concern had been at the time to finish a task, each one was woven together with another by looking forward to the travels in between and seeing something new. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to only have one concern at a time, perhaps it was liberating not to have focus on more than one thing at a time. | 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. |
850 | 13 | 286 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix frowned and looked at Sana, “I’m homesick.”
“Between my tasks I wait to go home,” his voice had changed back to one of thought, “and if I can help as many people as I can before I rest by the fires of my homestead and feel the comfort of my own bed, so be it, all will be better for it.” | 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 |
851 | 13 | 287 | 54 | 1,340 | I can't pretend to know what that feels like, Sana admitted. She never truly had a home or a place like one. Growing up she traveled and at nights they slept in wagons and even the wagons were like a house on wheels she had left that life a long time ago. There were moments where she longed for the sound of a violin and times she missed certain members of her family she had not seen in so many years but she wouldn't call that homesick by any stretch of the imagination.
"What is your homeland like?" she asked, slightly intrigued to what it was like since it was somewhere she had not ventured to before in her life. | 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. |
852 | 13 | 288 | 677 | 1,382 | Perhaps we may find the crystal coasts of the seas to the North. Vaeri said, playing along with his persona of being a idealized hero who did this sort of adventuring regularly. "Or find a magical grove filled with creatures you only hear of in legend that can teach you the secrets of nature. Or we will come upon a dark cave containing a savage hydra. At first you would be nearly overwhelmed by the many heads, but you soon figure out that by slicing off each of the heads and burning the stumps that the beast will fall. The lead is yours, Sir Tobias." Vaeri slyly smiled when Tobias apologized and mentioned that city girls loved his romanticized words of high adventure and treasure.
Patiently, she waited for Tobias to finish his improvised brick of questions before turning back to answer Melvus' question. "Is it really so odd for me to be helping out humans? I am a woman of faith, our races do not matter to me. A person in need is one deserving of my aid." Vaeri paused for a moment before continuing.
"Perhaps you were asking about the reason I am even traveling. I'm on a mission from god. I'm looking for a man with two right hands." Vaeri raised both her hands in the air for emphasis. "My goddess commanded me to go out and find him. And so I have been for the past 3 decades. I hope that answers your question satisfactorily." Vaeri turned around to face Tobias again, taking a deep breath.
"And for you, the man on the white steed is named Derrix Nightbane Herchiv. I had an extended conversation with him last night. He appears to be a secretive man, but one with a deep understanding of spirituality. I do not believe he is concealing anything malicious, but that is a thing we can never really know. He does not look the type to share his past. I am almost certain he has no connection whatsoever to any dragons we may come across. I myself do not know what a Mist Dragon is, but Melvus' definition sounds correct. Most dragons are classified by their color whether it is a plain color like red or a metallic one like bronze, so your point about calling it a light blue-grey dragon is moot. If you had the chance to talk to the dragon, I believe you would be robbing the dragon, but no doubt you managed to escape his terrible breath attacks with cunning on your part, narrowing avoiding it's gaping maw with plenty of its gold in hand. Perhaps a few precious gemstones? However, I will keep your advice in mind if I meet another dragon on my travels. I believe Sana left Arianna with Sister Agnes while we're traveling. After all, it will be dangerous, and no place for a young girl like her. I would rather not think about a youngling getting injured or killed because of our carelessness. I am sure you would be a caring parent, but I doubt that most others would want such virtues imprinted on her. Although I wish I were so talented as to be able to teach people arcane magic, I lack the head for it. My magic is divine in nature, not well, natural. I'd only be able to mentor one with a faith like mine." Vaeri paused for only a moment to take a breath.
"I would guess that lunch is in about 4 or 5 hours. I do not know your term for it, but we have a similar thing in my village that we called vasa'loki. It translates roughly to 'A serpent of food.' They are great on occasion, but it gets old and wasteful if done too often. I think kings and queens simply have their servants prepare a meal of what they want to eat instead of creating long lines of food they won't eat all themselves. I find palaces too stony for my taste. I prefer to stand on and be surrounded by earth and flora, not cut rocks. I assume the king's crown contained a magical gem that unjustly gave him the power to rule, and by taking it, you freed the people from his tyrannical grasp. Such would only be fitting of a man of your caliber. Anything else you would wish to discuss, Sir Tobias?" | 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. |
853 | 13 | 289 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh was deep in thought, his pipe still firmly placed in his mouth while he puffed away at it. His retreat from reality was suddenly interrupted by the presence of Fiona, the warrior woman. He looked up, nodding in acknowledgement of her offer.
He scratched his chin for a moment, then reached out his hand, stretching it out as much as was required. "Thank you!" He plucked it from her hand and bit into it. "Delicious."
She then granted him some comforting words, which would fall short, as he wasn't worried about her safety. He was perplexed by how she was seemingly ignoring him. He hadn't any idea, but he kept mulling it over in his head. "It's not her safety." He sighed, "I'm just confused why she didn't speak to me. Barely even acknowledged me." He said it all in a rather glum tone, monotonous and depressing sounding.
With a quick thought, he took his pipe from his mouth and reached it over to Fiona, "Would you like some? It's good tobacco!" He said with a friendly smile. It was not completely forced, but his thoughts were definitely disturbing him for the moment.
Meanwhile, he would take small bites from the apple as he waited for her response to his offer. | 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. |
854 | 13 | 290 | 1,533 | 1,707 | So she did hear me... “A mission from god, you say? To find a man with two right hands? That does seem rather interesting… I should like to see this man… Perhaps inquire about his dual appendages - are they both on his right side? Or are both of his thumbs on the left? Speaking of which, does he also have a left hand?” He took a breath, hoping that he wasn’t prying too much, it could probably be seen on his face. “Though you may not have been provided all of this information....” He thought for a moment, about nothing in particular, but he thought none the less. “I, myself, have been searching for my family for a long time…”
The wizard felt that one who traveled so much could perhaps shed some light on their whereabouts. “About fifteen years ago my entire village disappeared with the exception of myself, there may have been others, but if there were, they were gone before I took notice of them… I’ve been searching ever since. Losing them… it changed me… I usually am not the type to go on talking like this… But I thought I’d ask if you could possibly have seen anything like this before? In your travels… An entire village, three-thousand people, disappearing overnight…” | Removed |
855 | 13 | 291 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona let a short "uh" escape her upon being offered the pipe, before she found herself reaching out to accept it, feeling for whatever reason that it would be rude to not accept. It was a habit of hers, really, being unable to politely refuse people that were trying to be kind. Taking the pipe, she puffed on it briefly, immediately revealing that she didn't make a habit of smoking by the way she coughed lightly, and then handed it back, a bit of an embarrassed smile in place on her lips.
"Thank you," she managed, taking a moment to collect herself, and give his response some thought. This was difficult ground to be treading on, unsure what would be too far to assume, too far to say. But it was obvious enough to her that he was in some kind of pain, and Sana clearly was, too. Fiona didn't have much experience with relationships; none of hers thus far had lasted all that long, nor did they have much adventure involved, given the lack of it in village life. She didn't know if she could help, but she could try.
"Well... she went through a lot yesterday. She told you, didn't she? After the fight with the Anti-Paladin?" Fiona didn't remember it perfectly, but she thought she'd seen the two of them converse after the fight. And they were together through the night, so surely he learned at some point what had happened to her. "I think it's understandable, given all that occurred, for her to be more preoccupied with other things than showing affection." Fiona had to figure that by now, however long they'd been together, that both knew that the other cared deeply, and didn't need constant acknowledgement and attention to prove that.
"On top of everything, she's had leading this group dumped in her lap, and she's doing her best with that. Most people would've quit after what happened yesterday, but obviously Sana's not most people." Fiona gazed out ahead a moment, clearing a few strands of red hair from her face when the wind pushed them in the way. "My guess... she needed some time to think about things. And if it's not too bold to suggest, I think it would be wise for you to have a conversation with her when you two get a chance."
She sighed softly. Discussing relationships wasn't really something she thought she'd be doing when she woke up that morning, but she did want to help. "You know... make sure she's okay. Talk about what you want to be doing. I'm just pretty sure that acting like everything's alright isn't going to make everything alright." Frankly, Fiona thought it was a bit selfish for him to be expecting acknowledgement and attention from Sana right now, when it was her world turned upside down yesterday. But she expected she didn't really have to say that. | 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. |
856 | 13 | 292 | 914 | 1,884 | “It is cold out by the mountains, warm inside the fiery hearths and homes, and trees dominate all but the central plains, where the field is as unending as the blue sky,” Derrix described contently, picturing it all in his head, and smelling the icy wind of the mountains that often pooled into the plains.
“The biggest and strongest horses are born there, and their wit and intelligence is unmatched as far as I’ve seen.” The man reached down and patted his white destrier, and the massive horse snorted in response, as if agreeing. | 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 |
857 | 13 | 293 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri turned towards her right, facing Melvus again so she could face him when she replied to his many questions.
"I was not told more, but I would imagine in place of left hand is a right one. As it stands, it is still a difficult thing to try hiding, if you were to attempt doing so." Vaeri took a few seconds to think about Melvus' own plight. "It does not sound familiar at all. I cannot even think of any religious tales about such an occurrence. If I were to guess about what happened, I would have to pin it on perhaps some outside arcane force. I have heard tales of arcane magic going awry in terrible ways. I am no scholar of such pursuits, so I may be showing my ignorance here." | 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. |
858 | 13 | 294 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana smiled softly as she listened to Derrix describe his homeland, it sounded like it was a truly beautiful place but then again she had seen many stunning lands in her travels. What made the description so much deeper than what was on the surface of the words was how he spoke about it. There was a certain love that floated about when he talked about it, and it helped her to understand, even if only a bit, what it meant to have a homeland. It was something Sana had never had but she could understand the draw. Perhaps his homeland to him was like her love of song and music. It was just something that the heart could beat to. Whether it be to never ending fields or a single note held to be caught on the wind. Perhaps home within the soul, not within the mind.
"It sounds lovely," she said in a kind voice. Even though Sana and Derrix hadn't spoken much about what was bothering her, the general conversation had been pleasant and it helped to put her more at ease. He was mysterious but underneath that mystery was a kindness. It was something she could appreciate.
"And yes, your steed seems to be truly remarkable. Though I have to wonder if that is the horse or its master," she said as she looked over towards him. "Perhaps a bit of both," she added before glancing around and taking note of a path off the side of the road. "Hrm, I wonder," she muttered to herself as she pulled on the reins and steered Epona towards the forest.
After a few minutes of following the path she stopped and her lips parted as a soft "wow," escaped her lips. There just beyond the sight of the road was a natural formed cave that seemed to be cut into the rock face not by wear of weather but formed by a single large oak that grew above two cliffs and its roots formed the top of the cave itself. The roots spanned over the top and grew down the side of the rock to the forest floor where they met a small pond of water at the base. The cave floor itself was covered with a bed of lush green clovers.
