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900	13	336	677	1,382	Kazuo sat back watching the whole scene play out. Seemed like the lady-dwarf was making it her business to piss off everyone else in this cave, making "advances" at random men, insulting appearances of people trying to converse, showing her chewed up food to the guy with the weird scarring. She did give him ale though. With his spare hand he grabbed the flask and looked at it. His mother had taught him to not drink alcohol. It dulled the senses and ruined your coordination and ability to think, perhaps your greatest strength in a fight. Also it smelled rather foul, but he wasn't going to say that aloud. Shela's reward for her stunning behavior was having half a boar carcass dumped on her lap. Kazuo looked at the thin slice of meat in between his fingers, at the carcass, at the scarred man, then back at his meat. He had made sure that the slice was so thin as to be less than a mouthful, nothing that would be missed but... "If you want it back, I don't mind." Kazuo extends the meat out. The emptiness in his stomach wasn't worth the enmity of the guy with his big sword out.	Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.
901	13	337	54	1,340	Sana held her bow, with the arrow nocked in place, in one hand as she ran her free hand through her wet hair and sighed deeply. This was a bit much for even the best of days but with everything else that had happened she felt the urge to just go ahead and skullfuck the dwarf with her arrow and get it over it. She looked over at Derrix, taking a step back somewhat as the events unfolded. Seemed she wasn't the only one that was tired of this but his reaction seemed to be a bit nicer than the options that were dancing through her head. Shela on the other hand just sat there, puffing away on her pipe as if it was an everyday occurrence and a broad smile came over her features as he dropped the hogs rear end into her lap "Well I haven't have a nice piece of ass in a long time, much obliged!" she exclaimed as she patted the butt of the boor and proceeded to carve off some more. "Anyone else want some?" she said as she shoved a piece into her mouth, still holding the pipe between her teeth as she did. Reaching over she took her flask of Ale back and took a long swig. "Now, that is what I am talking about! good food, ale, and friends! Cheers!" "Friends?" Sana hissed and then shook her head. "Oh screw this, I'll be with Derrix," Sana said grabbing her quiver and slinging it over her back, before she headed out of the cave. "Woman is gonna catch her death of cold wandering out there in nothing but some bandages and no boots," Shela commented as she swallowed the piece of meat. "So Red, what you folk doing all huddled up here in the middle of no where?" Shela asked as she puffed away on her pipe and began carving off pieces of meat, handing out some to Kuzuo. "Come on, eat!"	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.
902	13	338	914	1,884	Derrix looked back swiftly at the other thief that sat with the midget, “keep it, it is yours.” The midget started to bark words that fell as blurs on the man’s ears as he continued his withdrawal from the cave, whistling to his horse. The white beast trotted up to him, droplets running down it’s muscular sides. Derrix patted the stallion roughly and with one swift motion, he climbed up to sit on the soaked leather saddle. He kicked his feet into the stirrups and popped an arrow out of the side satchel and loosely pinched it in the hand that he held the bow string with. With the chill dispersed wind of the wood passing through his thin wet clothes, a sturdy curved bow in his hand, and a horse underneath, he felt like he was on the plains again, almost. There was a certain feel the plains had that this forest just didn’t emulate, and a certain respect that just wasn’t here; this land felt empty and in consequence, it added a soft and pained pang to the beat in the hollow of his already strained heart	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
903	13	339	1,451	685	Having allowed herself to expect that the rest of the night would give her an opportunity to rest and relax and prepare for the next day, Fiona was getting a bit exasperated by the situation. She empathized with Derrix's insult directed at the dwarf, and had been thinking similar things herself, but clearly this Shela was the type of woman who only fed off of such things. Showing that she'd gotten under their skin would only embolden her. Which she'd certainly managed to get under Fiona's already, and with both Derrix and Sana storming off, it seemed to fall to Fiona to be the hostess of the cave, so to speak. It was a job she didn't want; sleep sounded nicer, but she couldn't until she was reasonably certain this dwarf, this corpse, and this other newcomer were trustworthy enough to lower her guard around. She thought about calling after Sana to try and get her to come back, but stopped herself at the last second, figuring if anyone would do it, it would be Hugh. One less person to help her deal with the newcomers, it seemed. She sighed, tiredly, running a hand through her still damp hair and trying to work out a few tangles, before looking down at the sitting dwarf. Assuming that "Red" was referring to her, she answered the question. "We're on a job," she explained. "Collecting ingredients to help treat a rare case of cinder sickness that sprang up in a village orphanage. We've collected one of the five things we need, and we're on our way to the next."	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.
904	13	340	677	1,382	Shrugging as the man called his horse and rode off after the gypsy woman left, Kazuo popped the piece of meat in his mouth and placed his palm back to its resting place on the pommel of his sword. It was quite good, but seeing it chewed up not one minute ago made it feel worse in his mouth than it should have and he was not inclined to have more. His other hand waved at Shela, declining the meat she was offering him. Still, the bit of food helped him relax, his body visibly loosening as he leaned back and studied the odd people he found himself sitting with in the cave. Trombe exhaled loudly behind Kazuo as Shela spoke in its direction. The horse didn't seem to like her. "Easy, easy." Kazuo said softly to the beast. He patted the flank of the horse a couple of times before returning his attention to the conversation at hand. Cinder sickness? He was pretty sure he had heard of it before. If he was thinking of the right thing, it was like getting burns from the inside. Nasty stuff. Seemed kind of odd for such a simple task to need so many people. Cinder sickness didn't really have a reputation for being that hard to cure. It wasn't his business. "So what brings you to this part of the woods, Shela?" It was pretty obvious that everyone in this cave but him and Shela were a bit on edge. Maybe her telling a bit more about herself would help defuse the tension. Or the question might backfire and piss off everyone even more. It was worth the gamble. After all they'd only have to make it through this night. The weather did not seem like it would keep up into the next day.	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.
905	13	341	2,489	654	The Corpse Oscar was perfectly still as he awaited the inevitable. Swords, torches, roaring and blood. One of them, the shirtless one, had already reacted to his presence, springing back in fright. He did not want to kill them. Then, something unexpected happened. A frail, light voice came from somewhere... a greeting? And one of the ones he hadn't been able to see clearly ran over to him, and held out an empty hand. The corpse peered at him... it was too dark for him to see clearly, but, it came to him soon enough. "Dead... like me." A memory slithered through his foggy brain. The hand meant something... he was supposed to do something with it? Limply, Oscar jerked his arm forward and slapped the other undead's palm with his. Close enough. Someone new arrived, and everyone else was talking. Two of the humans left in a huff, obviously displeased with the newcomers. The voice came from somewhere again, even as the other dead one left. Oscar let his head loll back and replied in no particular directing. "Awakened? I have been dead... I do not know." He wracked his decayed brain, trying to find the right words for time. "Years, now. More than one? A long time, I have been walking." Oscar twitched, his whole body convulsing, but carried on impassively. "May I stay here? Out of the..." what was the word? "Rain?" The Thief Tobias stepped away from Fiona as they whole party proceeded to not erupt in a flurry of zombie-slaying, coughing quietly. "Eh-heh... anyway," He said, patting the girl's shoulder absent-mindedly. The rogue was uncharacteristically quiet as the scene unfolded. Someone new showed up with a funny sword, Derrix and Sana threw a hissy-fit about the food and stormed off, Shela the dwarf took it all with enviable good cheer, and Fiona was trying to explain their situation. "Well," he said, clapping his hands as the scene was winding down. "Those two just don't know how to have any fun at all." The thief sat next to the fire, eyeing the zombie spasming in the corner of his vision. Everyone else may be content to have it in the camp, but Tobias wasn't. "I'd stay on Sana's good side, though. Much easier said than done, I know, but she's got a temper on her." He chuckled slightly, procuring a bit of stale bread from his pack and gnawing on it. It reminded the thief of home, somehow. He nodded encouragingly as the one with the sword - Kazuo - asked the dwarf for her tale. "Yeah, let's do stories! After this, I'll tell the one about how I slew a giant and made off with his treasures!"	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
906	13	342	54	1,340	Sana kept her arrow nocked in place as she began to walk away from cave. The rain was letting up but the chill was still in the air and Sana wasn't exactly dressed for such weather. Two thing pieces of cloth wrapped around her most delicate of areas was all that protected her from the elements, her bare feet falling softly into the mud and muck of the forest floor as she grumbled to herself. She understood Derrixs anger on some level, one did not just waltz into another's camp and set up shop. Sana wasn't a particularly couth woman but there were some lines she didn't cross. She made her way deeper into the forest, stopping at a tree and leaning back against it as the rain dripped down from the leaves above her. Yesterday had been horrible, today wasn't turning out to be much better. Running her tongue over her lips, she licked away the moisture as she lowered her head and stared at the ground, watching her toes wiggle in the mud as she lost herself in thought; her body shivering violently from the cold. Back in the gave Shela contently puffed on her pipe, carving off pieces of meat and handing them out to those that wanted some and periodically taking a long pull from her flask of ale. A thick brow rose as Fiona mentioned the cinder sickness. "Oh yeah, I read a flyer about that in a few towns back. Nasty shit ol cinder can be. Worse to deal than a night of elvish cooking," she said as she pulled the collar of her elven chain to the side to reveal a large black scar on her chest that looked like the remains of an over cooked carcass. "Burns like hell but the worst part is when one of the boils erupts," she said. "Boom!" she yelled as she threw her hands up in the air. "Blood be so hot it be like molten steel bubbling on the hearth. Lands around you settin fire to anything it touches, your flesh chars as it heal. Left me with that nasty little reminder. Tell ya what I'd rather dance with a were under a pale moon than go through that again," she said letting go of her chain as she chewed on the tip of her pipe. "Me? Oh I just be traveling. Ya know, see what be out there. Been done adventuring long time, longer than most ye been alive I reckon. Well maybe not that one," she said pointing over to Vaeri. "Can never be sure how old one of them be, they don't age like us normal folk," she said taking another puff off her pipe. "A story eh? Well, I guess I could tell ya of the time me mates and I were out dungeon diving for treasure but wasn't nothing much exciting bout that. Oh I got one ya may like," she said as she pulled a necklace out from under her mail and held up a tooth that was nearly as large as her hand. "Could be tellin ya how I got this here Dragons tooth. Right good story there, lots of high adventure and more fun than barrel riding down the White River!"	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.
907	13	343	677	1,382	Nobody owns a cave. As long as you don't try eating any of us, you should be good, Z-man. Kazuo tucked his wet hair behind his ears so he could better hear what Shela had to see. It seemed like she actually had a good tale or two. Maybe a good story really was all that was needed to get everyone other than the two outsiders and the sleeping elf to relax. Speaking of the elf, when Shela pointed at her, Vaeri turned to the side. This didn't seem to be anything more than a coincidence, however. "I guess traveling for a similar reason as Shela. Adventuring. Seeing the world. Getting stronger. You know. Usual stuff." Stuff was punctuated by a sneeze that was quiet enough to feel more like an apology than a sneeze. Maybe the rain had affected him a bit more than he let on. In any case, his clothes and hair were drying out pretty quickly. He'd probably be fine.	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.
908	13	344	1,033	567	Drizzak shook the sleep from his eyes once again. Had he drifted off again? He was just so relaxed and calm by the fire, with his allies around. No fights for once. No conflict. While it was fun, even he got tired of it at times. Everyone seemed to be okay within the cave, and Drizzak saw that some new faces were joining them. That was nice. New allies to fight with, and bleed with. Talk and laugh with. There was fun to be had. Battles to be won. And here he was, sleeping on the floor of a cave by the fire and waving at them like an idiot. In a loincloth and nothing else. He might as well have introduced himself. "I Drizzak. I fight." How embarrassing. That is, if he felt embarrassment.	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'.
909	13	345	54	1,340	The night had finally rolled in as the sun set in the east but dark clouds still rolled through the sky hiding the moon from sight; the chill in the air grew in intensity even as the winds died down. Sana tilted her head back and looked towards the leaves as a chill ran down her spine. Something was off. The cold was one thing but her burns were at least sated in their desire to cause her pain from it. There was something else in the air, something that should not have been there; something hostile. Sanas eyes narrowed as the pull in her gut began to knot, her head lowered and turned to the right and then the left as she surveyed the forest around her. It was so silent, she could not even hear the others speaking in the cave anymore. She had not wandered far enough for such a silence to invade her senses. The snap of a twig broke the silence and her heart felt like it was ricocheting off the wall of her chest as she held her breath. Her fingers gripped her bow as she drew the string back; amber flecks flickering against the dark orbs of her eyes as they darted around. A slow breath passed through parted lips as she spun around towards the sound and took aim yet there was nothing there; nothing but a dense fog rolling in fast. Was whatever that made the sound hidden in the fog? The fog came in quickly as if it was a living and breathing thing. Sana felt helpless as tendrils whipped out from the fog, wrapping around her and sending her into a bewildered stupor. A scream ripped from her vocal cords as she dropped her bow and arrow to the mud at her feet before she was pulled deep within the fog. Suddenly the fog was gone as quickly as it had appeared, along with Sana. Nothing remained but her scream on the air, her weapon on the ground and her foot prints in the mud. In the cave Shela leaned back on her elbow, puffing away on her pipe with an amused expression on her face hearing the weak sneeze. “Hope you wield a blade better than you sneeze,” she jested with mirth in her voice. “Well it looks like we are all just a bunch of waywards looking for a good brawl. So any of you see any action as of late? I haven’t been able to gut anything in weeks and I think me hammer is getting thirsty for blood once again.” “Me thinks I be keeping with you all. Cinder is nasty but hunting down something on the road while ya all look could be a smashing good time! Yes, that be it! Tomorrow I trek with you, show you what a real mad woman can do. We have some grand stories to tell in no time at all,” she exclaimed as she righted herself and slapped her knee, proud of the decision that she had made. As the goblin spoke she turned her head, her teeth grinding against the wood of the pipe for a moment, never have been too fond of their kind but his short words were enough to break a grin on her features. “Drizzak fight? Must have fought something mighty to be turning gold. Soon you be worth more dead than alive with that pretty skin,” she pipped before she heard the scream rip through the cave. “Told that woman she catch something wandering out there like that, sound like something done caught her,” she said as she pushed herself to her feet and popped her neck. “We check it out?” she said as trudged towards the edge of the cave, heavy footsteps falling against the ground as each step grew faster and she built speed. She wasn’t waiting for an answer; the chance for a battle right then was too appealing.	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.
910	13	346	677	1,382	Kazuo remained silent at both Shela and the gold goblin, Drizzak's words. Not out of a sense of stand-offnish or superiority, but because he had nothing to say. Yeah he could have replied "I try to sneeze quietly so that it doesn't tip off every wild beast within a mile of me," to Shela and, "Cool, I fight too," to Drizzak but it would not really add anything to the conversation. That scream however, would. He could just let a woman, even one he had just kind-of-not-really met die out in the forest. From his sitting position, Kazuo rocked forward, tucked his head in and rolled forward up onto his feet. "Trombe, now it's time to run." The horse neighed in reply and stood, allowing its master to mount before galloping off in the direction. Shela would probably have a not insignificant lead, so his first goal was to catch up with her. "Want a lift?" Traveling in twos would reduce the chances of being ambushed like the gypsy woman probably was, but if she chose not to take his off, he was pretty sure Trombe would enjoy not having to run with a heavy dwarf in full plate in tow.	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.
911	13	347	914	1,884	Charroux wound through the thick trees. His great hooves pounded the moist mulch of the forest floor, kicking up brown speckles across his muddied white legs. Derrix scanned every shadow diligently while he rode on top of his horse. Using only his knees to guide Charroux, he held his bow with a notched arrow, ready to shoot any danger that could have caused the ripping scream he had heard bounce off the trees. Wind rushed past the charging pair, and even though the rain had stopped, their force through the moist air dampened their faces and left dewey beads in Derrix’s otherwise dark hair. The already lighter cool air suddenly turned thick and humid as the two continued their sprint. The sudden absence of the the rain’s chill brought a strain to Charroux’s muscular legs and the horse slowed. Derrix sympathetically nodded toward his horse, unwilling to part with his bow to pat the animal. A soft hue of light radiated off of the mounted mans he and his horse continued into the shadows of the forest, eager to find Sana, and the source of why she had screamed. The ground turned muddy, and Derrix slid of of his horse, realizing the opportunity for tracking. As if heaven sent, the man quickly found the outline of a bare foot pressed into the mud, and another, and another. Derrix looked over at his horse and swung his bow over his shoulder in favor of his sword, which he pulled from it’s scabbard with a shrieking rasp. Walking along side what prints he could make out of the mud, he continued, Charroux in tow.	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
912	13	348	1,451	685	Fiona It never ended, it seemed. Fiona wasn't sure what to do when she heard the scream. She knew she had to help, but she wasn't exactly prepared, being half undressed and unarmored. There was no time, though, leading Fiona to remove the blanket around her and tie a lighter cloth around her hips much like Sana had done, at least letting her move quickly and preserve some amount of modesty. Quickly she scooped her sword belt up from the ground and buckled it around her waist. Barefoot, Fiona slipped her foot into a stirrup and pulled herself up onto her horse, checking briefly to make sure her weapons were in order, before she wheeled about and held a hand out towards Tobias. "Coming?" Zoenya The adventuring party weren't the only ones drawn to the sound of Sana's scream. A young woman was mounted atop a trotting horse moving at a steady, relaxed pace down the road. She looked to have avoided the worst of the storm, though her thick, long black hair and her clothes were still damp with the lighter rainfall that was occurring currently. Judging by the look on her face, one of near absent-minded pleasantness, she wasn't bothered by it. Zoe traveled many nights. Sometimes she just didn't feel tired, and upon learning that the last town didn't have anything for her, she saw no reason to stay after the storm began to let up. She rode for a while, stopping when she noticed that the sun was setting on the wrong side of the world. That was quite odd, and a sure sign of magic. She waited for a while, holding still and wondering if everyone was experiencing this, or just her. When the woman's scream cut through the still night air, she was drawn towards it rather than away. That was her curiosity overpowering any fear, as usual. There were dangerous things out and about at night in the dark woods as always, but Zoe could handle herself. She told herself that, anyway. "Light leads the way" she said to herself cheerily, holding out a closed fist. When she opened it, palm up, a white magical orb appeared and floated up, settling above Zoe's head and orbiting there, providing impressive illumination for the area immediately around her. She continued on, slowing her horse to a walk, heading towards the source of the scream. Eventually, she found a tree with prints all around it, deep from the soft earth, but they only came from one direction. Someone, probably that woman, had walked up to this tree, stopped, and then... "Poof?" she said to herself, dismounting and crouching down by the tree. There was a bow here, and one arrow. Setting her spear against the tree, Zoe picked up the bow and arrow, examining them. This was all very odd. Why would a woman be wandering around the woods alone at night? She would have to have some reason... Zoe tried to think for a moment if the scream sounded familiar, but couldn't decide. Probably not. It was best not to jump to any conclusions. In the meantime, she remained by the tree, taking a closer look at the footprints, the bow, the arrow, using the hovering light of her spell above her to aid her.	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.
913	13	349	54	1,340	I'm good, Shela retorted to the offer. Though she was short and broad in stature as well as well armored she moved quickly through the forest towards where the scream had come from. Keeping her head down, she built speed as she followed the prints in the mud from the archer that had stormed off in her undies. Slowly her eyes moved forward and up to in front of her, seeing the man that had gifted her the nice piece of ass in the distance as well as someone she had not seen before. Her trudging stopped and she slid forward in the mud a few feet before she came to a stop. "Bloody hell, you ain't be the one that dun screamed," Shela grunted rather obviously. Taking a wide stance she gripped her hammer as she looked at the woman holding the bow that she had seen Sana point at her earlier the cave. "What you gone and done to the loud mouth?" Shela asked in a accusatory tone of voice. She didn't know this woman, granted she only knew Sana by name so far but it was a step up from the one before her. "And whatca doing with her bow?"	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.
914	13	350	2,489	654	The Thief The scream entered Tobias's ears and dwelled in his brain, replaying again and again as though in an echo chamber, getting louder and shriller and more annoying each time. Fucking hell. Sana had wandered off in a hissyfit, and now she had landed herself in hot water. That seemed perfectly fine to Tobias; served her right, in fact. If she managed to skullfuck whatever mist beastie had her in its clutches, she'd be back to bossing them around - if not, the adventure could continue without her, especially now that they had all these new... characters in their lineup. Only two things gave him pause in this resolution: one, Fiona was obviously primed to go help, and was holding her hand out to him. For some strange reason, the thief was loathe to disappoint her... and to let the girl go out there without his help. An interesting sensation, one that would require examination. Secondly and (he told himself) more importantly, he could not pass up the shit-eating smugness he could get away with if he helped rescue Sana. It was good to be a hero. Tobias calculated all that in the blink of an eye as he strapped his daggers to his belt and grabbed Fiona's hand, allowing her to pull him up onto her horse. "Alright team, let's go stab something different from us!" The Corpse Oscar was standing stock still by the fire, dead to the world, when the sound penetrated the thick veil of his senses. It was a sound he'd heard before, many times, when the red came on him, when he had to rip and hurt and break. Screaming. But this sound exactly, faint and hollow as it was by the time it penetrated his rotted mind, reminded him of something else. A memory, a specific memory. From when he was alive. He went from a stop to a dead run almost instantly, charging off in the direction of the noise, building speed, his arms trailing and dangling behind him. A great rumbling came from behind his broken teeth as he ran, his throaty, strange voice crying out into the darkness. "Katherine! Katherine, I'm coming! Hold on!" He wasn't sure where he was going, what he was saying, or what his plan was. He was gaining speed, good footholds getting harder and harder to find. He shouldn't be going this fast. Something was happening. He would stop it. He would stop 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
915	13	351	677	1,382	No skin off my bones, thought Kazuo. Trombe was a sleek horse who found little trouble slipping through the forest and when he thought about it, having Shela on would not only piss off the horse, but also dramatically reduce his maneuverability. He followed just behind Shela and in the distance could spot the scarred guy with a big-ass white horse and some new girl. Behind him was the zombie guy shouting about some Katherine but barreling forward like an untended fruit cart on a hilltop and the red-headed girl would probably not be far behind. Kazuo rode up to the scene beside Shela. Although he did not draw his sword , he kept his hands firmly gripped on the sheath and hilt, ready to draw at a moment's notice if he needed. "Yeah, what she said." Kazuo nearly facepalmed at himself for saying that. He could have said anything, and he chose that of all 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.
916	13	352	1,451	685	Fiona arrived at the scene of Sana's disappearance shortly after Shela and the other newcomer, Kazuo, did. Derrix wasn't far behind, she knew, but for the moment, there didn't appear to be a fight on hand, which was both good and bad. On on the one side, it meant that they didn't need to battle anything while hardly prepared, exhausted, and half undressed, but on the other, it meant that for the moment, Sana was simply gone. The girl who stood in Sana's place, with Sana's bow, crouching over Sana's footprints, didn't look that threatening, and certainly nothing worthy of screaming in terror at, but if that glowing orb of light illuminating a circle around her was any indication, she had magic of some kind, and Fiona knew that magic could do some pretty great and terrible things. Fiona didn't draw her weapon, but watched the girl intently as her horse came to a stop. "Me? I didn't do anything. I came to check out the scream, same as you," Zoe answered Shela, standing with the bow in hand. Her eyes took in each new person as they arrived, all of them friends of the disappeared woman, apparently. "As for the bow... I dunno, I was just looking. Somebody want it?" She held it out to the dwarf lady, and then the man ready to draw his sword, and then up at the redheaded girl on the horse, to see if anyone would take it. Her spear was still propped up against the tree. "I was riding when I noticed this weird thing with the sun going the wrong way, so I stopped and waited, because that's magic you know, the sun doesn't just do that on its own. Heard a lady scream, came to check it out." She pointed down at the tracks beneath her with the arrow in her other hand. "From what I can tell, she stopped here, stomped about a bit, and then..." She shrugged. "Poof."	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.
917	13	353	914	1,884	Drazig was by himself, an eerie squeaking noise filled the air and the darkness enveloped him making escape impossible in the shroud of shadows. The Ogre was scared, and he was all alone in the scary darkness. Suddenly, he felt cold. He jerked at the sudden feeling, did a ghost just pass through him? Is he being frozen alive at this very moment!? What was happening! He tried to get up, but his body didn't allow it, is he being possessed right now!? Drazig moved his head around to find the thing that was keeping him locked in place, and his sight soon stopped at his belly. Something wasn't right... Where is his blanket!? "Drazig! Stop moving, I'm trying to sleep," grumbled Dorat. "Oh, sorry." Drazig responded with a blank face. He stayed in that pose for several seconds, his brain trying to figure out something, but he just couldn't tell. Oh, he wasn't all alone, he had Dorat. Double 'oh'! He could see in the dark, the shadows can't hurt him. Triple 'oh'! The eeire squeaking was coming from the wagon they are currently traveling inside. Qua... Quin... Four 'oh'! He felt cold, because Dorat took his side of the blanket... Wait, Dorat just took his side of the blanket... HEY! Drazig came to the most important realization that his partner had just taken his side of the blanket, and punched his own arm. "Ow! What'd you do that for!" Dorat awoken, slightly angry that he could go to sleep and that he had just gotten punched by his other half. "Give me back my blanket!" Drazig punched his own arm again, pissing off Dorat even further. "Your half of the body is fatter! You give off more body heat than my side!" Dorat explained, trying to bullshit Drazig so he could stay extra toasty in the wagon. And, it seemed to work. Until Drazig's face turned from confusion to anger once again. "I don't know what that means!" Drazig was just about to punch his own body's arm once again, but suddenly, a distant scream was heard in the distance, stopping the angered ogre. Dorat had heard it too, and looked to his partner. "Hey, Drazig. Want to go save somebody?" The anger from Drazig's face was gone, and it was replaced with joy. "Yeah! Lets go save someone! I can be friends with them too!" The entire body soon moved as one, both halves working in perfect sync. They jumped off the wagon, the dying wood finally getting its rest from the enormous weight of the two. The wagon driver soon stopped the horse, and he looked back at the two. "What are you guys doing?" "Off to go adventuring!" Drazig bellowed out. Dorat's half soon pulled out a sack of coins, and threw them to the wagon driver. It was the pay that they were supposed to give them for the full ride to the next town. The wagon driver smiled at the two. "Good luck on your adventure! Even in night you guys are still doing good." The wagon started to move again, the horse was also glad that the extra seven hundred pounds were gone. Drazig and Dorat looked at each other, they both nodded and started to move to the scream. The Ogre's eyesight was impeccable in the darkness, you could even say they see better without light! The two were walking briskly towards the scene of the crime, however, with their size, it was more like running to an average human. The trees were also fairly annoying for the pair, they may have been moving this body for the past sixty years, but it still fairly hard to maneuver this large body through slim openings given by the forest. Branches and leaves soon started to stick to their armor, the sharp wood not able to penetrate through the ogre's thick skin. Soon, their eyes spotted something. A large group of adventures were gathered around one spot, that had to be the crime scene! Drazig increased their speed, the loud thumping sound was getting louder to the group ahead, and the darkness wasn't really helping the stranger's imaginations. Dorat, just now, realized the implications of an Ogre running into a group randomly out of nowhere, but it was too late to stop Drazig. The Ogre jumped into the clearing, leaves and twigs scattered across the clearing. He was clearly excited, and the ten foot monster soon bellowed out to the group, not able to control the volume of his voice. "WHO WENT POOF!?" Dorat, at the moment, had frozen up by the sheer stupidity that Drazig had just done, and not able to explain that they were good, instead of a two headed monster wanting to murder the entire group.	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
918	13	354	1,033	567	All it took was a scream to get Drizzak up and into motion. One familiar scream and he was up in a flash, fully awake and fully ready to act. He was naked besides his loincloth, sure, but putting them on could mean death for him. The cold was just too much. Instead, he grabbed for his blade and made for the direction of the scream. It was Sana that screamed, he remembered the sound from their previous adventures together. She was a tough woman, and only screamed when bad things were well and truly bad. He reached the others relatively quick, his shorter legs failing to hamper his speed as he sprinted to the scene of the crime. "What is happen!? Where Sana? Why you have bow?" Drizzak barked at the group, and at the one holding Sana's bow. He could smell strange scents on the air, but his nose was not as good as he wished it was. He was getting heated up. This was very bad, what could have taken her? Surely someone saw it?	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'.
919	13	355	54	1,340	Shela thick brows arched as her head turned towards looked over to Kazuo, having to hold her composure but failing miserably. “Haha, what she said,” she said sniggering under her breath. Apparently it didn’t matter how old the dwarf woman was, she still have the mind of an adolescent teen when it came to some things. Much of the group came barreling over to the scene rather quickly but others, they seemed to linger behind; which seemed rather odd to Shela. Sana seemed to have the biggest mouth in the bunch, which usually denoted the leader. If not the leader the one that drew the most attention and that scream had been rather bone chilling. It wasn’t a scream of anger or a rant, that was a scream of pure terror and to leave ones weapon behind only added to the bad juju that seemed to be swirling around. “What do ya mean poof? Peoples dun just go poof! Well maybe they do when caught in dragon fire but that be more of a sizzle and ash than a poof,” Shela grumbled as she walked over and snatched Sanas bow from the woman and picked up the arrow out of the ground, securing both to her belt. “Those don’t be yours girlie,” she added before looking over towards the fiery red head. “Yeah, that girl dun gone poof, she got a horse right? We better be putting this with it,” Shela said before she looked down at her stomach and placed her hand against it as the ground seemed to shake. “Okay, that ain’t me this time,” she said looking up and then around before she spun around in the direction of the cause of the rumble through the earth. “Bloody hell,” she yelled as she gripped her hammer tight in her fingers and lowered her stance as a monstrosity came out of the forest. “Be more things crawling out of the woods than vanishing in them. Why this thing not go poof?” she said looking over at the two headed ogre. “I mean, I be thinking if something need to go poof and the choices are a drenched twig or a towering,” she began motioning with her thick fingers. “Thing! Well I’d bet me hearth that I be making that go poof!” "You be the one making women go poof in the night?" Shela asked in harsh tone pointing to both the new woman on the scene and the towering juggernaut.	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.
920	13	356	1,451	685	Yeesh, take it, thank you! Zoe said, glad to have the dwarf woman take the bow off her hands. It was causing way more trouble than it was worth. There was a goblin here now, and a man pointing a sword at her, asking her name, and the redhead girl still hadn't gotten off her horse or stopped looking at her. They were a very angry bunch, these people, and while Zoe had quite a bit of magic, none of it could make people just disappear. Fiona pulled her horse up alongside Shela, holding her hand out expectantly. "I'll take the bow, if you don't mind. I think it might go over better if Sana gets it back from me." The dwarf and Sana hadn't made the best first impression on each other, as she recalled. That, and Shela didn't seem the type to take the best care of her possessions. She could've been wrong, but it was just a hunch. Before any transaction could be made, however, a two-headed tower of meat and muscle trampled onto the scene, demanding to know who had gone poof. Fiona was unable to stop herself from drawing her sword, narrowing her eyes at the ogre and holding her horse steady. Zoe had taken the opportunity to take both her and her floating light behind the tree, putting them more or less in between her and the ogre. When he made no move to attack the lot of them, though, she stepped back out, her face set into a hard scowl, though she looked anything but fearsome. "Listen, okay? Everybody just calm down." She held out her hands as though it would somehow helped push all their nasty emotions and violent urges away. "You're all taking poof a little too literally. All I know is that she came to this spot, and when I got here, she was gone. There are no tracks leading away from here, so... maybe something grabbed her, that doesn't go on the ground. We could check the trees for any sign of her. I have light with me here, I can use it to look around." She turned and looked back at Derrix. "It's Zoe, by the way. I've got a bigger name, but we'll save that for when we're friends." "I'm Fiona," the redheaded girl said, introducing herself, to both Zoe and the ogre, though she was obviously still wary of the creature, and had yet to sheathe her sword. "If we're settled on not killing each other," Fiona continued, "I'd like to look around for any clues of Sana. Not doing any good standing here."	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.
921	13	357	677	1,382	Kazuo pursed his lips at Shela's snickering. He deserved it. But the important matter at hand was that this Sana lady had disappeared, either by some odd magic or maybe carried off by a giant bird. When the giant two-headed ogre burst through the trees, he had to take a hand off his sword to keep Trombe from rearing. "Easy, easy." He still wasn't sure if he could trust this Zoe girl or if he'd have to cut up the ogre, but really, he really wasn't sure what to do at all. Looking through the wilderness for people who up and disappeared wasn't his strong suit. It was dark and although the magician, (assuming she wasn't the one who poofed Sana) had a ball of light with her, it could only illuminate so much at one time. The more he thought about it, the more this seemed like a lost cause.	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.