"I think this will do for the evening," she said as she looked over towards Derrix. "What do you think?" she asked, wanting his input. The path was not as wide as the road but it was enough for the wagon to get through if they were careful and the cave opening was large enough for a nice sized camp beneath the roots of the tree. | 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. |
859 | 13 | 295 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias could only stare as the elf sitting next to him deliberately, point by point, responded to every part of his diatribe. Even after she finished, he remained silent for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. That was new.
Fortunately, the conversation moved on without him for a moment, allowing the thief to adjust. Reaching into his pack, Tobias pulled out a red apple he'd saved from breakfast and took a loud bite of it, speaking with his mouth still full. "Sounds to me like a wizard did it," he said to Melvus. "Or demons. Zombies? Ancient curses? Or, hey, maybe they all went on holiday and you missed the memo? You should head back and check. This apple sucks. I knew a guy with that once, Vaeri - wait, no, it was two right feet. Much more normal. He could barely walk, though - tripped and fell in a well one day. Guards fished him out. Shame, kid had the fastest fingers of anyone I ever met, not counting me. Is someone smoking? Smells like home. Just add manure, garbage, and bodies and I'll be off on a nostalgia trip."
The thief was silent for a moment - long enough to hear snatches of the conversation between Hugh and Fiona. He cut in wryly, "I dunno, Hugh, not all men have a woman who'll completely throw out all her moral reasoning and principles and start acting batshit violent because their sweetheart got stabbed up. You're a lucky guy. Or, you know, maybe not. Depends on how you look at it. In any case, I'd be more than happy to assist if you need help wooing the fair maiden. You may be gruff, stern, and a little scary, but Tobias'll have you a good old-fashioned lover boy in no time."
Tobias took another bite of the apple, holding the reins with one hand and humming to himself as he looked down the road. | 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 |
860 | 13 | 296 | 677 | 1,382 | Would a man with two right feet not have learned how to handle his deformity since he's lived with it his whole life? Barring that, I believe he would use a walking stick to give himself the ability to maintain balance. Vaeri stared at Tobias, unable to hide the bemused on her face as he tried to console Big Brut Pally Hugh over his apparent issues with Sana. She had noticed her treating BBPH differently today than she had the day before, but the relationship issues of others was not something she made a habit of concerning herself with.
"So how about you, Sir Tobias? How did you end up traveling with a woman as young and spry as Fiona? Perhaps she is your protege, learning the art of noble thievery and adventuring from you?" Vaeri did the best she could to avoid laughing or smiling too wide as she said this. There was only so far she could take the charade before cracking after all. | 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. |
861 | 13 | 297 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix looked over the extremely convenient lush bedded cave and then back at Sana, “I advise we examine it closer. It looks comfortable to me, and in nature I can only assume I’m not the first to think so.”
The man trotted Charroux slowly up to it before swinging off his tall horse and tying his long lance to the saddle, palming the pommel of his sword instead. The moist air started to dew his metal armor as he slowly approached the cave. A slow rasp sounded as he released his ashen colored blade from it's trapping scabbard. | 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 |
862 | 13 | 298 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana nodded in agreement as she swung a leg over and slid down, her feet landing softly in the bed of clovers. Pulling the hood of her mantle back she undoing her bow from her back and nocked an arrow into place; keeping the tip of the arrow aimed low she approached the mouth of the cave. Her eyes darted about as she looked around, it seemed to go deep enough back before the clover bed stopped to be able to keep the group sheltered.
It kept going back as the green gave way to the grey and brown of pebbles and dirt. No sounds other than the dripping of water from the roots into the small pond seemed to echo through the space. Glancing up, Sana noticed that the roots seemed to be tightly wound together, letting no light break through.
"Well hopefully when the rain comes it will keep us dry," Sana said as she dropped her arrow back into its quiver. Looking back over to Derrix she pursed her lips some before shrugging. "Guess it is as good a place as any," she remarked before turning and slinging her bow back into place. Taking Eponas reins she led her over to the pond to get a drink.
"I can start gathering wood for a fire. Mind heading back to the main road and keeping an eye out for the rest? I'll yell if anything shows up," she said as she glanced over to him. "Or I can go wait and you can gather the wood, either works for me." | 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. |
863 | 13 | 299 | 914 | 1,884 | Derrix slid his sword back into its scabbard as the serenity of the cave surrendered to his senses. He pulled his helmet off, polluting the fine forest air with his lavender scent and teasing his golden eyes with the sight of the mystical area. Silently he walked past Sana and back to Charroux, thinking.
He sat the helmet on the horse’s saddle as he unhooked the lip of a bow holster strapped to the beasts rump, opposite of the supply bags. His nimble fingers quickly received a small composite recurved bow from the holster as well as a handful of arrows.
Derrix sucked in the forest air, inflating his lungs with it’s long sought after flavor, and hooked the bow around his shoulder before turning to Sana, “I’ll stay here and set things up, the group will recognize you before they do me.”
The man turned to his horse and nodded, “are you with me here or do you want to help the lady?”
The stallion snorted at Derrix and walked over to the small pond before dunking it’s large white head in with gluttonous vigor. The helmet balanced on the horse tumbled off onto the wet soil surrounding the water with a clank that caused the man to roll his eyes.
“Lazy,” Derrix said, his lips forming an unamused line. | 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 |
864 | 13 | 300 | 54 | 1,340 | “Very well, I will be back with the rest of the group,” she said before giving Epona a gentle pat. Turning she left her steed there at the cave with Derrix and began to walk back towards the main road; figuring Epona could use a rest from carrying her most of the day. Glancing up at the sky she sighed slightly, it was going to be a long and dreary evening but hopefully the morning would bring about a brighter day on many levels. Pulling the hood of her mantle up, she tucked loose strands of gold beneath it. Thunder rolled through the country side as she pressed through the forest, down the path that lead back to the main road. The wind whipping through the leaves as the chilled air was brought down from the atmosphere to the ground below; a shiver running through Sanas senses as she pulled her cloak tightly around her form.
As she reached the road she glanced around, it would be sometime before the main part of the group caught up with them. Looking towards a tree, she placed one foot in front of the other; making a quick sprint before she leapt; fingers reaching up and wrapping around the lower limb of a maple, her body arching to pull her around and up. Releasing her grasp she landed softly on the branch, the movement of leaves unnoticeable due to the winds already cutting through them. Sliding down the trunk of the tree she rested down on the branch, letting a leg dangle freely as she sat there and leaned back to get comfortable. It was as good a place as any to keep watch, allowing her a clear sight of the road without exposing her own presence.
Resting her head back, she watched the road; the wind kicking up the dust of the trail as the storm rolled in. A deep breath and she could taste the oncoming rain; it would be there before the rest of the group arrived unless they hurried their pace. Sana used this time alone to think about the past day and the events that occurred, attempting to figure out where her life would go from here. She knew no matter how much she thought on the subject it would not change the path set before her yet a blind path made for tense travels. Sighing deeply as her hands rested in her lap, gently fiddling with the lace of her corset she hoped for the best but prepared herself for the worst. There was nothing more she could do right then. | 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. |
865 | 13 | 301 | 914 | 1,884 | The golden eyes of Derrix watched Sana disappear on her way back to the main road. A leaf rustling wind broke his gaze, and he turned to watched a few green leaves flutter to the ground. A simple smile crossed his face and he turned to his horse, who had submerged the first half of its muzzle into the pond.
“Don’t work too hard,” Derrix humored before falling flat on his butt with a loud clank of metal. Between the lullabies of the birds, the serenity of the grove, and the lack of sleep, a numbing exhaustion shook his senses.
He shook off his metal gloves and stretched his bare and scarred fingers, letting the cool breeze of the storm rejuvenate them. Sleep was tempting, but Derrix quickly shook the very idea as quickly as it came. Truth be told, the man wished he could say to himself ‘I don't remember the last time I ever slept”, but he knew the exact day and hour, and it was no where close to where he was now in time.
He vaguely remembered the shock of sleep, and how it slowly envelops the body and mind until suddenly the eyes break open to a new day, almost as if magically traveling to a new dawn. Derrix remembered the tiny visions the sleeping mind would make to amuse the conscious and strike conversation in the morning. But mostly, he remembered why those type of nights were gone.
A frown captured his face and he groaned almost as silently as the wind to himself. He raised his hands and clasped them together, threading his fingers around each other until both his hands formed one big fist. With a grunt, he shifted onto his knees, and laid his forehead against his fists, and closed his eyes.
Derrix’s lips moved silently as he whispered very familiar words. As he whispered, a soft light began to form in the center of his clasped hands, like a baby ember ready to be nursed into a fire. With each breath he breathed from his whispered word onto his hand, the small light grew brighter and brighter, until eventually with a rush of wind and pulse of light, the light caught a white flame like a bonfire and spread down his arms and up his shoulders and neck, before surrounding his head in a brilliant glow.
As the final words were whispered, the light dissolved into nothingness and Derrix opened his golden eyes and unclasped his hands. All was the same, except for an abundance of new energy that coursed through the man, as if, he figured, he had a full night’s sleep.
“Time to gather wood,” Derrix quietly reminded himself as he slowly stood up, sliding his gauntlets back on. | 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 |
866 | 13 | 302 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh took the pipe from her hand, slightly amused by her lack of experience with tobacco. It wasn't anything to be troubled by; not everyone enjoyed the leaf as much as Hugh. It always had a calming effect on him, especially when his mind was anything but at peace. "You're welcome." He said, placing the pipe back in his mouth and puffing away.
The next thing was to listen to what she had to say. Not something he was usually intent on was listening to someone far younger than him, but the practice was never harmful. Of course, he kept phasing in and out of listening to her, catching the first part about what Sana had told him yesterday; something which, because of her demeanor at the time, he had subconsciously dismissed the idea of comfort. It hadn't come into his mind, as she had ended how she spoke of the die by laughing, then quickly plopped the question of how his day had been.
Normally when people expected condolences or something they don't tend to end their sentence with laughing or completely throwing one off by putting a question in. Hugh had been put in the unfortunate circumstance of both of those at the same time. There was that; he'd messed up. No mercy. Time to pay penance.
Hugh would be more than obliged to speak with Sana as soon as possible, though she seemed to have prior engagements pertaining to scouting and a conversation with Tobias the thief, which he hadn't a clue as to the subject.
The old fighter happened to tune back into the conversation just in time to hear her say "I'm just pretty sure that acting like everything's alright isn't going to make everything alright."
He gave her a confused look, not sure how to respond after that last nugget of wisdom. He ended up dropping it and allowing his features to return to normal. "Yes, I was planning on talking to her. It just seems like she's making herself distant on purpose. Makes it harder to start the conversation." He simply said. "But I will."
After he had finished his words, more words followed, but from another source other than Fiona the fighter. It was Tobias the thief, bestowing his nuggets of wisdom upon Hugh.
They were greeted with Hugh's usual politeness, with the added awkward smile and a nod along to his words.
His smile became more sincere and entertained, after Tobias's last words. It was the closest to laughing at something someone said to him for the longest time, and by far brightened his mood.
"I'll be alright, but thanks for the offer." He said, with his cheerful smile stretched across 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. |
867 | 13 | 303 | 1,533 | 1,707 | “I did not expect you to know… I thought asking could do no harm.” Perhaps I will never find them..? Melvus closed his eyes and stopped thinking for a moment. He could hear nothing but the clopping of hooves and the rocking of the cart as it bounced along the rough dirt road. Slowly he began allowing other sensory input to fill the void. Birds chirping, the faded voices of his companions as they talked and he didn’t listen, the sound of the trees rustling in the wind. Perhaps I should find a purpose..? I lost my previous one when Efrida became Queen of Drisbane… I could find a new lord after this… this… Melvus opened his eyes and saw the dark clouds in the sky, turning the day to night.
What should I do next? The wizard didn’t know. He never did… most of what he did was based on his current situation. If he had to guess, after the quest he should find another to take his mind off of the impossible and back to the reality of the world. Life goes on… What’s meant to soar will soar and what is meant to die will die… My village, my family - they’re dead and I need to put an end to this decade and a half, fruitless, search… The vagabond shifted in the cart to a more comfortable position.
No… I can never end the search… not until I find them… or their corpses wherever they may be... Yes… whatever dies will die, but what is lost must also be found or it will remain lost and forgotten forever… I am no god, I am a man and I will do this… No matter how long it takes… I will find them… Garth pulled his hood over his head, hiding it from the world and its distractions. It didn’t take a minute for him to fall into the world of dreams. | Removed |
868 | 13 | 304 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona had struggled to hide a cringe when Tobias chose to butt in on her attempt at speaking with Hugh. She had no idea how that would go over with him, and here she'd been trying to do her best at being gentle and avoiding anything that might be a touchy subject. As it turned out, she didn't need to be worried, as Hugh seemed to brush it off easily enough. That was good.
However, he didn't seem very interested in hearing anything she had to say. She thought she caught him checking out mentally for most of what she said, which left her feeling a little awkward. The effort had been made to help, at least. If he didn't care for her opinion, that was his choice. She supposed it was foolish of her to expect otherwise. She was still too young, or something along those lines. At least he was going to talk with Sana, now that she'd taken the time to hopefully clear her head. It wasn't Fiona's problem, and she had no intention of making it her problem.
Moving back alongside Tobias and the cart, she caught the end of Vaeri's question and prepared to roll her eyes at Tobias's response. The actual answer wasn't so bad, though she doubted Tobias would provide it.
"We should pick up the pace a little, I think," Fiona suggested, looking out at the looming clouds. "If we want to find shelter before we get drenched, that is." | 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. |
869 | 13 | 305 | 54 | 1,340 | And The Group Finds Each Other Once Again
youtu.be/35EfY2yBiv8
The minutes ticked by every so slowly as Sana sat perched in the tree, one leg pulled her to chest with arms wrapped around it. Sanas head resting upon her knee as she kept ever vigilant to the road to the south; waiting, ever waiting for them to come into view. Her other leg swung to and fro with the wind, the clouds blocking out the sun as the darkness of the squall grew. The rain began a gentle rapping against the leaves; tap tap tap could heard percussionning against the tender canopy above. The pitter patter of droplets falling to the ground below, the light cream color of the road quickly turning to a rich mahogany hue as the rain saturated the grains of dirt. Sana tilted her head back as she pulled the hood of her mantle away, letting the water drip to features. The storm seemed to be emulating the maelstrom within her and her mind drifted to a tune from so long ago as the sounds of the rain were carried to her ears.
Reaching up her hand wiped away the moisture that clung to her exposed skin as a sigh whispered from her lips, cringing as her hand ran over her burns; a pain she would have to learn to live with. So, this was what it meant to embrace a part of you that had been locked away she thought to herself. Everything triggered a memory, a song and caused an unyielding need to release it. Rolling her eyes in frustration she pulled her covering back up into place and let her hands clap against the limb she sat upon, echoing the natural sounds already surrounding her. A gentle hum resonated from her throat as she watched the rain fall, her head bobbing in time with the beat of the storm as it fully arrived to the area. Dusty lips parted as the words began to flow from memory into the present, a beautiful tune flowing from her into the winds.
“When tomorrow comes, will I be on my own? Feeling frightened of things that I don’t know when tomorrow comes?” she sung hollowly, the last two words echoing through the forest around her. Her head tilting back to look up as the storm began to rage on, sheets of rain falling to the earth below from the heavens above; vision being cut to nothing but a few feet in front of her eyes. “And though the road is long I look up to the sky and in the dark I found lost hope that I won’t fly and I sing along,” she sung, the words continuing to echo in harmony with her own voice as the note bounced off rock, stone and brush. A gentle light started to emit from her form, a soft slate hue began to whip around her in the wind, catching her notes and carrying them like a beacon to cut through the darkness and the murky dusk.
“I got all I need when I got you and I, I look around me and see a sweet life. I’m stuck in the dark but you’re my flash of light. You’re getting me though the night. Kick start my heart when you shine it in my eyes. I can’t lie, it’s a sweet life. Stuck in the dark but you’re my flash of light. You’re getting me though the night, ‘cause you’re my flash of light,” she continued, her tune breaking through the claps of thunder and rolling with the thunder; the beam of light from her flowing and tearing into the clouds above, a pillar of light that could be seen from far away to guide the rest of her group. Light and song calling out to them to bring them safely down the trail as the crash from the crying skies bellowed about.
“I see the shadows long beneath the mountain top. Be not afraid when the rain won’t stop ‘cause I’ll light the way,” she sung as she grasped the softened bark of the tree, pulling herself to her feet and standing tall there on the branch that swayed with the storm; the wind and light thrashing her cloak around her, it billowing up in the fuming gust. Sana did not fight again the song and just let it flow through, each note becoming easier to control as she accepted her newly unlocked ability.
“I got all I need when I got you and I, I look around me and see a sweet life. You’re stuck in the dark but I’m your flash of light. I’m getting you through the night. Kick start your heart when I shine it in your eyes. Can’t lie, it’s a sweet life. Stuck in the dark but I’m your flash of light getting you through the night,” she caroled again and again, letting the verse repeat like the echoing thunder. Each time the last verse repeated it grew in intensity and power as it broke through the storm.
As the group came into the view from behind the curtain of the storm a content look fell over her features, it had worked and that was one thing she could be happy about. Stepping forward she jumped off the branch that had been her home for a short time; her boots landing with a soft splash into the puddle below her. “Don’t be afraid when the rain won’t stop cause I’ll light the way, a flash of light getting you through the dark of the night,” she sung as she stepped out from the tree and along the side of the road next to the path that would lead to the camp. Pulling the hood of her mantle back she stepped into full view of the group as they drew near, a gentle smile playing on her lips as the light still poured from her. Though the light was bright enough to break through the storm and the rain it was nothing more than a gentle and comforting glow to behold.
“This way, we found shelter,” she spoke in a kind voice that still carried on the winds, the light fading from her form and the beacon fading away; her cloak slowly falling from the winds it had been caught up in and wrapping back around her. The rain clung to her soaked hair and cloak, rolling down her form and dripping from the edges of her clothing to the ground below as she motioned towards the path. Stepping to the side of the path she motioned in the direction they needed to go. “Be careful, the path gets narrow in parts,” she said looking at the group and waiting for them to continue on.
Looking towards Hugh, she felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. She knew the needed to speak but she dreaded the conversation. Not about finally being able to speak, to hopefully come to an understanding and perhaps seeing what ever it was she was missing but that her fears may be truly founded. Either way she needed answers and she thought he might as well. Whatever the outcome it needed to happen. Taking a breath she looked up at him on Rodger and gave him a small nervous smile, but it was a true smile this time and it was not forced.
Sana is in pain
It started raining, a lot, down pour, can't see crap outside a few feet in front of you now
Sana sings, causing a pillar of light to go up from where she is to the sky above - you can see thus through the rain and you can hear the song over the sound of the storm
Everyone gets soaked, yay!
Song and light lead you down the road to where Sana is
She stops singing, light stops
Points to path you need to follow to get to the shelter
Will find Derrix at end of the path in the cave opening, I hope
Sana is waiting to move until group Makes their way off the road and towards the shelter
Sana is trying to smile at Hugh
So yeah, crap 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. |
870 | 13 | 306 | 677 | 1,382 | When the storm began, Vaeri pulled up the cloak of her robe over her head. As the rain fell, her desire for conversation was suppressed, just as the soft mud beneath of the wheels of the wagon were. The water would ruin any book she attempted to read, so she spent her time looking through the trees of the forest. She did know what exactly she was searching for. Possible threats, passing wildlife, the scouting party, something out of the ordinary. No, nothing like that. Perhaps observing was enough. It didn't matter what she observed, for she knew instinctively that everything see saw now, all that the rain touched would disappear in an instant. The trees, the horses, the wagon, her companions. All these things would be gone before she could finish blinking. Perhaps if she was lucky she would be able to stick around long enough for a few more blinks, but then she too would vanish.
A drop of frigid rain fell directly onto Vaeri's eye, the sharp cold sensation returned her back to the present. The drop was a small thing, but a reminder that right now she could enjoy the small pleasures and be irritated by the little pricks. She looked up and saw the pillar of golden light and heard Sana's voice. It appeared that they had found some measure of protection from the elements, which would be a good things since she noticed that her clothes and armor were almost entirely soaked through. Today was not the right day to wear a shirt that was nearly white. | 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. |
871 | 13 | 307 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh nodded to Fiona, his attention being diverted towards the sky, observing the thick bulbous clouds forming, all a dark gray that made the day turn darker. The light was slowly fading and drops began to fall overhead.
Hugh felt them slowly picking up the pace, as the downpour began to get stronger and stronger. Their vision was soon hindered by the rain as it became so thick, that everyone was sopping wet within minutes. Hugh simply stared at the ground, watching the path as they journeyed further ahead.
He always felt it strangely therapeutic to stand in the rain as it washed over him. Their journey was soon aided by a song and then a beam of light ahead of them. It was causing Hugh to develop tunnel vision, as he felt slightly warmer at the thought that Sana would be there waiting for them all.
He was starting to care less and less about the fact that they were having a little bit of trouble speaking to each other, or whatever this distant feeling was. He just wanted to look on her face again and smile. He just wanted to take in her features and listen to her voice as she spoke and sang.
As their journey towards the light grew shorter, Hugh could make out the form guiding them. His features seemed to relax the closer they got, he pushing forward at a steady pace. He felt a little nip and a shiver from the cold every now and then, but he would just shake it off and it wouldn't bother him until the next slight shiver.
Finally, they came to a halt as so did the singing and the light, and Sana spoke, her words comforting to them all.
There Hugh sat upright on Rodger, the rain soaking both of them. He kept his gaze on Sana as she gave him a smile that made him happier. This was the sincere smile he liked. He never could take a fake smile, and this was no fake smile.