922	13	358	914	1,884	Drazig's sense of enchantment soon started to fade away as the situation surrounding this group was just getting confusing for the ogre. Everyone was just yelling at each other, most of them directed towards him, and people had their weapons out with the same situation about the screaming. It took Drazig only a few moments before the cogs in his brain started to churn out another idea, which was quite amazing as Dorat was usually the one who would do that! However, this was not the time to be thinking to himself, Drazig needed to tell everyone that he was just a friendly two headed monster! The Ogre soon tried to make his speech, the speech that would save him the trouble of fighting these adventures. "Uh... I'm not a monster... Well, I'm a monster, but I'm not a bad monster... Right?" Drazig, questioning his own logic. "Yes! Yes! We are good samaritans!" Dorat spoke as Drazig continued to be confused, "We mean you no harm, we were just attracted by the screams, and we wanted to help like the good adventures we are, that is all." "Yeah! We good! We good! Now who went poof?" "Drazig... Please, let me do the talking in these situations." Dorat looked at the group surrounding him, most of the people seemed anxious to attack him, a reasonable response to a monster of their size. However, there seemed to be someone who at least tried to reason with the two instead of coldly looking at him like some people in the group. The Ogre Mage cleared his throat, and looked to the person that called themselves Fiora. "Yes, hello. Let us drop our weapons, no need for attack one another, we are good guys like we had stated earlier," Dorat glanced at the group again, they weren't attacking yet, that was good, "I am Dorat, an Ogre Mage while my partner here is Drazig, an Ogre. We mean you no harm, we would like to be chummy with everyone here, is that alright? Can we get back to the main situation at hand?" "We good guys." Drazig restated.	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
923	13	359	54	1,340	Shela nodded and handed the bow and arrow over to Fiona, “no skin of me teeth.” Taking a breath she glanced around as she slowly lowered her hammer, listening to the odd two headed one seem to argue and agree with itself simultaneously. “Right, you look high, I’ll look low and you’ll find the hot temper one before me,” she said as she began to trudge through the mud looking for any sign of what had happened to Sana. Her eyes scanning the ground but there was nothing, no sign of anything which struck her as odd. Looking back over to the group she pursed her lips, “nothing here, anyone else seeing anything?” she asked as she began to walk back towards the cave, wondering if there were any signs there they may have missed when they first arrived. Wondering to herself if there were any signs of something was amiss. Getting to the cave she stopped in her tracks as she watched a rather dense and unnatural fog roll out quickly. “That ain’t right,” she muttered to herself. Looking in the cave, she saw something even more off. Sanas horse and things were in the cave and she was gone, same with two others in the group now. “We got two more gone,” she yelled over her shoulder. There was no sign of the half-orc that had been sitting in the cave earlier not saying anything nor the bald headed monk, weapons and possessions were still there. To add to the confusion Hugh was gone, the one Sana had adamantly claimed as her own. The difference between Hughs disappearance and the rest was that all his items were gone as well and there were tracks from his horse going off back to the road where she had followed to the camp in the first place. “Make that two more gone and one left,” she yelled as she dropped her hammer to the ground, leaning against it as she wrinkled her lips and rubbed her chin. Elsewhere, each of the three that had vanished would find that they would awaken to a different scene. The monk would find himself dumped behind some tavern in an unknown town, the half-orc was in a cave with the sound of flapping wings above him, and the archer would find herself bound and gagged behind wooden walls and bars; feeling the gentle rock of a wagon as it pulled her through an open field.	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.
924	13	360	1,451	685	Fiona tucked the bow into an open saddlebag for the moment. She'd find a better way to store it later. For now, there was searching to do, as it looked like the ogre was surprisingly no danger to them. For now. She sheathed her sword and gave him a tired nod. Drazig and Dorat... already she wasn't sure which was which. She'd never befriended anyone with two heads before, that was for sure. And now more were missing? Hugh and Lob... what had happened to them? Sana had been the first to vanish... they needed to find her, and quick. "I'll try to the north," she suggested, glancing down at Zoe. "Or... I think that's north." It was difficult to know for sure, if the sun had set on the wrong side. Fiona had to admit she wasn't really paying attention. "Care to follow me with the light?" She'd have a better vantage to look up at the trees from atop her horse, and Zoe was a short thing, besides. She seemed to see the logic behind it. "Sure." The two moved slowly in that direction, heading back towards the road that Zoe had come from, albeit at a slightly different angle. The light above Zoe hovered slightly higher, so as to be more useful to Fiona, who studied the trees carefully, eventually holding up a hand to stop. "There's bark knocked off some of these," she pointed out. "From climbing, I would imagine." "You think it's the missing lady?" Zoe asked, leaning on her spear, which she had planted into the ground. "Or... something else?" "Hard to say. Let's keep moving, see if there's a trail." There was, as it turned out, multiple trees heading the direction of the road having bark knocked off from climbing. Fiona called it out to the group, and followed the trail. It wouldn't be hard for the others to keep up with it, as the floating ball of light Zoe had conjured made them a beacon of sorts in the dark woods. Eventually they came upon the nearby road, at which point the trail ended. "Road's too drenched and traveled to track anything further," Fiona said, a little dismayed. She didn't want to leave Sana to the mercy of whatever had taken her, but it was clearly dangerous to split up and search, and trying to track her down in the dark may well be impossible. Perhaps it was best to just regroup in the cave, wait until morning, and... she didn't know. Sana had been the sort of impromptu leader before, and with her gone... would that fall to Fiona? She didn't know if she was up for it.	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.
925	13	361	677	1,382	Kazuo didn't do much active searching, it was dark as fuck and he couldn't see much that wasn't already around that Zoe girl. He wouldn't be much use looking around, but he could still keep an eye out on the new strangers. As innocent as she seemed, Zoe was a magic user, and they were slippery, untrustworthy types to begin with, who knows if that spell they're about to cast isn't meant to actually sacrifice you to some unholy thing from Hell? Clerics were a bit more trustworthy, but they might be worshiping some evil god of deception and betrayal, and you wouldn't know. Magic was unnatural and not to be trusted. The other guy was a two-headed ogre. It paid to keep your distance no matter the situation. If he tripped, it would suck to be the below him. So Kazuo sat back and watched Zoe and red-headed girl find a path and head down that way while Shela found two more people apparently poofed by the fog. Man, fuck magic.	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.
926	13	362	2,489	654	The Thief Tobias, for his part, was behaving in a way almost totally foreign to him - he was following Fiona around and keeping his mouth shut. The situation had gone past abnormal - first a dwarf, then a 'friendly' zombie, then another traveler, then Sana got 'poofed' by something, as explained by a strange magic spear-girl nobody had ever met before, and then a half-sophisticated two headed ogre burst onto the scene, looking to help rather than to eat anyone's heads. This shit was weird. Finally, while Fiona and Zoe were discussing the next plan of action, Tobias spoke up. "Uh, yes, hello? Voice of reason here. I suggest we take all the people..." he struggled for a moment, casting his eyes around the assembly. "Or, well, sentient things, and have us all sit with our backs to each other in a big fucking circle until night falls. Something is out there 'poofing' people - not just people, either, this is Sana Skullfucker we're talking about, as well as the half-orc monster and the guy who punches swordsmen. This thing is bad news, and we are in its house, yeah? So I think we should all bite the bullet, have an uncomfortable as hell night, and hope our dear friends are still alive in the morning, when there's less chance of us getting poofed right along with them." The rogue clapped his hands. "All in favor?" The Corpse Finally, Oscar couldn't maintain his sprint anymore - the dead body stumbled and launched itself forward, landing hard and utterly destroying a shrubbery as he did so. With some difficulty, the dead body struggled to his feet and threw his glassy eyes around the woods as the other searchers caught up with him. "Katherine!" he rumbled into the darkness. "Kather...ine?" His voice died out. Who was Katherine? The corpse struggled with his memory for a moment. He was looking for a woman. Who had screamed in the woods. He was looking for her for... some reason. It didn't matter now. The others, they were looking for her too. But now they were talking, a bunch of shadowy silhouettes in faint conversation, and from what Oscar was able to comprehend, the woman was gone. Poofed? Something new had arrived, something big with two voices, and Oscar tensed his stiffened muscles to confront it. It made no hostile moves, however, and so the corpse let it be. He cast his gaze upwards and saw blackness, choking, deep, infinite. He rumbled into his throat and asked a question - unsure of whether he was speaking to the others or the abyss. "What... do I do? Find her. I have to find her." He repeated the maxim in his rotted brain, forcing himself to push it through his mind again and again. Find her. Find her. Find her.	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
927	13	363	914	1,884	Derrix quickly agreed with Fiona, “it would seem so.” he muttered irritated as he followed the two girls through the woods and to the drenched road. His ears opened to Tobias' words, but his own thoughts mingled outside of the thief's suggestion He pointed at the other side of the road, “we could check the other side and see if the tracks pick up, if not then we should all reconvene and decide on the best course of action as a group.”	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
928	13	364	677	1,382	One absence Shela's eyes had missed on the first sweep was the wizard, Melvus. His stuff was still lying in a hidden corner, but him and his clothes were gone, spirited away by the same fog. Melvus awoke to find himself somewhere dark, and wet. It immediately dawned on him that he was underwater, and from the taste in his mouth, saltwater. There was no land within the immediate vicinity, but he could stop a bit of light above. It seemed that the surface of the water was about 10 feet overhead.	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.
929	13	365	290	1,247	Oscar Slow down Cried Zam as she Chased after the sprinting Zombie, thanks to her small size she easily flew through the thick foliage of the forest when Oscar finally stopped she re-positioned herself onto his shoulder she then looked around herself and saw that they where lost "Oscar? where are we?" Mortosh meanwhile had followed the group as they looked for the others "Where Could they Have Gone Zam?" When he got no replay he looked around for Zam "Zam?" he couldn't feel her presence "Zam Where Are You Zam?"	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
930	13	366	54	1,340	Dorat sighed in relief, it had seemed that his rousing speech had worked on the group of adventures! He stroked his long beard, something that he always does when he feels proud of himself. It still seemed like the people around the two were still quite weary of them, but he knew that Drazig would grow on them like he does with every person they encounter. However, there was something strange happening around these parts of the woods, people were disappearing like it was going out of style and there were almost no traces of the people that had vanished. It was most likely the use of magic, it can be very powerful in the hands of the right people, but that also includes the people that have bad intentions. So, while Dorat was deep in thought, releasing his control of the body to Drazig like he normally does, the Ogre smiled. "Yay! I have the body! Ha ha ha!" Drazig bounced around, balancing on one foot and switching to the other before getting tired of the little dance. The Ogre soon realized that the group were picking up some type of clue, and they were leaving without him! Drazig quickly catches up with only a few steps before trailing behind the group of tiny friends. After the group arrived at the scene of the crime, which was a muddy road, the clues had run out! Oh no! Drazig looked at his partner, still in deep thought, and soon someone chimed in their two-cents in the situations. They talked with fear, or at least cowardice as leaving friends behind was something that Drazig refused to do! And if the fog ever came to Drazig! He would smash the fog until it is dead! The Ogre looked at Tobais and pounded his chest with one arm. "No! Leaving people behind is bad! I think we continue to find friends! Friends are good! That is why they are friends! Right?"	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.
931	13	367	677	1,382	Vaeri awoke from a dreamless sleep to find everyone gone. The fire had grown dim, the boar's ass lay bloody and neglected on the floor, belongings were left strewn about and the only one in the cave other than her was a dwarf in heavy spiked armor wielding a hammer. All this information was processed in a few instants, and without any commands from her mind, her body sprang up out of the sheets and in a defensive stance low to the ground and almost feral in nature. "What did you do with everyone else?" Something in the back of Vaeri's head said something about the fact that she wouldn't have found herself in a situation like this if the dwarf in front of her had actually done something to the rest of the group. The rest of her mind noted that her bag was within arms reach, and she could get her axe out of it in maybe 10 seconds. 10 seconds she wouldn't have in a fight. She could feel the holy symbol against her chest, so she could still cast. There didn't appear to be anyone else to deal with. Still, she would not make any moves until she got a hostile movement from the dwarf. The spikes would pose some difficulty, but the cleric was confident she could find a way around them if she needed to.	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.
932	13	368	914	1,884	Derrix sighed as he returned from the opposite side of the road, “nothing,” he growled as he started to make his way past the pair of girls who had led the way. He turned to both of them, “we should reconvene in the cave and figure out our strategy and general plan to uphold.” Without waiting for a response, he rose a hand as if about to salute over his golden gaze, but then a look of hesitation overtook his face and he simply nodded before marching off, his boots slinking in the mud with wet sounds.	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
933	13	369	1,451	685	Yes, Drazig, Fiona said patiently, reasonably certain she said the correct name. "But searching right now is getting too dangerous. We can't afford to split up, with people disappearing like this. Derrix and Tobias are right; we should regroup at the cave and decide our next move." Really, Fiona just wanted to sleep. They'd been up early and ridden for a long time, passed through a storm, and now had to deal with these disappearances into the night. It wasn't the same kind of exhaustion as having survived multiple fights in a day, but she was extremely weary, all the same. Zoe didn't really look like it, as they made their way back towards the cave together. She hummed to herself when the conversation lulled into silence, and her eyelids showed no signs of drooping. Fiona called out a few times into the woods on their way back, telling anyone still out looking to return with her to the cave. When they arrived, she immediately noticed the tension between Shela and the recently awoken Vaeri, who had missed everything that had happened, and everyone had been too busy to wake her. "Easy, Vaeri. She's... well, not an enemy." Fiona had been about to call her a friend, but then realized that the word didn't apply in any sense yet, other than she wasn't actively hostile. "Sana's beacon attracted a few newcomers. That's Shela, this is Zoe, the swordsman there is Kazuo, and... well, there's also a corpse and an ogre. The corpse is Oscar and the ogre is Drazig and Dorat, I believe. We've had some trouble. Some people have gone missing, magically disappearing somehow." "I like Shela's idea," Zoe chimed in, walking into the cave and taking a look around. With a flick of her hand the orb of light faded away, leaving only the fire that still burned to light the space around them. "We should go, and stick together. Maybe we'll find the poofed people on the road somewhere. Maybe we won't. Hope you don't mind me saying, but... nobody seems too broken up about this." Worried about further disappearances, sure, but there was no one frantically searching for a loved one here. As Zoe saw it, there was no reason not to move on. "So come on, let's get packed up," she said, though she herself had no packing to do. Striding into the cave, she set her spear against a wall, and climbed quickly up to where Sana had hung the wet clothes, grabbing articles and tossing them down to the floor. "Chop, chop, no time to lose, right?" Fiona sighed, coming down from her horse. It seemed there would be no sleep for her yet.	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.
934	13	370	2,489	654	The Thief Tobias rolled his eyes back at the dwarf's words and let out a mock moan. "I love it when women talk sensible to me," he said, already moving to help Fiona get their things together. He turned to address the two-headed ogre as he piled clothes together, gulping slightly at the creature's size. "Hey, ogre-guy - or guys, I guess - you any good at spooking horses?" He jerked his head over to the wagon, still in the narrow confines he had skillfully left it in. "Those ones might need a bit of a kick to get going at this hour." He stretched his back and rubbed his eyes, wincing slightly as he flexed a few of the newer scars. "You know what? I didn't even want to sleep tonight. This is fine." The thief grinned cheekily at Vaeri as he walked past her. "Morning, starshine. What are you doing up at the tender hour of shit's-fucked o'clock?" The Corpse Oscar addressed the voice again. "I don't know where we are. We should stay with the others, though. So we can find her." He stood stock still while the others discussed their situation. Finally, they began to move, and it became apparent to Oscar that they were trying to leave. Stiffly, without really looking, the corpse began grabbing objects that looked like they belonged to people and tossing them into the back of a wagon. He heard Tobias mention sleep, and worked the issue silently in his brain for a moment before opening his decayed mouth. "Want to sleep? I can carry you, if you want to sleep..." he trailed off, and peered into the blackness at the ogre silhouette. "Not... you, though."	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
935	13	371	677	1,382	Vaeri raised herself up to stand like a civilized person and looked at all the new arrivals with a skeptical eye. A dwarf covered in spikes, another dirty undead that she couldn't justify immediately chopping into little pieces, albeit one who did not bring with him a Vaeri's train of thought came ot a screeching halt. What exactly was Zam? There was dark haired girl with magical abilities who looked about Fiona's age. Then again, Vaeri was bad at estimating human ages beyond vague terms. They aged so quickly. A scraggly, bored looking human with an odd sword and hints of elf in his facial features riding a jet black stallion and a ten foot tall two-headed ogre. All in all basically a mirror of the group that had been assembled yesterday. Vaeri sighed and gathered her stuff. Her clothes and armor were still kind of damp, so she threw her bag and armor in the wagon and laid out her shirt and cloak over the side to finish drying out. "Good morning, Sir Tobias. I suppose I'm doing the same as you, just trying to adjust to the constantly changing conditions around me." Vaeri performed a curtsy to Tobias, using the bottom of Derrix's overly large shirt as a replacement for the more traditional dress. She climbed up to the seat where she had spent most of the day and crossed her arms. In the corner of her vision she spotted the swordsman, the one she remembered Fiona introducing as Kazuo ride up to the dwarven woman and say something to her. It was quiet enough that most humans wouldn't catch it if they weren't paying attention. Unfortunately, the ears of an elf were both a blessing and a curse. "So are we just going to leave that ass behind?" Vaeri couldn't see, but Kazuo was pointing at the boar carcass sitting in the cave. His disgust had faded back into his hunger, but actively asking about taking others' food was still in poor taste.	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.
936	13	372	54	1,340	Shela glanced over her shoulder towards the Elf and laughed. “Dats what ya get for sleeping through everything. I ain’t be takin’ no one from here. They went poof, ask Red,” Shela quipped as she stood there. As Fiona came over she nodded. “See told ya. Some fog come a rollin’ in and poof several went. Except for that big lad the loud mouth seemed to have a thing for. He walked off with his horse of his own accord,” she said as she shifted her hammer back through the leather tie that lay at her waist, letting it swing against her thigh. “Loud mouth gonna be aweful pissy if we see her again and he ain’t no’s where to be seen,” she smirked. “Tattoo gave me the ass but yous be more than welcome to it. Tender that piece is,” she sniggered as she trudged towards the path that led back to the road. Glancing over towards Zoe she shrugged slightly. “I gots no reason to be torn up about them people going poof, dun know them. Maybes someone miss them somewhere, maybe not. Dun matter, we keep moving. We find them maybe, we don’t maybe. Life on the grand adventure eh? People go poof by fog or steel or feet. They all be leaving at one point.” “Come on folk, lets be moving out, gonna be a long night of walking and riding,” she said as she walked ahead of them. “I check the road and wait on ya,” she added before running down the path with her pack slung on her shoulder. “Maybe I go poof,” she laughed half challenging the fog to come for 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.
937	13	373	914	1,884	“What is our course of action?” Derrix announced loudly, a serious look on his face as he stood elbow deep in a bag that hung off of Charroux, “by that I mean what is the actual plan? The tracks let off in the road, there are two directions on that road. We can assume the kidnapper went down the road one way as there is no tracks on the other side, but we do not know for how long or if he or she went one way or the other. “ “And you,” Derri pointed at the midget. He paused for a few seconds before closing his eyes, “nevermind.” Where is a giant muscle bulging grammar correcting barbarian when you need one, He thought to himself as the midgets words rubbed against his ears like sandpaper to a cactus of stone.	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
938	13	374	677	1,382	Well, Kazuo said, as he dismounted headed into the cave to get a piece of juicy ass,"If whatever took these people was something that could be tracked, wouldn't there be more tracks in and out of his cave. Other than ours? And wouldn't there also be some sign of a scuffle? I mean Sleeping Beauty over there was still asleep when Shela found her." "I dunno. Seems like some magical bullshit's going on. I don't care where we go, but we should stick together, least until we're out of this forest. That way at least if somebody vanishes, we'll see who did and maybe how." By the end of his spiel, Kazuo had returned with a hunk of meat about the size of two fists pressed together. With practiced ease he gets on top of his horse again and began to cut off scraps of meat and pop them in his mouth. Vaeri remained silent throughout Derrix's question and Kazuo's reply. She had no idea about all the details. She was just going to sit in the wagon until something was decided.	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.
939	13	375	1,451	685	Fiona couldn't help but hope that the dwarf woman did poof. Of course, she felt quite bad about such thoughts, but Shela just rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. She knew some of the others weren't exactly her type, but the dwarf just irritated her, with the lack of any manners, forcing herself upon their company, and in general her callousness. Fiona hoped it was just due to her mood, having been up for so long, and now facing the prospect of being up even longer. Having this other new girl toss still damp clothes on her head while she was trying to pick up her own didn't help. Grabbing her jacket and pants she fled the bombardment, tossing the jacket onto her saddle and proceeding to untie the cloth around her hips. The pants were dry enough now, so she squeezed back into them, before finding a pair of dry socks in her bags and then tugging on her still soggy boots. She looked up at the others while lacing them, having done it enough times to not need to look. "We still have a job to do," she reminded the group. "I think we should keep going towards the next village, since we don't know which way to look. We'll keep an eye out, of course, and help if we can, but... Sana's tough, and can look out for herself. The orphans only have us to help them." It felt a bit cold to effectively turn away from those that had disappeared, but it seemed they were forced to choose between continuing with their work, or wasting even more time looking for... they didn't even know what. "Fine by me," Zoe said, hopping down once the last of the clothes were in a nice little pile below her. "Sounds like a worthwhile job. I'm all for helping kiddos. And yeah, sticking together sounds good. No desire to get poofed here."	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.
940	13	376	2,489	654	The Thief Tobias hopped in the driver's seat of the wagon and directed the horses after the dwarf, his possessions slung over his back. The rain pattered on his bare back like needles, causing him to wince as it impacted a few of his scars. He'd had worse. The wagon caught up with the dwarf shortly, and almost immediately began running his mouth, more to lighten his own mood than anything else. "So, what do you think could be doing the poofing? Vampires? Werewolves? Dragons? Demons? You think it'll teach me how to do it? Being able to poof like that would be really convenient for me, in my line of work. As, you know, an... entrepeneur. You seem like an experienced type. Ever killed a hellhound? Because I did. Fiona helped, but it was all me." Oscar trudged silently after the wagon, taking care not to spook the horses with his presence.	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
941	13	377	1,270	2,337	Lob groaned again for the umpteenth time that day. When the shop-man told him that no one else would eat the dog meat, he chose to eat his fill and gain its power before burying the rest. Well somewhere between five to fifteen pounds of dog meat must have had its vengeance upon him for the barbarian was sick as a dog the next day. He had crawled into the back of the wagon and curled up in as small a ball as he could on his side. He had the red hounds pelt over his black bearskin now as extra protection but the cool rain felt wonderful as the rode for the most of the day. Suddenly the rain had stopped, as had all the conversation. The silence stirred him as he looked around at the massive cave he suddenly found himself in, there was light to one end as far as an arrow flies, and to the other way it shined with a grass green light following the sounds of dripping water and bats fluttering in the dark. Slowly, very slowly, Lob sat up and took in the scents of the area, he could find the stench of guano and decided the first thing to do was to hide his scent. First he washed himself clean in the dripping pools before handful by handful he smeared the scat into his skin to hide himself by another's nose. Next he took a few moments to return to the earth what he had taken and rid himself of the last of the dog meat from the day before. Relieved and no longer in as much agony. The arboreal orc took himself up the wall with 'catch' in his teeth, there were plenty of handholds for the skilled climber to use as he loped his way into the darkness, relying on his infravision and his instincts to keep him safe in the cave as he passed between stalagtites like treetrunks. He found a outcropping about a hundred handholds into the cave and paused to take a new bid of his surroundings, the light from the exit now fully gone. The green light was now being provided by glowing rocks, starstones as other tribes had called them. He took a moment to unfurl his club and brought the dragonbone smashing down on the crystal formation to knock one loose. He hoped the starstone would bring him good luck or be good for a gift to the lady with the axe when he gets back to the others. That was something odd, he didn't smell any of the others when he had woken up, just as loud a silence as when he didn't hear them. He smelled him but that was all, he was truly alone in the cavern and that made him tread more cautiously.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
942	13	378	54	1,340	Shela Shela waited for the rest of the group to catch up, looking down the road both north and south as she pondered what was going on with all the poofing. Hoping that it was done with she swung up into the back of the wagon as they came up and dropped her gear in the back. Toddling to the front of the wagon behind the driver seat and gripped the top edge of the cracked wooden railing with her thick fingers. Listening to Tobias ramble on she chewed the end of her pipe and shrugged slightly. "No, never have me killed a Hell Hound, killed a dragon though," she said as she held out the tooth that hung around her neck. Was a right ripping time with that one twas it!" she exclaimed excitedly. Green bugger, not too old, no too young. Just right like a good ale at the end of the day. Was with a group, lot like this. Me and me group was out on contract, don't right recall for who but they be wanting dragon skin. Payment was part of the skin, so I done had to tag along. Makes great armor and shields it does!" "We tracked for months you see, dragons be hard to come by but we finally found the bugger. Twas a right tough fight. They move quick and be strong but they be smart too," she said tapping her helmet by her temple. "Fight lasted hours, we be tired but the group pushed on. Like storming a castle it was. Fire ripped here and there, charred our thief right down to a crisp! Nothing but ash he be by the time the fire died! Just standing there on him knees, even the pained expression molded into the ash! Until the dragon tail spun around and there he be done to the winds in a puff! Never forget that little trickster. Now what was his name?" she said tapping her chin a few times. "Any ways, fight ragged on and we had to end it. Some fighter that joined us at the end picked me up and tossed me! I was livid! Never ye toss a dwarf! But he did and I landed with me legs spread right on the beasts snout looking into its eyes!" she said pointing her fingers towards her eyes. "Me arms not be long like yours so holding on, well it was like a toddler on a bull! But me managed long enough to toss one of these babies," she said tapping the large ceramic pot dangling from her side, "right into its mouth!" "Then I be let go and man I flew to the ground like a hammer to an anvil. Just in time to, that little diddy went off and BOOM!" she screamed throwing her arms out. "Beast skull went everywhere! Picked out meat from me spikes for weeks. Only thing being left of its head was this," she said patting the tooth. "Nice little souvenir for a right ripping good time!" Eyewing Cave The cave kept going and slowly the sound of wings could be heard more clearly than before; laced with screams. On the ground lay hardened crystal like pools that looked to have once been a dark sap. The smelt of acid even in their dried state and would burn to the touch if anyone dared place skin to them. Then it happened, there was a swoop and cutting through the cave was a large creature that had a single eye that size of its body with bat like wings move through the cave. From its eye dark fluid oozed and on the tips of each wing, from the fingers were long claws. It hovered there, its eye looking over Lob as it blinked. The ooze falling to the ground, instantly crystallizing.	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.
943	13	379	1,270	2,337	Lob heard the screech and froze. The new sound was not the chirp of bats like before, this was different, a bad sound like the helhound that tickled his sense of danger with the acrid scent of acid that cut into his nose as surely as a thistle bur. Slowly he moved for a stalking position to strike from above. Then he saw it at it saw him, an eye as big as him, an eye with wings. AN EYEWING! HE let out a terrifying roar, using the cave to enhance his primal scream at the top of his lungs to try and startle the thing as he threw the juggling axe at the beast. If he could take off a wing or even its enormous eye, then it should surely fall to the ground and be easy prey.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
944	13	380	677	1,382	Kazuo rode beside the wagon, a blank expression on his face. Fom the looks of it, he was zoning out as a way to pass the time and letting Trombe do all the work of walking and keeping up with the rest of the group. Vaeri pulled out one of her books and poured over it in the darkness. Neither of them seemed to have listened to Shela's story.	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.
945	13	381	54	1,340	Deep in the cave the eyewing bounced as it floated around. These creatures never slept and they never landed, something else was rumored to give them their unending stamina to stay seemingly forever in loft. Its single eye focused on the half-orc before it, it had not seen it likes before but that was not unusual. Very few ever appeared in the cave and when they did it was usually some unlucky human that a fog had rolled in and dropped of. Almost like a proverbial sacrifice. Whether that was or was not the fogs intentions remained to be seen but there it was. Another to kill for sport. The axe came quickly and the eyewing, even though ever watching, did not have time to move far enough out of the way. The blade tearing through the third and forth skin on the right wing; causing the creature to spin in the air and lose its grace. It flapped hard to stay in the air and shot an acidity ooze towards Lob, it missed, hitting a stalagtite next to him and hardening on contact.	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.
946	13	382	914	1,884	Derrix looked over at Charroux, and the horse looked back, both their eyes seemed weary, but not of exhaustion. With a shrug Derrix climbed onto the horse and leaned forward on the saddle as they followed the wagon, trailing slightly behind. Derrix's marred lips quietly mouthed words as he leaned forward, the ears of the horse twitching from the wisp of his breath escaping the words. A soft whinny shook the horses head and Derrix fell back into his seat, a small smile on his face.	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
947	13	383	1,451	685	Fiona wasn't sure how to feel anymore. She rode in silence, at the head of the group, trying to fight her drooping eyelids to keep a decent watch on their surroundings. She was well beyond the mood to listen to stories from Tobias or the dwarf, which seemed to flow out of them simply from habit, with likely only the tiniest shreds of truth. Well, the tooth Shela wore looked real enough, so she supposed there was more truth there than what Tobias came up with. Still, the blabbering was helping to keep her awake, though she didn't know if it was worth the annoyance. "You know," Zoe said, riding along beside the wagon, "I think tomorrow's going to be a good day. Or at least an interesting one." She loosely gripped her spear near the head, sticking it into the ground repeatedly as her horse walked along. Her gaze had a tendency to be a bit absent, but she was still paying attention, evidenced by the giggles that bubbled out of her during Shela's story, despite the horrific events the dwarf was describing. She looked up at the sky about as much as she did the world around her, seemingly content to wander about with a group of strange people she'd only just met.	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.
948	13	384	1,270	2,337	As the axe was in the air, the club was coming off his back. He leapt out after it similar to other warriors and their use of the hurlbat to keep the pressure on the enemy, that was a trick the hunter of his last tribe taught him. He didn't even have to dodge the wide swung glob as it splashed into a 'rooftooth' of the cave, he swung at the graceless monster with one hand and grabbed onto a piece of rock. Unfortunately, be it weakness of the rock from acidic tears or the force of the impact from the jump. But the tip snapped off and sent the barbarian falling to the floor of the cavern. Thankfully he managed to land on his feet with the shock shaking up his thighs instead of falling on his side or getting impaled upon the 'floortooth' But now he was on the ground while it was still in the air loosing grace, he gave it a moment more to either fall or flee before he acted again with the club now in both hands as it should be.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
949	13	385	54	1,340	The Main Group The night went by slowly but uneventful, the fog did not come again and it seemed that no more were vanishing from sight but several had walked off of their own accord and there was no sign of them now. Shela shrugged to herself and just kept rambling on throughout the night and well passed after the sun broke. Each tale she spun more out landish than the next but she always seemed to have some scar or some trinket she had kept as a souvenir providing at least some shred of truth to the tale. Her words never came off as outright lies but perhaps severe embellishments. If anything the woman had stamina, never seeming tire of speaking. She did enjoy hearing her own voice and just naturally assumed others did as well. It was well into the next day before the next village came into sight, the clouds still rolled over head but the smell of rain on the air was gone. The village was smaller than the last one, a single road winding through it with only a handful of buildings. Did not look as if they even had a proper inn, just an old stable that seemed to have been turned into a watering hole of sorts. The people in the streets froze when they saw the group of adventurers and scattered into the few homes, doors closing heavily. “Well that is a right cold welcome,” Shela huffed as she chewed on her pipe. The Eyewing Cave The beast flapped and held into the air but slowly it descended, weaving this way and that as it tried to hold its altitude but there was not much for it. The axe tear in its wing threw off the eyewings balance and abilities. It blinked under the strain and with each blink another drop of acid fell only to crystallize as it hit stone. It would not take much to put the thing out of its misery but the claws at the end of the of each wings on the wings cut through the air sharply with each ragged flap and the acid was ever present.	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.
950	13	386	1,451	685	Guess they don't like people, Zoe said, shrugging. "Not sure why anyone would be that way. Can't imagine they've all had a bad day at the same time." Fiona was beyond exhausted at this point. Listening to Shela all night had left her with a pulsing headache, but she didn't feel like expending the effort to try and make her stop. At this point, it appeared as though the dwarf was sticking to them, whether they wanted her or not. Fiona almost wished for a fight, so that Shela could actually prove to be useful. "I can see why they might not be welcoming to us," Fiona admitted, looking over the group. They were a fearsome bunch, really, and without knowing their intentions, these people were right to be cautious. No doubt they knew of the other village's experiences with slavers and bandits. Not all outsiders were to be trusted. "Still... does seem a little odd." "Well, nothing to do but go look around, right?" Zoe asked, starting forward. "No use waiting here. Maybe someone here has seen one of your disappeared friends."	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.
951	13	387	1,270	2,337	Lob circled the falling eyewing, stepping in one of the fallen globs. Quickly he learned of his folly as the old cold was still acidic and still a danger! He limped in a crabwalk as he strafed to an (alkaline) pool to wash the acid off by sticking the foot in until the burning stopped. Now he knew the tears were a dangerous thing to be avoided as he watched in a low crouch and waited until he could leap up high with both hands behind him for a shattering overhead blow. He was starting to guess if he killed it, it might pop like a real eyeball and send that burnstear everywhere, but it was a risk he was willing to take for the children. He felt the Claws bite deep in its frantic attempt to climb up him to be in the air, but he hoped to add his weight to crash to the ground and perhaps impale it on the floorteeth below.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
952	13	388	54	1,340	Shela Shela shook her head slightly as she hopped down from the wagon and grabbed her gear. slumping it over her shoulder with a grunt. Holding the pipe between her teeth she puffed on it a few times as she looked around. Her thick brows rose and she quickly removed the pipe from her lips and took a deep breath. "Jasmine? That be a rare smell out in these parts," she muttered before shrugging again as she clenched the pipe back in her teeth. "Oh well, gonna grab a pint and then set up sleep somes where," she said before wandering over to the old stable/bar. Stepping over to the rickety bar she climbed up onto a hay bail that was stacked in front of it since there was no proper seating and removed her helmet, putting it on the wooden sheet that was the so called bartop. "Pint of ale would ya," she said flicking a coin onto the counter. Eyewing Cave If the eyewing could screech it would have as the massive club came barreling down on it, catching it along the top of the spherical creature and bringing it to the ground with a thud. The eye bulged but did not burst. The thick leather like lid closed as the acidity ooze pooled beneath it. that which touched the ground hardened but what still clung to the still warm creatures body remained liquid. There would be enough to fill several vials if done carefully.	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.
953	13	389	1,270	2,337	Lob did it! He did it, he...didn't have any vials to catch the stuff in! There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men for this irony. Now lob had to think, not his strong suit. Slowly lob walked around the cave and picked 'catch' back up as he tried to figure out what to do. He needed one gland from it to get its tears, but he never cut one up before so he had no idea how they worked. As he stumbled around, he smacked a tie into onre of the little crystals from its tears and gave a roar of frustration. That roar slowed down as lob thought about it and rubbed some sleep from his eyes... Getting to work, Lob closed the eye with one hand as he used the flat of his blade to smear the eye-gunk over the closed eye as he blew upon it, watching it crystallize in exposure to air. Now it would be sealed good enough for him to bring it back. With a pleased grunt to himself. Lob threw the eyeball over his back, adjusted the rocks in his crotch, and marched back to the cave entrance.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
954	13	390	677	1,382	Vaeri read through the trip. It was pretty easy to tell that going along with Shela's tales like she did with Tobias wouldn't be nearly as fun. So if talking wouldn't keep her mind distracted from this supposed fog poofing people away, her books would. The cold response she got from the villagers was nothing new to her. Vaeri reclined in her seat deciding to look over everyone's stuff while the rest of the group did whatever it is they were going to here. Kazuo didn't seem particularly interested in chatting, or much of anything going on. The expression on his face was so blank, it was hard to tell whether he was asleep or awake. In the back of his head, he kind of wished for the fog to come back. At least that was something interesting. Kazuo would remain in his nearly zen state of boredom until something happened or he was directly addressed.	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.