Hugh patted Rodger's neck, "Thank you again, Rodger." He slipped off the horse, landing with a splash and a thud, slightly bending his knees. He turned away from his horse to face Sana, a calm look on his face.
For a moment he smiled, but it faded as he started to think on the pain she was going through. She had lost everything; Hugh knew the feeling far too well. He would never wish that on anyone.
He had never known his parents, or even if he had them. He only knew the comradeship of the order, but it had been taken from him in an instant. His only family. When he thought he found refuge and a peaceful life somewhere else, that was also taken from him.
He knew pain and desperation more than the average person should, and had lived a life that felt like a curse; a curse to relive all the pain over and over again, like some benevolent god's sick joke.
He didn't want Sana to feel that. He didn't want her to go through that, but it was too late. There she was, standing before him, showing him a sincere smile and just how strong she was.
"I..." He stopped, his heart slightly pounding as he was so unsure how to go about this. "I'm sorry..." He started, pausing to gather more words. "I'm so sorry you had to go through losing everything." Sighing, a sullen glum look across his face as he reflected on how he had completely missed how she had told him yesterday about her family dying. "I'm so sorry I said nothing yesterday. That's unforgivable and I should have known better than to have left it in the dust, and just..." Pausing, his face turning more sullen and depressed looking, "...ignored your pain."
Hugh stepped forward, putting his hand to her face and gently tracing the scars across her cheek and neck. "You're beautiful." He said, a content smile suddenly appearing 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. |
872 | 13 | 308 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana watched as the group approached, grateful that they had arrived and that it seemed their day had been much more peaceful than the day before. Watching Hugh her hands clasped together beneath her cloak, knuckles white from the pressure as clutched together. She perked a brow as he dismounted Rodger and came over to her, thinking he would rather move out of the rain and into shelter before they spoke; both of them standing there soaking wet as the rain poured down and the chill in the air was most likely not pleasant to anyone but Sana at that time. The cool air was the only thing that brought relief from the burns.
Seeing him smile brought both relief and anxiety. Relief because she never took joy in seeing anything but a smile on his lips but the anxiety was there; fearful that he still was oblivious to her pains and fears. Then the smile faded and she became worried for reason she did not know, other than the unknown. Her breath caught as he spoke, not sure what was happening at first but as his words continued she was finally able to breath again. It wasn't everything she was upset and worried about but it was a start.
"Thank you," she said in a soft voice with a gentle smile on her lips. As he reached forward and touched her scars she pulled back quickly, cringing in pain from his fingers on the burns. Her hand came up and grabbed his wrist, shaking her head. "Please don't, that hurts," she admitted. Reaching out she took his other hand and placed it to the other side of her face and neck where there were no scars. "This side," she said with a pained chuckle. She wasn't mad at him for touching her, it was a simple mistake and something they would both need to remember to be careful about from now on.
"And as far as being beautiful, well duh, I know I'm hot. More now than ever and don't you forget it," she taunted like she did on many occasions with him. Reaching up she cupped the side of his cheek and sighed. "I'm scared," she whispered as she gazed into his eyes. It wasn't something that was easy for her to admit because it was not something she felt often. She tended to run towards danger and fear never hindered her but then it felt crippling. "Of you," she added. She wanted to explain but she waited to see if he would understand why because it was not something she was sure she could put into words. | 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. |
873 | 13 | 309 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona was no stranger to the cold or the rain, but she enjoyed neither, and soon found herself completely soaked, her red hair darkened and dripping down onto her. It wasn't too long, though, before Sana's impressive beacon of light, created from her song, guided them to their resting point for the night. A useful power, to be sure; Fiona had been worried that they might lose their scouts, with how terrible the visibility became at one point. Seeing Sana, she waved in greeting.
She smiled as Sana and Hugh reunited, seemingly with more success than they split up with that morning. Fiona had been about to compliment Sana on her new found magical talent, but decided it was best not to interrupt the moment she seemed to be having with Hugh. Trying to catch Tobias's gaze, she gestured with her head down the path they were supposed to take the wagon.
"Come on, let's get out of the rain," she suggested, leading the way for the wagon. It would be a tight fit in places, but if Tobias was an adequate driver he could avoid getting stuck on anything. At the mouth of the cave, she greeted Derrix with a wave, walking her horse until she no longer felt drops of rain hitting her head, at which point she dismounted. It was an excellent shelter, as far as she could see. A good find on the part of their scouts.
Untying her bedroll from the saddle, she picked a suitable spot and laid it out so that it could dry. It wasn't entirely soaked through, but would need some time. The blankets in her saddlebags were entirely dry, thankfully. Fiona's hands were shaking slightly from the cold as they fumbled with the straps holding her armor to her. In short order she had it off and laid out neatly next to her bed roll. Her jacket was next to be unlaced and laid aside; the shirt underneath was drenched, but she kept that on, pulling a blanket from her bags and wrapping it around herself. | 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. |
874 | 13 | 310 | 2,649 | 479 | The rain was so heavy, that Hugh kept having to blink his eyes to get it out. He would feel a small shiver creep up his spine every now and then, causing him to shudder a small bit. He would only shake off the cold and go back to normal as though the cold didn't affect him. The trick to mastering the cold was to understand that you would never feel comfortable with it, especially when wet. Hugh learned a long time ago to embrace discomfort.
Hugh's smile suddenly turned to a look of worry as Sana cringed in pain at his touch. He felt stupid, "No, I didn't-" Before he could say anything, she had grabbed his hand and placed it on the other side of her face, bringing the smile back to grace his features.
Her words made him laugh, slightly squinting his eyes as he chuckled. His laughter ceased when he felt the soothing touch of her hand against his face. He would have formed a smile, if not for her words "I'm scared". "What?" He said, a look of concern on his face. His face soon became very glum and his attitude sullen, as he took in her answer.
"Of you."
It made him feel like he got kicked in the stomach. It was also confusing. There she was, not shying from his touch, and even cupping his face with her hand, but she said he scared her.
His eyes trailed downwards as he thought on this concept, thinking back to the previous days. He was confused on what had brought about this. He knew she had seen his moment of terror during the fight that had taken so much of his blood. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it was for the child Arianna's sake, that he would not be good to her. He didn't understand, because he would take care of the little one with the tender loving care of a father whenever they returned to her.
"How do I frighten you?" He said, stepping closer to her, a hair's touch from her. All he knew was that he needed to understand this and listening was the answer. | 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. |
875 | 13 | 311 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri hopped off the wagon as Tobias approached the entrance of the cave, preferring to walk in herself. She looked in, taking it a lungful of the pleasant smoke. The contrast of the warmth of the cave and the rain outside only furthered to make this place feel far more welcoming than the storm outside. The first thing Vaeri did was wring out all the water in her long hair, splattering all over the floor. She then found a nice spot of cave by the fire and looked in her bag to find that all her other changes of clothes soaked as well.
Of course.
Vaeri removed her cloak and laid it out on the cave floor. Then she set about removing her armor and giving them their own spot to dry. Last, with some hesitance, she removed her shirt and laid it out closer to the fire than the rest of her gear. Vaeri's beasts were not large, only being slight protrusions from her chest that could be missed if you weren't paying attention. More notable was the characteristics of her body. Every part of it looked hard and rough, like an oak tree taken womanly form. With every move she made, a hint of muscle popped out somewhere not quite congruent of where it would be on a human. There were scars on her torso, but they were larger, and significantly fewer than anywhere else on her body, perhaps 5 in total. In irritable, wet, half-nakedness she sat by the fire, one arm draped across her chest, trying to dry off as quickly as possible. | 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. |
876 | 13 | 312 | 54 | 1,340 | Sana gazed up into his eyes as she watched the confusion set in and the knot returned to the pit of her stomach; he truly didn't know what her biggest fear was, that or it just had not dawned on him yet. She stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as he stepped closer and she tried to form the words to help him understand. She wasn't sure how to go about it. Sana was not a particularly delicate woman and when frustration set in she had a tendency to snap or ramble or both. She didn't want to hurt him with her words but there was no way to put it delicately so she opted for the most direct route. It was perhaps the most painful but at lesst it would be over with quickly, at least she hoped it would.
"I..." she started and felt herself begin to stumble over her words. Taking a deep breath she just let it all out as quickly as possible. "I am afraid, after seeing how you acted around Ariana and seemed to block everything out, including my pain and my change, which to be honest is pretty obvious considering I can cast magic now and you know very well that is something I have never been able to do. But yeah, I am scared of you. You had a wife and a family before and well, I was supposed to be a courtesan. Well, duh, you know that, why I am repeating it now it beyond me. I dunno, effect? Well yeah, you know I never wanted to be a replacement to your wife and that's a fear I live with every day... Cause, well if she hadn't died we wouldn't be here today. So damn it, I always feel like I was a fluke, you know. That, be alone if this horrific event hadn't happened. But yeah, now Ariana is here and you're acting like this whole fuzzy warm and cozy family. Which is sweet, but it scares the fuck out of me. I mean well damn it, we never spoke marriage or kids or anything, hell you've never asked me to marry you or even said you loved me. I mean I think you love me but even a brute woman like me wants to hear it. I mean hell, you're the love of my life and I'm maybe runner up? Yeah, that's right, I love your stubborn thickheaded ass. Deal with it. And I'm scared now that Ariana is here, well that this whole family scenario is going to play out and I'll never know if it is because you truly love me or it is just because I am some fucking replacement and you are just tying to get back what you lost and live in the past. So yeah, I'm scared, petrified. Well not petrified cause I am standing here rambling in the rain but terrified. That's why I am scared of you, I'm scared in the end I will just truly end up being the courtesan I have been trying to never be. The second choice, the fill in. The replacement."
Sana rambled everything off so quickly, stumbling over words here and there but she managed to get it out. Perhaps there was more, perhaps not but that what was forefront in her mind and what needed to be dealt with first. She braced herself for the retort, what he would say or do. She was afraid he would yell, or be angry but most of all she was afraid he would walk away or confirm her fears. She stood there though as the rain poured down, ready to take what ever was thrown at 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. |
877 | 13 | 313 | 914 | 1,884 | “They worshipped the bitch of the moon,” a scratchy voice echoed in the ear of the youth.
The young teenager, not yet old enough to grow even his chin hairs looked up at the ragged soldier who spoke, his young blue eyes studying his master of arms. The gruff man had long pepper hair and a beard to match, and yet despite his elder age, thick corded arms of muscle protruded from a cape fashioned out of the hide of a bear.
The boy pointed to what the man was studying, a mess of crimson and flashes of pearly bones, “cold blooded?”
“Warm,” The man corrected, “it was in honor, despite their dishonorable nature.”
“No name,” the man continued, snapping the boy’s attention back to him, “wipe off your blade, it’s better no one questions us.”
The unnamed boy looked down at his shaking hand that held a long thin blade, dripping with scarlet. He brought up the fringe of his tunic and slowly wiped one side of the blade before flipping it over.
As he did this rhythmically, his curious eyes began to wander around the dark room. A statue of a woman holding a crescent caught his eye. Her form was wrapped in a stone robe, and only visible by the light of the stars breaking through the shattered glass windows and illuminating the dust motes.
“This was a church,” the boy murmured.
“A den of liars and heathens, bitch worshipers,” the bearded man nearly laughed as he spoke his final words.
The statue’s eyes blinked, and a cold horror split the head of the boy as he watched it raise it’s arm from its resting place. Slowly the stone figure started to wave.
Derrix blinked, and the stony hand turned to Fiona’s. The man inhaled sharply, as he remembered he sat in a cave. The chill of the stone under the clovers cooled his bum, and with his armor safely put away in its own packs on Charroux, the cold air of the storm nipped his bare arms and through his thin tunic, spreading goosebumps across his scarred body.
He looked down to the thin knife he held in his hand that hovered over the half skinned boar, a gaping hole in its neck from a firm arrow shot. The beast glistened with wet blood as he had been preparing it. He took the fringe of his tunic and wiped one side of the knife before flipping it over in his hand, “hello.” he said in a hollow tone to the swarming group of travelers.
The man looked over at Vaeri set up by the fire and acknowledged her nudity with a blink. His eyes then snapped to the soaked Fiona. He shook his head and slowly rose from his spot by the boar, and disappeared into the shimmering shower of the storm.
He returned quickly, shaking off the water from his broad shoulders, and holding folded fabric under his arms protectively. With a small curved smile, he knelt by Fiona and handed one of the light green fabrics to her, revealing it to be a spare tunic of his.
With a curt nod, he left it by her before wandering over to Vaeri. He respectfully kept his eyes level with hers as he knelt by her, extending his arm and holding out a dry shirt. | 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 |
878 | 13 | 314 | 1,033 | 567 | DrizzakFor a long time, Drizzak had simply been mulling over his own thoughts and debating internally after speaking with Sister Agnes in the dead of the night, away from the judging ears of the others. What was with these beads that she gave him? They were warm, and soothing. They tasted terrible, and for the longest time he thought they were a circlet, but he eventually settled for wrapping them around his arm and tying them there. They looked nice enough. Not enough teeth, or steel for his liking, but they would do for now. They made him feel a bit better.
The rest of his time had been spent scratching at his wounds as they healed over, the same flecks of gold showing through from the peculiar healing potion. These tall ones brewed their potions different to goblins. No rat in them at all, or any of the mixer's spit. How strange. He liked it. What he didn't like was the ragged wetness of his clothing and furs. The rain had not been kind to him on the trip to the cave. He was so caught up in thought that he hadn't noticed the chill of the wind and rain until it was practically biting at his bones. He sneezed rather loud as he plodded over to the fire and simply fell into a laying down position. He was tired. Worn out. There were others here, holy priest Vaeri, fighter Fiona and another man named Derrix that Drizzak had not been introduced to, but had heard the name of in passing. They had similar names, perhaps they could be friends.
Vaeri's nudity passed through his mind from one ear and out the other, paying it no moment of deliberation. The same for Fiona. People were naked all the time, Goblins even more so. Back in his clan, others barely even wore loincloths around the huts and food-pits. It explained why when he eventually began to strip himself of the water-heavy furs, he did not hesitate in leaving himself in nothing but a loincloth. Then he fell back into laying down. He stunk of smoke and blood. His skin was clammy and damp where it was normally craggy and tough, but inside he felt warm. He was riddled with cut, stab and scrape scars, some on his face and shoulders a bit more fresh than the others. But that didn't matter to him right now. Just a matter of time before he was warm all over.
Drizzak turned to the others.
"All people okay?" | 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'. |
879 | 13 | 315 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona was quickly realizing that she didn't have to deal with this sort of thing while traveling alone. Even in the week or so she'd spent with Tobias they hadn't been caught in any rainstorms, and always found a place that allowed her some privacy to change when she needed to. A tree, if nothing else. Here there was just the cave, warm and dry, and the storm outside. Apparently Vaeri wasn't bothered by the company.
Derrix must have noticed her shivering, as he brought her a fresh tunic, of a light green color. "Thank you," she said quietly to him, smiling as he nodded and went over to Vaeri. Fiona had spare clothes of her own in her saddlebags, but thought that the heat of the fire and the lack of rain in the cave would dry her off quickly enough. Not in the habit of refusing generosity, though, she took the tunic, and laid it where she could easily reach.
"I'm alright, Drizzak. Thank you for asking." She smiled encouragingly at the goblin. In all honesty, she'd expected a much more unpleasant experience from traveling with him, but he seemed to be making an effort to be quite well mannered around them. It was surprising, and not at all in a bad way. Keeping the blanket around her, Fiona methodically unlaced her drenched tunic and slipped out of it, the garment emerging from underneath the blanket and dropping to the ground, where Fiona grabbed the fresh one and pulled it in. It was a little big for her, naturally, but it was dry, and that was the important part.
When she was done, there was the lower half to deal with. Her boots she untied quickly enough, tossing them off to the side. The cave floor was soft enough for her bare feet, thankfully. After that she stood and pulled off the blanket, setting it down neatly. There was no real effective way to do this, so she decided it was best to just get it over with. She unbuckled her belt and let set it down, then tugged off her soaked leggings, which clung to her skin. Her smallclothes at least prevented her from being entirely nude for the brief moment. That done, she laid them out with the rest of her clothes, and threw the blanket back on for warmth. Bare legs protruding from beneath it, Fiona made her way over to the fireside, and sat down, enjoying the warmth. | 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. |
880 | 13 | 316 | 677 | 1,382 | Vaeri accepted the shirt from Derrix with her free hand, she nodded at him in silent appreciation of the gesture. With one hand she fumbled to get the shirt on, but managed to get it on in less than a minute. The last thing she did as she adjusted the shirt was pull out her necklace from underneath the shirt. Even while topless she had kept on her holy symbol. Derrix's shirt was large on her. It may have even been possible to fit another one of her in this shirt and the neck line was designed for a large man lead to it hanging down to show off a bit more of her chest than Vaeri would normally (none at all). However, it was dry and warm, which is all that mattered.
Vaeri reclined back to allow her pants and feet to better dry as she pondered Drizzak's question. While there certainly evil and unholy people in the world, most of them probably did not think of themselves as such. And they almost certainly would have some measure in good in them, affection for loved ones, an ideal they held dear, but did that make them good? And were they irredeemably evil? Are some people simply born evil, or did the circumstances surrounding them drive them to it? These questions were cut off when Fiona replied she was fine.
"Oh. That is what you meant. I am feeling sufficiently well. I've been better." | 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. |
881 | 13 | 317 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh nodded along with everything Sana said, uncertain how to respond, but letting her know constantly that he was listening. He was hard focusing his mind on everything she said, so much so that when she finally was finished he was slightly tongue tied. He couldn't help but grin at when she told him she loved him, as he was hoping to say the words first. The pleasure had been swiftly taken from him, but he was by no means angry. On the contrary, he felt pride.
However, at her other words, pertaining to her fears his facial expressions sunk to be more sullen. It was a roller coaster of facial expressions for him.
It's never easy to move on from a love of the past, like a wife one raised children with, but Hugh had done it long ago. However, there was something people never truly understood if they hadn't someone like that of their own before. Hugh would always love his former wife, but it was hard to explain to someone that took it as them being a second love. He had grown at peace with the fact that he had lost her and didn't wish her back in his arms again, choosing instead to live and move forward.
What could it be said of a man whom did not love their wife after she passed on? Only ill things could be presumed from a man such as that, and Hugh was not that man. Hugh had always loved his former wife, but love was not a finite resource. There was no limit to how much Hugh could love. It might be said that he still loved his wife but let her go and allowed her memory to be at rest. He wasn't holding on to her, only leaving it be, better having lost and loved than to have never loved at all.
He had never sought out a replacement or a new flavor, nor did he ever expect to find a girl like Sana. All he sought was to live, to heal, and even preserve by his very existence those he had lost. He was the memory of another time and he was what kept them all alive.
"I love you." He finally said, breaking his silence. "You're not a replacement. I'm not holding you to any standard." With a smile coming across his face, he finally said, "I love you for you, as you are. Not for what someone else was or someone else means to me. I love you for you."
Finally a more serious look came across his face as he put his hand to the back of his own head and scratched it, looking downward. "No one can replace my wife, no one ever will." He looked into her eyes, "I'm never going to ask that of you. I've never, and never will ask that of anyone to replace her." Giving a sigh, Hugh said "You're irreplaceable. You could never be a replacement. You're so beautifully unique."
"We don't need to get a family and settle down to a peaceful existence. We might even die adventuring. Maybe Ariana will grow up dropping bodies and kicking ass." He sighed, a small sheepish smile appearing across his face. "I'm glad I'm here with you. I wouldn't have it any other way." He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't respond to her every concern, he could just hope that showing his love and affection for her everyday was enough. | 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. |
882 | 13 | 318 | 54 | 1,340 | The rain poured down around them, the only break from the squall was the canopy above them as the storm continued; the thunder rolling through the trees as the ground shook when lightning would strike off in the distance. Sana stood there, frozen in place as she looked at Hugh, more afraid of what he would say and how he would react to her words than anything the heavens could throw at her right then. Droplets of water rolling down her features, clinging to her lashes and lips as she slowly pulled her hand back from his cheek. What she had said had not been kind, nor had it been cruel. It was simply her voicing what had been fighting within her for so long, a pain she had lived with since she learned of his past. When she had originally she was taken back, but he had helped with that fear then a little and she had decided to see what would happen over time.
It seemed like an eternity passed before he finally spoke and she was not sure what to think about the expressions that had crossed his face. Worry was plastered on her features as she stood there, shivering not from the cold but from anticipation. As he spoke the worry faded and a small smile broke across her lips; though not all the worry was gone from her eyes. It was still clear that even with what he had said she was still very concerned. She wished his words bought her peace and quelled all her fears but she knew that would not happen, not in one small conversation, perhaps never. She was not sure. There was still so much she was worried about and she would give anything to just have it fade away but with everything else going on and what had happened it seemed to be plaguing her like a sickness there may be no cure for. Sighing deeply she lowered her head, feeling horrible as the knot returned to the pit of her stomach. She felt so guilty for feeling the way she did.
“I wish I didn’t feel this fear,” she whispered as she gripped her midsection, her fingers clenching to the laces of her corset. “And what you said… It does help but I am still so terrified that you are still living in the past at times,” she said as her eyes trailed up his form and met his own. “Your flashbacks, I know they are not something you can help. You have had them longer than I may ever know and for all I know you will have them until the day you die. It is something that can’t be helped,” she said in a soft voice filled with sympathy.
“But every time you have one I feel like I am fighting with the past; fighting with a memory stealing you away from me. Battling ghosts to pull you back to me. It hurts to see you in such pain when they come and it hurts to think I may have to fight with that until the day I die,” she admitted remorsefully.