955	13	391	1,451	685	It was a bit of a dingy place, but Fiona hardly cared, as the presence of decent drink was enough to drown out any misgivings she had. She took a seat in front of the bar and ordered herself an ale as well, taking a long drink as soon as she had it in her hands. The village seemed none too friendly to them, but at least they were willing to serve them something. Zoe chose not to partake in the drinking, instead sitting crosslegged against the wall outside, her horse lazily grazing on whatever she could find nearby. Her spear was horizontal across her lap, and Zoe's posture was highly relaxed, though not drowsy or sleepy. She watched with interest the houses around, with their closed doors and utter lack of visible people. The lack of much activity this time of day was intriguing.	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.
956	13	392	54	1,340	Shela sat there going between taking long pulls of her ale and puffing on her pipe, sending small wisps of smoke up in the air and creating a thin haze around her. Looking over a the others for a moment before turning her attention to the one person that had decided to partake in a drink with her. "So, Red, what be exactly going on here? Ya'll started out searching for stuff to heal that Cinder Sickness and now your people be vanishing? Or just walking off? Seems rahter odd to me," she said as she rested the empty glass on the bartop and let out a rather loud and obnoxious belch. Shelas nose wiggled somewhat and then she sneezed. "What in the blazes. I dun see any jasmine around here, why do I keep smelling it?" she asked with a groan. The smell seemed to be around the town in general, mixed with the soft scent of fresh cedar. The smell itself wafted towards the eyewing cave to the northwest but seemed to be the strongest in the town and then to the east.	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.
957	13	393	1,270	2,337	Lob followed the smell of fresh air to the entrance of the cavern, He didn't realize how bad it smelled in there until he had the clean air to compare it too. There were other sents on the wind, snent of fires and breads, animals, a town. He could also find jasmine flower on the wind with Her horse and a hint of cinnamon. It smelled like the town they left, but no smell of burning bodies. Perhaps they had gotten lost and came back to town, he didn't smell everyone so they might have split up again after more slavers. He made his way to the town, an odd sight to be sure with a feral 'orc' tromping into town with god knows what on his back being carried by its tail with wings covering the eye. Sniffing and snuffing e made his way to the taern with surely a guard on his heels. Stepping in, he still reeked of batscratch smeared all over himself as he thumped the eyewing onto the table for all to see. "FOUND ONE!"	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
958	13	394	914	1,884	Derrix leaned against the wall next to Zoe and took in a wafting breath, soaking in only the ghostly smell of lavender. He shook his head, even without the helmet it's grown apart of him. He looked down at the latest addition and plainly spoke, "So, what's your name again?"	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
959	13	395	1,451	685	Fiona turned her head slowly to look at Shela, the fingers on one of her hands combed into her red hair. Her eyebrows were raised. "You're asking me?" she paused, taking a drink. "I don't know the first thing about what's happening. This isn't the usual for me." She never thought it would be easy, but somehow she thought it would be more orderly, more clear who was on her side and who was not, and certainly she didn't think magic would start making her allies disappear in the middle of the night. She wished Sana were here. Then, out of nowhere, Lob reappeared, covered in... something, and slamming down a dead eyewing on the table, causing Fiona to jump back, eyes wide. She stared at the creature for a moment, blinking, and quite dumbfounded. "Oh... wow. That's..." It was excellent, she supposed, that Lob had gathered for them another of the things they needed, but it hardly explained things. "What happened to you? Some of the others vanished, too. Did you see any of them?" Outside, Zoe had watched the greenskinned one enter the tavern with a passing interest, noting the carcass on his back, before she turned her head to peer up at Derrix, greeting him with a bright smile. "I'm Zoenya dar Ravaris len Marrakash. You can call me Zoenya. Or Zoe. Whatever works." She listened as the eyewing was slammed down on the table inside. "Never a predictable moment with these people, is there?"	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.
960	13	396	1,270	2,337	Lob grinned from ear to ear, a proud puppy that brought the stick back. But as more questions arose, his head canted to the side slightly and the hellhound hood raised one ear quizzically. He sniffed and snuffed around for a moment before speaking up again as he found jasmine on the wind but it was faded. Bad meat, sick, sleep. Wake in cave, find that, kill that. Find you, bring you. Smell alpha, alpha sunrise. Probably more of a conversation than most get from him, he pointed to the east with a big grin and plopped himself on the table while grabbing a potato off a plate and eating it.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
961	13	397	54	1,340	Shela rose a thick brown as she watched the half-orc enter the so called tavern and throw the eyewing down on the bar top. Tilting her head to the side she jumped down off the bail of hay, heavy boots hitting the floor with a thud before walking over to it. "I say, I say, that is a good job!" she said as she picked it up be the wing. "Those creature be nasty little buggers alone, if they swarm they be those things nightmares are made of. And you sealed it, well done you beast of a creature, well done indeed!" she said before dropped it back on the bar top and walking over to the wagon, crawling into the back and making quiet the ruckus as she dug out some vials from the box. "Alpha? Who he be talking about? That loud mouth with the bow?" Shela asked as she hopped down and walked over to Fiona. "Yo Red, hold these while I cut this thing open. That goo hit anything but the eyewings skin or glass and it will harden right up and be useless. So once it starts flowing, fill a vial and plug the vial with another pushed into the top and don't you be letting it touch your skin or you can say bye bye to that pretty complexion of yours."	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.
962	13	398	677	1,382	Vaeri's expression immediately brightened when she saw Lob return triumphant to the group, eyewing in hand. So the people who got poofed weren't killed after all! Perhaps just taken elsewhere. Maybe if they were lucky the others would be able to be found within a few days. She pulled her bag from the cart and walked in as Shela was explaining the deal with Eyewings and the mucus(?) they secreted. Although she was glad that Lob was back, she kept her distance from him. It was obvious from the smell what he had covered himself in, and she was well familiar with the technique, but even knowing that, nobody wants to stand next to the guy covered head to toe in poo. The cleric produced 2 vials and cork stoppers from her bag, handing one set to Fiona, keeping the other for herself. "I hope you won't mind me helping out as well." Vaeri twirled the vial in between her fingertips once before readying the glass tube to capture the second ingredient in 2 days. It was rather lucky, really. Lucky in a good way for once. It was almost if the goddess of fate was deciding their journey by rolling dice the way everything was constantly changing.	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.
963	13	399	1,270	2,337	Lob's face brightened as the cleric joined them, reaching into his waistline, he rummaged around until he produced the large green glowing rock and held it out for Vaeri's approval. He seemed perplexed by her avoidance of him but then finally his brain noticed the dwarf who was speaking and fidgiting with his kill. "Who little one?" He asked of the group while taking u another handful of unattended food but stopping from feeding his maw as he smelled his hand and made a face. He wasn't in the cavern anymore, he didn't need the disguise and now it made him stand out outside of the cave as much as not smelling made him stand out inside the cave. "...Lob stink."	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
964	13	400	1,451	685	Fiona wasn't surprised that Lob couldn't provide them with the clearest information about what happened. Even if he had a better grasp on communicating with them, it was likely he didn't even know or understand what occurred. When he mentioned the alpha, though, and Shela inquired about it, it did give Fiona a thought, something that hadn't occurred to her earlier, likely due to her depleted energy. "He's talking about Sana, yeah. Come to think of it... she did smell a bit like jasmine, didn't she?" It was stronger here, obviously, if the dwarf was making comments about it, but it was still an odd coincidence. Another strange thing about the town. For now, though, they had collecting the next ingredient to deal with. She accepted the vials from Vaeri, following Shela's instructions for collecting the liquid from the eyewing. She was interested in inquiring after Sana, if there was any chance she was here, but she also didn't want to get burned, and had to focus.	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.
965	13	401	54	1,340	Shela pulled out a small dagger and got to work, carefully slicing through the seal that Lob had created. As she broke through the crystallized material the eye lid popped open and the ooze began to flow. One by one, she took the vials and filled them before carefully handing them back over to Fiona and Vaeri. Despite her brash attitude and thick fingers, she worked with ease and kept her mouth shut. Concentrating on the job at hand, her pipe clenched between her teeth as she worked. Once she was finished she picked up the creature by the wing and walked out of the make shift tavern, passed the rest of the group and down the road some. When she felt she had placed enough distance between the carcass and the group she ran back and gave a wink. "Stand back," she warned as she drew a small ceramic axe from her belt that had a strangely colored rope sticking out the top of the shaft that ran through the beard of the axe. A quick strike over the top of the rope with the back side of the silver looking ring on her finger and it lit. Taking a step she threw the small axe, it flying through the air and the blade embedding into the eyeball of the Eyewing. A moment later the axe shattered in an explosion and blew the remains of the Eyewing into cindering pieces that tuned to crystallized ash in the air before falling to the ground. "Well that takes care of that," she said as she puffed on her pipe before turning back over to the group. "Okay, big boy, I'm Shela," she said looking over towards Lob. "You go wash, smelling rank you are." Turning back to the rest as she climbed into the back of the wagon. "I say we sleep and then follow big boys nose, there's a large port city in the direction he pointed." Yawning she rested back on her pack and closed her eyes to get some sleep.	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.
966	13	402	677	1,382	Vaeri followed the directions of Shela, her fingers moving quickly to collect the fluid and cork the vial before any could crystallize. Satisfied, she slid the filled vial back into the unknowable void of her backpack. Yawning, she stretched and left the building, returning to the wagon so the group's supplies wouldn't be untended. Nearby was Kazuo, slumped over asleep on top of a miffed looking Trombe. The horse had an air of resignation about it, as if this were a commonly occurring type of thing.	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.
967	13	403	1,270	2,337	Lob watched with an air of curiosity to watching another treat the body, he also had a repugnant air emanating from him as well. When the dead was done, he followed behind to see what she was doing with the body when she threw her 'catch' into it and leaped back lke a frightened frog as her axe explodes. "GOOD CATCH!" Looking behind him, he saw he had bumped into a rain-barrel that was full from last night. First he dunked his head in and took a deep drink before climbing in the barrel to wash himself clean, clothes and all. It took some doing and nearly drowning in his own 'tub' but he managed to right himself and come up for air before the cooper rings strained at his mass. He knocked the barrel over and crawled out on all fours before shaking himself like a dog and hopping back up onto the wagon with the rest.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
968	13	404	1,451	685	Fiona returned to the wagon as well once the work was done, almost unwilling to believe that she was finally going to get some sleep. Surely another monster, or a loud stranger, would come by and ruin the peace. Pushing the negative thoughts aside, she found a space in the back for her blanket and unbuckled her armor, arranging it in a neat pile next to her. "If anyone would like a more peaceful sleep," Zoe said, coming over to the front of the wagon, "I can help with that. Just let me know. I'll be awake for a while yet... make sure this village doesn't get any more lively when we're all asleep, y'know?" She climbed nimbly into the front seat and took up a relaxed posture, watching the various members of the group settle in for some rest.	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.
969	13	405	914	1,884	I'll be awake as well, Derrix said stiffly as he leaned a shoulder against Charroux. The man had little to say to the group, half of which he had no idea who they were; well he had their names... but this was not Charlin, and a name only said so much outside of her borders. All Derrix knew was this: wearing plate armor all the time chaffs you up something bad, and that he needed to see this quest finished and concluded.	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
970	13	406	54	1,340	The night went smoothly and as the sun rose the next day the villagers remained hidden away, seeming to not want to have anything to do with the group that had come in the night before. Shela snorted somewhat as the light hit her eyes, her pipe still held tight between her teeth. Groaning she sat up and butt hopped over to the edge of the wagon, her feet dangling off the edge. Yawning deeply she sucked in the morning air. "Ugh, jasmine still!" she complained rubbing her nose and the sneezing. Shaking off the feeling the sneeze left behind she stretched her short arms above her head before reaching over and grabbing an Apple out of her pack and taking a bite. "Okay, where's big boy? Need to follow his nose to loud mouth," she said as she climbed to the front of the back 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.
971	13	407	1,270	2,337	Lob was indeed gone that morning. Not by any evil fog, but merely taking in the surrounding village for sights and smells. Many were gone from the group, be it in their sleep like him or other reasons. But he watched and waited for signs of trouble then got bored and came home to the wagon. "Sun up, we go." He waited for everyone to get fed and ready to go before he lead the way away. No great send-off like before or anti-paladin's to fight in the night. The half orc put his bone to his back and his nose to the grindstone as he sniffed all over sansa's horse to get a good lungful of her scent and was soon leading the way. *Room for other people's posts here* Much like he had with the slavers before, he went this way and that, crossing the road or shooting up a tree as the wind shifted. He saw a fox flit past but let it go, the were not out to feed them all again but he did stop at an oak, old and wise. "Food!" The barbarian declared as he swung his dragonbone club against the lowest bough and let acorns rain down from above, not to mention a few squirrels. He hopped back down and gathered up the acorns in his loincloth with the glowing green crystal that the healer had not wanted. Now with a handful of nuts between his legs, he continued tracking the alpha female while looking at the new ones to the group.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
972	13	408	677	1,382	Vaeri woke up early and prepped the wagon and horses for the journey. Everything seemed alright, and although the jasmine spell was odd and somewhat obtrusive, it was rather simple to ignore. Jasmine was never a scent that really stuck in the nose like rosemary, rotten egg or skunk. Now that she thought about it, yesterday had been the first time a day passed out without something cataclysmic occurring. Maybe this pattern could continue. It was a faint hope, but at least it was a hope that wasn't unfounded. After helping with preparations, she spent a good half hour in prayer as she waited for Lob to return and lead the way. For breakfast, the cleric ate a humble meal of some of the rations she had in her bag while she observed the town idly. It did not really bother her that the townspeople were avoiding them. She just adjusted the hood of her cloak and kept her gaze down. The snout of a black stallion entered her field of view, she turned her head to see the horse of one of the new travelers, his name was Trombe if she remembered well enough. On his back was his owner, the swordsman, Kazuo. Cautiously, she pet the horse's head a few times before he walked off, apparently satisfied. Kazuo did not wake up until the group had been traveling for a couple of hours. An annoyed Trombe did most of the legwork of keeping up. Kazuo could tell because his entire body felt like crap. It took him a good minute to wake up and observe his surroundings. There was a green guy crawling around sniffing the ground in front of the group. Kazuo rode up to the man in armor and leaned up close to him. "What's with the green guy?" he whispered at a volume he was sure the elf chick wouldn't hear. Growing up around a half-elf got him pretty familiar with the enhanced senses of the Fair People.	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.
973	13	409	1,451	685	Fiona felt better after sleeping, though it wasn't the most comfortable in the back of the wagon. She'd slept on worse, though, and while she didn't feel fully restored, she felt functional again, and that was enough. She ate lightly as well, once it was apparent that this village wasn't interested in providing them with anything. She helped prepare the wagon with Vaeri, and made her sure her horse was fed and watered for the day's ride. After that, it was a matter of simply accompanying the group, and remaining silent. Zoe did so on the edges, often changing positions, her eyes bright and awake. She was energetic seemingly by nature, though it was unclear just how much sleep she'd gotten the night before. She giggled a bit to herself as she watched Lob enthusiastically smash his weapon against a tree.	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.
974	13	410	914	1,884	Derrix chewed on the inside of his cheek as the moon rose high, he blunk, and as his eyes opened, he was greeted wit the flush pink of dawn. It almost felt like he had slept, almost. Or at least he thought so, he wasn't too sure what sleeping felt like anymore, but he remembered it being quick like that. He was sure he was awake though, he could feel the magic coursing through him, perking his skin into goosebumps and riding along the trenches the scars dug into his skin. Slowly people woke up and slowly he watched them like a sentinel.	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
975	13	411	54	1,340	The group traveled and they traveled, ever following Lob as the scent grew stronger. Jasmine began to mix with the smell of salt in the air as they traveled north and west from the last village. Three days of travel and nothing happened, thankfully for the group. It seemed things were going in their favor but the group grew smaller. Lack of excitement seemed to push others away or perhaps they had something else to do. Shela however kept on, at least for now. They were looking for someone while searching for what they needed for what they needed for the cinder sickness. Evening began to fall when they approached the port city of Trien. Large stone walls surrounded large city and the sounds were loud as people spoke and traded and worked and fought. "Let's get something to eat, to drink and settled in," Shela suggested as they rolled up to a local tavern in the heart of the city. If Sana was here it was going to a take a while to find her with so many people, so many buildings and they had been on the road for days without a proper place to sleep. Shela was getting tired of pulled splinters out of her rear end from sleeping in the wagon. "Any takers?" she asked as she looked at the remainder of the group.	Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.
976	13	412	1,270	2,337	Lob was worried, three days of tracking jasmine and... that was all. No other horses, no other campfires, no other people to blend the scent. He had never tracked a smell like this for so long without it breaking or mingling with others. Time distance and weather didn't even seem to effect the strength of the scent. "Alpha smell, magic smell." He tracked by day, slept by night, over the next three he found himself sleeping closer and closer to the dwarf, using the hedgehog as a pillow more than once after draping his hide armor over her as a blanket then curling up beside her. He still kept the glowing crystal in his loincloth with whatever bits of food he was foraging for the others. Part of him worried how many cubs were dying because of this search for the alpha, three days with no other parts for the sickness. Not even a gnoll bandit, a scent he knew too well as he rubbed his scarred forehead. Oddly, as the scent of salt passed his nose, he started getting an idea as he pulled out the paper of ingredients. He held up the apothecary notes with two of five scratched out. This was a big place with a lot of traders, surely someone had to have what they needed. "Let's get something to eat, to drink and settled in. Any takers?" "Food, yes. Bed, yes. Buy parts?"	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
977	13	413	677	1,382	Vaeri rode out the three days of travel mostly in silence. Sure, it was worrying that nobody else turned up and Lob didn't seem to be very comfortable with the fact that his tracking wasn't turning up any results, either positive or negative even after 3 days, but there wasn't anything she could do but rest her faith in the gods to clear this up. She would pray, but ultimately, her survival skills would not really help out, especially since Lob never really had trouble keeping a good grasp on the scent of Sana. Vaeri took in a breath of sea air, the first she had had in about half a decade. The sea was nice, but not really her thing. It was too large, chaotic and blank for her to have a connection with it like she did the forest. Deserts and Plains may also be similarly expansive and unchanging, but they were not quite as much at the mercy of weather that oceans were. Perhaps she just preferred dry land. "Who wouldn't take up the offer of food and rest?"	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.
978	13	414	54	1,340	Good! It's on me! Shela exclaimed as he looked around. She was just about to head into the tavern when a large brute of a man with a wiry bear came crashing out of the doors of the tavern and sprawled out before the group with his face planted firmly into the gravel and dirt. Over a dozen men came rushing out after him and formed a circle around the man, taunting him as he spat the ground out of his mouth. Slowly from the dark entrance to the tavern the figure of a woman appeared. Long raven hair with streaks of silver falling well past her shoulders tilted her head to the side and peered a the man through her ocean blue eyes. She look long strides in high heeled boots and her face, though older, seemed to hold a beautiful regal youth and life to it. "One does not place his hands on a lady without her permission," the woman said in a calm and commanding voice. Shela was laughing at the man with his face covered in dirt but as the woman spoke her eyes widened some and she spun around on her thick feet. "By the day, if it ain't be the queen of the sea! Regalia, I see you still be kicking much an ass," Shela laughed as he wobbled over to the woman. The woman smile and knelt down, hugging Shela tight, carefully avoiding the spikes of the dwarfs armor. "And by the seas, I see you that you are still as brash as ever my old friend," Regalia said in a kind voice before standing back up straight. "What brings you to these parts?" Regalia asked curious. "Long story, care for a drink?" Shela asked. "I would never deny my oldest friend, especially not after the stunt you pulled with that dragon," Regalia chuckled softly before holding up a finger. "If you would excuse me for a moment, I do have some unfinished business to take care of before I join you." "Not stopping you," Shela laughed as she hefted her pack onto her back. "I be inside," she quipped before toddling off. "Come on folk, let's drink!"	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.
979	13	415	677	1,382	Vaeri stood back and watched Shela talk to her friend blankly. Her ear felt kind of weird. Maybe a bug got in it. Not a lot happened. She didn't know this city and she wasn't about to split the party to try looking for an inn and potentially get lost from the rest of the group forever.	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.
980	13	416	914	1,884	Derrix squinted his eyes at Vaeri. She's got a bug in her ear, He thought to himself. He shrugged and shook his head, looking around at the splendor of the city. It almost reminded him of Lrev, but the architecture was all wrong, and this place smelt stale to him; stale with a hint of lavender. He looked down at the helmet in his hand and groaned. Lavender.	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
981	13	417	1,270	2,337	Mint 'Focus...Foocuuss...Fooocuuusss...' The small sorcerer was staring down a candle flame, drawing up the light with his will, pushing it down with the force of mental effort. He made it bend to the left then to the right and even change colors from amber to azure. All wonderful tricks, but not what he was supposed to be focusing on! The card across from him was like any of the 78 others he had been staring at for the last weeks laying on months, its maroon back was painstakingly painted with a blue diamond inside of a maroon diamond inside of a blue diamond ad-nauseam until it was too small to tell. He knew they were made supposedly of sheets of ivory from a dragons tooth but could just as easily been tusk from any other large but more believable creature like an elephant's face. At the moment he was staring at the back of the card but he needed to know what was on the front of the card, for all his divination spells, he never studied clairvoyance outright. He could read the mind of someone holding the card, or he could use the animal skull on the shelf behind the card to peek over, but those methods used something else to see through, he needed to be able to do the same without a medium. Adding insult to temptation, there was even a mirror angled just so across the room he could look at if he left his seat to see the card. He knew the mirror was there to tempt him to cheat. Pondering, he reached out to touch the card. Not flip it over, but perhaps if he put his focus to the actual object by touch, he could read what was on the other side. As his skin touched the painted ivory, he saw a flash of children tossing and turning in bed, blisters like lava oozing ash down their faces until they erupted in screaming flames. He Fell back into the chair which in turn fell back with a crash as he tumbled out of the furniture into the waiting boots of the gypsy leader. "See something you like?" The Voda of the clan spoke with that same sly grin. A smile is the most polite way to show your teeth to someone and he knew his one carried more than one of those 'folding knives' on him under three layers of tops with a scarf all full of pockets, up the sleeves, in the belt or in the boots. Either it was enchanted or he truly had over a dozen of the damned things on him, either way, Jymsine was more than the pretty face of his people. Further evidence would be the 'witches wagon' they were both in. Stereotypically, it was reserved for the oldest mother of the tribe who had 'the sight' that even brought Penish to where he was, much to his surprise to find this cat-like man leading them all with more than one hat on his head. "Yes-no. Yes I saw something from the card, but not what was on the card itself. I saw fire, screaming children with black tears." The taller one poured himself around the vardo do the other side of the table and picked up the card. His dark pants creaked as he sat and put leg over knee like he was taking tea with those sky-colored-eyes looking at it then to the halfling he flipped the card over on its head rather than around on its side. "Five of Swords, when held Upright it means a strong sense of disappointment and failure is inherent in the Five of Swords. It may be that in a quest for power, underhanded tactics were employed - lies, gossip and envy undermine everyone, including yourself. It may be that disappointment was necessary to force a more realistic plan of action. When following a path where nothing seems to work, this might not be your best course. The only thing affected if you change your mind will be your pride. When the Five of Swords is reversed, it is time to cut your losses. Sometimes, wanting to prove we were in the right becomes more important than being right. At this point, you have already lost this fight, no matter what else you say or do. Jealousy, pride and self-righteousness may be keeping you in battle but it is time to embrace defeat and walk away. Accept what has happened, learn from it and start anew." Frowning furiously, the wee wizard righted himself and took a firm stance. Was he being dismissed? Had he somehow failed the test even after weeks of indentured servitude at the camp? "You lost me somewhere, what does that card have to do with my situation." "Absolutely nothing, that is just what the card means in a reading. The fact you saw a vision while using the card is what keeps you here. You didn't see what the card was, but you saw through the card... That is enough for now. Now go take our new guest some food and water. If she tries to kill you to escape, it is no loss to me." Stopping himself before he was goaded, the small one saluted and left. He made his way to the cook caravan and opened u one of the baskets hanging from the side full of simples for the kids to get into. He plucked an apple, an egg, and a fist of cheese with a blackbread roll and started to juggle them as he made his way to the golden guards outside the door. He knew them and he knew he could take them each in a heartbeat. That thought made him smile as he stoed tossing the food about and entered the tent. "Lunch." Lob "DRINK!" Was the war-cry into the boisterous bar they were about to enter. He braced his nose and went inside behind the dwarf, grabbing her by her belt and setting her in a chair to save her embarrassment of trying to make it work out in her favor. He liked the one in spikes, she was simple in what she said and did, it made it easy to follow. And she had a really good ax! He preferred to crouch, but his height still let him rest his chin on the bar, he sniffed about as he looked at their surroundings, having not gotten to go very far into the last inn except for breakfast of cleaning off other people's plates before the raider arrived. When the bartender looked to the monster for his order, it took Lob longer than usual to find the word. Kumis! He called out, it was a fermented mare milk his people once got for trading with horse-riders. The kinship to the animals spoke much to Lob as he remembered the high grasses of his homeplains and hoped to return to them, but there were no more of his people to return to so going back also seemed like it would do no good. His head hurt now.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
982	13	418	54	1,340	Sana glanced over her shoulder and looked at the one that was speaking to her about food. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she turned back around as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm not hungry," she spat. "You need to eat Miss Rawn," Jymsine said as he peeked into the tent. "You won't be any good to me if you don't have your strength," he added with a sly smile gracing his lips. "Oh piss off! Like I give a good damn what use I am to you, you better be glad I don't care about keeping up my strength for your wants, otherwise I would put you through that tent and into an early grave," she hissed. "Then do it," he challenged as he stepped towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I may be hot headed, I am not stupid," she said with a smirk. "I'll leave when the time is right." "You'll leave when I tell you to," Jymsine whispered in her ear. Sana shrugged off his grasp but he spun her around and grabbed her face. "You'll do what you are told when you are told or that little blonde beauty back at the village will be your replacement." Sana felt her heart plummet into her stomach and she suddenly felt sick. Her skin going white as her eyes widened slightly. "That's right, we know there is another Rawn walking about. So either do what you're told or I go for her and that sister won't be able to stop me," he said as he pressed his lips to her forehead before turning and walking towards the tent flap. "Make sure she eats, we reach the port city tonight," Jymsine added before he stepped outside. Sana stood there frozen, whatever he had planned she had no choice now. Slowly she sank to her knees and lowered her head. She couldn't let anything happen to that precious little angel. ~~~~~ Regalia grabbed the man by the back of his collar and tossed him to her crew before dusting off her gloved hands. Turning she perked a brow slightly and stepped over to the so called poet. "Derrix, tis been a long time. I wondered what became of you. Good to see you still drawing breath. Join Shela and I if you would," she said with a soft smile before turning on her heals and pushing into the tavern, letting her crew take care of the man she had tossed their way. She looked around a moment before spotting Shela at the bar, strolling over she took a seat next to her old friend and smiled as a glass of wine was set before her. Gingerly pulling the gloves from her long fingers she sat poised as she tucked them into her belt. "Always the proper one," Shela sniggered. "So what brings you here?" "Kings calling, there is a masquerade ball this evening. Apparently it is some celebration but not much is being said. Only thing I know is that it is supposed to be big. I was sent for and here I am. I figured it couldn't hurt and there is supposed to be this rather remarkable pair singing this evening, you know me. I am such a lover of any art, even vocal ones." Shela perked a thick brow and looked over towards the rest of her group that remained. "A singer? You don't say," she said more to them than to Regalia, who was sipping her wine. "Yes, apparently one each of two different gypsy troupes, a first appearance," Regalia said as she ran her finger over the edge of her chalice.	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.
983	13	419	677	1,382	Vaeri followed Lob up to the bar and sat on the stool to his right. As she put her weight on the hard wood, she felt the seat shift location. Experimentally she shifted her weight to the other side and the stool rocked over to that. She looks down and saw that two of the legs were shorter than the others. Figures. "A pint of mead." Vaeri pulled out her sack that could be called a coin purse and pulled out a few pieces of dingy looking copper and placed them on the counter. Growing up in the forest, bees were pretty easily available. And with the collection of honey came its fermentation into alcohol. Mead was just about everywhere, almost more common than water, and certainly more valuable in trading than it. Any human traders that would show up were keen on buying it. They said that labeling the drink as elven made let them sell it for a lot more and much quicker than more domestic drafts. Vaeri found that she didn't quite like the mead she'd find traveling abroad as much as what she would have back home, but she wouldn't say that it was all that much worse that "elven made" would be a marker of superior quality. Still, she enjoyed ordering mead because it did remind her of Lianyu and helped stave off the occasional bout of homesickness. As she waited for her drink Vaeri stared down out the counter and idly thought about the various going ons. Why Sana's scent seemed to have lead them here, what the next ingredient for the Cinder Sickness would be, how they would ever take on a Mist Dragon. That was a great uncertainty when everyone had first met up, and now their numbers had been halved. I suppose that's an issue we'll need to worry about when we get to it. Vaeri sighed as the mug of mead appeared before her. It was no use getting all worked up over something that might happen when now was the time that was set aside for relaxation. Head tilted back, the first of what could be many drinks was chugged down. "Another, please." Vaeri asked as she set down the mug with a decisive clink.	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.
984	13	420	1,270	2,337	Mint Penish watched on at the exchange, silently casting the spells he did know to read the surface thoughts, insight is worth its weight in gold. He waited for the leader to leave before approaching. He kept the safe distance of her reach and her reach again in case she found a cudgel or started practicing her throwing skills. If she didn't try to brain him, he tried to get close enough to speak softly as far from the guards at the front as he could. There was still the risk of some sort of eavesdropping device, but it would have to be a calculated risk. "I'm an outsider as is, and you are a bird of a gilded cage. Even if one of us tells on the other, its suspect at best. So, how about half rations, apple and cheese and I'm out of your hair. But, perhaps you can explain to me why he's keeping you. He's keeping me here on promise of new magic to learn. But if all you want is out, and you help me get what I want, I can help you on your way." Lob Lob was ignored by the dwarf with her old pack, and now he was sat beside by the shaman of the group. He reached down and pulled out the glowing green stone as the fermented mares milk was given to him in a massive serving bowl. He took it up in both hands to tilt back for guzzling in long lapping gulps before wiping his face on his hairy arms. "You no like Lob. Many go, you no go. Why stay?" Any hopes of Lob secretly being a brilliant alcoholic went out the window as he basically drank a whole bottle of wine in a single sitting that others would take to drink just a glass. He set the bowl back down and looked over at the healer and waited for her to respond. He looked over at the dwarf again and tried to understand what they were talking about, but it escaped him at the moment so he looked back to the elf.	Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging,Hunting, Light Sleeping, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness, Boating, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. ** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. Scent tracking* Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent
985	14	0	1,523	3,443	THE NEXT 'PLOT POST' WILL BE SET AT 6PM, 9/1/2020. – 9th of January, 2020 Start of the IC. – Be kind and courteous to each other, which means to godmoding, power-playing, metagaming etc... – Wait two posts before posting again yourself to prevent speed-posting. – Mention players whose characters you are interacting with so they are notified, such as . Character Name Location: place here Interacting With: mentions here	Basic Information \| Name \| Alistair Ruaraidh Queen \| Date of Birth \| December, 1324 \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Bisexual \| Occupation \| Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). \| In-Depth Appearance \| Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. \| History \| If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. \| Family \| Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. \| Strengths \| Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. \| Weaknesses \| Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other \| Theme Song \| Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” \| House Number \| 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. \| Extra Information \| Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.
986	14	1	1,523	3,443	Hello there; some tricky driving conditions today in Southern England and parts of Wales with the cold snap continuing on into its third week with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Remember to wrap up warmly and be careful on the roads as there is a blanket yellow warning for ice across all of England with the outer boroughs of London – Redbridge, Waltham Forest and Edgetoun – featuring an amber warning for most of the day. Passengers at Heathrow Airport should expect some delays as a result of poor weather conditions and low visibility due to a fog rolling in. The Unseelie Fae have sent a notice in that the snowstorm we will be experiencing at 3PM – just as the schools are let out – is in continued protest of government statements pending a decision on Creature Rights, so while the Met Office hasn't predicted anything yet to do with that, it's recommended to plan your route around an unexpected disruption about that time. Now on to the forecast... WEREWOLF CHARGED WITH MANSLAUGHTER FOUND DEAD IN CAPTIVITY PETITION TO BAN WEREWOLVES AND VAMPIRES: 1 MILLION SIGNATURES IN A FORTNIGHT STATEMENT TO COME TONIGHT FROM PRIME MINISTER ON CREATURE RIGHTS Nick Bloodfang is dead, as you have found out this morning. He killed a girl, and our sources say he was going to be let off with light charges due to his "furry little problem". We solved it for you. You're welcome, Britain. He and his kind, and all the other kinds out there, are murderers, and the UK government should never let any of them get away with it. Ask any werewolf if they've ever killed a person. Ask any vampire. I bet the answer is no answer at all. The Mortals First group has the right idea: they shouldn't be allowed to live in this country, and perhaps not even this world.	Basic Information \| Name \| Alistair Ruaraidh Queen \| Date of Birth \| December, 1324 \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Bisexual \| Occupation \| Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). \| In-Depth Appearance \| Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. \| History \| If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. \| Family \| Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. \| Strengths \| Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. \| Weaknesses \| Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other \| Theme Song \| Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” \| House Number \| 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. \| Extra Information \| Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.