“Not that I wouldn’t. I am willing to spend a life time healing you no matter the pain it causes me,” she said with a sad smile on her lips as she reached out and placed her hand against his chest. “You’re worth any tears that fall, any pain but you have to know that it does hurt. It hurts like hell to know part of you is still in the past, even for a moment here and there. I don’t know, perhaps I will forever live in the shadow of your past. I hope not,” she said gently as she leaned forward and rested against him, one hand slipping around to his back.
“You have all of me, it just frightens me to think that I will never have all of you,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. “I know you cannot help that but please know that with as much as you cannot help it, I cannot help that it hurts.’
She hoped he would understand her fears. She felt that perhaps she may never be a replacement that she was a bandage trying to tend to the wounds of his past. Him mentioning Ariana did not help, her mind floating back to what she had learned back at the inn. Sighing she looked up at him, it was something he needed to know.
“As far as Ariana goes, she will never be a daughter, to either of us,” Sana said as she gazed into his eyes, the rain that clung to her lashes falling and streaming down her cheeks. “She is already a Rawn, a cousin perhaps or perhaps even my niece,” she said before stepping back and taking a moment to explain what had happened at breakfast while he was upstairs getting ready. About the talk she had had with Ariana, about the song, all of it. “I will no more subject her to look at us as parents than you would to ask me to replace your lost life. I will take care of her as family but never as a mother. I couldn’t do that to 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. |
883 | 13 | 319 | 914 | 1,884 | “I hope you and I could speak more of religion soon,” Derrix smiled a friendly grin at Vaeri as she took his shirt. He scratched one of the horned tattoos on his cheeks before his eyes lit up in remembrance. He nodded as he dismissed himself from the smoky pocket that Vaeri sat by.
Derrix lifted himself back to his feet and wandered back to the bleeding boar. He plopped into the bed of clover by the carcass and took up his knife once more, slicing a chunk out of the beast's slowly cooling flank. He sucked in a breath, taking in the metallic stench of the raw meat, as well as the thick musk of the wet storm.
He scraped a tiny stick across the stony floor under the clovers and lifted it to spear the meat through. Derrix turned towards the crackling fire, testing the sticks ability to hold the thick chunk by waving it gently a few times before levitating it about the licking orange flame.
Hovering the speared flesh over the fire, the fluids of the meat dripped into the flames with a hot sizzling sound. He turned his attention to the small greenish creature that had accompanied the group while the meat began to heat up.
“Little one,” Derrix announced plainly over the hard plummeting rain outside, “would you like the first bite?” | 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 |
884 | 13 | 320 | 2,489 | 654 | Tobias sighed inwardly as he felt the first raindrop. Of course.
By the time the party had reached their campsite, it was pouring. Being wholly unprepared for this kind of inclement weather, the rogue was quickly soaked to the bone. At Fiona's direction, he directed the wagon to the cave, taking great care to avoid snagging the wheels on anything. Before long, the party had a fire going.
Tobias's stolen clothes were soaked, and clung to him tightly. Overall, he imagined he had the appearance of a drowned city rat, which he supposed he sort of was. The thief held his hands over the fire, teeth chattering. Vaguely, he saw Hugh and Sana a short ways off, having some sort of intense conversation. ... Good?
The rogue was still glancing around, idly contemplating his misery, when he looked to the side and beheld Vaeri, as nude as the day she was born. Quickly, Tobias turned away - it was never a good idea to ogle women who could break him in half.
Suffice it to say, he was more than a little surprised when he looked to the other side and saw Fiona stripping down to her smallclothes. The thief looked back to the fire, his cheeks coloring slightly, and managed with great force of will to clamp down on the urge to make a crude joke at the situation. The women did, however, have the right idea - getting out of the wet clothes wouldn't be terrible. Tobias settled for pulling off his stolen shirt and tossing it aside, revealing the tapestry of angry whipping scars that covered his back as he did so.
The goblin - Drizzak - had asked how they were. "Well, can't complain. I could do with a hot meal, a bed, and a few naked..." he glanced around. "Well, a hot meal and a bed, at any rate."
As if on cue, Derrix the horseman returned and began roasting a healthy portion of meat over the fire. Tobias blinked slightly and raised his hands up to the sky dramatically. "Still waiting on that bed!" | 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 |
885 | 13 | 321 | 290 | 1,247 | Mortosh sat with the others around the fire and like most of the other he too had removed some articular of clothing that being his chest plate and hood. Not due to warmth or discomfort actually he just didn't fell at ease wearing his hood when it was just him and his companions so he liked using every opportunity to not wearing it he wished to help in someway he has been feeling useless but he realized the others weren't undead like him so things like warmth, sleep and food where necessary to them but not to him. He rose up a hmm came from Zam as she noticed him walking towards the mouth of the cave "Where are you going Mortosh?"
"I Am Going To Keep Watch" Answered Mortosh "Tell The Other They Are Free To Join Me If They Wish" and when Zam Was asked she told them of what Mortosh was doing | 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 |
886 | 13 | 322 | 2,649 | 479 | Hugh felt the rain making his skin tender to the touch, turning it pink and wrinkly. He felt the drips of water collecting in his hair and dripping down on his face. The water no longer caused him to shiver, as he stood there with Sana. He felt the desperation of having to deal with these visions he would suffer, putting just that much of a distance from Sana and him. He remembered the trouble of waking up in night sweats from nightmares he could not escape fast enough.
He would have done anything to be free from his burdened mind just to have a full relationship with Sana and live as if so much bad hadn't happened. He might always feel this separation, but it was something he would never stop fighting to make sure him and Sana were together.
It was one thing to fight the demons that came to cause physical harm, but when they came from Hugh's mind and put him in his own hell, it was not such a straightforward battle.
Her words would sting him like thousands of needles. He just wished that they didn't have to fight through this void. He didn't want her to live in the shadow of his past, but he hadn't chosen everything that had happened to him; it had just all happened whether or not he wanted it. All he could do was decide what to do with the time that was given.
It wouldn't take much deliberation to figure out what to do with that time; he wanted to spend it with Sana, even if there was this burden he brought. He would continue to fight it off. Though it affected his habits; heavy drinking, to the point where it didn't affect him anymore and he didn't even feel a buzz from amounts of alcohol that would knock out other people. That in itself was a strange blessing. He had taken up drinking a long time ago, before suffering from his downfalls.
Smoking had been another habit that helped him cope, but he smoked for the enjoyment, not just to blot out the stress. If he did more things to blot out the pain, he would be weak. He needed to deal with it and face it head on.
Hugh squeezed her body tight against his own, absorbing everything she said. All that she said was true, but he loved her deeply and cared for her. He wasn't going to let a stupid thing like nightmares from the past keep him from her side.
There was nothing more he could say as she held herself against him. He wanted her to know just by his actions that he loved her and that he would do what ever it took to fight past his demons. In that moment, there was a pain in Sana that Hugh didn't know how to heal.
When she pulled herself away, she dropped a huge surprise on him; the news that Ariana was actually related to her. He couldn't help but agree with her about how they couldn't force Ariana to look at them as parents. He didn't want her to see them as parents either, as it was cruel to her.
"I'm with you on that. She should know who you are to her." He said, nodding, and showing his agreement. | 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. |
887 | 13 | 323 | 54 | 1,340 | The rain continued to fall around them and the chill in the air threatened to cut to the bone but standing there against Hugh, his arms encircling her helped to ward off the cold. She waited for him to say something, anything; to scream, cry, whisper, it didn't matter. The silence was deafening; ringing through her heart as if it was a thousand confirmations that she was truly now what she had been trying to avoid ever since that day so long ago.
Steeling her features she kept as silent about the ache in her chest as he had been to her words. There was nothing more she could say at this point without turning into the volatile archer she was known to be in times of distress. Though she had seen numerous times a look of pride in Hughs features when she would blow up at someone, she doubted he would acquire such a look if it was directed towards him. She had voiced her fears and now been met with silence. She could not know what went through his mind, so she had no way to know what he was attempting and right then, after everything, she was too tired and in far too much pain to want to continue.
Leaning back and listening to what he had to say about Ariana she nodded and a small smile broke over her features; the smile was true but it was evident by the chill in her eyes there was something much deeper going on. Taking a breath and glancing up towards the heavens the storm seemed to begin to break.
"The storm is dying," she said as she reached up with both hands and smoothed her dripping hair back and down her neck. Stepping back over to Hugh, she rested her hand on his chest and gazed up to his eyes.
"We should take shelter and dry off," she said quietly before brushing past him and wandering down the path and towards the cave, her hand gripping her shirt above the corset. She was glad for the rain as a few tears pushed through the emotional wall she was creating to protect herself.
Sana drew a deep breath as she entered the cave and stepped over to Epona; glad her horse had enough sense to come out of the rain. Pulling the tie to her cloak she let it fall into a soggy heap at her feet before digging out some dry clothing she could wear until morning and setting it on Eponas saddle. Stepping around her horse so that she would only be seen from the thighs down and the shoulders up she began to peel the clothing that clung to her from her form; launching each piece over her horse and onto her cloak that lay on the ground.
After a few minutes she emerged dressed, if one could call it that. Her bare feet fell onto the clovered floor of the cave. She had what looked to be a dark linen scarf of sorts wrapped around her breasts and tied in the back. Around her waist she had a matching piece of linen wrapped around her hips like a sarong. It wasn't much but it covered intimate areas and that fabric was easy enough to pack away when not in use and took up very little space in her pack.
Reaching down she began to pick up each piece of clothing she had discarded and wrung as much water out of them as she could. Standing there the full damage of her injuries from the previous day could be seen. The burn that had peeked through up her neck was not just there but ran the full length of her neck, covering one full side of it. From there it extended down her chest to the top of where her corset usually rested, running down the center of her breast plate, over her chest, under her arm and stretched to the center of her back. It flowed up her shoulder and completely wrapped around one arm, ending at her elbow. It the burn wasn't bad enough, there were clear puncture marks on the same shoulder from the fangs of the dog that had attacked her as well as a nasty set of bite marks on the back of one calf.
Sighing to herself she began to toss the clothing over her good shoulder before walking over to the wall of the cave, it a jagged rock face with plenty of holds. A quick rush of breath passed her lips before she place s a bare foot on the wall and began to ascend up the wall quickly until she was able to grab a low hanging root and seat herself on it. Thankfully due to the way she had wrapped the sarong like skirt she was able to maintain her modesty as she climbed.