987	14	2	2,699	1,255	Yukiko Abe Yukiko rolled over and looked at her buzzing alarm clock with a pout. She lazily slapped the top of the clock barely hitting the end alarm button and rolling onto her back and absent-mindedly pushing the hair out of her face. She sat up and glanced around her room, quickly picking out the glasses she didn’t need and the jeans she absolutely did. Her cold feet gently tread across the colder hard wood flooring making her way to the kitchen. Her hands acted on muscle memory, starting a pot of coffee and placing a pot underneath the machine as it went to work. She bent down in order to pick a pan neatly out of the cupboard, making sure not to wake Maggie or Stef with the clatter of the pan. She quickly leaned to her right turning the bottom right stove up to seven out of ten. She placed the pan on the stove and grabbed a knife from the drawer with her other hand she slid the stick of butter that was on the counter and sliced some off letting it slide onto the quickly heating frying pan. After gently placing the knife in the sink she retrieved four eggs from their carton in the fridge. Expertly, she cracked each one, two at a time, and let their yolk simmer in the pan. She also grabbed some bread and placed it into the toaster while waiting for the eggs to cook, when she was waiting for those to finish she retrieved a small glass and poured some orange juice into it, no pulp. Finally finishing creating the meal, she scraped the eggs onto a plate, retrieved the golden brown toast and the glass of orange juice and placed them on a small ‘breakfast in bed’ tray. She made her way over to the door leading to Stef’s room and gently knocked, waiting for a response. When she didn’t get one she gently opened the door and let herself in when she saw the young girl still calmly sleeping. Yuki stood in the doorway for a moment, a warm smile materializing on her face as she quickly but silently made her way to Stef’s bedside placing the breakfast platter by her bed and glanced over to her own alarm clock. She grinned and set Stef’s alarm back another five minutes – just to make sure that she got her sleep. She pulled Stef’s blankets up to meet her and make sure she was warm and comfortable. Yuki quickly left Stef’s room and silently closed her door before running off into the shower. Ready for her day, finally she took a seat on the couch in her living room and decided she’d wait for Stef this morning, they could walk to work together. She flicked on the news and- A video named ‘Helsing’ has been posted to YouTube has taken responsibility for the death of Nick Bloodfang. Using wide reaching statements stating that werewolves are killers, vampires are- “Fucking pricks.” Yuki cursed under her breath glancing back at Stef’s door. Racism never changed, they just found a new target.	Eve Lumière. Demon \| Asmodeus \| Lust Basic Information \| Name \| Evelyn De Les Beauchamp et Lumière - Eve \| Date of Birth \| 1923 \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Is a Lust demon \| Occupation \| Eve tends bar. \| In-Depth Appearance \| Listening to Eve’s voice triggers similar in one’s mind to sitting in a warm bath after a long day sipping on expensive wine that you didn’t have to buy. It is alluring, relaxing and most of all French. She carries a confident posture, often leaning in towards others or making prolonged eye contact. She tends to arch her back when she walks as instructed by her mother and most feminine figures in her life. She has learned to perform small things that make people like her, laugh at their jokes, touch their leg, give in to their poor sense of humour, even complimenting them on their forced fashion. It’s one of the reasons he is such a talented bartender. Eve typically wears a nice clothing, whether that be designer or otherwise. She can be seen typically lounging in a dress shirt and either shorts or her underwear and likes to wear a nice sundress when going on walks. To work she’ll typically wear a tanktop and a pair of jeans and if she is going out somewhere nice it’s a little black dress. Though she has been seen in a leather jacket from time to time it’s irregularly worn at best. Eve some scars and notable markings. Firstly she has some deep scaring on the small of her back from an incident in which she attempted to raise herself higher in stature among another demon. It didn’t work out. She also has very light scars covering random portions of her body from rather extraneous nights in which she managed to live up to her livelihood as a demon. Eve typically wears her hair down, though she has been known to sloppily place it into a messy bun when she is bored, nervous or anxious – it’s a form of fidgeting, though it is much more likely to be the former. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Confident ♦ Opinionated ♦ Aggressive ♦ Laid Back ♦ At her worst, Eve is an aggressive, slightly sociopathic alcoholic. At her best, she’s rather laid back confident in herself and rather accepting of others. As a Asmodeus demon Eve has found herself attracted to most people. Because of this she consistently finds herself looking at the best parts in others. However, when turned away, denied or persecuted by her peers she finds herself much more emotional than one typically would be, personally offended without a doubt. One thing eve is notable for is having a hard time keeping committed in a relationship. As a lust demon Eve has a certain amount of satiation she attempts to find in her life, because of this she is consistently unsatisfied. However the idea of a lust demon simply lusting after sex is a stereotype older than the old Demon’s themselves – as such simply being adventurous and drinking does seem to satisfy her lust to an extent. This is how she attempts to balance herself. Eve – while easily offended is incredibly laid back until she becomes so. She doesn’t care about rescheduling, and when someone is being honest with her she is happy to oblige them. She has been regarded by other demons as uncomfortably nice, which she takes as a compliment most of the time. However, among other demons Eve finds herself without as much of a filter as she usually keeps up around others. As a much younger demon than some, Eve is regularly finding herself attempting to go at her own pace – very wary of the idea that she could blow herself over at any moment attempting to catch up with other demons. Eve finds herself most attracted to those who are confident in their own skin. However, Eve tends to mind the line between confident and cocky although she crosses that line daily. She looks for those who show her something new, something different. When she was travelling in Canada in her earlier life as a demon she met a wide variety of people and made them close friends, as such she isn't typically impressed by bravado and pick up lines. For a lust demon - Eve shows a rather incredibly amount of restraint in almost all things. However, she is quite susceptible to temptation due to who/what she is. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ French anything (even fries!) ✔ Romance – when done correctly ✔ Spicy foods ✔ Dramatic films ✔ Any show of real talent ✔ Attractive people ✔ Confident people ✔ Funny people ✔ People ✔ Birds ✘Fakeness ✘Lies ✘Bland food ✘Bad Jokes ✘Puns (with the fury of 10000 suns) ✘Films with poor writing/plot ✘Country music \| History \| Until the age end of World War 2 Eve believed she was born to a rather modest family in Marseilles, France. She had three sisters and two brothers, they were a family. Her father - somewhat ironically a father at their church, her mother a housewife and an artist. While their family was raised in somewhat less than reasonable conditions, Even affectionately remembered her mother teaching her and her sisters how to eat as if they were dining with royalty. How to speak, sit, walk, and talk. As such she has her mother to blame for her somewhat noble demeanor. When World War 2 began, it was a just cause. Every young man in Marseille wanted to join the war and her brothers did. They prayed for each of them every time they sat to ate, sleep or found a silence hanging in the main room. However, the war seemingly became unjustified after not too long. When France began to lose, when they realized that they were what stood between Britain and Germany, every day felt like the second hand on a timepiece steadily counting down the hour of freedom they held. They were many more hanging silences then. In November of 1942, Marseille was officially occupied by Germany. Every time Eve would walk near the window her father would clutch a rosary, commonly her and her sisters hid in the basement, their photographs burned when the Germans occupied. If the Nazi's were asking, Eve's mother was fertile. It took a couple months for Eve's family to receive notice of their son passing away. The German's found new ways to punish Eve's father that night, when they discovered his children. It wasn't until August 28th in 1944 that Eve would discover that the small hamlet she took pleasure in was not her own. She had always known she was different. In classes, boys didn't bully her, she was stronger than most girls, she got her way more often. But August 28th was still... Unexpected. Eve went to a bar. Marseille was told that Germany was to leave the next morning. She was 22, she needed a drink after what could only be described as the slowest years of her life. She arrived at the bar and there lay in waiting two German officers. They threatened her, complained that they hadn't seen her in two full years of occupation, promised her a night she would never forget. Truth be told, it wasn't problematic to her that she killed them. The real problem lay upon the blame that would fall on her parents. She only truly felt for them. She stayed out that night. The next morning a man, or something resembling a man, dressed in the garb of a Canadian soldier saw what she had done. She remembered he stood in front of her for a long while without uttering a word. He nodded once - shook his head another time but continued to stare at her bleakly looking up at him covered in blood. Finally when he opened his mouth he told her he could teach her, about herself, about her abilities, what made her different. By noon she had donned a nurse's outfit and hopped on a boat. For the next three decades she lived in Lake Louise, Alberta. Learning English and Quebecois, learning to fit in with the everyday person. She had to learn how to fit in with people because the revelation that she was a lust demon came as... A bit of a shock. She found that the knowledge of who and what she was seemed to 'activate' that side of her. She found herself drawn to people like she had never felt before, she found herself staring at the bottom of a bottle much more commonly than she ever had. It didn't take long for her to end up in a 24A Faraday Heights. Tending bar and... Well she's been taking it easy. \| Family \| Her family is long dead, and she is unaware of her demonic lineage. \| Strengths \| Bilingual (French and English) Very good vocalist Very good (Almost demonically so) at convincing people to do things. The more likely they were to do it before, the more likely she is successful. \| Weaknesses \| Emotional Cocky Unstable The Other \| Theme Song \| "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley, Covered by Daniela Andrade. ”Who do you think you are, Ha ha ha bless your soul You really think you're in control.” \| House Number \| Faraday Heights 24A (If I've got that right ?.?) \| Extra Information \| My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun And it's no coincidence I've come And I can die when I'm done Eve Lumière Blake Preston "Blake? She’s my roommate, wonderful girl really. Has a pretty popular blog too, I wish I could speak to groups of people like that. At first she wasn’t very receptive to me but we’ve gotten closer now. I’d say we’re pretty comfortable around one another." Blake is someone I want on my side. She’s loyal, compassionate and if nothing else, willing to go with the flow. Humans are always nicer than demons. Daniel Belson "Dan? He’s a bartender as well, you’ve got to respect someone who shares your profession. Kind enough I suppose, haven’t had all that much contact with me." He is a human cactus. He is pokey when you touch him, but I have to imagine he’s a pretty good guy on the inside. He can keep pace with me, probably outlast me when it comes to bantering though – that’s troubling. Alistair Queen "Al is... Well He’s odd really. He’s owns the bar I work at and past that I’ve not hand any issues with him. However, whenever I have to pay him something he makes me do it in Scottish notes. Something about how they look." Al’s a good guy for the most part. I mean, he’s a good guy because being a good guy makes him feel good, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t a good guy. He’s flirty, but as a Lust demon he isn’t that flirty. He doesn’t seem to share much though, somewhat troubling. Mariska Costas "Mariska reminds me a lot of myself. She wants attention, she’s mature beyond her years, probably seen some shit. For that reason I like her just fine." I don’t know all too much about Mariska which can be a little worrisome from time to time. But I’ve not ran into much reason to suspect her of anything I wouldn’t do, so how bad could she be? Nikita Yankovsky "Nikki is a great girl. One after my own heart for sure." As a lust demon, it takes one to know one and I notice similar signs in her. She's got the same itches and scratches. I can see it in her eyes, when she glances, when she inhales. It's a look you get used to seeing in the mirror I s'pose. Ah well, I’m sure she’s not gonna crucify me or anything. Mordred Hame "Mordred is okay I guess. But he’s not so into the fact that I drink a lot. I don’t know. " #demonalert, I mean I could be wrong – I just don’t think I am. Although, he could be an Angel too. They’re annoying like that sometimes. He’s always chiding people, kind of obnoxious. John Taylor "Every time I see the poor kid I wanna buy him a burger. I mean he’s built like a goddam oak tree but he must weigh as much as I do." He’s worrisome. I have no idea what he is but it’s an other. There’s no doubt about that. That being said the kid knows how to drink so I can’t really hate him. Catharine Reid "Cara’s an interesting gal. Not too sure how to discern either way, but she’s a real cutie that one. She does some event planning, so I think she’s just asking for someone to ask her to plan their wedding or something like that. It’ll be sweet." She reminds me of Al in some ways. Probably their managing skills, he owns the bar she plans some stuff. She's got that bad bitch walk that I love though. Opallum "He’s homeless and he likes wine. Well I work at the local watering hole so I’ve seen enough of the guy." My demon sense tingle with this one, not too sure where he’d fit. Maybe sloth, but I don’t know him well enough to make the call. Andrew Mordekai "Andrew is a nice kid. Plain and simple he’s likable to a fault." I just like the guy, he’s pretty nice. Though taking it easy could be a nice thing for him to try out every once in a while, he’s always got that I should be somewhere face on. Looks exhausting. Suriel White "No comment." Yeah I’m pretty sure she’s got me figured out into a bit of a corner if we’re being honest. But I’m pretty sure she won’t get all diving retribution on me as long as I haven’t been nabbing people in the dark and making deals and what have you. Miles Catrose "Miles once walked into the bar insulted the dubstep on the radio and the vodka on the rack behind me. I like Miles. Also I see him when I need a trim." He’s nice. You wouldn’t know it but I’m pretty sure he’s actually older than me by a fair bit. Which I suppose makes him an other as well. Unless he’s a pride demon I don’t think he’s a demon at all. Too excited about life, to the point of being arrogant really. Yukiko Abe "Yuki’s a sweet girl. She works as a tattoo artist at the parlor downtown. She doesn’t talk much but she’s got a smile that makes my damn heart still." I couldn’t tell you what she is or how old she is. She keeps that damn trap shut so much half the time she talks I can’t get even a small read on her. They always say watch out for the quiet one’s but I myself tend to look at the people who warn others. Shifting blame on the quiet ones seems like a half-decent way of avoiding suspicion if you ask me. Mona "Who?" Seriously who? Wait, is that the… Nah. I don’t think so. Faron Romane "Faron’s got to be… Well. He’s a got a better heart than most and I suppose that’s truly what matters. Y’know? He’s got something about him that I find intriguing. Kids seriously in touch with nature though. " Kid’s smart. Smarter than people give him credit for. He’s just not smart in the stupid ways, that’s huge. One to watch undoubtedly. Nicolas Black "In business there’s a pretty common philosophy. You can charge a premium or you can make your shit cheap. Idea is, if you find the right balance you make the most profit. Nick says fuck that, buys all the cheap whiskey I’ve got when I’m tending bar. He gives you that kind of vibe – go to him if you need help." What is there to say? He’s a hot detective who drinks cheap shit and is probably only five days from retirement should the tropes continue. Apparently he digs cats too. They can be fun I guess. Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi "She’s sweet. Real holistic type, long walks in the woods, talks to trees, hugs her plants. I don’t know much about her." Eh she’s essentially the type of person that is ‘better than you’ but she’d never say it. Nor does she probably believe it. If nature stands a chance of surviving humanity though it’s in her backyard. Megumi "She’s fucking adorable." I don’t know. Something about her – definitely an other. She acts like a child that all checks out but… Call it a sixth sense, call it a woman’s intuition. Call it I’m staying away. Katherine Haynes "She’s cute." She seems down a lot – on the other hand somewhat confident. Just paradoxical to fit in to the new world of others. Felicia Underwood "Felix? Yeah Felix is well liked. She’s the kinda girl that knows you’re having problems before you do." I’m calling it here. She’s a telepath, a mutant maybe like the comics. That’s it. I should’ve known I left the oven on. Hm? Well, no, she didn’t tell me I left the oven wrong but she looked at me like she knew. Elise Callaghan "Elise? Yeah she’s a little cold but she’s something I’ll tell you." So she’s not a lust demon. I suppose she could’ve been half lust demon but that’s not it either. I don’t know what it is but it’s weird. She walks in a room and she’s there. I look at her, and she’s gone and I’m thinking ‘where’d she go?’ I don’t know why or how to explain it. It’s… I don’t know. Stefani Roche "Stef is the sweetest, you catch her giving you these looks sometimes, what can I say puppy eye dogs and a fake that isn't the worst and I serve her." Stef is a good girl. She's being raised by the older lady up by Faraday so I think she's safe, but she walks in a I get a little protective, I won't lie. Maybe it's all this shit in the news recently. Ari Amari "He's a nice young man, but I'm relatively sure he predates the wheel. He also makes a face whenever I order a gin and gin." Seriously I caught him talking about Vesuvius this one time, describing it's eruption. Which means this mother fucker is ancient. Probably has every right to treat Yuki like a child, which is somewhat horrifying. Claire O’Malley "Haven’t really met her yet, she walked into the bar once I think." Kind of reminds me of Andrew. That being said I couldn’t say for sure. Ari Amari "He's a nice young man, but I'm relatively sure he predates the wheel. He also makes a face whenever I order a gin and gin." Seriously I caught him talking about Vesuvius this one time, describing it's eruption. Which means this mother fucker is ancient. Probably has every right to treat Yuki like a child, which is somewhat horrifying. Barachiel "I’ll pass." Nope. Ethan Cooper "He fights with Danny like an old housewife. They also live with that one girl, Aila. Are... Is Danny playing house over there?" Nice kid, if Danny weren’t so head over heels with him I’d try something but he is and I doubt he’d be too into me anyway. Alfie Liau "Not really my taste." He just seems so young. Could be older than me for all I know but he’s just so small. Astrid Kitchener "She’s cute, I might have to pay her a visit soon." What? I’m a lust demon not a nun, the girl’s got nice eyes – get off my back. Michael "Good looking guy with a better taste in music." The record store is a nice cozy little place. He does pretty well there apparently. Aila Atleo "She’s cute, doe eyed girl." Personally, I think she’s seen too much shit to be in a relationship. She’s got those eyes, saw those kind of eyes a lot when I was a young kid. Emerson Maddox "A lawyer? Maybe I should wrap him around my finger." Seriously rent ain’t paying itself. Tips have been a bit slower recently too. Talia Halbrook "She’s certainly sure of herself." Mmmm hot damn, don’t mind a piece of that if I say so myself. Loki Van Stenberg "Don’t know him." There’s that dealer, goes by Low Key – I’m not into that kind of shit. With Ryan as a cop – I don’t think most people would get away with that kind of thing. Freddie Hughes-Jackson "Freddie’s a funny kid, cute – nice butt." I like to fluster him, it gives me a little satisfaction. Still got it Eve. Liam Woodsworth "I don’t know the kid." No really, who is he? Aiden Phillips "Doc? Oh him and I go way back, yeah… Well no, but he’s cute so I sure would like to." Mmm doctors… Ryan Croft "The cop? Yeah he seems like a good man with a little too much on his shoulders." He comes by the bar, double whiskey. Seems rough putting the city on your shoulders like that. Eternity Loveless "She is… A lot to take in all at once." Do we need to have a talk? ‘Snowstorms and why you shouldn’t make them happen?’ Patrick Kershner "A little young. A little overly concerned perhaps." Good kid overall though. Don’t tell him that, he needs to find balance in his ego and his worries. Nicodem Kaminski “He’s got that George Clooney, sexy older man thing." How old is a big part of the question though isn’t it? He’s Ryan’s Deputy and I think that might’ve ended up being life partners. Living in the same place and all.
988	14	3	721	234	Opallum Location: Standing outside The Early Bean Interacting With: No one, currently "Hmm . . ." Today was particularly frigid -- even for an ifrit such as Opallum. The wrath demon had been meandering about the borough for countless hours today, hardly anything pressing on his mind. What did manage to gain his attention and promptly annoy him, however, was that the lens of his sunglasses continued to fog up due to the cold. A nuisance, truly. As per usual, there were no specific stops or errands to be made, and, lacking an actual schedule to follow, there was little to keep him busy with. Edgetoun had much to offer, and Opallum knew this, but nothing that one could enjoy without having legal tender -- something he lacked entirely, at the moment. For a split second, the ifrit considered getting a job, but swiftly dashed the idea from his mind. He preferred "absolute freedom." Besides, Opallum always managed to scrounge up a few bucks by just traversing through London and kindly asking various inhabitants for just a few bucks. Almost always worked. Anyhow, it'd seem that the only way to prevent a boredom-wrought headache later on would be to find some type of legal stimulation that didn't require him to pay. Already, he had grown a tad weary from conversing with so many people over the span of three days. Being bored was certainly a tiresome pit to fall into and to get out of. Eventually, after aimlessly sauntering around the district, Opallum managed to spot a familiar sigil inscribed on glass right by his face. He had come upon The Early Bean. News is on, right? It's usually on in the morning, he thought. While he might not be able to afford coffee (or anything else, for that matter), there was still a medium-sized LCD television established in the upper leftmost corner of the store that he could spot through the glass pane which would sate his boredom for a time. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, a decision came upon him: enter the store with no money and awkwardly loiter about while watching TV, or just stand outside in the cold and still get to watch TV? Opallum decided to settle on the latter option. There was no doubt that the cold was slightly bitter to him even with his abnormally high body temperature, but he felt it rude to amble in and take a seat without being able to afford anything. Would have been weird, too. After all of these thoughts joggled to and fro in his head, the very fact that he was allowed to view the news was enough for him. Once the weatherwoman had finished divulging the snippet on the snowstorm and the Unseelie Court, Opallum nodded contently. "Good on those faefolk. Causing a ruckus usually causes some change, yeah?" he murmured, the corners of his lips curving upwards into a thin smile. In all honesty, the ifrit knew little on the fae and their on-goings, but they had verily proved themselves to be a diverse crowd, physically and personality-wise. Pondering on the idea of a snowstorm now actually struck some discord within Opallum. The homeless of London would be suffering through that. It'll be hell. Being homeless himself, he knew that he would also face the threat of biting wintry chill. Suppose I could just hang out in a bar until it settles down. Easiest way to get by. Other than leaning against the glass with his right leg crossed over his left and staring inside at the news report, a stillness was beset upon Opallum's body, and his awareness of the surroundings gradually dissipated. It would seem that his attention was solely on the information being displayed on the television screen. Given his lack of access to the internet because of his status of abject poverty, he wouldn't catch wind of the 'Helsing' message or the headlines up on the BBC homepage -- at least, not yet.	"Frankie Knuckles was something else, I'm telling you." Opallum Demon - Sathanus - Wrath Basic Information \| Name \| Opallum \| Date of Birth \| 1936 - Unknown month and day \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Heterosexual \| Occupation \| Currently unemployed. \| In-Depth Appearance \| Opallum’s assumed form is that of an African male around 5’9” in height with a considerably athletic build and heavy stubble spanning from his sideburns and curving about his prominent chin in a clean, chinstrap fashion. In regards to heftiness, though, Opallum maintains a somewhat healthy body weight of 135 pounds. Age-wise, he looks to be in his early twenties. His posture when standing is upright and resolute, and he sports a fairly large, black afro which retains a relatively kempt and properly picked out fashion. When sauntering about the borough of Edgetoun, no matter the weather or day, his body is adorned in baggy khaki pants which is usually a size above his actual fitting, and held up by a gray fabric belt. A plain white tank top covers his torso, and two black, beaded necklaces hang around his neck. The only other type jewelry he has in possession are two gold, hooped earrings which he is always seen wearing. Often, the only type of shoes he's known to slip on are a light brown pair of moccasins or black ankle strap sandals. On most days, Opallum prefers to throw on a pair of overbearing and worn Versace sunglasses. Over time, one would notice that this is the same outfit that he wears almost every single day, save for special occasions, where he somehow manages to acquire appropriate attire for the occasion. Opallum is more on the muscular side, holding a comparatively lean fat to muscle mass ratio with notably pronounced shoulder blades. As for his true form (which isn’t all that impressive), there are few -- but noteworthy -- differences. Stubby tusks protrude from his upper jaw and outwards till it reaches the front of his upper lip, and the color of his eyes are altered -- black sidera, with pupils and irises a distinct carmine color, a distinct shift from the usual white sidera, umbrous pupil, and dark brown iris. This form has no real function other than to serve as a means of identification to prove that Opallum is an Other, or to intimidate, but only when he finds it absolutely necessary. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Erudite ♦ Heathen ♦ Free-spirited ♦ Curious ♦ More often than not, Opallum is spotted with a light frown which frequently signifies his usual state of boredom. Even though he's fairly young, all the experiences that he's endured and the individuals he's met have seemed to finally take its toll on him. It's likely that he was far too eager to face the intricacies and wonders of the world in his even more youthful stages of life, and now all those encounters over time -- sensual, combative, or dire -- have ultimately resulted in the exhaustion of his initial fervor. Opallum's djinn classification is a distinct green, denoting youthfulness and a particularly mischievous nature within the mystical djinn society. Although he might not always seem to fit this frame on the surface, he is, at heart, one who seeks to derive entertainment from those around him and eventful occurrences. This ifrit is one who commonly prefers to back out of petty or intense drama and instead observe from a safe distance so that he may gather whatever information he can on those involved in the verbal scuffle. In some instances (and if safe enough), Opallum might decide that it would be most beneficial for his own entertainment to instigate "healthy" amounts of strife between individuals. Opallum is a djinn who simply tries to enjoy life whenever, as the ember of excitement that once resided in his eyes is swiftly fading away. On approach, Opallum is a generally affable fellow. A kind greeting would come to those who wished to speak with him, and he can hold a fairly decent conversation no matter the topic. At any point which he can interact with others tends to alleviate the burdensome wave of ennui that had previously struck, and thus his suffering is lifted for a time. However, if someone manages to bore him (which isn't quite difficult to do), he has no qualms with outright ignoring them and ambling off elsewhere -- one of the ruder gestures he's recently taken up. It is rare to ever see him become enraged or even slightly perturbed, but it is possible if enough effort is exerted in order to invoke that reaction. This ifrit's nature is especially pervasive throughout most of his relationships and he's prone to treating most people like this unless they've managed to somehow prove themselves to be rather entertaining characters to him, worthy of spending time with. At this point, one would be able to experience his slightly more open personality, where he's more willing to share secrets and even admit to some his own temperamental facets. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Spicy and savory foods ✔Humid or mild weather ✔Underground locations and decrepit, rundown city buildings ✔Large dogs (e.g., great danes, mastiffs, and St. Bernards) ✔Dark fruits ✔Wines and sweet liqueurs ✔Loose-fitting clothes ✔House music ✘Felines ✘Horror films ✘Witches ✘Tight or wooly clothing ✘Winter ✘Awkward situations (one thing he really cannot deal with, no matter how many times he's experienced them) ✘Country music \| History \| All that was needed to birth Opallum into the Earthen realm was a medium burst of fire not covering a span of even five square meters in the dank, murky underground of subterranean London’s tunnel system. At first, he was a humanoid being of pure flame, but within less than a minute of existence, the flames cooled, ash and dust from his surroundings began to coagulate about his form, bringing him skin, flesh, and other bodily necessities took their position and resulted in the body which he . The entire process was over in less than two minutes. When he was finally imbued with the concept of sentience, a name reverberated throughout the chambers of his mind: Opallum. The unfamiliar and booming voices were unrelenting in their verbal assailment, until the newborn ifrit had decided to utter the name. It was then that the voices halted. Allowing himself a moment to recuperate, the ifrit staggered back against the curved tunnel wall, very nude and confused. Looking about warily, Opallum murmured a query primarily directed towards himself. “Now what?” Since his unexpected birth (and finally managing to escape the vast array of tunnels that obstructed him from reaching the surface), Opallum was able to amass enough knowledge from citizens on the street to gain a fundamental understanding that he should be clothed, first. Afterwards, the rest of his life was spent being a vagabond -- perpetually confused for the first fifty years of his life, Opallum had decided to take advantage of the lack of boundaries and overwatch kept on him and indulged in whatever curious wonders the world were offered. Over time, he picked up on rumors which detailed the existence of Others. Promptly, with an attraction akin to a magnet, Others eventually managed to bump into him throughout his life, and he was exposed to the world of Others. Ghosts, demons, faefolk, and other various types of creatures and eldritch entities were known to him. His endeavor to learn about the world came to a satisfied fruition after gathering enough information on both the psyche and inner workings of the humans and the Others. Still wondering the streets of England, he eventually came upon the seemingly friendly borough of Edgetoun. The idea to stick around for a while rather than move on struck his mind quite suddenly. Others have been spread out in England for quite some time, but now, here in Edgetoun, there was a proper gathering that could potentially usher in a period of peace with their interactions, or one of chaos with a new target being placed on them by humankind. Both outcomes pleased Opallum greatly, and so he decided to stay grounded for the moment, awaiting the introduction of any observable conflict or tranquility. \| Family \| Father - Nafran Mother - Mah'jan Relationship? Opallum is incredibly estranged from the both of them. After his manifestation into the human realm, his parents came to a mutual decision that they should abandon him and return to enjoying their existence within the ethereal realm of the djinn. Given the exclusivity of these two elder ifrits, not much is known about their nature, personality, or influence. \| Strengths \| Knowledgeable Tolerant (relatively) Creative \| Weaknesses \| Any form of magic that doesn't directly involve fire A fear of magic using creatures A tad bit too lethargic at times, despite his nature, and thus prone to zoning out constantly Takes the path of least resistance. Definitely not a fighter, whatsoever The Other \| Theme Song \| Miso Shiru - Gush "Yo . . . I read some shit about how, Someday the universe will expand to a point where it won't be able to exist." \| House Number \| Homeless. \| Extra Information \| Novice Fire Evocation Fire evocation is the practice of evoking fire in different shapes and forms from using the infernal energies imbued within an ifrit's body. Due to Opallum's origins as an entity of fire, however, the skill should come naturally . . . Unfortunately, with a lack of training and inexperience with his own physiology, the most he can do is light a cigar with a brief spurt of flame. Flying: The ability to hover and weave through the air with ease is by far one of the more useful abilities Opallum has. While he might not be able to soar up to the clouds and travel through the skies at Superman-level speeds, flight has gotten Opallum out of tense and dangerous situations a multitude of times. Due to his level of skill, though, he may only stay afloat for a maximum of fifteen minutes. Opallum Blake Preston "Her? Fun as hell to be around, I can imagine. She's like a firecracker -- an inferno, rather -- that never dies down, y'know?" She might be insane. Love her energy, though. Super laid back, too. Surprised she doesn't get into more fights, what with all that fire-in-the-heart gusto she has going on. And she's pretty fun-sized, which is definitely one of my preferences when it comes to women. Hope she sticks around. Daniel Belson "Mmm . . . Only seen that guy around once or twice, maybe. He seems . . . Alright? I'unno." Don't know enough about the fellow. For all I know, he could be a sod or a genuinely nice guy. Until I meet him properly, I'll stay neutral with this one. Alistair Queen "Rich vamp. I've shared a conversation with him once -- a short one. I've got to praise him for the work he's doing. Really helping out." He's like a guardian of some sort for the people in this borough. I'm probably just thinking that because he's the landlord, but . . . Putting himself out there and assisting all these Others is just . . . good? Yeah. Not sure what he's like on the inside. Probably just as empty and unfulfilled as the rest of the elderly vampires lounging around. Mariska Costas "Heard that girl singing when I passed by a joint and decided to step in. She's got that voice, no question. Strange genre of sound, though. Can't tell if its jazz or bossa nova -- or maybe a mixture. Interesting, uhm . . . hairdo, too. Stylish. Seems like a tomboy, in my opinion. Don't know much else about the lady. Should try to get to know her eventually. Nikita Yankovsky "Hott. With two t's." I've caught her walking around the city before. Nice legs. Could do with less make-up, maybe. Don't know much else about her. Mordred Hame "Mordred . . . Hame. Oh, right! I've seen him around. Dig the white hair." Some passerbys were conversing and I overheard them talking about him. No insults or anything like that, but just an idle 'yeah, he's pretty cool' and something about his music, I think. Then, another time, when I was loitering around in some alleyway, these two guys came through and were going on about him. I couldn't tell what else they were saying, unfortunately, because they were speaking so damn quickly and silently. John Taylor "Good ol' Johnny Boy. Yeah, I've shared a drink or two with him. He's got a nice beard." To be honest, I can't recall a single one of the conversations we've shared. I know that I've spoken with him before, but I just . . . My memory is trash when it comes to things like verbal discourse, sadly. I'm sure he's a great guy. I'm sure if I asked him for a favor or two he'd gladly help out, so there's that. Eve Lumière "She gives me alcohol whenever I've scraped together enough money to afford a drink. She's good in my book." Succubus, for sure. Has to be. Her face is . . . weird, though. Otherwise, she's pretty attractive. Also pretty sociable for a bartender -- at least, from my own personal experiences. Catharine Reid "I'm . . . not too sure who that is. Seems familiar, but I can't quite put my coin on it." I might have seen her around. Don't think I've spoken with her, though. Andrew Mordekai "Sick tattoos. Almost makes me want to get some." He seems real tense. Always looks like he's prepared to have a fight with someone. I always like to think that he's some Jason Bourne-esque guy who's being hunted down or something. Past ties, enemies chasing him, laying low for now -- that kind of stuff. The entire idea of that actually being true is stupid, but . . . Who knows. Suriel White "Suriel . . . ? Sounds like . . . Mmph. No, I don't think I've heard of her -- him? Her? Her. Sounds like a girl's name." I've never had the pleasure of meeting this lady. Although, the "-iel" component of their name raises some suspicion within me. This suffix is . . . Angelic-sounding. Miles Catrose "From what I've gathered, he sounds like an even cunt-ier version of that one American pop star. Justin Beaver? Bieber. Looks like him too, in my opinion." I do like people, but he's probably the last person I want to hang around. Yukiko Abe "Not sure who that is." Should meet her at some point. Mona "Huh?" No goddamn clue who that is. Faron Romane "Uh . . . " I can't tell if that's a name for a girl or a name for a guy. Nicolas Black "A cop? Eeh . . . Kudos to him for keeping our streets safe." I hope he doesn't approach me. I do not like dealing with the police. I mean, they're probably nice, but . . . I don't know. I'm wary around them. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "Cool girl." College student, and that's about all I know. There are plenty other college students, so I really don't talk or focus on just one. She must be alright, though. Most students are. Megumi "Asian child? Oh yeah, I've seen her around! Adorable, really." I see her walking about with that Alistair fellow. Maybe he's her . . . bodyguard? I don't fucking know. Katharine Haynes "Oh, uh . . . I think I might know them? Oh, wait, I think I've spoken with her before. Yeah! The Early Bean, that was it. When I finally get my hands on enough dosh and go to the Bean to buy some coffee, she's there sometimes. Nice enough, especially when she knows that I'm a bum." I generally tend to view those who give me things well. Don't know her personally. Felix Underwood "I've never seen the guy around." No one I know all too well. Elise Callaghan "Sorry, not a clue." Nothing up in my head about her . . . Claire O'Malley "Uhm . . . Eh." Yeah, no. I don't know this girl. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "Some posh-looking fellow. All I know." There's that "-iel" again. Fishy, fishy . . . Ethan Cooper "Not a clue." Seriously, I don't know this person . . . Alfie Liau "Heh. The chocolatier, yeah?" I haven't had chocolate in years. Maybe I should try and get a few dollars together and try to buy some. Even a few pieces would suffice. I bet the kid is nice, though.
989	14	4	2,206	79	Alexander Eamon Location: Churchill Gardens, 2A Barachiel took another sip from its coffee mug. A habit it had seemed to pick up from its time experimenting with cafes. The warmth of the steaming liquid is really what it was looking forward too, hoping it would fight off the bitter cold that was becoming all too routine these past couple weeks. Its heart sank and shoulders felt heavy as the television continued on with the news stating that the werewolf that was at the center of these recent events had turned up deceased. Another soul stained with sin in these unfortunate circumstances. What a pity. A quick prayer came to its lips for all those involved in the incident before it turned off the TV. It puffed its chest out stretching out both arms and wings filling the small apartment before turning back to its room. It was time to don its business attire. The room was very plain, holding only a full sized bed covered in white sheets and comforter, night stand with an alarm clock and a cell phone on top, and small closet. The closet contained five different white long sleeved button up shirts, five pair of matching navy blue pants and suit jackets, and three ties, one red, one light blue, and one silver. Today felt like a light blue day. Finishing clothing itself, Barachiel took another sip of its coffee before picking up his cell phone and looking at its notifications. The BBC app scrolled by about a “Helsing” claiming responsibility for the death of creature the television mentioned earlier. Its interest peaked it clicked on the notification reading the story while sipping its coffee. Again it felt its shoulders grow heavy as sorrow washed over Barachiel. Man never ceased to stray from the path. It walked back out into the common area hoping to find Suriel. They were wise on the subject of understanding mankind, perhaps they could help give an explanation into this cycle of sin man now seemed bent on with the supernatural. And maybe they could even offer advice on how to react if this bled into his dealings at work. So far it hadn’t affected it at all there but there had been a rumor going around about a grandparent of a child wanting to take custody of a child because the current guardian was accused of being something other than human. Finding its fellow angel not immediately in the small common area it set about finishing its coffee and cleaning the utensil that had once held it, letting its mind wander to the other matter of legal debate going on about the rights of the creatures. Just when it had been getting used to acting human, it may have to openly display its differences. Not that it was scared of admitting to others that it is an angel, but it could cause some difficulty with the more ignorant parents and guardians he often has to deal with. “The children do seem to love the snow though.” A serene kind of smile crossed its lips at the much more pleasant train of thought.	The beard makes me look bad ass right? Patrick Kershner Werewolf Basic Information \| Name \| Patrick Kershner. Not Patty. Patty is a girl’s name got it? \| Date of Birth \| 28 July 1996. \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Bisexual \| Occupation \| Investigative Analyst \| In-Depth Appearance \| Imagine that nerdy kid that got stuffed in school lockers and dragged into the bathrooms by the school bullies because that kid is Patrick. Standing a lanky five foot ten, it’s as if his body went through all the functions of puberty but his arms and legs forgot that they were supposed to reach a certain atheistically pleasing ratio with the body during this period. This combined with the hell that was high school left the young man with a seriously lacking amount of self confidence and it shows on his face and the way he carries himself. Patrick has a high pitched and what can sometimes be called nasally voice which he believes is the root cause of his tendency to mumble and speed through his sentences when he talks. But on the plus side his choice in clothing is fantastic despite the fact that he’s constantly defending it when he is around his know associates. Everyone knows skinny jeans are in nowa days. To counter his meager, nerdy looking human side, at nights Patrick is a different man all together. Thick dark black hair will protrude from every office, and his nails will extend, and thicken to a sharpened point to resemble claw. His ears begin to resemble that of a dog or wolf, and his eyes enlarge taking on animalistic fierceness. Oh and there’s always the contorting transformation of his body into a six foot seven, two hundred sixty-five pound hulking mass of terror. But on the bright side this whole werewolf thing has allowed him to grow a beard which he thinks really helps him look more manly and cooler. You could say, I had my life together for a whole week before it fell apart again. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Shy ♦ Introvert ♦ Loyal ♦ Caring ♦ Being tortured most of your adolescent life tends to leave its scar on you. Patrick would rather fade into a crowd, yet secretly wants to be the center of attention. He simply wouldn’t know what to do once he was there and he’d probably just break down in panic attack. So he’ll just stick to the fading into the crowd bit. He generally hates the sound of his own voice so he tends to whisper and mumble around people he isn’t comfortable with but when he doesn’t think or know anyone is paying attention he’ll have full blown conversations with himself. Something to help ward of the loneliness he thinks. He’s serious push over with no real back bone to go against the tide and stand up for himself, some idea, or belief, even though he has a really strong moral belief on what’s right and what’s wrong. Really his whole outer shell is just a giant fake façade he puts on for the world, except its not… because you know you’re supposed to be able to stop a façade. On the plus side when he’s around one of the few people in his inner circle that he’s comfortable with he’ll act without a care in the world. And not only that he’ll be extremely caring and loyal. Where he wouldn’t be willing to squash a fly for himself, he’d take on a whole coven of pissed of witches for one of his friends. Or if it would cheer a friend up at three in the morning he’ll literally run across town (the recent werewolf thing has helped with this) to buy the last chocolate bar being sold. So those are the positives. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔His computer, God knows what he’d do without it. ✔ Squirrels, you can’t say you’ve ever seen an ugly squirrel. ✔ Dogs, I know. Cliché with the werewolf bit but you like what you like. ✔ Thrills. At first he’ll say it’s a horrible idea but by the end he’s really glad he went along with it. ✔ Patterns, like patterns in numbers and studies and shit. Not like floral. Jesus. ✔ His room, good luck getting him out of their without a good deal of complaining. ✔ Texting, it’s so much easier than talking in person. ✘Large Crowds, that’s just asking for a panic attack. ✘ Authority figures, yet another cause of anxiety. ✘ Getting in trouble, nine times out of ten that’s gonna stay with you for the rest of your life man. ✘ Sports, just another excuse to get beaten up. ✘ Spiritual talk, makes him really uncomfortable. ✘ Flirting, did that once. Didn’t turn out so well. ✘ Vegetables, now he has a good excuse to not eat them. \| History \| Patrick’s life has been that of any normal nerd who gets picked on a lot in school for the most part. Good grades, leads to college, where you think things are gonna turn around for you until your anxiety reminds you that you are still you. So instead you spend most of your free time in your room on your computer playing games, while everyone else is going out and experimenting away. He really didn’t have any serious complains. A significant other would have been nice from time to time so he didn’t have to keep going to Rosey Palms. But that’s what really got him into trouble. After getting out of school, Patrick landed a job with the London police force as a investigative analyst tracking crime patterns. It was actually a pretty decent time. The guys on the force treated him pretty well and he actually started to feel like a welcomed part of a group. In fact he had even been lucky enough to be asked out on a date one morning while he was standing in line waiting for coffee. She was a cute looking girl, who as far as Patrick could tell had a lot more experience at these things than he did. She asked if he wanted to go out to a club with her and a couple of her friends that Friday and eventually when he was done with his dorky gawking and stuttering he got out a yes. Now suffice to say Patrick had never gone to a club before in his life. The whole thing was intimidating as hell. The girls all had some kind of guy on their arms and Patrick was pretty positive they could each mug him with just their pinky fingers. The getting patted down before being allowed into the club didn’t do much to calm his nerves as he had never guessed that was necessary before he entered. Once he got out onto the dance floor he shuffled around looking what he could only assume was like a complete idiot. He kept thinking that the girl was going to ditch him, but she stayed with him an actual smile on her face. Just when he let his guard down and actually started relaxing and having fun she pulled on his hand and led him off to some back room. That was where things got really bad. He had never felt so much pain before and pain had been a pretty constant factor back in school. They shredded his skin, clothes, muscles, everything. He was pretty sure he was going to die right then in there killed by creatures that were never supposed to have existed on what had been the best night of his life. But they let him live. Next thing he knew he was in the hospital, the nurse telling him his brothers had brought him in. But that was really odd considering he didn’t have any siblings. A little after that his pack arrived and everything Patrick knew about the world was turned upside down. He didn’t dare refusing joining the Bisclavret pack fearing what they’d do to them if he didn’t. Ever since then he’s been begrudgingly joining them in their sneaky little joining ceremonies, though he’s rarely and active participant leaving some to begin questioning his real loyalty to the pack. \| Family \| John and Stacey Kershner: His parents live in a small town off in the country and Patrick rarely ever speaks to them regardless how much they bug him. He’s never really felt all that connected to his parents and was plenty happy moving to London requiring him to talk to them even less. That being said he does love them and will check in from time to time. \| Strengths \| Intelligent. Patrick is a smart cookie if nothing else making him very good at his job. And he’s pretty good at catching on to things quickly. Isn’t very emotional and can deal with just about anything thrown his way. Made him a little numb his life has. Extremely loyal to those close to him. \| Weaknesses \| A major push over and all around scaredy cat in most regards of his life. Socially awkward to the extreme. Never engaged in any serious relationship with another person that didn’t end in a giant joke. The Other \| Theme Song \| Loser - Beck ” And my time is a piece of wax Falling' on a termite Who's choking' on the splinters” \| House Number \| To be discussed. \| Extra Information \| Nothing as of now.
990	14	5	1,552	2,234	Stefani Roche Location: Most goddamn cosy apartment you've ever seen: AKA Apartment 30B, Faraday Heights Interacting With: Yuki What better way to wake up than to the smell of freshly fried eggs and toast? It sure beat the hell out of her annoying alarm clock, that was for sure - and upon finally opening her eyes, Stef realised with a smile that Yuki had turned it back a few more minutes. What a sweetheart that woman was. Turning the alarm off before the irritating buzz filled her ears, Stef sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Now fully awake, she could hear Yuki pottering about the flat; if she concentrated hard enough, Stef would even be able to hear Maggie's breathing next door... not that she wanted to do that. That's just creepy. Draining her orange juice in a few gulps (Yuki had even remembered to get her the smooth stuff; in Stef's opinion, there was nothing worse than having little solid bits floating around your drink. Unless it was like chocolate chips in a milkshake, then she couldn't complain), her eggs and toast didn't last much longer after that. "Thank God I still like normal food. I think I'd off myself if all I could eat was blood." Stef thought to herself as she stumbled out of bed, stifling a yawn as she ambled over to her door, tray in hand. By the sounds of things, Yuki must have been showered already - and with Maggie probably still asleep, that meant there'd be plenty of hot water left over for herself. "Hey Yuki. Thanks for the eggs - you nailed 'em, as usual." Stef said with a sweet, grateful smile as she entered the living room; only just catching up Yuki's comment on the news. "Who're the pricks? Is it something to do with the weather outside?" She asked as she began rinsing her dishes; with her messy hair and night-shirt, she probably looked like twelve or something. Not that she minded around Yuki, or even Maggie at that - there was no reason to fake things with them. "Oh, and do I have time for a shower? I can wait until the evening, if you'd like to get to work before that snowstorm gets any worse." She offered in afterthought - Stef had peeked through her curtains before leaving her room; at first feeling a brief moment of joy at seeing all the snow before realising how gray the clouds were. A bit of snow was great - but not at the rate it was falling at. Thankfully the Tube wouldn't be affected by it all that much. Nicolas Black Location: 5631 Spruce Avenue Interacting With: Mr. Pissy-Fangs Rex - are the other two even awake yet? "Ah, snow. Thank you Fae kind - my job just got a lot easier with that shit piling up on the ground." Were Nick's first words of the morning - said with a weary sigh as he peered outside his window. Pulling on jeans and deciding that would be enough attire for breakfast, Nick walked downstairs, running a hand through his unruly hair and pushing it back. It didn't seem like Nikita or Faron were awake just yet; a small victory, for now. It meant Nick had the kitchen to himself. Well, once he fed Rex, that was. "Rex! Shut up, I know, I'm getting to it!" Nick whispered irritably to his cat, who was meowing loudly in his ear upon clawing his way up Nick's back to perch on his shoulders. Ignoring the grumbling that came from Rex, Nick poured some dry cat food into his bowl, then re-filling both Rex and Minnie's water bowls. There'd be no point in giving Minnie food as of yet - Rex, being the greedy little get he was, would eat both bowls. "Eat up, you furry little bastard." Nick muttered with a quick pet of Rex's head, before the cat leapt from his shoulders. Now, he could focus on his own breakfast. And his body was screaming for pig, as usual. Throwing some bacon rashers and sausages into a popping frying pan, Nick flicked the old TV that sat on the kitchen counter on to the news. He wasn't pleased with what he saw. First of all, the mention of Nick Bloodfang - bad enough that he shared the guy's name, but they were both Werewolves. Not that Nick liked to pin himself up alongside most Wolves. Secondly, was the news that he had been killed. By "Mortal First". What a pisstake. "Son of a bitch..." He swore quietly, scowling at the television. "Banning Werewolves and Vampires? If it were only that easy..." Turning the TV to mute, Nick added eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes to the frying pan, before adding some toast to the side and a mug of tea as a finishing touch. A perfect breakfast. Shame the morning didn't hold as many good things about it, so far. Sitting down with his piled up plate at the table, Nick perched upon one chair, feet resting lazily on the seat opposite him as he ate.	Stefani Roche Vampire Basic Information \| Name \| Stefani “Stef” Roche Previously Isabella di Diavolo \| Date of Birth \| Born 12th August 2003 Turned 13th August 2019 \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Pansexual \| Occupation \| Does some part-time work in Yuki’s tattoo parlour – secretarial work, and the like. Is looking for some more jobs to avoid boredom, and maybe get some more money. \| In-Depth Appearance \| Standing at just 5’1, Stef is a hardly imposing figure. Her body has some remnants of curves, and a decent sized bust for a girl of her age. However, the recent changes she has gone through will be the only further developments her teenage body will undergo – pale skin which is for the most unmarred, barring a bite mark on her neck. It’s quite easily covered up with make-up or some form of clothing, but she dislikes it all the same. As for her heart-shaped face, it is a sweet one to look at. Dark blue eyes are framed by long dark lashes, atop of which sit brown shapely brows; paired with full lips and a button nose, it is quite easy for her to look as young as thirteen at some points... or older than eighteen. It depends on how she looks. Her teeth are white and straight, and of course, her fangs are ever present. Severly annoyed that they weren’t retractable as so much media showed, Stef has made do by trying to not smile with her teeth so much. Atop her head sits long hair of a dark chestnut colour – light can easily pick out subtle red and gold tones within her naturally coloured hair – of which the style rarely stay the same. Some days it’ll be up in a lazy bun, others it’ll be either straightened or pulled into gorgeous waves. Depends on her mood, really. Her clothing style also changes with the wind – she’s not really fussed on what to wear, only picking out certain outfits more carefully when she’s trying to make an impression. Going somewhere that cheap for kids? Wear something cutesy. Going to a bar? Make-up and heels, girl. Her accent is a strange one – although majorly American, she’s tried to cover it up somewhat with a generic sounding English one; what with being classed as missing and all. But the accent slips sometimes – when she’s particularly emotional, her native Italian accent will take the lead, some Italian words (Usually curse words, at that) slipping in too. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Sharp ♦ Hot-Headed ♦ Vulnerable ♦ Dorky ♦ As per the fact she’s still a teenager – regardless of her new immortality – she still acts like a teenager at times. Stef’s temper can be erratic at times, almost as if puberty were still effecting her. And my goodness, it’s a fiery one – when brought forth, slammed doors and a fast rant in Italian will burst forth. However, it doesn’t really last long, as she hates the very word of “sulk” – reluctant apologies will soon follow, unless she feels she’s particularly in the right. However, even when her temper hasn’t been snapped, her words can often come out sharp to those that irritate her. Not only that, but she is sharp in every sense of the word – not just in tongue, but in wit. She’s a quick-thinker, that’s for certain, and can easily get herself out of trouble quickly. When growing closer to her, two things will become obvious: One – she’s a total nerd. She loves sci-fi, fantasy, all that jazz, and is quite happy in expressing it. She won’t care if someone judges her negatively for it either – she enjoys her nerd status. It’s pretty easy to be dorky online too, where nobody will suspect you being a Vamp, nor will she accidently rip their throats out. Everybody wins! :D And the second thing one will notice is her vulnerability. She went through quite a lot in a short amount of time, and she still hasn’t gotten over it yet. Relaxing around people she trusts will show that more obviously, especially in times of stress or worry. So far, it’s only Yuki who’s seen this side of her. And for the time being, she’s happy keeping it that way. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Drawing, painting; any form of art, really. ✔Listening to music (Mostly some form of rock) that is unhealthily loud. (Not for immortal eardrums, bitcheesss) ✔Sass. Lots of sass. ✔Horses & Horse riding ✔Blood, unfortunately. ✔The Killers ✔France; culture, food, language, art... anything. ✔Fire, from matchsticks to wildfires to fireworks. ✔Taking walks at night-time ✔CHOCOLATE ✔Sleeping late and waking late – she’s always been a night owl in that regard. ✔All things nerdy and geeky-like, all fandoms great and small! (Except MLP – FuckMLP.) ✘Blood, unfortunately. ✘Close spaces, thanks to her less than comfortable journey from Venice to London. ✘Waking up early. ✘Waking up early because of nightmares. Yay, exhausation! ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) ✘Bright lights – although not starting out as a Vampiric thing, it’s certainly become more of an issue from being turned. ✘Bugs – she may be a creature of the night, but moths, wasps and spiders can go fuck off back to the depths of hell from whence they came. ✘Peppers. If they’re hidden away in her food, she’ll pick ‘em out, just watch her. ✘Woolen clothing – it’s so itchy! ✘Extended solidarity. \| History \| Born in Colorado, America to Italian and French immigrant parents, Stef – or rather, Isabella, as she was at the time – was a girl of two worlds. She’d grown up speaking Italian, only learning English when she began attending Elementary school; as such, this set her apart from the other students at first. However, she soon integrated, balancing her Italian and American identity well for such a young girl. She visited her parent’s home country a lot, growing up with places like Rome and Florence as a second home. She even had a brother, older by three years, to look out for her. Other than a few troublesome boyfriends (and girlfriends) and a very brief perky cheerleader phase, Stef didn’t really have much to worry about. That was until her sixteenth birthday. It began pretty nicely – the usual “Sweet Sixteen”, with her parents surprising her with a last minute trip back to Italy. This time, to Venice; a place they hadn’t visited before. Naturally, she was bouncing with excitement, despite the fact they were going during summer. The heat in Italy was not kind during those months – but Venice had the promise of cool canal rides in the gondolas, and of course, real Italian Gelato. They’d arrived on the 9th of August, hoping to spend a good week before heading back home to Colorado; and they enjoyed their time there immensely, up until the Friday. “Friday the 13th – let’s avoid bad luck today, I think?” Her Dad had joked as they walked along the burning stone streets of Venice. She and her mother had laughed it off, in high spirits as their holiday came to an end. Except, by nightfall, it came to an end all too horribly. Venice was filled with alleys and narrow streets between tall buildings – a necessity, considering how the foundations in the bay were built. They always seemed safe and busy. But on that night, the one they chose was not busy, bar one figure stood on the other side. One second they were stood there, and the next they were beside her Father – just giving the man enough time to widen his eyes in shock before his throat was cloaked in red after a blurring movement from the stranger. It had slit his throat, and Stef and her Mother barely had time to scream before her Father succumbed to his own blood. Her Mother had screamed at her to run, and run she did – not that it made much difference. Her Mother’s screams were cut off almost instantaneously, and Stef had barely gained a few feet before finding herself pinned to the floor on her back. White hot razors tore the flesh on her neck, but with a cold hand over her mouth, her screams did nothing to alert any aid. When she awoke, the stranger was gone, along with the body of her Mother. Her father’s corpse lay still in the street, and all the shaking and crying she did, did nothing to rouse him from his permanent sleep. From there, she realised that she herself had changed. She had fangs and her once tanned skin had become much paler and colder to the touch. And in a world that considered Vampires to be a myth, Stef went into hiding. Cleaning herself of blood and stealing clothes in the night, she took what remaining money her family had kept in the hotel room, and directed her way towards the nearest dock. She knew she couldn’t get out of Italy by any legal means, and she had no idea to go from the port in Venice anyway. Instead she found herself being aided by two Romanian Immigrants; hoping to join their family in England without getting one of those pesky visas. The trio smuggled themselves in the lowest decks of a cargo ship, and stayed there in darkness for the ten day journey. However, by day two, Stef felt a gnawing hunger within her. The Romanians had brought some staples with them, but it did nothing for her. It wasn’t her stomach grumbling, but her very essence. She felt like a trapped animal in a cage – the close quarters they were hiding in barely made it better. By day three, she finally understood what was wrong with her. She wanted blood. And the only source of blood she had were from the two kind immigrants who had helped her. No... She wasn’t going to hurt them. Not after what they’d done for her. Day four, she woke up with blood, and two corpses that had been mangled beyond all recognition. Stef felt sickened at seeing them – surely she hadn’t done this? She didn’t remember hurting them, it must have been something else! The last thing she recalled was the older one cutting his arm on a rusty bit of metal – and then... nothing. The rest of the voyage was an awful one. Although the hunger had disappeared for now, the stench of the bodies grew worse every day. She didn’t know what would be worse – being discovered with the two dead men, or sitting through the entire journey with them getting worse every day. She chose the latter – although venturing out as the last day drew close, Stef was pleased to see her first breath of fresh air in days to be accompanied with the smoky silhouette of the London skyline, the sun having only just set. Rather than waiting until docking, Stef abandoned ship by jumping off once further away from the mouth of the river; she didn’t want to risk being seen. From there, she was well and truly lost. She wandered, wet and cold, before happening upon a homeless woman, who had been obliged to help her. Stef was hesitant at first – after what had happened to the other men... but surely that had been because of the ship and confined space? Yes, she could find other sources of food in a place like London. So Stef accepted the help, giving a fake name and remaining with the woman for a few days. She was even able to steal some pig’s blood from an abattoir to sate her thirst. It tasted disgusting, but it got rid of her hunger. Not that it helped the woman. Only a few hours after feeding, the woman had cut herself on a stray nail in the wall of the dank tunnel the two were staying in. And the blindness took Stef again; and when she awoke, there was blood spattered in the street. She didn’t understand! Why did this keep happening?! She fled from the scene, heaving sobs and covered in speckles of blood before finally coming to a stop in a deserted alley way. There was nobody here that could she could hurt...except it wasn’t that simple. It was a week – and two more horrific homeless killings – before Stef was happened upon by a strange woman one morning. Stef had assumed she was hidden, but this woman saw her, and took her in. Except, she didn’t smell like... everyone else. She didn’t smell like prey. This Yukiko was not human, just like Stef – and as she accepted aid one last time, she finally found a home again. Yuki took care of her, getting Stef back on her feet and almost feeling normal again. While the horrors of what had happened and what she has done is still fresh in her mind almost six months on, Yuki’s motherly care is helping her overcome it all. She hopes so, anyway... and the “coming out” of the Other community has hardly made things easier for her. \| Family \| Amelie di Diavolo: Her Mother was declared as missing along with herself, but it seems the case has slipped into Cold Case territory. She doubts she’s still alive, and wishes she could have stayed with her in her last moments rather than running. Giovanno di Diavolo: Her Father – a sweet man that she misses dearly alongside her Mother. \| Strengths \| Strength: She’s quite capable of ripping somebody limb from limb when she’s in her bloodlust state. Whether she can do it normally, she doesn’t know – but there’s some relief there that she can protect herself if the scenario ever demands it. Quick-Learner – she’s picking up the ins and outs of London pretty well, and is even learning some other skills considering she can’t go to College. Amicable – Once she’s settled in a situation, it’s easy for her to make friends with a lot of people, regardless of their personality. \| Weaknesses \| Bloodlust – seeing or smelling human blood sends her into an uncontrolled, frenzied state where anything with a pulse becomes food. She’s been able to control it more now after she’s already fed, but if she’s feeling hungry, there’s nothing she can do. Immature – despite sometimes looking and acting older than her age, Stef has still lived a somewhat sheltered life as a human. She can be quite naive about certain things, and she still has a lot to learn. Age – being turned at 16 is a real bitch. She’s never going to grow up or even finish puberty. The only times it’s hard for her is when people dismiss her due to being too young, or getting into places that are off-limits to kids. However, a fake ID can easily deal with that problem – getting people to take her seriously is the hardest thing. Possibly depressed – she shows symptoms of the disorder sometimes, but it’s not like she can just walk into a therapists’ office and tell them what happened. Most of the time she’s okay – it’s usually just bouts of nightmares, flashbacks or lethargy that bother her. The Other \| Theme Song \| Arsonists' Lullaby - Hozier ”When I was sixteen my senses fooled me, Thought gasoline was on my clothes I knew that something would always rule me I knew the scent was mine alone All you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach, don't you ever tame your demons always keep them on a leash” \| House Number \| Faraday Heights - 30B \| Extra Information \| Would like some form of pet, but would have to ask Yuki first. Stefanie Roche Blake Preston "I’ve tried to stay away from her. She’s not like Maggie – there’s no way for a human to protect themselves against me." I wish I could spend more time with her, as she’s pretty awesome – and I love her videos. But I wouldn’t be able to relax around her properly, and then she’d think I’m a weirdo or something. However, she seems to be pretty at ease with the whole Other-thing going on. Would she understand if I was a Vampire? ~ Daniel Belson "wolf-whistles You could cut a diamond on that jawline. I know plenty of girls (and guys) back home who would be throwing themselves at him. However, I think he’s spoken for..." I don’t go into the bar he works at that much. I don’t think Yuki would like me going – and I’m also still trying to get a fake ID. Anyways, he lives a few floors below us, and he seems pretty cool. Could lose some of the snark though. I can easily fulfil my daily quota of sharp comments myself without him helping along. ~ Alistair Queen "The first Vampire I met here in Edgetoun – the look on his face was priceless when he saw me for the first time. “Where’s your Sire?! Why are you wandering around by yourself?! You’RE JUST A BABY-“ Haha. Asshat." Al’s pretty okay. Once he got over his outburst – and Yuki talked to him – he gave me some pointers on “Vamp life”. I swing by his house sometimes to irritate him; or just to visit Megumi, the sweet little cupcake that she is. ~ Mariska Costas "One of John’s roomies, right? The singer?" We’ve met in passing a few times, but not for very long. She seems alright, and different. I like different. Oh, and I saw some videos of her singing online – hell of a voice, but I’m not really into that genre of music. ~ Nikita Yankovsky "She comes off a bit intimidating, at first. Is it the quietness? I think it’s the quietness." She has one of those looks that’ll be analysing your every move or facial tick. I’d hate to play poker with her, that’s for sure. However, I’m sure she’d be fun once you get to know her more. I mean, she has to be more fun than Officer Werewolf McMoonMoon. ~ Mordred Hame "Oh, that’s John’s other roommate. He’s got the looks, the style, the money and the voice. I don’t think he’s going to stop till he has the fame though." He doesn’t seem very dependable to me. I’m pretty sure he’d throw someone under the bus if it meant getting further in his career. But that’s probably pretty normal for demons, right? ~ John Taylor "Ah, John is a total sweetheart! Not fazed in the least by what I am... I’d feel the same towards him, except I don’t know what he is. I don’t really care: nothing can stop him from being awesome." I love his tattoos; the designs are just so perfect. I sometimes show him the doodles I do when I’m supposed to be working at the front desk, and he hasn’t once considered them to be bad or stupid. Also, the guy cracks hella fine puns. I love me some puns. ~ Eve Lumière "Eve reminds me a lot of my ex-girlfriend. Actually, she reminds me of all my exes. Which shows I have problems with a certain type. It also shows that I may develop a crush on her in the near future. Fuck. " I’m pretty comfortable with her, for now. She’s the kind of woman who would buy you alcohol if you asked for it nicely enough. Not that I have asked her to do that just yet. ~ Catharine Reid "There’s something comforting to me about having a Vampire live next door. That way if I go apeshit, I know she’ll be able to handle things. Hopefully..." Other than the obvious perks of having another Vampire nearby, Cara is real nice. Sweet and feisty – perfect combo. ~ Opallum "Um, try coolest guy ever?! He can summon flames, and fly. I swear, if I had my own place, I’d let him camp on my couch or something, rent free.." But I guess I’ll just have to make do with spare change and cups of coffee for now, I suppose. He seems pretty happy despite his situation. ~ Andrew Mordekai "Eheheheheheheheehehe. Fire." I think it’d be kinda rude to introduce myself as someone who just wants to see him blow up stuff with his hands, so I’ll reign myself in there I think. Maybe just say who I am, first of all. ~ Suriel White "If the Winchester’s have taught me anything, it’s to trust Angels just about as far as you can throw them. Wait... I could probably throw her pretty far. Bad analogy – lemme think of another..." Ehh... I’ve never been much of a church goer. Not that I think she’d strike me down for it, but still, there’s something off-putting about her. ~ Miles Catrose "More than one Vamp has told me to stay away from Miles. Apparently fairy blood is pretty irresistible to our kind. sigh As if my drinking problem wasn’t bad enough. Because I’ve been told to avoid him, I don’t know that much about him, other than he’s a Pixie, he’s a hairdresser, and he’s pretty arrogant. ~ Yukiko Abe "There aren’t words that describe how I feel about Yuki. She didn’t just save my life – she saved me from losing who I am, from becoming a monster. And she helped me remember that there are things worth living for still. I’ll never be able to repay her for that." Yuki has been beyond generous towards me – giving me a place to stay, a place to work, new clothes and things for my room... and beyond just caring for me, she actually cares about me. I hope I can repay her in some way... all I can do now is help her out in any way possible. And I know I’ll protect her from anything. ~ Mona "We have a ghost? Here? In this building?! That’s so cool! And creepy... I hope she’s not like the freaky ones from Amityville or something. " I don’t think I’ve met her yet, but it sure would be interesting. I’ve never met a ghost before. Well, not as far as I know, anyway. I was always pretty sure my old school in Colorado was haunted. Apparently a bunch of parents murdered this pedophile Janitor and burned hi- wait, no. That’s Nightmare on Elm Street. My bad. ~ Faron Romane "I’ve swung by his Mom’s shop a few times and talked to him a bit. He seems nice – do you think he’d give me some weed if I asked? Wait, would I even get high now?" Apparently he can talk to dead people. I don’t see why that makes him so special. After all, half the people in our neighbourhood are dead. ~ Nicolas Black "Who, the Big Bag Wolf? The guy stepped straight from an 80’s noir film into our streets. Not that I’d say that too his face, that is." I’m not sure how I feel about him. I feel like he could easily protect me from something, but he’s always on edge – like waiting for the worst to happen. I suppose around me, that isn’t such a bad thing, actually... ~ Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi "Maggie is great! Her flowers are really pretty – I just there weren’t so many growing inside the flat. Bugs dig plants, and I hate the little critters.” It was difficult living with her, at first. I was always worried that I’d snap one day and hurt her. Still feeling that way now, actually. It’s always better to be on guard. But Yuki keeps me in check a lot, so I think Maggie is good. Which I’m happy about – she’s so nice to me. ~ Megumi "Oh, Megumi is just about the most adorable thing to enter my life! It’s nice to talk with someone young- well... I guess she’s not young, but certainly childish." I love spending time with Megumi – she can generally brighten my day if I’m feeling down. She reminds me of the little sister I never had – despite probably being centuries older than me. She also doesn’t smell like food, which is always a bonus among friends. ~ Katherine Haynes "She lives in our block, right? A few floors down?" Sure, I’ve seen her around before. Again, the whole “human” issue crops up, so I haven’t talked to her that much. ~ Felix Underwood "Yeah I’ve seen her – and smelt her. Man, that incense she wears is enough to distract her from her natural scent. " Another witch, right? I think she and Maggie may get along... despite the whole “dead” thing she has going on. I much prefer Mags’ plants, actually. ~ Elise Callaghan "I don’t think I’ve ever seen her talk – but I think she’s mute. I wonder if she knows sign language?" I’ve always wanted to learn it – seems like a useful tool. Then again, I’m sure a pen and paper is just as easy. ~ Claire O’Malley "She seems... loud." I have no idea how she teaches kids. Speaking as a teenager, I can safely say most of us are little shits. If I had her job, I’d end up drop-kicking a student out of a top-floor window for talking trash. ~ Barachiel Eamon "Man, this guy swanned straight out of Supernatural, never mind that last one. And he works with kids?!" I need to brush up on the Winchester’s Enochian sigils. These guys are hella creepy. ~ Ethan Cooper "He’s the hot guy staying with Daniel, right? Man, I can’t decide which guy is luckier." He’s a student or something, I think. Makes me kinda jealous – must be nice to be able to go to College. Wait, sorry – University. I really need to lose these Americanisms if I’m gonna blend in any. Yeesh. ~ Alfie Liau "I don’t think I’ve met him, but I’m pretty sure I’ve walked past his chocolate place a few times. Man, the fun times I could have in that place... passes out drooling" I wonder if his place is hiring? Wouldn’t mind another part-time job to get some more money for the rent and stuff. Also, I freakin’ love chocolate. Who am I kidding, I’d either blow my entire paycheck on the stuff, or get fired for swiping chocolates that are for sale. ~ Aila Atleo "Aila? Hella rad. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to find someone awesome to talk to, who I wasn’t in danger of eating, and who’s been through just as much shit as I have. Also, we’re from the same continent, so we’re practically related." Well, maybe not related, that’s weird. Is it weird that a Vampire and a Werewolf can be buds? Or is it like a forbidden relationship, like Romeo and Juliet? Oh cripes, I just compared us to Romeo and Juliet. Erm... yeah, we talk, it’s cool. Makes me feel better about a lot of things. ~ Conrad Aldhard "OH MY GOD. HE’S THORIN INCARNATE. YUKI & CONRAD FRENEMIES 5 LYFE.." Yeah, he’s Thorin Oakenshield all over. Only, y’know, not a Dwarf. Or is he just a really tall one? HOLY SHITSNACKS ARE DWARVES A THING?! YUKI! YUKI ARE DWARVES REAL- ~ Astrid Kitchener "She seems nice – I wish we could draw together or something. However... yeah, you already know what the issue is." I swear to God, why can’t there be like a spell or something that makes humans smell nasty to Vampires? Why haven’t the Witches invented that yet?! ~ Michael Harel "Oh yeah. Hella nice butt for an Angel. Nice tunes too I got my CD player and all my discs from his place – he seemed disgusted at the lack of 80’s stuff though." That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to get some AC/DC, and some Iron Maiden. Some people have complained about my loud music, so I may as well treat them to some real rock and roll. Might buy some Queen too – love me so Freddie Mercury.. ~ Loki van Stenberg ” I’m sorry, I just get so amused every-time I hear his name – you do know what Loki looked like in the Marvel comics, right? Hahahah.." Anyway, he’s a chemist or something, right? I don’t know much about him, but I'm pretty sure he's a Vampire. I wonder if he has anything that would help me with my little problem? Would chemists even have something like that? I don't even know if regular drugs would work on me anymore. ~ Talia Halbrook "I can’t believe this chick is a realtor. She looks way too badass for that. Seriously. " Why?! Why would she sell houses? She looks like she should be selling state secrets to the Russians or something, hell, I don’t know. Selling homes is just too boring a job for someone like her, I think. ~ Emerson Maddox "He looks slippery. Reminds me of the preppy guys back home who’d threaten to have their family’s lawyers sue you for scratching their Porsche or something. Dicks." I may be doing him an injustice by judging him so quickly, but I’m usually good at sensing people’s characters. And his is not one I want to be involved with. ~ Ari Amari "Crazy cat guy, right? He smells funny to me – I can’t quite place it. Something I smelled in Italy? I don’t know." He really loves cats, from what I’ve heard. He also looks old – like, super old. I heard from a friend who heard from another friend that he fought in the Civil War... the English Civil War, as in the War of the Roses, in the 15th Century? Yeesh. ~ Liam Woodsworth "Man, and I thought I’d gotten the short straw in life. I just want to hug him until he feels better, y’know?" Poor guy. I don’t blame him for living such a wild life, considering it may just be cut short. Can’t believe Vampires would even breed with humans, knowing the outcome could be something as unfair as this. I know I certainly wouldn’t, if the chance arose. Thankfully, I’ve heard female Vampires are infertile. ~ Freddie Hughes-Jackson "Heh – he looks like someone who would fit in well at Hogwarts. And I’m pretty sure he’s read the books, considering his job, and obviously geeky disposition. I’ll have to ask him what house he’d be sorted into!" I’ve talked to him a couple of times in the library – with the amount of old books in there, I don’t really focus so much on the scent of humans; there’s just so many musty, crisp books to inhale. Ahhh. Nothing beats old, leather-bound books. ~ Aiden Phillips "Doctor Dracula!" I’ve only heard about him, I haven’t met him as of yet. I probably should though – maybe he could give me some pointers on Vamp life? He’s younger than Ali, so he probably understands a baby like me a bit better. ~ Ryan Croft "I’m sorry, everytime I hear ‘Commissioner’, I think of Jim Gordon from Batman. Gary Oldman is my life, dude." Anyway, Croft. He seems okay, from what I’ve seen him. Seriously rocks that beard of his. Speaking of Batman, I get a severe “Justice is everything” vibe from him. I’ll be on the lookout for any Vigilante Superheroes cropping up. ~ Eternity Loveless "I don’t understand privileged people like her. She’s rich, but rents a place at one of the cheapest, worst places to live in Edgetoun. Some poorer person could have used that flat. It’s just selfish." Regardless of the whole “You’re-Fae-so-let-me-tear-your-throat-out” thing, I wouldn’t want to spend time with her. I come from a Working-Class background, so people like her who take everything for granted just rub me the wrong way. ~ Patrick Kershner "What, there’s another wolf working at the Station? Are they hiding like, dognip or something at that place? Is dognip a thing? Would it even work on Wolves? I’ll have to research that one... use it on Aila. Heheheheheheehe." He seems a lil jumpy. I guess I can understand that – getting attacked and turned into another species isn’t easy on the psyche, you know? ~ Nicodem Kaminski "Ahah... well, erm, no he’s... pretty rad.....OKAY HE’S AWESOME AND I WILL LOVE HIM FOREVER OKAY" Oh sweet baby Jesus, he looks like he walked straight out of Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings or something. And that speaks to my precious nerdy heart, okay? I swear, if Yuki wasn’t hot for chicks, I’d set her up on a date with him just so I could bask in his awesomeness more often. In fact, I may set on up anyway. ~ Anastasia Psomas "Yissss, another hella geek like myself. Me, Aila and Allison need to get together for a girls night, get drunk while watching all eight Harry Potter movies or something. OOHH WE SHOULD INVITE FREDDIE AND GIVE HIM A MAKEOVER." I don’t know what creature she is, but it’s something hot. Girl just radiates heat, and speaking as a pretty much permanently cold, dead, no blood pumping walking corpse, is wonderful. In fact, Wolves run pretty high temps too, and I’m pals with Aila. Am I subconsciously collecting walking space heaters?! ~ James Bright "I’ve not seen him before, but Aila’s mentioned him. I’d hate to live – or rather, exist, would be the better term? – the rest of my ghosty days in a Police Station." Apparently Nick’s been working on his case. I hope he finds out what happened soon.