Taking a few minutes she hung her clothing up from various roots around her before looking down at the group. "So, any one else want their shit hung up to dry before I jump down?" she asked as she looked at 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. |
888 | 13 | 324 | 677 | 1,382 | I would be glad to converse with you, Derrix. I rarely have a chance to speak about such things. Most I try to bring it up with believe me to be an evangelist. Vaeri leaned back and watched the meat cook. As great as the food smelled, it did not serve to make Vaeri feel famished, but made the cave feel cozy and inviting. She had guessed she wouldn't feel tired until dusk, but the bitter cold of the rain made one feel weary down to her bones. As she watched the meat cook, she found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. Vaeri never got the chance to tell Sana that she had clothes that could use hanging, because by the time the gypsy asked, she was already lying out on the ground, unconscious and breathing softly. | 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. |
889 | 13 | 325 | 1,533 | 1,707 | The cave was cold, humid, warm, wet and dry. Quite the slew of different things used to describe the same thing simultaneously. Melvus seemed to have picked the worst time to fall asleep, seemingly ignoring the fact that it was about to rain. There was a fire and the cart had been taken into the cave. Melvus didn't move, his clothing clung to him and were heavy to bear. He was tired and so, chose not to move for a time as the rest of everyone dried off, chattered and generally slowed down for the latter half of the day. They couldn't travel in the heavy rain which made the loud sound of the world falling outside of the mouth of the cave.
Melvus cast his Arm of the Heavens, removed his cloak and most of his robe. He took them in the arm and held them above the fire as he sprawled out in the wagon, in the long sleeved shirt and pants he wore under his outfit. His clothing still soaked, he lay there waiting for them to dry or for something interesting to take his attention. | Removed |
890 | 13 | 326 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona had seen Tobias's scars before; she'd been in a less than ideal condition at the time, having just lost a fight rather soundly, but she remembered them well enough. Most of the group had some sort of scarring, many from battles, making those along the thief's back somewhat unique. Fiona wasn't sure if scars were something to be proud of. She supposed they could be, if gained for a good cause. All of Sana's recent damage had been earned saving the enslaved, and while the scarring would mark her forever, it would hopefully bring back memory of a time when she'd done good. Fiona had only a few, little scars, nothing major as of yet, and for that she had to consider herself lucky.
"Yeah, one moment," she answered, when Sana had climbed up to hang some clothes. She glanced at Mortosh departing to take up a watch, realizing that it would be quite useful to have someone who required no sleep or rest, and did not mind the rain. It was then she noticed that Vaeri had fallen asleep, fatigue having gotten the better of her. Standing, Fiona considered the elven woman for a moment before taking off the blanket wrapped around herself. Fiona folded it up neatly, and carefully slid it under Vaeri's head, so she would not have to rest entirely on the cave floor.
Clad in just her underwear and the tunic Derrix had given her, Fiona made her way over to her discarded jacket and leggings, scooping them up and handing them to Sana to be hung. She then went back to her horse, searching through the saddlebags for something else to cover herself with, settling for a second, smaller blanket, which she tied loosely around her waist. | 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. |
891 | 13 | 327 | 54 | 1,340 | “Moradins beard, I shouldn’t have set out with that storm brewing. I’m soaked to me bones and cannot see shite,” a course voice grumbled as heavy footsteps trudged through the mud and muck as the rain poured down in sheets thick as lead. A short and stout figure pushed on through the storm, not knowing which way they were going at this point and just trying to find shelter. A spiked helmet rang with taps as the water fell from the sky, obviously a curse upon the land thought the heavily armored one. Looking up, eyes of amber red blinked as sounds started to ring through the thunder rolls.
“I must’a be hearing things, been out on the trail too long,” grumbled the figure as words sung broke through the sounds of the maelstrom. “Bloody hell, now me eyes be playing tricks on me. I don’t be needed no visions out here on this forsaken road,” growled the figure as a light like the call of heaven burst through the top of the forest canopy. “I best be checking it out, if I be seeing this, maybe something worth killin’ and eatin’ be seeing it. Could use some fresh meat, this dried bark they be callin’ jerky got me backed up like beavers dam.”
After a quick adjustment to the large pack hoisted over a spiked armored shoulder the figure pushed forward. Their eyes focusing on the light as its source grew closer and closer. It was hard to keep an ear out due to the sounds of the storm but the voice on the wind wasn’t horrid. “Least ain’t being no elf squalling out,” the figure reassured itself before cringing at the thought of listening to one of them harpy singing. As the stout one came close to the light as it suddenly faded away. “Well bend me over and turn me into a harlot, now ye shut up?” a voice hissed but kept pressing on and began to cut through the trees.
Thankfully the rain was beginning to die down and there was the smell of meat on the air. “Fooood,” the voice said in a slightly chipper voice with a pipe that had long been snuffed out by the rain lay clenched between teeth. Tilting a head to the side the figure stopped in the tree line as it watched an odd gathering of folk huddling under the roots of a large oak tree. “Well, ain’t that quaint,” the figure muttered to themselves as a woman up in the roots locked her legs under another root and swung down to take some clothing from a fiery haired youngster.
“Okay Fiona, got them,” Sana said as she took the clothing before righting herself back in the roots of the tree and began to hang up the fighters clothing. She stayed there as she waited to see if anyone else needed their clothing tended to before she jumped down, her lean legs swaying over the edge of the root. “Hopefully up here they’ll dry pretty quick but I guess as long as they are dry by morning it doesn’t matter,” Sana said before taking anyone elses clothing that was handed to her and leaping down from the roots, landing softly in the clover covered floor of the make-shift cave.
“You the one that was catter-walling out there in the storm earlier?” the figure asked as they stepped out of the tree line and made their way into the cave, dropping their pack on the ground next to them with a thud.
“Who the hell are you?” Sana exclaimed as she looked at the figure. She couldn’t make out the persons features due to the helmet and the hair plastered to their face but it was obvious they were a dwarf of some sorts. A helmet was worn on top of a large head on a short but very broad body that was adorned in the oddest fashion. They wore elven chain over their torso that was held in place by a belt that was riddled with various items, the oddest of which was a collect of axes that seemed to be the size of throwing daggers. Two Cross bows hung from the back and two battle hammers from each side of the belt. The persons arms were covered in spiked armor that went from their shoulders and covered the top of their hands.
“Who the hell you be?” the figure grumbled back.
“The bitch that is about to kick you the hell our camp, that’s who,” Sana hissed.
“In that get up?” the figure laughed, its voice going slightly higher in octave as it did. Sana went from mad to stunned as the person pulled their helmet off and pushed their white hair out of their face to reveal it was a woman, a dwarven no beard wearing woman. “Only thing you gonna do in that is catch a cold or one of me spikes up your backside. Whichever suits your fancy.”
Sana stood there, looking at the woman in slight shock. She had met dwarves in the past but they had been decent to be around and always male. She half thought that dwarven women were a thing of legend. Sana looked around at the rest of the group, her mouth slightly agape.
“I… I got nothing, you guys?” Sana asked.
“Apparently. Listen, I just gonna rest me haunches here ya toothpick,” the woman stated as she bent her knees and her butt fell into the ground by the fire. “Oh yeah, that be toasty nice,” she commented, totally ignoring those around her as she removed the pipe from between her teeth and knocked out the wet leaves on the heel of her boot. Reaching into her belt pack she pulled out some dry ones and packed the pipe before placing it back between her lips. Running the back side of a silver ring on her finger the pipe lit quickly as she puffed away, a content smile on her lips.
“Excuse you,” Sana said as she stepped in front of the woman.
“Excuse you, you blocking the fire,” the woman said before reaching out and pushing Sana by the legs out of the way. Sana slipped to the side and looked at the rest dumbfounded. “Hey, carve me off a bit of that beast, smells good!”
“I will not!” Sana hissed.
“Well, that ain’t no way to be hospitable!” the woman said before pulling a knife from her belt, leaving forward and carving off a chunk of meat. “Oh, name be Shela, who be you folk?” Shela asked as she pulled the pipe out of her mouth and took a bite of the meat. “Oh yeah, that be tasty!” | 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. |
892 | 13 | 328 | 2,489 | 654 | The Corpse
It was a dark night, the tall, dark figure decided as he peered up into the sky. Most nights, he could just barely make out faded, distant points of light in the sky - he wracked his mind for their word for a moment. Stars. Most nights, when he looked up, they were up there, quivering out of the blackness. But not tonight, so tonight must be an exceptionally dark night.
It must also have been raining. Yes, that was water falling on his grey skin, soaking his clothes, running in rivulets down his limbs. He could feel it, when he focused on it - the pitter patter of raindrops on his head. It reminded him of something lost to the ages. From when he was alive.
He took a step, then another one. He'd paused his pace for a moment, as he'd been weighing the limited sensory information from the outside world. He wasn't blind, or deaf, or anything like that. Everything was just... muted. Like he saw the world from the end of a long, dark tunnel, and half the color was drained out of it. His hearing was like his head was submerged with water, and he felt things as though through several layers of... something. At least, that's what it seemed like, compared to what few memories he had of... before.
Gradually, Oscar regained the shambling gait that defined his existence. Always walking.
There was something in the distance, a pale, flickering light. Like a star. But stars were always way up there, and this was down here... not a star, then. A fire? The corpse began to move towards it without really knowing why.
As he drew closer, he began to hear noises. Voices. There were people, and they were saying something - but their words were still too distant for their meaning to penetrate the numbness in his brain. Closer.
Before he knew it, he'd stepped out of some bushes and into the cave, making quite a racket as he did so. He jerked his head around, trying to study each figure in turn. An elf, a shirtless man, a goblin, a girl with strange, bright hair, an angry woman, a dwarf, and old grey man...
They were armed. Oscar hoped they wouldn't try to hurt him. He hated when people tried to hurt him. His efforts to stop similar situations had never really worked but it might be worth trying. He cleared his throat loudly, and rumbled through broken teeth. "I... am... Oscar. I will not hurt you."
The Thief
Tobias rose and handed his shirt to Sana, doing his honest, level best not to eye Fiona as he did so. "Tie this up too. I'll keep the pants - wouldn't want any of you ladies to be too tempted." He was just turning back to sit by the fire when a racket exploded into the cave.
Two things were instantly clear about the figure - it was a dwarf, and it was loud. A second later, Tobias became pretty sure it was a woman, judging by the lack of beard. Sana and the dwarf instantly went off on each other, and Tobias felt compelled to intervene before any eyes ended up on arrows.
"Easy, Sana," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder (hoping neither she nor Hugh would stab him for touching her as she was undressed). "We've got plenty to go around, right?" He tried to make eye contact with the woman, hoping to stare a silent message into her. The dwarf might be dangerous, and pissing her off won't make her less so. "You're a traveler, right? Isn't there some sort of... road hospitality rule?"
He turned to the dwarf and bowed sharply. "Apologies for the roughness, Lady Dwarf. We are the humble adventuring band known as the... Cinder Seekers. My name is Tobias, the group's pretty face. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Just then, a new figure arrived. It walked like a person, but one glance at its gray skin, white eyes and tattered clothes made the thief certain it was not one. The monster said something, but Tobias wasn't listening.
The rogue sprang back and grabbed Fiona, interposing the girl between himself and the new arrival. "It's a zombie! Kill it, kill it with fire!" | 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 |
893 | 13 | 329 | 914 | 1,884 | Words and commotion seemed to flare around Derrix as he diligently dressed his plump kill with his sharp knife, eager to save as much of the animal as possible. For once his eyes focused and did not see what was no longer there, but rather stayed in reality, examining his mundane task with content vigor.