991	14	6	1,523	3,443	Location: 19 Avalon Point – Home. Interacting With: Megumi Four different phones laid out on the coffee table, and all of them buzzing. It was almost as if he was a drug-dealer or a part of some other illicit profession that required a whole host of burner phones, but no – Alistair had been there, done that, and this was just moral panic from all of the various vampires he'd met over the past seven centuries sending him messages on Facebook, through text, through everything. Chances are he'd receive a slightly late-to-the-party envelope tomorrow, too, because some immortals never left the pen and paper stage. BBC Breakfast was on in the background, and he'd been watching it since six o'clock, familiarising himself with the headlines. "Yes, I know," he said to his work phone after he'd let it ring thrice over but before picking it up. Inevitably, the conversation on his side went something like, "Yes, yes, I see it. Yeah, it's going to be a busy day. Hang on, did you say Helsing? Like the movies?" He always said that having a handful of friends in the Collective was useful if he wanted to hear news thirty seconds after it had been broadcast, but this was something new, and he returned his attention to his laptop, browsing the Internet's most viral cat videos until he saw the dark screen – 'Helsing' – and watched the manifesto with a grimace on his face. Great. Massive discrimination was always great. Alistair didn't consider himself particularly cultured, but he knew what happened in the USA in the last century (at least) and before that there had been issues in his home country, during which he'd been in London. It seemed that history was doomed to repeat itself, but now he would become one of the many targets of it. "No, no, you're right, I'm not going to send Megumi to school today... 'cos of the snow, too, yeah. Oh, they're closed? Fab." Alistair sucked in a deep breath as the vampire on the other side of the phone nattered on for a few more minutes. "Thanks for telling me. I'll come around to check the locks as soon as I can, then, if you're worried about getting hunted." Long-winded arse. He slid the phone back on to the table with a clunk and reclined on the couch for a few more minutes, closing his eyes 'til it was seven o'clock. He had a lot to do today, clearly – show up at one of his tenants' houses to inspect a broken window, change his own locks (again), get smashingly drunk – which meant he had to start early, but he couldn't really do that without waking Megumi up first of all. Shoving himself up from his woefully comfortable seat, he hurried up the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door, opening it just a crack to the bright colours inside. "Megumi! Time to wake up – schools are off today!"	Basic Information \| Name \| Alistair Ruaraidh Queen \| Date of Birth \| December, 1324 \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Bisexual \| Occupation \| Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). \| In-Depth Appearance \| Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. \| History \| If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. \| Family \| Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. \| Strengths \| Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. \| Weaknesses \| Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other \| Theme Song \| Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” \| House Number \| 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. \| Extra Information \| Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.
992	14	7	2,173	2,274	Dr. Suriel White Location: Edgetoun Memorial Hospital Interacting With: Hospital staff and patients The hospital functioned as most hospitals do. Doctors and nurses rushed through the halls in flurry, voices murmured from rooms and lobbies, heart monitors and other machinery beeped violently, and the lingering stench of antiseptic filled the air. The environment was chaotic enough that it could almost distract you from what this place truly was: a home for the sick and dying. That would be the pessimist’s way of thinking, but Suriel saw this as the best means to healing bodies and souls. It was the morning of Thursday, January 9th, 2020. At 10:00, Suriel was four hours into their last shift of the week. After hanging a stethoscope around their neck, Suriel followed the flow of bodies down wing B of the hospital. Wing B was prominently known by the hospital staff as the ‘geriatric’ wing, as most of the elderly patients were kept in the beds there. The more morbid coworkers referred to it as ‘death row’... Suriel gladly shut down the insensitive and cruel remarks when exposed to them. Why was a neurosurgery resident in the geriatric wing, you might ask? Well, there was a patient of particular neurological interest here. ”Mrs. Oswald, how are you doing this morning.?” The angel asked in a soothing tone that made one think of warm milk and honey before bed. Suriel checked over the woman’s charts before taking a seat beside her. Mrs. Oswald stared absently at Suriel with grey eyes that were mere echoes of a once brilliant blue shade. The old woman was beautiful, Suriel could see that - the angel could see this woman in every stage of her life, all at once, even the final one. “Oh, I’m just waiting…” The woman spoke with a confused lilt to her voice. ”What for, Mrs. Oswald?” Suriel asked, perhaps this was a sign of progress, maybe she was remembering something. ”For my Johnny to come home from the war.” Mrs. Oswald croaked. Suriel’s eyes softened and they placed their hand atop the old woman’s. Johnny was indeed Mrs. Oswald’s son, but he had never been in any war. He had died 10 years prior in a car accident, survived by his daughter and wife. This was one of those morally ambiguous situations when it came to Alzheimer's patients… was it better to correct them without regard to emotional damage, or encourage their delusion by acknowledging it? Suriel chose neither option, such choices were too difficult for even a heavenly body such as themself to make. ”You have a visitor coming in today, Mrs. Oswald. Lisa will be here soon.” Suriel said in the hopes that that might brighten her somber mood. “Who?” Mrs. Oswald asked, confusion clouding her features once more. ”You’re granddaughter, Johnny’s little girl.” Suriel explained warmly. Mrs. Oswald nodded, but the slightest frown tugged at her lips - misguided sadness for the son who would never come home from the war. Suriel tapped the woman’s hand gently and studied her. A golden cross hung at her neck. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore, and one that she combatively insisted that she remain wearing, despite the confusion this disease had cursed her with. Mrs. Oswald was godly woman, and when she met her earthly end in this very hospital bed, Suriel knew that she would ascend to the Father’s realm. There was nothing for the angel to do but bring comfort to her in her final days. ”The nurses will be in shortly to get you ready for your visit.” Suriel said and stood up from the chair. ”I’ll stop by again before the end of my shift to make sure you’re okay.” That was enough to make the woman smile. She grabbed Suriel’s hand before they could walk away. ”You’re a good boy. You’ll make a fine doctor someday.” Mrs. Oswald said and then released her grip on Suriel’s wrist. ”Thank you, Mrs. Oswald.” Suriel said with a bright smile before turning their attention to the television chirping with the morning news in the corner of the room. It appeared as though the recent snow storm was thanks to the Fae. The fae were… interesting. Faeries were like some secular mix between angels and demons. Suriel wasn’t quite sure how to feel about them, nor were they certain about how they felt about the Others being spoken about so openly. The only people that knew of Suriel’s angelic status were those who could figure it out, mostly Others themselves, and they hoped to keep it that way until their task here was done. Suriel flicked the telly to Mrs. Oswald’s favorite, the cooking station, before heading out of the room. Suriel had a supervised brain surgery to prep for at 11:00 that would take up the majority of the rest of their shift. In case you were wondering, yes, angels can feel nervous, and this upcoming surgery had them feeling very much so.	Loki Vampire Basic Information \| Name \| Loki Van Stenberg The former name he was born with, kind of, the latter was chosen most recently because he liked the dramatic flair. He moves around a lot, mostly keeping to Europe, and changes his name with every move. Aliases/Nicknames include: Low Key, Kingpin, and the Trickster \| Date of Birth \| Born to a Vikingar couple in the Summer of 830, give or take a few decades. His most current falsified documentation lists July 13th, 1992, though. \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Primarily heterosexual, though living as long as he has, he’s dabbled elsewhere to spice things up. \| Occupation \| Legal Profession? He is a Senior Chemist at the research lab in Redbridge, earned a bonafide PhD and everything! He has a passion for the sciences. Having a well-paying job like this makes for a good cover on how he really got the fancy cars and mansion up on Avalon Point. Real Profession? Loki runs the London underground. Narcotics, hallucinogens, uppers, downers, you name it! If it exists, Low Key has a man running the stuff on the streets. And the Kingpin doesn’t just cater to the humans, hell no, he’s got the stuff to get the Sups just as fucked up. He has just plain ol’ blood too, for those too morally weak to do their own hunting, but willing enough to look the other way on how said blood was obtained in the first place. Loki’s real pride and joy, though, is O-neg. Being a vampire scientist with unlimited access to state-of-the-art laboratory equipment, Loki figured out a way to genetically and chemically alter human blood so that it gives vampires the effect of being high - a previously unattainable state for vampires, aside from the very mild effects one could gain from tainted blood. Pressed into tiny red tablets emblazoned with an ‘O’, O-neg does different things for different vamps; For some it feels like ecstasy, some just pot, and some experience hallucinations like with acid. O-neg could take you all the way up to the clouds, and then promptly let you crash through the floorboards. It’s the real deal, and when you’re working with vampire lifespans and immunities, what the hell else do you have to do with your time? Come on, you know you want to try it... \| In-Depth Appearance \| Devilishly handsome, is that enough? No? Okay then. With soulful blue eyes and a tidy crop of chestnut curls, one might almost be convinced that Loki is innocent. But that ever present five o’clock shadow and crooked smirk betray that he is up to absolutely no good, just like the god he was named for. He stands at 5’11” with a toned and muscular build, but not overly so. Appearances are of utmost importance to the viking - old habits die hard, I guess - and as such, he is hardly ever seen without at least a two piece suit, or a lab coat, if he’s working. Scars? Aye, he got a few of them raiding and trading his way across the Scandinavian homelands back in his human years, but most are easily hidden by his apparel. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Manipulative ♦ Logical ♦ Hot-headed ♦ Loki is double-edged sword, simply put. Listening to him talk is easy, a trait that made him a good college professor in his past lives. He is very intelligent and tells some of the best stories you’ve ever heard - who knows how true some of them are, though. And, hell, he could charm the pants off of just about anyone; Can, and has, most likely. Even with boatloads of charisma, he can be quite the egotistical dick sometimes. It is glaringly obvious that his own favorite person is, indeed, himself. And though vikings are known for having treated most people relatively equally long before it was the popular opinion, Loki can come off as a bit of a chauvinist. But hey, nobody’s perfect, and that’s something the Trickster never strived to be. If you can sand down those abrasive, crusty edges, you’ll find a real softy inside Loki. He just wants what everyone else wants: to have people truly care about him. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔A thick, hoppy brew ✔Having drinks with his best mates ✔Getting high, but only occasionally ✔Living in luxury ✔Blondes ✔Gingers too ✔Learning other languages ✔Calling women luv and doll, regardless of how well he knows them ✔Himself ✘Mead, Drink of the Gods or not, the shit tastes like candied piss ✘The French… no real reason why there ✘Unkempt people ✘Religion, as a vampire and as a scientist ✘The telly ✘People who can’t keep secrets ✘Humans, most of the time ✘That hideous mockery Marvel has made of his namesake \| History \| This section could go on for pages, but brevity is in fact the soul of wit. Flóki Björnsson was born to a jarl and his wife in 9th century in the lands now known as Sweden. Growing up in the Vikingar lifestyle was as much as one might expect: tough, violent, bloody, but also noble, adventurous, and enriching. Vikingar ideals make up a lot of who Loki is today, and don’t believe all the clichés and stereotypes you hear about the Vikings, they aren’t the savages history books paint them to be. Flóki’s human life ended in a brutal battle across the sea in what is now Poland. It was a warriors death that would make his father proud, and earn his place in the halls of Valhalla, or Fólkvangr, he wasn’t picky. At least, that wouldn’t have been the case, if he hadn’t woken up after, bloodied in a field among his fallen brothers and sisters with a burning thirst in his throat unlike any he’d ever known. Naturally, he went on to murder the nearest living, breathing thing… or ten. And the rest, they say, is history! In modern times, Loki makes his mark by finding new ways to turn heads in different locations around the world. Every few years, mostly when people might start to question why he isn’t aging, Loki moves and takes on a new name and identity. He takes his business and the money it makes with him, of course, and though his legal surname changes, his aliases remain, as does his first name. Low Key is not fond of the mass outing of the supernaturals, preferring to keep his nature like his business, underground. Nothing good can come of the humans knowing about the Others, not that he feared them. No, they were a fickle race that was likely to bring about their own demise just to get there point across… and that would make finding a good meal a hell of a lot harder. \| Family \| Jarl Björn, father, died in battle. Jarl Ragna, mother, died shortly after, giving birth to Loki’s sister. Frida Björnsson, sister, unknown… \| Strengths \| The quintessential businessman Quick thinker, and often correct in that thinking With age comes wisdom \| Weaknesses \| Flounders when not in absolute control of a situation. Acute paranoia, well, maybe not so acute. Prone to violent outbursts when pushed too far. The Other \| Theme Songs \| The Dope Show – Marilyn Manson ”The drugs they say make us feel so hollow We love in vain, narcissistic and so shallow … There's a lot of pretty, pretty ones That want to get you high But all the pretty, pretty ones Will leave you low and blow your mind” \| House Number \| 36 Avalon Point \| Extra Information \| Want to know more? I guess you have to come figure that out. Loki Van Stenberg Blake Preston "Ahh, the Youtuber. I suppose it’s a good a way as any for a pretty girl to make a penny." I like blondes, but tend to keep away from the human ones… especially when they can’t keep their noses out of business that clearly isn’t any of theirs. Her interest are apt to get killed one day, not that I care. Daniel Belson "Now this one is a real master of his craft. I’ve spent many a night with my mates whilst he tended bar." Seems like a decent bloke. I don’t know him well, but I’ve always enjoyed the company of demons. Plus, I think he’s one of the few men in this city that could match me in a drinking contest. Alistair Queen "What good is a King without a Queen?" Handsome, well-dressed, ambitious… hell, it’s basically like looking in a mirror. What can I say? He’s my best mate, and has been for a few lifetimes. He runs things above ground while I, well, he’s the only one outside of my force that knows what I really do. Mariska Costas "Does someone smell… fish?" Jokes aside, I don’t have much to say about this one. She has a nice enough voice, good background music when drinkin’ at the pub. Nikita Yankovsky "Wonder why she traded in the fuzzy cuffs for real ones..." Yeah, I don’t like cops. Three guesses as to why. She seems like one of the better ones though, probably smokes pot on her days off. While she isn’t really my type, I’d be up for a little roleplay session. “I’ve been a real bad boy, Officer!” Mordred Hame "Great talent, but what is with that hair?" Another demon, yeah, this city is crawling with them - most are, what better places to rustle up some chaos? Viking Metal is my genre of choice, naturally, and Cloak of Shame is among the best metal bands London has to offer. John Taylor "Again with the hair, I don’t get it." He did my latest tattoo, the eagle on my shoulder here. Great work, in all honesty. I’ll definitely be going back to him for my next piece. Eve Lumière "Uggh, the French. Don’t get me started." That accent almost makes the drinks taste bad. Drop dead gorgeous though, so it’s always worth the visit. I wonder what she’s like in bed, hopefully quiet. Catharine Reid "Girl knows how to run a business, I can appreciate that." The vampires in this city pretty much all know of each other. I like her spicy personality, should get to know her even better. I’m sure we’d be chums in no time. Opallum "Untapped potential, what a shame." I’ve had my eye on this one. Many of my men went from rags to riches under my employ. Hopefully he’ll accept my offer, I always have use for a man who knows his way around the streets. Plus, I know he has junkie friends. Andrew Mordekai "He makes a real strong, HOT cuppa!" Blood, Booze, and Tea. Those are the beverages of choice listed in order of importance. Mr. Mordekai makes takes care of the third every morning before I head to the lab. The real lab, in Redbridge. Just to clarify... Suriel White "What the fuck is that?" Listen, I’m all for doing whoever you please. But the kids these days with their LGBTXYZ alphabet-soup personalities! Honestly, is that a man? A woman? Don’t confuse me like that, mate! I don’t want to have to guess about what’s in your trousers... Miles Catrose "He’s a local hairstylist. He gave me a cut once, I won’t be hurrying back any time soon." Not because he wasn’t good, no. Faeries just smell like pudding. Delicious… irresistible pudding. I’m glad I didn’t fang out and devour him then, that would have totally blown my cover. I’m not looking to pack up and change my name again, London suits me. I keep my distance from this kid for both our sakes, even though one of my men is his dealer. Yukiko Abe "I saw her at the shop where I got my ink. She’s one of the other artists… I think she owns the place too." That isn’t all I know about her. Alistair told me about her. She is playing Mum to London’s Youngest Vampiress. Too cute. Mona "Looks… familiar." Though, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this one. Faron Romane "That shop he works at screams witchcraft, I’m surprised the bigots haven’t torched it." Pothead kids are a dime a dozen around here, but I can’t complain. Business such as his pays from my morning cuppa from Andrew, every little bit counts! Nicolas Black "Good Afternoon, Detective Black." cue devilish smirk A cop and a werewolf. I’ll keep my distance, wouldn’t want him shedding on my new Kiton… or sniffing about my rear. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "She works at the plant nursery where I bought those succulents over there." gestures to cacti I don’t know much else about her. Smells human, but possibly a witch. You get a keen eye for picking things like that out when you’re this old. Megumi "That’s Ali’s ward… Kids aren’t really my thing." That’s a lie. I think she’s adorable… but definately creepy. It’s hard to believe that she’s as old as she is, with the bouncing around and primary school bit. She definitely livens up Alistair’s cliché abode, though… well, I’m not sure livens up is the right phrase, given that neither of them are really alive. Stefani Roche "Looks familiar… ahh, yes! She was the receptionist at the tattoo parlor." There she is, London’s Youngest Vampiress. Pretty as a peach, she is. Alistair gave her a few pointers on “Vamp life”. I wouldn’t mind giving her a pointer or two myself. In due time... Ari Amari "Ari’s another close mate of mine." I met the Sphinx when he moved in a few blocks down. He’s one of my best paying customers, though he doesn’t know that he is essentially buying the stuff from me. What can I say? Anonymity is everything to me and, though he’s always fun to party with, I don’t know that I can trust him just yet - especially if the blimey bastard think the Egyptian gods are better than the Norse, that’s some fine coke yer snortin’, mate! Katharine Haynes "Hmmm..." Is that the girl who works with Andrew? Or is she from the other shop… I can’t remember. Felix Underwood "I’ve seen her at the library on occasion." Judging from the pentagram jewelry and thick cloud of incense about her, I’m pegging this one as a witch too. That, or she’s a human wannabe witch. I don’t know what would be worse... Elise Callaghan Hums one of her compositions What can I say? Classical music is the only vampire cliché I indulge. Okay… maybe it’s not the only one. That’s, that’s beside the point! She’s lovely. A bit curious that she doesn’t speak, what’s that about? Maybe it’s just part of her stage persona... Claire O'Malley "This one is Irish, I’m guessing." I don’t know her well, I’ve just seen her and all her freckles at the grocery store once or twice. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "Ugh, what an awful suit… he must have gotten it from a charity bin." I don’t know him other otherwise. Gods, man, were you even trying to look good? Ethan Cooper "..." This stranger is surprisingly attractive. Alfie Liau "Oh, Alfie! I like Alfie." Some vampires are just a hoot to be around, and he’s one of them. I’ve never seen him mope about what he is, unlike most ‘monsters’, and I adore his “grab life by the balls” attitude. I’m glad we’re neighbors, and friends. Astrid Kitchener "She works at that bistro nearby." I’d rather make a meal of her than be served one by her. Very pretty girl, woefully human. Michael Elior Harel "Stopped in his Record shop once before… piss poor selection." That’s not true. I’m just not a fan of “God’s warriors”. I miss the days of old, when the gods displayed their power and might by walking among men. Angels are nothing but egotistical pricks. Aila Atleo "I don’t know her, sorry." What? I’m not lying, I really don’t know her. Should I? Emerson Maddox "Can’t trust a lawyer...." He’s too young and far too cocky to be a good lawyer. And no, I’m not anti-lawyer by any means. In my line of work, you need to have a few friends that know their way through and around the law. How do you think I get my fake papers every few years? Maybe if I get arrested locally and need help in a pinch - which could happen, admittedly - I’ll use my phone call to ring him. How could you not remember that number, what with the annoying jingle the telly plays on his commercial… all the more reason to not watch the telly. Talia Halbrook "That’s the doll that sold me this lovely home." She’s easy on the eyes, too bad she’s not a lust demon. Liam Woodsworth "What a life? Yes, that was sarcasm." I can't pretend to know what it's like do be a Dhampire. It seems gods awful, I can't believe Ali managed to bring kids like him into the world. Weak, sickly creatures... I hope I haven't made any! Shit... I should be more careful. Anyway, there are those who know how to party, and those who take it too far. I'm sure you can guess where this bloke falls on that spectrum. Freddie Milton Hughes-Jackson. "He's new in town, works at the same library as that bird we talked about earlier." Freddie may be the only witch in town that I don't mind. I've only chatted him up a time or two, but he doesn't seem as flippant as some of the other witches, and I can tell he's a good study. Despite all it's fantastical mysticism, magic is a science that deserves just as much study, dedication, and practice as any other. It's never a bad idea to have at least one witch in per city on my side, he just might shape up to be my London Witch. Ryan Croft "Those glasses are... what's the word for that style? Hipster? Yeah, I think that's it." Head of the five-0 and an angel? He just might be the worst bloke in this city. I'll pass on any false pleasantries here. It's best that he doesn't ever see my face... something tells me he'd just know if he did. Too risky. Aiden Lewis Phillips "He's hit on me at the pub before, along with practically everyone else there." Aiden's a nice enough bloke. Pretty young for a vampire, but has a brilliant mind. It's nice to be able to hold an intelligent, scientific conversaion with him. We aren't best mates by any means, but we've only just met. Eternity Loveless "Hmmm. Can I keep this picture?" smirks Never met her, but I'm really hoping that changes. Love the hair. Patrick Kershner "You know how you can sometimes tell what a person is like just by looking at them? Well... he looks boring." He's also another werewolf on the police force. Why the hell do I like living here again? I guess this is one way to make eternity pass by in an interesting manner... Nicodem Kaminski "Oh, Nic... I don't think he likes me much." Yeah, we met quite a few years back. We played a game of poker and I made out with a good sum of his money. He didn't take too kindly to that. Now he's a police commissioner where I currently live. Whoops? Anastasia 'Alison' Psomas "Is that the best photo you could get of her? She looks... tired." But that's just my shallow first impression, I don't know this girl. Maybe she's a dhampire? She kinda has that 'run ragged' look going on. Or maybe she's a junkie... James Bright "Looks like he's just a high school kid." I've never seen him around before.
993	14	8	1,390	1,432	Location: 25B Faraday Heights Interacting With: Felix Ghosts did not sleep. Endless nights reminded Mona of this crucial fact. Endless, endless nights. She could memorize the colors of the sky with how often she watched it during dusk, she could list off each shade of darkness found above; the red-purple of twilight, the blue-black of nine P.M, the purple and pink hints of planet light that formed just at the witching hour. And then the morning would come, the sun summoned the most beautiful shades of white and pink and blue. Striped clouds dotted those lovely mornings, images Mona could piece together into another daydream. Gorgeous mornings led to gorgeous thoughts, and lazy days. Today was not a gorgeous morning though. As Mona traced the white-gray storm clouds above she sighed. They hadn’t moved since late last night, and she had spent her sleeplessness watching nothing. Gray was not a pretty color, it was dull and familiar, because she too shared such a tone. Monochrome, boring. Where’s my pretty morning? Mona silently complained as her back pressed against the air just a few inches above the roof of Faraday Heights. Light had finally reached their dreary streets and she had no good things to think about, such mundane mornings were supposed to be complained about! In a lazy huff the ghost rose, balancing idly on nothing as she glared down at the empty streets below. People and creatures alike would be wandering down there soon enough, ripe for the imagining, but now nothing but a chill she couldn’t feel danced across the cement. boring boring boring A lazy yawn shifted from her lips, parting them but not forming any noise or mist, and Mona huffed haughtily again before lowering down into the roof. Rooms, rooms, and more rooms flashed passed her vision, only for a moment, and she swore she heard a few shocked gasps from a few of them. Of course, seeing a translucent girl descend from your ceiling wasn’t what you normally expected in the morning, but really they should be used to it! Mona wasn’t one for saying sorry, nor was she one to break routine. They screamed every other day! A stifled giggle echoed across one unlit household, and then she was finally home, resting on a couch that she had placed there a mere month or so before. Mona’s room in 25B was sparse at best. The blue-white couch below her was basically the only piece of furniture, save for a single wooden chair in the other corner and an alcove seat. Lots of places to sit, lots of places to dream. Spray painted white walls and various books and cards made up the rest of the room, all found, aller her’s, and Mona sighed comfortably as she turned and settled visibly onto the couch. Her hair curled above her head automatically, shifting, forming, and bubbling as if suspended forever in water. She watched the effect quietly, combing her gray hands through the kinks and curls for a few long minutes before sitting up and listening to the sounds of the rest of the house. Felix was awake. Mona knew because automatically her ears started ringing and her body felt a bit heavier. Mediums were noisey, her mind reminded her, and Mona sighed and nodded to herself before drifting towards the door. She opened it out of politeness because, really, she liked Felix, and didn’t wish to frighten her with sudden appearances. As she wandered into the main room of the apartment, glancing around expectantly for the medium, her soft, whispering voice formed and asked gently, ”Felix? You awake?” Location: 5631 Spruce Ave Interacting With: Miss Faron liked cigarettes in the morning. He liked the way they tasted (awful, smoky, chalky), he liked the way they smelled. He liked the way they formed shapes and spirals as the smoke left his lips and vanished into the chilly January air. The only thing he loathed about them was, of course, was the way they were slowly suffocating his lungs. If Faron lived passed thirty he would be surprised -- that’s how often he smoked. Pushing such a dark thought aside was easily done, though, as Faron took another drag from the fag and leaned further out the window. Edgetoun was quiet as a snow storm brewed above. Faron only knew it was a snowstorm because of the old radio sitting beside him, which was now spouting some weird poppy song around crackling static. He took another, longer drag as the words from the radio buried deep into his head, certainly planning to play on and on for the rest of the day. Earworm songs could be damned to hell, Faron thought with a slight smirk, sucking in one last puff as the cigarette fell away into ash between his fingertips. The gray-black mist that steamed from his nose and mouth filled the air fully and, for a moment, Faron swore he saw a face appear. The radio crackled into white noise, and whispers filled his mind. A ghost, looking for attention. fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay They called, teasing. Faron watched the smoke shift with each vowel, a curt mouth spouting the name endlessly. He leaned into his hand, waggling a finger at the spirit as it attempted to enter his room. ”Uh-uh, miss. Can’t let ya in here. Why not pass on for now?” His voice came out tense and emotionless, though a friendly smile kept his face light. White mist now escaped from his lips, sweeping into the spirit with another chilly wind which made him shiver, and the spirit’s smoky eyes narrowed and became as sorrowful as they could become. Again, the whispers cried, fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay And again Faron shook his head and leaned closer, dark eyes sparkling in the half-light of the cloudy day, ”I have people living with me, luv. Got no more room for another. I am certain you would not enjoy my room either; I’m quite boyish, if you get what i mean.” The spirit hung idly in front of him, eyeing him suspiciously, and then a sigh formed from the radio. The white noise ceased, and the spirit backed up into the gales that hung between the buildings. She was not passing on, Faron knew that, but she had become bored him his incessant nos. He waved to her, smiling still, and then she was gone in a sudden gust of cold air, taking with her the odd feeling of being watched and the brief comfort of not having to listen to the morning pop music. ”Later, luv.” Faron called to the empty air, pulling back inside and slamming the window shut. He wandered back towards the center of his cluttered room, tripping over fallen tapestries and cloaks until he was able to settle on the edge of his unmade bed. Neat hands patted warmth and life back to his ice-chilled shoulders, and Faron lit a few melted candles before collapsing back onto his sheets. E glanced at the clock on his nightstand, and then yawned. It was still early. i could get another hour of sleep in maybe	rudy will be placed here too when finished \| Name \| Mona \| Date of Birth \| Forgotten \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Homosexual \| Occupation \| Forgotten \| In-Depth Appearance \| "Huh, what? I do not look like the Mona Lisa!" Faceless at first glance, bland at the next. Mona is not particularly eye catching, to say the least. In her after-life she has assumed the often forgettable body of a ghost, appearing almost translucent and formless in certain lights. Even when her ghost-ness isn't notable, she is rather stark, baring the usual pale skin and dark hair of most Londoners. Full lips and white cheeks are often pulled back into a spacey grin, even if she has no reason to smile, and those close enough to view her face would be able to count the gathering of light freckles that bridge over her nose. If there were anything to notice about Mona, it would probably be her eyes. From afar they aren't much, just a dull hazel, but when hit by the light they burst into a mixture of blue and brown. Expressions and her true feelings play easily through her eyes, though she has yet to realize this fact about herself. Everything else above her face, from her gentle jaw to her wide forehead, is framed by a dark bob and hidden way behind bangs. Due to her ghost nature, every part of her body, excluding her eyes, is monochromatic. Mona is of average height, standing a mere five feet and four inches off the ground when standing, though she often floats a few extra inches to give the illusion of height. Of course, she is weightless, and even if she did have some depth it wouldn't be much due to her frail, thin figure. Her fashion sense is wildly uneventful, jeans, work boots, and graphic tees make up most of her after-life and she really wouldn't have it any other way. \| Personality \| ♦ Spacey ♦ Forgettable ♦ Dishonest ♦ Heart of Gold ♦ To describe Mona in words would be like giving a verbal personality to the wind itself. They both blow in and out of places with a single gust, sometimes silent, sometimes howling, always chilling. Those who are able to catch the breeze, perhaps by seeing the kicking up of leaves or the rustling of the branches above, are not often humbled or impressed by it. This very feeling goes towards Mona as well. She is unnervingly stark at first glance, so easily forgettable that most probably don't even mindlessly dream of her face like they would with other strangers. And her quiet, spacey attitude definitely doesn't help her blandness. She seems to find much more enjoyment in daydreaming than the ever sought human interaction most crave. Her mind, after all, is much more colorful than the dreary streets of London will ever be. Just because she is flighty doesn't mean Mona is emotionless. On most occasions where she is surrounded by good vibes and good friends she can be particularly smiley, often laughing at nothing at all just to enjoy the feeling of laughter. Happiness is her favorite emotion, and even when she is feeling glum Mona would never allow another soul to know. Her sadness is her own, her rage is her own. The wind would never let others in on its sorrow, and Mona is the same way. The wind is solitary and lonesome, and so is Mona. But she doesn't mind it, there are times when she in fact adores to be alone. When she daydreams or sleeps, when she is cleaning or singing too loudly to her music, those are her loneliest times as well as her happiest. Rage is an emotion Mona doesn't feel often, but, like a brewing storm, everything that annoys her in life is often stored away to be expelled later in a variety of slurs and floating objects. Her sorrow forms in similar ways, with huffed sighs and gales that come from nowhere. Mona, again, dislikes showing off negative emotions, and because of this she has developed an unhealthy habit of going completely mute when feeling bottled up. She will take out her emotions when alone, either by screaming in an empty room or crying into a pillow she can barely grab. Mona is a storm of a dead-person, even if she hates to think of herself that way. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Tarot cards, palm reading, dream reading... Basically anything occult. ✔Daydreaming (of a better world or day, usually) ✔Graffiti, both viewing and creating. ✔Spacing out, lazing around, sleeping. ✔Daytime television (especially soap operas) ✔Listening to others talk ✔Acting Lying ✔Birds and bird watching. ✘Cats AND dogs ("they're bloody frightening!") ✘Darkness, especially in enclosed rooms. ✘Horror movies, romance movies, movies in general really. ✘Mediums. They're noisy. ✘Police and other forms of authority. ✘Elderly people. ✘Food and watching/hearing people eat said food ✘Cloudy days. \| History \| dark dark dark dark dark why is it so dark please help me im scared it hurts dark dark dark bang Mona woke up one day on the floor of an abandoned house with a simple case of amnesia. She was nameless, aching, and alone, just like the house she was left behind in. Days turned to weeks, and she prowled through that empty house with no rhyme or reason, moaning and groaning over her aching head. She moaned so loud that, apparently, it attracted the attention of another person. Well, another ghost, a ghost who introduced themselves as 'Luce'. Luce, after failing to get a name out of her, gave her the nick name Mona and then went on to explain her situation. Needless to say, the new discovery of her now dead state stunned and angered Mona. She eventually left the house behind and found herself wandering the streets of London, rediscovering familiar but still fuzzy street names and faces, old fears, and so much more. Time was at a stand still for her, until she happened upon Edgetoun. Friendly spirits and supernaturals alike attracted her to stay, and she has been living in a small loft with two mediums ever since. \| Family \| Forgotten \| Strengths \| Generous Unassuming Dreamer \| Weaknesses \| Dishonest Stark Easily frightened Lazy \| Theme Song \| Ghosting – Mother Mother ”I won't put white into your hair I won't make noises in your stairs I will be kind and I will be sweet If you stop staring straight through me” \| House Number \| 25B Faraday Heights \| Extra Information \| Doesn't really understand much of anything. Mona is basically relearning life during the course of this rp. \| Name \| Faron "Fay" Beryl Romane \| Date of Birth \| October 31st, 1997 \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Bisexual \| Occupation \| Cashier at his mother's shop Blue Lily, Lily Blue. Faron also does a variety of odd jobs just for the experience. \| In-Depth Appearance \| He's the Witch's son, the Witch's son, the Witch's son! At least, that's what everyone call hims. Faron often rolled his eyes at the name because, a) it was true, and he couldn't change it, b) there were more witches in the world than just his mother, and c) he couldn't see how he could be insulted by such a thing. Faron's witch of a mother blessed him not only with innate spiritual abilities but stunning features and a dazzling attitude towards life. His father though, a faceless man to him, left behind for Faron a strong jaw and broad shoulders. This combination of genes presents itself through Faron in alien ways. Hair once kept mousy and short has since blossomed into an ever crazed mane around Faron's face. He normally keeps his hair tied behind his head, and though he complains about it getting in his eyes or mouth during his work hours he wouldn't dare cut it. It manages to frame his strong-jawed face just in a way that makes him attractive.... At least, that's what his mother says. Days spent sleeping in the sun has gifted even a London-born witch like himself an averagely healthy skin tone and quite a few freckles that are only seen in certain lights. Faron's face is held expertly together with nerves and skin and bone, painted in such a way that he could appear quite girly to certain eyes. Strong cheek bones and full lips are the main basis for this illusion. Luckily for him, though growing facial hair is no issue, and this alone is enough to give him the look of a grizzled, normally high hiker. Faron is tall, standing high above most at a healthy 6'4". He keeps his weight under wraps, though most assume he is well over 150lbs. Due to his interest in adventuring through green groves and hidden alleyways, Faron is often caught with bruises and cuts on his arms and legs, and scabs coat his knees like some kind of sick ornaments. Clothing wise, Faron prefers comfortable t-shirts and skinny jeans. Muted rainbows and stripes are his favorite designs. \| Personality \| ♦ Spiritual ♦ Air-headed ♦ Obsessive ♦ Genuine ♦ "Oh, that Faron! What a bloody idiot!" "Wouldn't a fuckin' Witch's son be smarter?" Faron has been called an idiot through most school life, and for good reason. He trips over his own two feet, asks the most obvious of questions, and gawks in confusion when other people realize his stupidity and make fun of him for it. He has since grown out of his initial obliviousness (kinda) once he realized he had inherited some of his mother's magic. A wish to hone his skills has led him to studying, long and harder for hours a day, and this new practice gave him some cleverness and some skills to use against others. Sadly, he is still a bit of an airhead, and still the clumsiest being in the world. Around friends and family Faron is quite kind, acting as a sort of mother figure. He worries for the sake of others and always seems to have whatever they need in his wallet, band aids and painkillers included. Being the son of Opal Romane gave him this carefulness, perhaps, because she is as motherly as they come. Faron himself learns things through experience, and growing up with such an overbearing parent rubbed off on him quite cleanly, giving him the skills of a house wife and the worries of a flighty mother hen. If anyone is in need, Fay will be there, bringing a smile and advice and anything they could use in their life because that is how much he values others. Life is life, no matter how weak or powerful it is. When it comes to his studies, Faron is extremely studious and closed-minded. He could spends day alone in his room, enthralled in the studies of some long dead witch, obsessed with gaining the skills they possessed. The pressure of the witch community and his mother has led him to study the arcane arts to a dangerous degree. He has attempted spells using his own blood and flesh, which ultimately ended up with a few house fires and ever lasting scars. This obsession has been deemed unhealthy by both his mother and the various doctors he was assigned to visit, and this simple fact can make him a bit irritable. His usual chill persona can shift if someone gets in the way of his studies, and he has been said to actually get mad at those who dare interrupt him. And a mad Faron is a rare and frightening sight to see. Other than all that, Faron is a cheery individual. He is kind to strangers and friends alike and is more than willing to help those in need. He can be a bit overbearing, but that is just his nature. Fay is hopeless air headed and clumsy, and normally high if out and about for no particular reason, but that's fine because it's who he is, and nothing can change that. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Candles, scented or not. Likes to watch the flames flicker. ✔Gems, stones, rocks, anything that can hold energy really. ✔Animals, especially cats and corvids. ✔Bathing (with homemade bath bombs!) ✔Smoking, mostly marijuana, sometimes just regular cigarettes. ✔Spiritual anything, music, clothes, books, ect. ✔Studying magic, mostly clairvoyance because of his mother. ✔Crowds, friendly people in general. ✘Technology, he can't understand it. ✘Planes, trains and automobiles! He's terrified of all loud, big, mechanical objects. ✘People who insult his loved ones. ✘Skeptics ✘Sudden, loud noises. ✘Overly excited people, they tire him out. ✘Thinking of his future. ✘His own magic, his own dreams. \| History \| Faron was brought into this world without a father and with a sense of hope, because he was Opal Romane's son. Opal, being the right-hand lady to the head of The Brithonic Coven, gifted Faron first with the idea of being some kind of popular figure head in the future, and the the thought of having powers similar to her's. Clairvoyance, to see the future. Faron became obsessed with the idea of being like his mother, beautiful and powerful, but as he grew older he realized he had another kind of magic within in. Spirits whispered in his ears, distant voices of the dead, and knowledge unfurled in his mind as he grew into his teen years. He wasn't a clairvoyant like his mother, but a medium. A portal for the spirits around them all. And not only were his powers unwanted but they were also difficult to control. He lost sleep listening to those distant voices, and accidentally summoned a few poltergeist typhoons to classrooms where he was feeling a bit trapped. After graduating high school, Fay spent most of his time studying the magic he could not obtain and working in his mother's shop. With his unruly powers, the other witches began to see him as nothing more than a freeloader kid. The future became a taboo subject in the Romane household. Faron spoke less and less to his mother, mind focused instead on staying calm even as the weight of everything threatened to strangle him, and then one night he said out right. "I can't stay here. I'll suffocate. I'm moving out." London treated him well. Being an Irish born kid, he hadn't spent too much time wandering the streets after their move a few years prior, but after he moved out it became his life goal to memorize every alleyway and street corner and shop. To be completely honest, the first week after he moved out Fay was basically homeless. He slept at friends' houses until he found a place in Edgetoun with a very pretty cop as a roommate. For now, it would do. This new life would be enough to clear his mind. \| Family \| Opal Romane, Mother (47): A woman blessed with a brilliant mind and the powers to match. She is the single mother to Faron and the proud owner of Blue Lily, Lily Blue, a popular tourist pit stop and witchy ingredients shop located just off of Piccadilly Circus. Opal herself is a master of Divination and offers tarot readings and psychic advice for a price to mortals and supernatural beings alike. Faron loves her more than life itself, though there are times she can be a bit overbearing as most mothers are. \| Strengths \| Gentle Honest Maternal \| Weaknesses \| Impatient Clumsy Weak constitution Stubborn \| Theme Song \| Home – AlicebanD ”Coal flicker candles swelling Thoughs come of fire burning Everything you made will end up broken” \| House Number \| 5631 Spruce Ave \| Extra Information \| Carries around charged herbs and stones for good luck. He often passes them out to others if he senses they have bad juju. Fay is also a hardcore vegan, though he doesn't let others know too often. Has a cute lil kitty cat named Minnie.
994	14	9	709	301	Mordekai Location: 27B Faraday Heights Interacting With:Katie and Claire In the dark stillness of Andrew's room, a small screen lights up, accompanied by some heavy metal band that he didn't really know the name of. A hand, along with a groan, emerged from the pile of comforters and began making sliding gestures all over the screen until one of them finally ended the cacophony. Andy hated heavy metal, but it was enough to get him up and make him want to shut it off. Lazily drawing himself out of bed, the young Witch absentmindedly stumbled over to the light switch near the door, tripping over some clutter of books. Once light stabbed into his eyes, the controlled chaos that was his room came into vision. Papers clung to the wall, denoting several incantations and runic inscriptions, along with magical fetishes hung up all around the room to ward off negative energy. Or...not let it spread, actually. Shuffling out into the cold living room, Andy only in a white tank top and gym shorts, he made his way to the kitchenette to start coffee for himself, Katie and Claire. He'd had to clean up the apartment big time with Katie moving in, as he didn't want to make her uncomfortable with all of his Witchy shit right off the bat. She was new to this, and she was understandably shook up a little. But she was making an effort to understand, Andy felt, and so he wanted to make her comfortable. No need to scare the girl to death. Claire was a different matter. She was a Witch as well, and while her school of magic was...less than Andy's favorite, she was a good woman as far as he could tell. He respected teachers with her attitude, and was glad to have Witches represented in the school system. As long as she didn't lasso in any Others. Their kitchenette was connected to the living room, a bar separating the preparation area from the rest. Andrew grabbed the remote off the bar and clicked on the TV across the room, looking over the brown leather couch to the flat screen. While the screen came on, he deftly poured the ground coffee, a nice toasty dark roast, into the filter basket and filled the reservoir, flipping on the machine and letting the dark, luscious ichor of Heaven drip into the carafe. While that brewed, Andy quickly strode down the hall and rapped on Katie's, then Claire's door. "Rise and shine loves, the 9 to 5 beckons!" He called, a faint smile forming on his lips. It was nice to have folks to commute with, and to share the frustrations of the day... As he came back into the room, the morning news was on. Andy found himself nodding at the mention of the Unseelie causing the storm, silently admiring their work. Sure, there could be some serious damages from the storm, and wasn't really his style, but it got the message across...and he didn't expect differently from the Unseelie. Talk about cold shoulders. He spited himself for waking Claire up after school cancellations started scrolling across the screen. He'd have to apologize... And then the mention of those "Mortals First" fucks. A pleasant morning gone south real fucking quick. The runes tattooed on Andrew's arms began to glow slightly, like embers dying on his skin. Or trying to spark to life. "Who the fuck gave them the right? I'll fuckin' torch 'em..." He muttered furiously, realizing his arms and trying to subdue them. His flatmates would be up soon.	Liam Woodsworth Dhampire Basic Information \| Name \| Elliot Liam Woodsworth He prefers the informality of Liam \| Date of Birth \| October 19, 1992 \| Gender \| Male \| Sexuality \| Homosexual \| Occupation \| Liam works as an IT assistant at a local tech shop, mixes music as a hobby, and volunteers at a blood bank for his less savory needs. Yes, the last one is morally dubious, but he’s not going to be around long enough to actually care, now will he? On the music note, he tends to whip up tracks with heavy bass and high tempos, as he finds them euphoric...almost as euphoric as the recreational drugs that may eventually overtake his work ethic. \| In-Depth Appearance \| ”That poor boy...darling, do you eat? ”Damn my boy, have you seen a doctor? Pale as a ghost, ya are.” Sickly. Liam is sickly. He is tall, gaunt, pale...and he isn’t even fucking sick most of the time. He blames it on his lineage, daddy was an awfully stereotypical bloodsucker. Maybe it’s the rapidly degenerating body? Maybe it’s his refusal to indulge his hemo-cravings until absolutely necessary? He doesn’t care, really. Liam’s got places to be, stunts to do, and a short life to live. This is apparent in his messy medium-long brown hair, disheveled fashion of band shirts and loose ripped denim, and a general air of “I really don’t give a fuck, come not give a fuck with me”. His brown eyes speak of a troubled past and a carefree future, of resignation and of the triumphant freedom in that revelation. Liam’s voice is soft, enticing, as though it itself realized the throat it was bound to was horribly unfitting and made a show to be better. To be a selling point. When you’re a local pariah, ya have to have something going for ya, right? Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Morbid ♦ Relaxed ♦ Indulgent ♦ Welcoming ♦ There is a comfort in knowing death is coming. You become prepared. You enjoy every moment, every pain, every sensation that smolders on the neurons. Liam has accepted this, and he relishes it. It’s relaxing, and he exudes this calm repose around him. Those that aren’t aware of his supernatural bastard status are always laid back around him, if not worried by his random pains and sickly pallor. Those that are...well, he’s not obnoxious enough to warrant a lynch mob yet. But who knows what’ll come in the future... sure would save him pill money. Pill money that could go towards more fun pills! Since he knows his time is short, Liam takes every chance he gets to explore the unsavory and wonderful of the world. Drugs, alcohol with dubious origins and long names, ancient rituals that cause really weird spirit trips, (he had to give a “favor” to a Witch for that one but damn was it worth it. Ever see ancient cosmic deities play limbo with a meteor belt? Liam has.), are all things he has and is willing to try. Dangerous stunts are also kinda fun, when the crippling pains aren’t hitting hard. There are no limits to what he’ll try. Of course it’s dangerous, sometimes deadly. Sometimes it’s kind of like daring Death to make its move. Sadly, this applies to people too. He blazes through relationships and sex like it’s nothing but a carnal transaction. Maybe one day he’ll find someone that quences his cravings. Likely? Liam doesn’t think so. But in all respects, Liam wants friends. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants stories passed around about him after he moves on from Edgetoun. Stories about that crazy ass pale kid that did a somersault off a building after three lines of coke and a tab of acid, lived, and then ran a 500. Okay...that’s excessive and he’d probably be dead after the first part of that, but...the point is there. As such, he doesn’t want to hurt people either. The option to get that street shit from dealers was a tempting one, but that blood could come from anyone. Anything. Through...less than fun means. At least at the blood donor center, that was willingly given. No violence or pain, even if it’s stealing...he tries to take what’s in abundance, none of the important rare shit. He doesn’t deserve that. In the end, when you have a very short time to experience life, you shouldn’t waste that life on brooding and sorrow. Get out there, live...no matter what everyone says. No matter if you’re the monster they say you are. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Electronic music No words. No hidden meanings. Just raw emotion. It’s delightfully primal. ✔Adrenaline rushes Ya know when you’re on a coaster and your balls just go right up in your stomach? Yeah. That’s what I like. ✔New things So much to do, so much to see, so much to- Alright, I’ll stop. Sorry. ✔Fall England’s nice in the fall. Cloudy, damp...it’s comforting. ✔A good adventure graphic novel The art, man! Plus, less words, faster reading, meaning more awesome shit for me. ✔Jaffa cakes Tiny. Portable. Orangey. They are my one true love. ✔So many drugs. Specifically acid and coke, and any eldritch shit he can get. Oh the places you will go… ✘Staying home As much as I’d like it to, my mix board doesn’t usually talk to me. Usually. ✘Those who waste what they have Almost everyone has so much left to live. So much to give to society. Why the fuck would you throw that away? ✘Sulky folks Aw, cheer up mate. Wanna grab ice cream? Fucking love ice cream. ✘Violence Come on. Talk your shit out. You start busting heads, I’ll split you the fuck up. Got it? ✘Salad. Or anything vaguely green. It's crispy fucking water. That's gross. ✘Sunny weather. Fuck you, dad. ✘Dependency. I'm a strong, independent abomination. Well...less strong, more independent. Ya get me, yeah? \| History \| The fall brought with it cool air, warm homes, a time for families to come together… And produce an awful bastardization of life. Liam came into the world a screamer. Like he already knew, day one out of the womb, that he was already on his way out. He got all of his screaming out then. Born to a middle class mother and a bloodsucking poppa that bolted the minute he knew one of his dark little swimmers hit home. Yeah, typical daddy issues, blah blah...Liam never really cared much past passive aggressive comments and normal annoyances. His mother Trisha lived with her parents then, the three of them taking care of this sad, ill child. It was rough, and they never really understood what he was. The father had the eventual courtesy, about five years in, to inform poor Trisha about what exactly she’d brought into the world. She didn’t believe the fucker, of course. Until Liam really started liking raw meat. Not the meat itself, but the leftover blood in the package. Terrified, confused, and just feeling awful all around, she had to reorganize her life and her idea of parenting to fit this child. She packed up and they moved to the countryside. And so began the “Don’t Bite” motto of life. Liam learned not to hurt folks to stop his own pain, to enjoy what he had...like a mother that didn’t try and kill him with a stake. She cared more to give her son what he needed...blood. Her blood. Just enough to keep him sated. Liam learned respect, caring, and restraint, qualities sometimes not found in his full-blooded kin. There was a rough spot in secondary school when Liam learned that he wasn’t going to live a long, happy life. The pain was a sign. The slightly quick growth, another. And once he ran into a couple vampires that were flying under the radar, they made him understand how low he was. That he was a mistake. Suddenly, parties became enticing, every new drink and drug an experience worth dying for. Trisha had to go through hoops to keep doctors from drawing his blood, let alone run any drug tests on him. Their relationship was strained around then, and once Liam graduated he left for London to cool down and mature. Fast-forward, and Liam’s working a menial job to make ends meet in Edgetoun. IT work fit him, since he spent a large portion of his teens messing with electronic instruments and computers his few friends had. Plus, lots of people needed help with their newfangled gadgets and gizmos, and he was happy to help and talk to them. Recently, he’s back in touch with his mother and patching things up...while not telling her about all the crazy shit he does for fun. No need to worry her. But how can she not be worried when her pariah of a son is on the ass end of a bloody race war? \| Family \| Trisha Woodsworth \| Mother : A kind, gentle woman, with a fair bit of paranoia. You get that when your kid’s kind of on the chopping block. \| Strengths \| Incredibly open-minded Curious Protective \| Weaknesses \| No real restraint Locked to his path, sees no other future; “Blinders” on Lacks any sort of commitment The Other \| Theme Song \| Marry The Night – Lady Gaga ”I'm gonna marry the night I won't give up on my life I'm a warrior queen Live passionately tonight” \| House Number \| Churchill Gardens 5B \| Extra Information \| Liam has a lizard named Squeaks. That fucker knows shit.
995	14	10	53	1,622	Location - 30A Faraday Heights (Home) Interacting with- The bitch client Mrs Bennett and Elise "Yes, yes, I have it written-" A muffled voice cut off the brunette, making her press her palm against her forehead as she listened with growing frustration. "Yep, got the nut allergy listed down, please Mrs Bennett, I can handle it. You don't need to worry about your son's birthday party." "Of course dear, I know that my Johnny will have a wonderful birthday party in your care. But it's the bloody fairies that annoying me- they're not human, why should they be entitled to the same rights as us? This continued protest is just ruining the birthday plans!" She cried, and Cara barely repressed a scoff. 'Hypocritical bastards.' Cara thought instead, as she hummed while Mrs Bennett continued to complain about the faes causing the snowstorms out in protest. It was another thirty minutes until Mrs Bennett was finally done, Cara nursing her forehead as she felt an incoming headache pulsing at the back of her head. It was because of humans like Mrs Bennett that kept Cara from revealing her vampire nature. Sure, she could simply just run away, like she'd done her entire life, but for once Cara simply wanted to live in peace. And with some blood. It's not like she could protest for the innocence of vampires anyway, since she knew that she was a murderer too, even if those had only happened due to her inexperience with vampire bloodlust. Sighing again, Cara entered the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, the news still playing in the background as she tried pushing the thoughts out of her mind. It didn't matter any more. To people like Mrs Bennett, Catharine Reid was a human, nothing more, and Cara was fine with it. Grabbing herself a steaming cuppa, Catharine peered across into the hallway as she wondered where her roommate was. She headed towards her door, bringing her knuckles up and knocking against the wooden door loudly. "Wakey wakey miss sleepy," Cara sang through the door, taking a sip of her still hot drink. "If you want me to make breakfast, come out within fifteen minutes. I need to get to work."	\| Name \| Catharine "Cara" Elsie Reid \| Date of Birth \| 2nd April 1804 \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Closeted Bisexual \| Occupation \| Cara owns her own events managing business. \| In-Depth Appearance \| To say that Cara is short is an understatement, tiny is more like it. Standing at 1.57m, or only 5'1" and weighing in the lower 100 pounds, Cara looks as sweet and unthreatening as someone can appear. She's not one to be underestimated though, what she lacks in height, she definitely makes up in her large personality. Her body is somewhat curvy, hourglass shaped with little muscle and fat but definitely not runway worthy. Moving up to her face, she possesses lightly tanned skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose and forehead, most barely visible due to the way her hair has been cut and framed across her forehead. Her hair is of a light chocolate shade, barely reaching past her shoulders in tousled waves (unless straightened, then it is definitely past her shoulders). She used to wear straight bangs across her forehead, which now she styles apart as her hair has grown since the last time she had a chance to trim the locks. She has wide almond shaped brown eyes, framed with thicker, darker eyebrows giving her the innocent cherub look and adding to her already cutesy appearance (she's not cute, dammit!) Cara walks with confidence, her strides long and often with purpose. She's often found either with a smile, or a dreamy look as she's busy thinking about anything else other than bullshit. She also has deep dimples on each cheek, both which makes her somewhat insecure when someone points them out. Make-up and clothing wise, she does nothing too drastic. Okay, maybe her clothes are a little outgoing than she used to wear back in the 1800's, but what's a girl to do when she has more rights? She's often seen wearing dresses or shorts, anything that shows off her shapely legs in a variety of shades and patterns. Cara prefers not to wear heels, even if they do add to her lack of height, and instead opts for comfortable boots or converses. Her make up is kept natural, maybe except for some days where she applies red lipstick for the sultry look. \| Personality \| ♦ Stubborn ♦ Bold ♦ Control-freak ♦ Cynical ♦ A typical Aries woman, Cara is loud, bold and confident. And she proves it with her walk. Back straight, chin up and a usual cheeky grin on her face, Cara always looks like as if she has something on her mind. She is highly self-reliant and refuses to take help from others - whether it be because of her ego or her independent trait, it doesn't matter. If Cara is struggling with something, you sure as hell won't be told about it. Stubborn as a bull, she refuses to take no for an answer to her requests, but respects people enough to back off should she realise that she is definitely not going to get her way, no matter how much it irks her. Cara loves control, and will often look like a fish out of water when she doesn't have any control. Even if she likes to have control of her situation and surroundings, call her a control-freak, and she'll hate you forever. Her cynical and distrustful nature comes from what she calls the "Betrayal" (yes, with a capital B, too!) where her ex-lover turned her into the vamp she is now on the eve of her wedding. To put it bluntly, she is a mixture of a fearless warrior and a really stupid undisciplined child. She's impulsive and usually won't think twice if she's about to do something stupid (which usually causes her control-freakness to flare up when she realises she doesn't know what the actual fuck she's gotten herself into) and Cara will often sulk when she doesn't get her own way. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ Watching trashy TV ✔ Being pampered ✔ Drinking special wine ✔ Animals (especially dogs) ✔ Being in control ✔ Smoking ✔ Children, especially when she can take care of them herself like her own ✘ Rats ✘ Any creature with more than four limbs basically fuck spiders ✘ Rusty metal ✘ Jewellery (she loses them too often) ✘ Being sleep deprived ✘ Pink ✘ People that call her a control freak \| History \| Born in the ending rein of the Georgian era, Catharine Elsie Reid was the fifth child to a farming family off in the country-side of England. With the growing usage of machines, introduced by the Industrial Revolution, crops and farming had doubled, bringing in wealth and profits to the large Reid family. Of course, they weren't the richest, but it was enough to feed their seven children and few cattle they owned. Catharine grew up in a rowdy household, being the second daughter to a family filled primarily with boys. Her mother, Elizabeth, attempted to keep the two girls in check, but would often fail with dealing severe punishments whenever she caught Catharine and Victoria (Catharine's elder sister) hiding out in the vast fields of the Reid farm. She was given little education, just enough to know how to read, write and calculate basic sums. Most of her skills relied on cooking and sewing, exactly what a girl was expected of during this era. By the time Catharine was fourteen, her sister had ran away with a rival farmer's son, leaving Catharine and her family to deal with the shame and consequences that came with such bold action. It was a secret, but even after Victoria had left, Catharine kept in contact with her - enough to know where her sister was and whether her husband was treating her well. Because of her sister, however, her strict father's eye remained on his remaining daughter, making sure she never stepped out of line to dishonour the family in any way. It worked, for about a few years until Catharine met a soldier fighting in the First Ashanti War. Their relationship was scandalous, he was twenty-nine and she was barely in her twenties, but she had done everything she could to keep it a secret. However, it wasn't long until their relationship was discovered and the two were separated from the other, with Catharine being arranged to wed another guy. The night before her wedding, Catharine was visited by her ex-lover briefly. He simply kissed her, before pushing her out of the window to fall to her death. Twenty hours later, Catharine was reborn. It was obvious she couldn't go back to her family - she couldn't go back to anybody now that she had just been raised from the dead. So Catharine did the one thing she knew: she ran away just like her sister had. For the next two centuries of her life, Catharine travelled wherever she could, taking each job that was available to pay for her travels. The outing of the supernatural creatures both relieved and scared her. Relieved bacause she didn't need to keep running to escape the usual "why isn't she ageing" questions, but scared because of the potential reaction from the humans around her. If she was told one day that there was a bunch of new species that were living under her nose, Cara knew even she wouldn't be very happy. Currently, Catharine (now going as Cara) has opened up her own small events business as an events organiser while taking night classes in the local college to get enough qualifications to move up the career ladder. She never found her lover - who she believes was the reason she's the creature of the night. Cara hopes to find him one day, if he's even alive and strangle that arsehole. \| Family \| Jonathan Reid \| Father \| Cara's relationship with her dead father was often that of a strict parent and a free-spirited child. It often ended with tears or slammed doors. It was her father's decision to get her married off to save face in society after her secret relationship was found out. Since Cara was turned,she never returned to see her father's reaction to her death, so she doesn't know whether her father was upset or glad because she was gone. Elizabeth Reid \| Mother \| A somewhat better relationship with her mother, Cara still wasn't as specially close with her mother either. She definitely preferred her mother over her father, however, due to her mother's caring and docile nature. One of Cara's biggest regrets that she never returned home to visit her mother at least once before her mother passed. Victoria Reid \| Oldest sister \| Victoria and Catharine's relatonship was stronger than two peas in a pod. They might as well have been twins rather than two children with over half a decade of difference in age. Cara was the only one in the family to know of her sister's whereabouts after her sister ran off to marry her lover. Cara was definitely inspired by her sister's love story, and was bitter when her own didn't end up as beautifully as her sister's did. Cara went to live with her sister for a month after she was turned, taking refuge in Victoria's house until Cara had enough funds to travel to Scotland and figure out her new life on her own. \| Strengths \| Free-spirit Independent \| Weaknesses \| Doesn't trust others very easily Has a big ego Impulsive \| Theme Song \| RIP 2 My Youth - The Neighbourhood "If you really listen, then this is to you Mama, there is only so much I can do Tough for you to witness it but it was for me too I'm using white lighters to see what's in front of me RIP to my youth” \| House Number \| 30A Faraday Heights \| Extra Information \| Cara's favourite country to live in by far is Italy. She even learnt the Italian language just so she could work in Venice for the better part of half a century. Cara hates the fact that she's infertile because of the vampirism. With each year that passes in her life, she's constantly reminded that she cannot have kids when she sees other mothers walking into her store requesting birthday parties and baby showers.