The repetitive motion was admittedly relaxing to Derrix, so much so he managed to drown out the arguments around him with simple thoughts and ideas. His steel blade scratched the flesh of the animal as he separated skin from muscle, and the metallic smell overtook him, despite his proximity to the already cooked and savory aromatic chunks he had prepared for the small green boy and perhap his other new comrades at arms.
He labored over the animal with a short smile, happy in his current state of simplistic bliss.
Derrix felt the tug of the boar’s hide as he scraped the fat from a fold he had peeled off of it’s side. His attention was shattered and he followed the inertia of the tug to a midget stealing his animal rather brashly.
“Excuse me,” Derrix started, his brow furrowed with confusion as he golden eyes looked the woman over, reflecting off the licks of the fire before him.
“But that boar is not yours.”
A sudden groaning voice took his attention once more and he flung his vision over to the silhouette of yet another visitor to the cave. He pursed his lips into a line, figuring silence was his place in the matter. | 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 |
894 | 13 | 330 | 290 | 1,247 | Hello Oscar I am Zam the aforementioned Petal introduced herself to the Zombie because he seemed friendly enough she then pointed towards Mort and introduced him "And that Mortosh Celjust"
At hearing his name the jawless skeleton stood up and turned towards Zam and saw her with Oscar he quickly raced over to them both stopped and held his hand out to shake with Zombie | 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 |
895 | 13 | 331 | 677 | 1,382 | The wet squishing of hooves walking through the mud was the only sound in the forest asides from the quiet howl of the wind and steady drumming of the frigid rain. The steed, dark as charcoal strolled through the woods carrying its master, a lean looking man in common street clothes, who looked mildly annoyed, but other than an occasional blink did not seem to acknowledge the weather around him. His left hand loosely held onto the reins of the horse, the right resting on the pommel of an odd sword sheathed on his hip.
For the past hour he had been traveling towards a large pillar of light he had seen. He had been riding for days. He wasn't really sure where he was going, but that had been his modus operandi for the past 4 years.
Eventually he saw a small trail of smoke rising in the air rising from the woods. Perhaps an encampment? He directed his steed to weave through the trees, coming about to a great tree-cavern filled with quite the number of colorful characters. He walked his horse into the cave, careful not to bump into anyone or anything and dismounted. He had the face of a foreigner, with pointed eyes, tan skin and hints of elvish pointedness in his ears that stuck out of his hair. It was difficult to tell much more about him, since his shoulder-length hair was soaking wet and covered much of his head.
"I hope I'm not encroaching. I would greatly appreciate a bit of your food." As he said this, the man walked over and carved a slice of the hog meat without waiting for a reply with his utility knife. He walked back over to his horse, now laying on the floor and sat down cross-legged, his sandals poking up into the air. "Name's Kazuo." The man points at the horse, "This is Trombe." The horse whinnies a greeting to the rest of the people in the cave, | 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. |
896 | 13 | 332 | 1,451 | 685 | Fiona had barely finished covering her legs when an unannounced visitor arrived in their cave, a dwarf woman. This was certainly something she had never seen in her brief travels, and judging by Sana's reaction, not something she had seen either. Immediately it appeared to be heading towards a confrontation; the dwarf woman, Shela as she introduced herself, was incredibly rude and forced herself upon them, expecting hospitality, and Sana seemed inclined to deny it to her, even though she was mostly naked. Derrix as well did not seem eager to part with any of the boar.
She should have expected this. Sana's beacon had succeeded in guiding the group to her, but undoubtedly others had been caught in this storm, and they would be drawn to the light as well. Fiona supposed they were lucky the woman hadn't attacked on sight. Few of them were ready for a fight. For her part, Fiona had no armor, no weapon, and no real energy for action.
"We can work this out," she said, as soon as she thought most of the group would hear her. Tobias was backing her up, so that was good. "It would wrong of us to turn people out into the storm if they mean us no harm. Conversely..." she looked down at the sitting dwarf, "it would be fairly rude of a guest to demand more than is offered to them." She didn't know what sort of customs the dwarf was used to, but where Fiona was from, visitors did not overstay their welcome, or take advantage of given hospitality. Not if they wanted to continue receiving that hospitality.
Of course, then a zombie arrived, introducing itself as Oscar, and Fiona found Tobias directly behind her, yelling in fear and asking her to kill it. Tensing up slightly, she considered getting closer to her horse, where her sword was strapped down, but Mortosh approached the being instead and greeted it. It didn't seem violent, so... that was good.
And then another arrived. How many travelers were in this area? Had the beacon been visible that far away? None of them seemed very cautious about approaching a group that was well armed and obviously dangerous, which was both refreshing and annoying to Fiona at the same time. This one, at least, Kazuo, seemed a little more well-mannered.
"I'm Fiona," she said, waving briefly to the newcomers. "There's some food to spare, but as you can see, there's quite a few of us now. Please take only what you need." They'd probably be on their way come the morning, once the storm broke. Though they'd have to be sure to keep a night watch now (an effective one) in case any of these new arrivals were planning on stealing from them in their sleep. | 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. |
897 | 13 | 333 | 290 | 1,247 | Zam had set herself on Oscar's Shoulder she was leaning against his ear "So Oscar Mortosh was wondering how long have you been undead? or awake as he refers to it" she herself was a bit curious on the matter.
Mortosh was leaning against a tree parallel of them observing the other newcomer Kazuo seemed to be a well-mannered sort of possible elven origin,
Oscar's mannerisms seemed to suggest that like Mortosh preferred to avoid violence, The Dwarven Woman Could be counted as Oscar's Counterpart Where Oscar seemed to be meek the dwarf was loud "Zam Stay With Oscar I Am Going To Continue My Watch" | 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 |
898 | 13 | 334 | 54 | 1,340 | Shela sat there munching away on the piece of meat she had snagged, if one could call it munching. She effectively shoved the entire piece of meat into her mouth and was sitting there chomping away as if she hadn’t eaten in a year; mouth agape for all to see each chew as she masticated the flesh, a wiry grin of pride on her features. She ignored Sana who was standing to her side trying to burn a whole through her with the angered glare she was shooting the dwarf.
As another new comer came by Shela rose a thick brow, wiping her mouth with the palm of her hand. “By my mines, when the last time you ate something? I’ve seen more flesh on an elf than be hanging on that bag of bones of yours,” Shela remarked as she continued to chew, a few pieces of meat flying out of her mouth as she spoke. “Whoops,” she muttered, picking up the pieces that fell on the ground and shoving them back behind her teeth. Seeing the skeleton hold out his hand to the skinny fellow Shela furrowed her brows. “For fuck sakes, you people not feed anyone around here?” she asked looking around at the group. When Tobias spoke up Sana shifted her glare to him.
“It’s called manners!” Sana snapped, stepping over to Epona and in one quick motion picking up her bow and nocking an arrow into place.
“Oh hush it stick,” Shela grumbled before looking over towards Tobias. “Pretty face? You ain’t got a beard, full and thick and you call yourself a pretty face. Now, that one over there, he be a piece of meat I wouldn’t mind getting to know,” Shela attempted to say in a sultry voice towards Hugh that ended up sounding more like an orc being raked over hot coals.
Sanas eyes narrowed to slits as the dwarf attempted to make a pass at Hugh, a possessive growl passing over her lips as she pulled the string back on her arrow and took aim. “He’s mine bitch,” she hissed, ready to release the arrow at Shelas skull. She was in no mood for this woman in any way, much less her making a pass at her man.
“Touchy, touchy. Fine, he be yours. No loss to me. Maybe if her grew that beard out though I could show him real fun,” Shela said chuckling as she continued to chew her stolen food. “Oh shh, no need for killing, just feed the damn thing and let it be on its way,” Shela said as she watched Tobias flip out at the zombie. “If he be needing brains, you ain’t in no harm.” She just shrugged after smirking towards Tobias and then looked over towards Derrix and said that the Boar was not hers.
“Want it back?” Shela asked before opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out, the masticated flesh resting on her thick tongue. “Didn’t think so,” she said with a chuckle before pulling her tongue back and swallowing. “Mighty fine meat, you got talent there who ever cooked this.”
“How dare you walk into our camp site and just steal our food! This isn’t some free for all buffet you cock knocking ale swiller!” Sana spat.
“I never swill!” Shela said as she turned her head slowly and narrowed her eyes towards Sana, placing her hand on the hilt of hammer. She was about to draw the weapon and Sana nearly released her arrow as yet another new comer came into the camp. “Well lookie here! Kazuo was it? Names Shela, that be some fine meat if I do say so myself!” she said with glee as she pulled out a large flask and took a long drink before handing it over to Kazuo. “Finest ale this side of the underground,” she said shoving it over to him.
“What the fuck is happening?” Sana said confused as she looked over at Fiona. “That’s the last time I sing that fucking song,” she growled. | 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. |
899 | 13 | 335 | 914 | 1,884 | Before Derrix could agree to getting his meat back, the midget swallowed it. A few thoughts popped into the golden eyed man’s mind as the fuss around the cave began to swell, but a short exhale and a cold thought reminded him he wasn’t in Charlin, allowing both a gut twisted homesickness nauseate him as well as a solid pit of disappointment.
With stiff straining joints the man lifted himself back to his feet. He crossed his round arms as he examined everyone around the fire, including the newest thief that had snuck in to join the midget in robbing him of his kill.
His eyes flickered over to the mouth of the cave, where the rain glimmered like falling silver across it’s mouth. The man took quick strides out of the cave, while drenched in his own thoughts. In a few moment he reappeared by the glow of the fire, and in the cloud of smoke that started to pollute the upper atmosphere of the cave, in his hand was his ashen colored sword, it’s razor edge catching the red reflection of the fire, giving it a dastardly image.
He rose a brow as he looked over the midget, and then the new thief, then back at the others. He bit his lower lip and shook his scarred head slowly, as if punctuating his thoughts.
His powerful shoulder snapped back and swung forward, heaving the blade in a flash through the air, cutting the wind with a whistle. A bone snapped loudly and the sound of flesh ripping overtook the whistle of the blade as the ashen sword severed the corpse of the pig directly down the middle, splashing crimson across the surrounding green clovers.
With a satisfied yank, Derrix snatched the lower half of the animal by the tail and lifted it chest level. He examined the cut as he lowered his other hand that held the blade.
He looked over at the midget and nodded, a satirical smile of respect bowing his lips, “from honor I gift this pig’s ass, to it’s equal, an ass of a pig.”
He leaned over and dropped the bloody rump onto the dwarf’s lap before nodding to the rest of the cavern crew, “and I leave the head to all others.”
Derrix wiped his ashen blade of it’s scarlet stain from the pig on his tunic before flipping it over in his hand. His serious lips turned straight once more as he turned and made his way back out into the rain, but not before snatching his bow that was propped up against the wall of the mouth. | 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 |
Subsets and Splits