996	14	11	792	4,390	Mariska Costas Location: Faraday Heights; 28A Interacting With: Mordred Hame (), John Taylor () If there was absolutely one thing Mariska missed, it was waking up to the newspaper right outside the front door. Sure, the newspaper was still holding on, not everyone was up on their electronic news feed and minute-by-minute updates that interns down at any half decent publication churn out in one hundred forty characters or less. But as the times went on it was more and more apparent that holding and perusing a physical newspaper was an outdated way to get information on the goings-on in the world. But Mariska, still an old soul deep down no matter what her continually updated performances said, was still one of the ones who saw the appeal in having a cup of water at the breakfast table, flipping through the headlines; her page turning and folding technique was goddamned amazing. Decades of practice will do that. The thought of newspapers entered and lingered in her mind as she stirred awake at way too early an hour given how way too late it was when she finally was able to drift off to sleep. Mariska had fallen asleep in pretty much what she had come home wearing, sans the black trousers which were draped over the desk chair up against the far wall of her bedroom: a white button blouse, buttons undone, and a, frankly, unflattering pair of unmentionables. She was wiped the previous night and didn't have the time nor care to waste time swapping to proper sleep attire. With a yawn, Mariska rose from her bed, gliding her left hand through the crop of hair atop her head. Her room, other than the pants not placed in the laundry bin, was quite immaculate and quite bare to boot. Other than a painting of Romans of the Decadence hanging above her bed - a real conversation starter, that one - and smaller, less noticeable pieces from artists long since out of their fifteen minute gallery showing, Mariska's room was rather unremarkable. But then, given the smallish nature, renovations and decoration options were limited. The nymph made her way out of her room, grabbing her charged mobile on the way out, and into the main living area proper. On the couch was one of her mates, John, and Mariska wasn't quite sure if he had fallen asleep there intentionally or accidentally...but decided it really didn't matter none. She didn't spy Mordred, that being her second mate, but assumed him to either be asleep or doing whatever it was he did in the morning. Mariska didn't like to pry. They got along well enough, she'd count them as friends even, why ruin that with pointless peeks into private affairs. Mariska opened the front door of their flat but sighed when there was no newspaper to greet her, just a crisp breeze that had her shutting the door rather quickly. "English winters..." a quick muttering as she retreated back inside, making her way to where the dishes and cups were stored. Her mug she filled with a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a sip of the cold refreshment before flipping through her mobile in lieu of a physical newspaper. "There's the way to go, Fae, protest via inclement weather. Well done," Mariska spoke softly, scoffing at the actions of the Unseelie Court. To some, she would be counted among the Fae-kind, but that was a distinction she didn't like to think about; but she certainly wouldn't count herself among the Unseelie at any rate. Her thumb flicked through the articles at a quickened pace, stopping when she saw a mentioning of a manifesto or whatever it was. "Mortal Fist? Sounds like a rubbish band name, yeah? Must think he's all clever. I bet he's never read the novel. Plebians." Mariska shook her head with a sigh. The headlines were not pleasant but...what else was new? Things would likely only get worse before they got better. But so long as she had her mug of water...she could forget about the news...at least for a little while.	Jorōgumo \|\| The Binding Bride Basic Information \| Name \| Naomi Ishiguro \| Date of Birth \| The exact date is long lost to time, but Naomi celebrates a birthday on January 1. She is at least four hundred years old, birthdays stop mattering after a time. \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Asexual Hers is sex not for desire nor for need, but a different sort of pleasure. \| Occupation \| Have you ever watched the telly and heard a pleasant voice on an advert or announcing an ad break? Perhaps you've heard a voice on the radio that isn't just the disc jockey or the useless weather report, but a voice selling a product you suddenly find yourself wholly interested in. Naomi is one of those voices. Her vocal talents have taken her places, from fast food commercial narration to audiobooks, and now, at present, to a late night call in program on the radio. A Voice Actress and Radio Personality. Of course, everyone has their fronts. Naomi's true occupation, such as it is, is far less reputable. \| In-Depth Appearance \| Of the many phrases and sayings in the world, one of them happens to be 'you have a face for radio' which is an indirect way of calling someone not attractive enough to be on television. Or, rather, simple an offhanded remark to call someone ugly. Naomi has never heard that saying, and often gets asked why she chooses to stay behind the camera, isolated in sound booths and in radio studios. Naomi looks quite great for age, that age being somewhere in the realm of five hundred twenty, give or take. She's aged like the finest of wines, with a blemish free face that, despite being the visage of a woman in her late thirties, still seems as youthful as if she were in her early thirties. Naomi is an older woman that doesn't let a little number like age hold her back. She's tall, coming in at 5'10", with a rather svelte figure, though with the right amount of eye catching curvature to the hips. There's a hunger to be found in her deep blue, almost violet, eyes that only increases when the cosmetics draw attention to them; what the hunger is is often misinterpreted as something carnal...which is exactly by design. Naomi's hair never seems to grow beyond its current length, though its style ranges from a full volume affair to a messier, more sensual style; regardless of the style it always serves to enhance her present look. Said looks depend on what she manages to pull out of the closet on any particular day. Naomi doesn't like to toot her own horn or anything, but she pays little attention to fashion trends or styles and simply wears what looks good - and considering Naomi is someone that looks good in damn near anything, her options are quite endless. When she isn't wearing heels, she's barefoot - which is to say she's barefoot about seventy percent of the time, often removing her heels while working or travelling long distances on public or private transport. Naomi flaunts what she has, but not in an overly obvious way. The flip of the hair, the sideways look, the well timed smile, subtle tricks to ensnare and capture the attentions of the younger adventurous types...or the older and bored ones. And this is to say nothing of her voice, which doesn't have any hypnotic bend to it, but it just sounds like velvet in the ears...albeit velvet coated with a rather posh accent...that sometimes sounds absolutely put on. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Venomous ♦ Predatory ♦ Immoral ♦ Lascivious ♦ Some people that have seen Naomi looking towards them have had similar thoughts of 'this must be too good to be true' and if only they knew how right they were. Though when she's out and about (or offering advice and facilitating discussion to the lonely young people that call in) it's true that her appearance and attitude showcase a flirtatious, teasing demeanor...but most, if not all, of that is a perfected act. Naomi doesn't care about others, though humans especially so, and them being so easily manipulated by such simple things as a wink only reinforces her belief that those that fall into her web deserve what's coming to them. For Naomi, her little...let's call them 'indiscretions' are just a fun little game, one where she sets the rules and conditions so that she always manages to win. She isn't all bad, despite what her hobby and true occupation might have one believe, she's actual quite insightful and genuinely seems to take an interest in helping those that call her for advice. Most of the topics tend to be about love or sex, but even still she speaks not as some stuffy expert explaining things for idiots, but rather as one friend offering sage-like advice to another. Naomi even waves to the neighbors, gives all her change from transactions to the cashiers, and has talked up charity organizations on air. But of course, don't let that fool you. It's a shame, then, that she's too far gone down her own long twisted beliefs to become a good person, because she comes so close when she's working. Of course, that could all just be part of her intricate little game as well, after all...no one ever suspects the nice ones. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔ Online dating; she maintains several profiles on various websites...though not for hookups. ✔ Horror movies. Are there any better comedies out there than those? ✔ Adult entertainment; it utterly fascinates her the depths people will go to find odd pleasures ✔ Gambling; Not really an addiction or anything, but she enjoys the thrill of a game of chance ✔ Red wine, aged, of course ✔ Commercial breaks; she is just vain enough to love it when she hears her ads in person ✔ String instruments ✘ People. Just in general. People. ✘ Fire, be it from the fireplace or a match or a candle ✘ Wasps, especially the big ugly ones ✘ Lizards...they're incredibly gross ✘ She could go without birds, now that you mention it ✘ Mirrors ✘ Music produced on machines \| History \| There's a folk tale in Japan that tells of spiders gaining 'magical powers' and what a terrifying thought that would be. But of course, such tales could very well have a basis in fact...and Naomi is living proof of that. For the first four centuries of her life, Naomi had no name or identity, she was born and she had to do what it took to survive: trapping smaller insects in webs, being clever to avoid larger predators, watch and do nothing as others in her family were eventually picked off for being stupid. Time had little meaning for Naomi because she had no concept of it. To her, a year might as well have been a night. The only indication that things were changing was the expansion of beings that walked on two legs and swatted away the insects of the world without so much as a thought. A curious Naomi once tried to trap a human in the same manner she trapped all her food, but her web only served to annoy the humans. Yet Naomi continued to live on. And she continued to grow. She didn't quite know when it happened, again what did she know of time, but one morning she found that she felt...different, and that she had grown larger still. It was when a human came across her path and stopped to speak to her that she knew something was wrong. Naomi, then taking the appearance of a pale, black haired, young woman, had woken up as looking no different than a human, albeit one who was without clothing. She looked like a human...but she did not forget what she was, and neither did her body. That unfortunate human who was overcome with a carnal desire upon sight was dragged off to a cave and Naomi feasted for days. Naomi became a Jorōgumo, a spider that, after living for four centuries, became able to transform herself into a seductive woman in order to trap men and devour them. In her body was not blood but venom and her hair doubled as webbing strong enough to bind a human...she no longer had to fear them. Naomi then lived as a predator, living near enough to human settlements to gather attention just to lead the hapless victim to her dwellings where she took her time savoring what came next. Though her human appearance was nigh indistinguishable from the real thing, she came to learn that any reflection, be it from glass or water or any reflecting surface, would show her true self: her arachnid form. Over the years she became able to stay a human woman for longer periods of time, though she cannot maintain the form forever. Even in her present state she can go maybe ten hours straight and that's if she's feasted recently. She is, after all, human in appearance only. Naomi spent her years as Jorōgumo being a predator. She's long lost count of the men and women she's captured, poisoned, and gotten rid of over the years. Of course when a disturbing number of people go missing mysteriously...questions start getting asked and panic starts setting in. But of course, Naomi never left a body behind. Bones? Sure. But never a body. With a monumental chip on her shoulder and the transformation ability on lock, Naomi has only adapted her tactics with time. Now she is more than willing to let prey walk into her traps than to lure them herself. She enjoyed a great run of being an absolute monster but now that Others have been revealed to the world...matters have certainly become complicated. People already hate spiders. What would they think of a spider like Naomi? \| Family \| Naomi considers the spiders that live in her home to be her family. For...for obvious reasons. \| Strengths \| Resourceful. She'd have to be to keep up her activities this long Meticulous Crafty \| Weaknesses \| Insatiable bloodlust Irrational hatred for most things Easily panicked The Other \| Theme Song \| Sober – Elli Ingram ”And when the lights get low And I let it take control And I’m feeling so alone One more sip and then it’s gone And then I lose my soul To the poison then I’m on one But I can’t let it go to waste And I love the way it taste” \| House Number \| Churchill Gardens, 4A \| Extra Information \| She claims to be able to talk to spiders...and she probably can. Why else would she let them hang out on her walls. Solitary Fae \|\| Yōsei Basic Information \| Name \| 'K', spelled as 'Kei' on official documents. 'K' is the very short form of her 'real name' which is a series of given names given to her over the years. Kei was the first, so 'Kei' it is. \| Date of Birth \| July 14, during the Meiji Period. For the sake of ease, she picked the year 1995 because it sounded funny \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Pansexual Kei just loves and that's all there is to it. \| Occupation \| In the most technical sense she's unemployed. However, she is often seen doing altruistic activities, from volunteering with the elderly, to helping out at charity functions, and being a translator for the hearing impaired at large social functions. In the broad sense of the term occupation, Kei would be a Volunteer. She doesn't take salaries but survives on both goodwill and generous donations, but she never asks for them. \| In-Depth Appearance \| For someone that is so quiet Kei's sense of style is rather loud. Though rather short, standing at just about five feet flat, she stands out due to her eccentric choice in attire. Rare is the day when Kei isn't wearing clashing, bright colors or mismatched articles of clothing or bogged down with so many accessories that she sounds like a piggy bank when she walks. There's a very childish quality to her style, like what one would imagine a child would dress like if their parents just let them go wild for a day. Though Kei wears bright, gaudy clothing, the brightest thing about her is her smile. She's always smiling, even towards people that she's never met, and her wide grin is matched by the wonder that is clear in her bright brown eyes. How her eyes are so bright is a mystery, but they're the brightest browns Kei has ever seen. Much like with her clothing, Kei's hair is eccentric though has periods where the style doesn't change, just the color. Often she'll go blonde for a month and then spend half a year with brown hair before deciding that she felt like streaking her hair in a rainbow. What makes her vibrant style all the more odd - as if there weren't enough oddities as is - is that she doesn't look like a child; she actually looks like an adult, albeit one that still possess the quality of life that several youths have. But there are blemishes on her skin covered up by cosmetics (which area also eyecatching and vibrant) and a sort of weary-eyed tiredness behind the wide wonderment. She's an especially slim woman, but with that comes a flexibility that always manages to get applause and oohs and aahs from those she's entertaining. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Childish ♦ Eternally Optimistic ♦ Vibrant ♦ Altruistic ♦ Kei only cares about one thing on any given day and that is making sure that anyone she meets leaves with a smile or, failing that, a brightened mood. She treats the world and the things she sees with a childlike wonder, impressed by the simplest things no matter how often she sees them. Kei is the type of person who is amazed every time someone turns on the lights in a dark room. This also has he unfortunate side effect of her being rather naive, or at least quite good at pretending to be naive. Kei doesn't see the bad in anyone, still believing after all these years that everyone is a wonderful person and that so-called 'bad people' are just people that don't know how good they truly are. Of course, because things are rarely so sunshine and rainbows as Kei would like to believe, she has been taken advantage of countless times in her life. People have taken every bit of money she had on her person and she would still wave them goodbye and wish them well. That she is so positive could very much be seen as dangerous, after all who was always so damn happy, but with Kei that's just how she is. There's no deep ulterior motive, she's just happy to meet you and happier to help you if she can. Even still, Kei has felt the years and the countless instances of strife, from small conflicts to larger, world affairs, and though she has remained so upbeat all this time...it's definitely taken its toll on the girl. Her greatest fear is in finding out what would happen if she should wake up one day and not feel positive. She doesn't believe she could handle such a powerful mood swing so she'll continue to smile until it hurts. And even then she'll endure it so long as it makes people happy. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Children, and their innocent laughter and joy ✔ The satisfaction that comes with helping others ✔ Ice Cream. Such a sweet treat should be enjoyed year round! ✔ Walking under an umbrella on a rainy day, with company or alone ✔ Stand up comedians, but not the super raunchy ones. ✔ Handheld games, they're so colorful! ✔ Making snow angels or really any weather-related activity ✘ Rude, vulgar people ✘ Being ignored ✘ People that don't thank others for holding the door open ✘ Spicy foods, why do they have to be so hot? ✘ Action movies ✘ People that spend most of their day looking at their phones. You're missing out on life! ✘ Loud, abrasive music \| History \| For the longest time, Kei was alone. She was born, she believes, but she knew only the faces of her parents and the hushed whispers before things went dark. When she awoke, she was alone and lost, living near a mountain in relative seclusion. Animals fled from her; perhaps they could sense the magical energies present inside of her, magical energies which never seemed to manifest themselves. Still, Kei, then a nameless fairy, tried to keep a positive outlook on her situation. She was surrounded by such beauty, after all, the trees and grass, the clouds in the sky, the wind in the air...what was not to love about, well...life? Her first meeting with others came when her ears picked up the sounds of what sounded like singing. Curious, Kei followed her ears to find a gathering of humans who weren't singing but rather praying as they buried one of their own. Kei didn't say a word, she merely observed this curious act until it ended. As the humans were returning to their homes, Kei met the gaze of a young man; she waved to him but he was whisked away before any further interaction could be made. The man came back a few days later and attempted to converse with Kei. Kei had never heard the language before, but enjoyed listening to the speech. The man believed that she was like the spirits in the stories, the ones that could bring the dead back to life. The man took her back to his home where his mother had fallen gravely ill. He wanted Kei to save her but the only comfort Kei could bring was to make the sickly woman's last days brighter. The mother passed on with a smile and Kei was welcomed among the humans as someone to ease the transition fro life to death. She didn't exactly understand this, but she was needed, she was loved, and she was happy. Kei was given the name Kei, after the first man's mother, and she lived among the people, learning their language at a rapid pace. It wasn't long before she was actually having conversations with everyone. But time is a cruel mistress and the people Kei lived with eventually succumbed to their own end. But Kei wouldn't let sadness keep her down, she couldn't. So she traveled, finding another village and living among them. While she couldn't raise the dead, she could ease the dying and that was a valued commodity in those days. Kei's heart knew no evil and is what allowed her to remain so youthful and childish well into her years. With the advent of continental travel, Kei's horizons expanded, and for the longest time she simply found a place to settle and learn and interact with the population. Spoken languages were a minor hurdle but she learned quickly. Kei took to learning sign language because it was international. Her travels just so happened to coincide with her stay in the U.K. and because coincidences are a real problem, so too did the world find out about the Others. She counts herself among them, being that she is one of them, but she hopes that this revelation can usher in peace between the two vastly different cultures. Even Others know how to smile, after all. \| Family \| Kei considers everyone she's lived with to be her family, and that is far too long a list. But she remembers them all. Or...well...most of them. \| Strengths \| Never in a bad mood A people person Honest to a fault \| Weaknesses \| Naive, very much so Easily swayed Gets lost fairly frequently The Other \| Theme Song \| Hurry Up! – noanowa ”Being alone makes me feel like I’m about to lose all the time When I was sad, when I was happy, you were by my side all the time It was a miracle The world I saw with you It’s like soaring lightning in a storm I wish tirelessly for tomorrow to be a great day For it to be a great day” \| House Number \| Churchill Gardens, 7B or with anyone who lets her stay over \| Extra Information \| Negative
997	14	12	767	121	Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi Location: 30B Faraday Heights Interacting with (Yukiko) and (Stefani) Upon the off-white expanse of her ceiling there were five cracks, three of which had only come to be after she had arrived at 30B and taken residence in this banal square of a room. The largest crack, running from the corner looking over the frame of the doorway and zig-zagging clear across to the other side, ran a length of thick vines down the breadth of it, that branched out freely towards the top of her wardrobe situated in the far right-hand corner. The other two cracks that had appeared in the room since her appearance housed spindlier leaves, that hung down like thin curtains, changing length at will to either touch the floor or huddle towards the ceiling. All three collections of flora, perpetually swaying softly in an nonexistent breeze, would sprout flowers of any random variety, the breed changing and shifting depending on any variable, from the time of day to the mood and energy of the rooms occupant. Maggie, from her vantage point laid atop her iron wrought bed, drifted her gaze from where she had been counting the cracks in her ceiling, and gazed upon the vines, who fluttered and preened in their decoration for the day. Hibiscus, Maggie mused inwardly, a hand idly playing with the thick helmet of her hair, commonly grown in Asia and bloom in the sun. She turned her head to rest against her right shoulder, peering at the window, covered by a set of floor-length blinds, and no doubt concealing the harrowing, chilling weather of London in January outside. A small smile curved into the corner of Maggies lips, her plants always seemed to have a sense of humor, or at least some vague sense of irony. With a soft sigh, Maggie drew the hand, that had been toying with the wiry curls of her hair, down her face, blinking several times up at her ceiling again, and thought, again, that she should get out of bed. She had checked her phone, charging on her bedside table, as soon as she had woken, the automatic weather updates declaring the weather, an accompanying update from the BBC news site affirming the storm brewing, and explaining the basis behind it. Maggie hummed thoughtfully as she recalled the news report, burrowing deeper into her plush duvet as the wind gave another heavy howl outside. This business with the Fae had little to do with her, and typically she never spent too many a thought on them. Really...since this international outing, this explosion of creatures uprising, demanding rights and protection, in the face of all of it Maggie had really just got on with it, she went to lectures, she went to work, she woke up, she went to sleep. "The key thing you need to do sweetheart, is stay the same." her Mother advised, striving around the entirety of the living room, a mumble of a spell from closed lips and magic dancing between her fingers, "Do what you've always done, don't panic, don't avoid questions and just give mundane answers." Evelyn stopped in the centre of the room, tall and imposing, before making a sudden line towards the balcony doors, startling an idling Yukiko out of the way. Maggie watched as her Mother ran a singing hand in an X across each tall pane, the glass pulsing as she inscribed a new ward. "Act confused as if it's completely ridiculous that they're asking you these sort of things, make them trust you, don't trust them" Evelyn commanded, peering out the window at the sky before turning back to address her Daughter firmly, speaking in a tone that left no room for argument. "You can't give them any chances Maggie, you can't trust them. They've drowned us, and burned us and hung us, and that type of hate, that anger and fear, it doesn't go away. But you'll be fine, you can hide, trust in me and trust in the Coven, you'll be fine. They've been hunting us for centuries, we've learned how to adapt." Maggie lifted a hand out from her duvet, reaching for her phone and unlocking it, the screen snapping on to the trending news report she'd been reading previously. This 'Helsing' manifesto was nothing new anymore, everyday a new story, a new expose, a new smear campaign blazed across a homepage, a global trending hashtag, evangelical sites... Maggie released a slow sigh into her duvet, the sound muffled by the plush fabric, and placed her phone on her bedside table again, slowly shifting the warmth of the duvet off her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, bare toes brushing the cold bare wooden boards of her floor as she stretched for a few long seconds, running a hand through her hair. Idly running a hand in greeting through the draping vines that hung from her ceiling, Maggie made for her desk chair, picking up the thick woolen jumper that lay on the chair and pulling it over her head. Padding across the floorboards she approached her door, noting the muffled voices out in the main room, and opened the door, closing it behind her. Maggie stood still outside her room for a few seconds, giving a small hum in greeting to the wall of creeping vines that arched around her doorway and stretched into the living room/kitchen. After the vines gave a short quiver in response, Maggie moved the short distance down the hallway, rounding the corner into the main room and surveyed that mornings happenings. She spied Yuki, hunched in front of the television, dressed for the day and poised in delicate but obvious anger, when Maggie peered over at the screen and saw the news she could guess why. Tugging slightly on the hem of her jumper, Maggie drifted pointedly towards the ensuite kitchen, giving a small nod to Stefanie before weaving around her, padding over towards the coffee machine. Lifting one of the mugs hanging on the small wooden mug tree next to the machine, Maggie poured herself a cup of warm coffee, turning around to pan her eyes around the room, leaning back against the counter as she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip.	Margaret 'Maggie' Spencer-Adeyemi Witch Basic Information \| Name \| Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi \| Date of Birth \| April 14th 1999 \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Gay \| Occupation \| Undergraduate Student in Natural Sciences at University College London \| Part-timer at a cafe/plant nursery 'Windowbox' in Brixton \| In-Depth Appearance \| Dressed with a quiet grace and unassuming presence, Maggie is never eager to take up too much space, instead taking to blending into the background like a classic wallflower. Small in a way that leaves no doubt she was a scrawny child, Maggie stands at a height of 5'3 with size 4 feet and gangly arms that seem just a little too long for the rest of her body. She's slim, an exhibit of thin arms and legs, but owns two hands rough with calluses, and a line-straight head-high posture born less of self-confidence and more of strict instillment. Her hair is thick and curly and usually worn down, save for when she's working or revising, in which case she ties it back. Clothing-wise Maggie has always preferred a quiet and smart outfit, enjoying neutral colours and geometric patterns. Her most frequent choice of outfit is a simple blouse and skirt pairing, though like any other student Maggie also owns a selection of skinny jeans, loose shirts and hoodies, most of which are worn at work. Near all of her outfits are matched with any pair of worn converse she hoards, or a fancy pair of ankle boots. Down the back of her left calve runs a long scar, nearly indistinguishable from her brown skin, but noticeable to an observant eye. Born in Surrey to a fairly upper middle-class family, Maggie speaks with a distinctly 'posh' accent. Who Am I? \| Personality \| ♦ Quiet ♦ Sensitive ♦ Curious ♦ Friendly ♦ Remarked upon by almost anyone who knows her as a quiet and intelligent girl, Maggie has never been 'a mystery' or 'an enigma'. Instead she's always been like a 'constant', as if an unmovable object in an ever changing scene that slowly fades into the background until it is just an accepted aspect of the background, not striking or unconventional, and just 'there'. Because of this it wouldn't be unfair to call Maggie insipid or, at worst, bland. What's more, Maggie herself embraces her lack of distinction, having always enjoyed her privacy and holds a fondness for a quiet place to breathe. By no means is Maggie a true introvert, but she is a lover for a clear mind, something she most often finds in the single seat tucked away in the corner, and the 5am walks along Southbank. Despite her regularly self-imposed isolation from most of society, Maggie is always nothing less than cordial when meeting new people, and expresses a friendly fondness for those few she would call friends, and a sincere devotion to those she considers closest to her. Bright and observant, Maggie is endlessly curious and a brilliant listener, and if you found yourself detailing your life story to her you wouldn't help but feel that Maggie held a genuine fascination for your words. Maggie is however much less willing to divulge too much of her own story, and perhaps you might theorize that her eagerness to listen was due to an inability to share, or to open up that quietly guarded disposition and reveal any number of secrets that would fade away part of the uplifted chin and quick graceful walk. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Gardening ✔Long walks early in the morning ✔Strong coffee with no milk or sugar ✔Cult film screenings at the Prince Charles cinema ✔New Stationary ✔Patient people ✔Browsing the book market underneath Waterloo Bridge ✔Music with no lyrics ✘Very large crowds ✘Liars and cheaters ✘Waiting for a bus in the rain ✘Medicine ✘When time passes too quickly \| History \| Born into the world quietly and quickly early on a Wednesday morning, Maggie was named so for her Mothers Grandmother and for the exclamation that she was 'precious as a pearl'. The latest of a long line of Witches whose magic was isolated to the women, Maggie belonged to the Adeyemi family, a strong and accomplished clan descended from the Vodon Priests of Benin, immigrated to London during the Windrush years. Born to Phillip Spencer, a human Property Developer, and Evelyn Adeyemi, a Witch renowned amongst her kind, Maggie was raised in a comfortable and affluent household and demonstrated her first sparks magic at a young age. Her Mother, Evelyn, an alumni of the Brithonic Coven and a pragmatic statue of a woman, was keen to fashion her only child into a Witch of the Age, a talented and powerful individual of authority who would command respect and carry the Adeyemi name with honor. Unfortunately, in contrast to her Mothers ease of skill and confidence, Maggies abilities came slower and her manner shyer. Despite this, Evelyn would not be deterred and, when her marriage ended in divorce and Evelyn granted primary custody of her child, she took every opportunity to educate her child. For years, whilst her magic grew quietly at it's own pace, Maggie was participant to endless lessons, lectures and demonstrations under the watchful eye of her Mother, learning the back to front of magical theory and history. The constant magical environment eventually showed its benefits, as at the age of 14, Maggie finally came fully into her magic and surprised many by revealing her magic to correspond more to Elemental Magic, a rarity in her family. As her Mother specialized in Necromancy and could provide little basis for an education on Elemental Magic, Evelyn allowed Maggie her space to grow and learn on her own, setting the girl to private study. Through this Maggie attained an appreciation for isolation and developed into the quiet studious woman she is today. Leaving School with good marks, Maggie divulged her plan to move to London and attend University there, arguing that the freedom would allow her the proper space and time to properly learn all the intricacies of her magic and figure out just what it was she could bring to the family, as well as the world. Evelyn, who by this point was swamped with Necromantic contracts from all over the world, agreed to letting Maggie leave home, on the condition that her Daughter assimilate herself into the Brithonic Coven, so she would be kept safe living in the city. Keeping her promise, upon arriving in London Maggie sent word to the coven of her arrival and was welcomed, largely upon acknowledgement of her family name. Although the wealth of knowledge and history suddenly available at her fingertips as part of the Brithonic Coven was enticing, Maggie disliked the tighter community and strict rules, and dislikes frequenting the coven too much. Instead, she found herself wandering online more and more often, scouring the resources of the Circle of Sorcery and wondering if maybe, just maybe one day she could be brave enough and follow her curiosity. \| Family \| -Evelyn Adeyemi: Mother to Maggie and assuming Matriarch of the Adeyemi clan, Evelyn is renowned for her magic skill among her kind and is an accomplished Necromancer who is contracted all over the world. An example of her great talent lies in her companion, the reanimated and rejuvenated corpse of Ada Lovelace, the soul of which Evelyn summoned back to the Plain of the Living to assist her with her taxes, and has accompanied her ever since. A tall and striking woman of seemingly limitless confidence, Evelyn expects her Daughter to live up to the Adeyemi name. -Phillip Spencer: Father to Maggie and Founder of a highly successful property development company, Phillip is a fairly quiet man who is hard to surprise. A regular human who became aware of the existence of The Other through his ex-Wife Evelyn, Phillip prefers to almost ignore most things supernatural, and has little to no idea of how to treat his Daughter and her magic. Nonetheless he loves Maggie dearly, and pays the rent of Maggies flat in Faraday Heights. \| Strengths \| -Ecological empathy -Patient -Observant \| Weaknesses \| -Unwilling for sudden change, almost stubborn -Prefers isolation, doesn't seek people out -Curious to a fault, lacks a real sense of danger The Other \| Theme Song \| Dreamhead – Home (Lyric-less song) \| House Number \| 30B Faraday Heights \| Extra Information \| Though Maggies magic is Elemental it's strictly centered in Ecology, and shows itself largely through her talent with gardening and growing plants. Because of this empathy Maggie has many plants throughout her flat and several of them have grown so strong due to her presence that they've begun rooting into the floor and extending vines across the ceilings. Despite the fact that the plants in 26B flourish and quiver with her mood, Maggie has no real control over her plants, currently lacking the power and discipline. When first moving to London, Maggie opted to stay in a flat closer to the city centre, but had to move within a few months due to several incidents involving her burgeoning powers, the final straw being when a neighbours sudden abundance of weed has the police calling round and Maggie quietly moving out to avoid suspicion. For a long time after that Maggie lived with her Father in his house out in Bromley, and only recently decided to move out on her own again. Drawn to the concentration of Other in Edgeton, Maggie moved to the borough and subsequently into Faraday Heights. Maggies journey into flat 30B is short and simple, Maggie saw an ad by the building manager advertising two rooms, Maggie guessed she'd probably need at least two, and upon meeting her prospective flatmate Yuki and understanding they were 'kin', Maggie chose to stay.
998	14	13	156	2,749	Location: Random Man’s Apartment → The Early Bean → Spruce Ave. Interaction: Mentions of Opallum , Talking to Nicolas Black There were times when Nikita couldn’t sleep. Nights where she tossed and turned in her bed, skin on fire, and head aching and pounding like the steady bass of a song. She has tried everything on the internet, all the drugs, all the over-the-counter medicine. She used melatonin so much that not even a whole bottle could put her to sleep for more than a few hours. However, Nikita eventually found a solution to such nights – it seems, hilariously enough and true to her nature, nothing quite put Nikita to sleep like a good fuck. And the man who turned in the bed Nikita was dazedly laying in, throwing his arm around her waist and snuggling into her neck, was anything but that. Nikita sighed through her nose, rubbing her makeup crusted eye as she sat up, tossing the man’s arm from her body. His mouth slipped open from the sudden jerk of his unconscious body and a line of drool spilt from the corner of his cracked lips. Nikita couldn’t help the sound of disgust that escaped her mouth, her lip curling as she slipped from the bed in nothing but her birthday suit. At this point in her life, especially considering that she’s a twenty-six-year-old succubus, Nikita has become an expert on skipping out on one-night stands. Slipping into her tight jeans and slipping her arms into her leather jacket, forgoing a t-shirt and instead pocketing the slightly ripped fabric in her bag, the succubus couldn’t help the derisive thoughts of her bedmate that came to mind. Of course, being a professional (well, ex-professional), she found it her duty to sexducate him on the goings on of a female’s body. It was a crude drawing, with not many words, and a simple arrow pointing to what his objective should be. Nikita placed some gorilla glue onto the sticky part of the sticky note, just to make sure, and pressed her thumb along the paper so the glue took to the creased flesh of the idiot’s forehead. “Slimy bastard.” Nikita murmured, flicking the note out of spite, before shouldering her bag and slipping out the door. The cold air of Edgetoun breathed frost onto Nikita’s exposed collarbone, and Nikita regretted her decision of no-shirt. Wrapping her arms around her body in a foolish attempt to warm herself, Nikita wandered near the coffee place, something Bean, with hopes of a nice cup of coffee to heat up her bones and lungs. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as she passed by that one homeless demon – his name always escaped her; but, then again, she never really tried to remember his name – and, without sparing him a glance, she pressed the doors open. The TV was blaring some boring news report that Nikita couldn’t find herself to give a damn about, instead focusing on ordering a hot cup of caffeinated heaven. While waiting impatiently for the barista to fix her up, Nikita allowed her eyes to strain to the television, her peeling-painted black fingernails tapping with unspent energy on the counter. Nikki Thomas was muttering on about the weather and then on about the Unseelie – wait what. Though Nikita didn’t give any outside reaction, her eyes still narrowed impassively and her fingers tapping incessantly, the succubus could feel her veins pump hot blood ten times faster at the news. How annoying – fucking Unseelie fae. Though Nikita agreed with their sentiment, she did have a job that she needed to go to and having a blizzard was going to make it more unpleasant than it already was. “What a bunch of bitches, amirite?” Nikita’s eyes slid to the barista who spoke, slipping her the hot coffee with a blinding smile. He was obviously American, and the American pin stuck next to his name tag on the green nametag made her sneer slightly at such annoying patriotism. “Right.” Nikita grunted in response, grabbing the coffee and exiting the place as quickly as possible. By the time she arrived at her home, the coffee was mostly gone and her mood was even more sour than it was that morning. There was a pent-up anger in her muscles and a tight exasperation at the whole situation roiling in her gut. Fucking werewolves, they were so messy. Nikita slammed the door shut behind her, slinking into the kitchen and ignoring the current werewolf that lived with her presently. She poured water into the Keurig and popped a coffee cup in place, pressing the button twice, as if it would make the machine pump out the stuff faster. Nikita would kill for a smoothie at that moment – strawberry, her favorite – but it was too cold and too much effort, so coffee would do. As she waited, she stalked to a chair at the table, across from Nicolas Black, and checked her phone for further updates. “Have you seen the video?” Nikita mumbled, her voice raspy from lack of use, and her eyes glanced up to the Other across from her. As if to provide clarification, Nikita scratched her cheek as she said the stupidest name to ever exist for a fucking manifesto: "Helsing, that video."	\| N A M E \| Nikita "Nikki" Irene Yankovsky \| D A T E O F B I R T H \| September 22, 1994 \| G E N D E R \| Female \| S E X U A L I T Y \| Pansexual \| O C C U P A T I O N \| Police Officer specializing in undercover investigations Ex-Adult Film Actress (18-21) \| I N - D E P T H A P P E A R A N CE \| Being a succubus didn’t exactly guarantee Nikita any particular beauty. Though she definitely is beautiful, it’s her style and swagger as well as her oozing confidence that give her the allure rather than her appearance. Matter of fact, if she were stripped of all that, men wouldn’t look at her twice. Because Nikita didn’t possess the luscious lips that her mother did, or the beautifully flouncing hair that men seemed to adore, and her eye color wasn’t particularly exotic. Rather, Nikita had a plain appearance – not too thick, not too thin lips that were often cracked and bare; greasy brown hair that wasn’t exactly curly, but the thickness was tangled and snagged that it gave it a certain amount of volume and it seemed so bedraggled and messy; her eyes were a hazel-green that only looked green up close, and regular brown from a distance. Her body isn’t particularly overwhelming – she’s short at 5’4” and has thick, strong legs and a nice curve to her waist; however, her cleavage isn’t the most impressive and her badonka is of normal size. Her makeup is of the grunge sort, as is her clothes, with heavy eye makeup and practically no lip makeup done. She prefers dark clothes and bared legs with her top is not usually particularly revealing, however it’s not rare for her to don something risqué every once and awhile. Her shoes are either perfectly shiny boots or ragged sneakers, but high heels and expensive brand names are never seen on her feet. Nikita never puts much thought into her appearance – unless it’s a jacket. Nikita is very picky and particular with her jackets; they are always kept in perfect condition and are very stylish. Her hoodies do not have a single stain on them and her leather jackets have never been worn cracked. Nikita’s voice is rather husky and low with a cockney accent; it often sounds gritty and raspy due to her sometimes going days without speaking. Being a succubus, Nikita doesn’t really have a demon form – there seems to be no point considering that her kind was explicitly made to seduce humans. However, whenever she’s sucking out someone’s sexual energy, her eyes tend to turn a vivid amber color. When Nikita walks, she exudes arrogance with her slouched swaggering way of walking and confident but not overboard sway of her hips. People may think she has a rather alluring smell, though no one can pinpoint exactly what it is. Nikita has a few scars on her back from BDSM gone wrong, but they’re rather small and on the corner of her shoulder. She’s covered them with a stereotypical tattoo of flying silhouettes of birds. \| P E R S O N A L I T Y \| ♦ Quiet ♦ Independent ♦ Apathetic ♦ Observant ♦ There is a certain air about Nikita, an aura of carefree attitude and sarcasm that simmers on the front, ready to lash out. Many perceive her as one of those rebels; the kind who obnoxiously shout their opinions and make their thoughts known, the type that are easily provoked and jump at every chance to fight someone. But Nikita was never like that, far from it. The truth of Nikita is that she’s quiet. She could go days without talking and still be perfectly content. When speaking, her words are decided upon deliberately, and every sentence and coherent thought spoken aloud has a certain amount of thought and weight placed on it. She hides her true feelings and thoughts behind a wall of iron and steel, her emotions imperceptible to those around her unless she specifically elaborates to others – which is a rare occasion in itself. Nikita hates the feeling of being vulnerable; she hates being at the mercy and pity of others, relying on someone else to help her, and perhaps this is why she refuses to divulge her problems when she has them. Instead of asking for help, Nikita would rather die because she couldn’t help herself than have to rely on the kindness of a friend or stranger. Because of her closed off nature, Nikita is a little bit of a loner. Not to say she doesn’t have friends, because Nikita has an abundance of too-loud friends that she drinks, parties, sleeps with on a daily basis but even with them, Nikita is an outsider. She laughs with them and reminisces, but they never ask her questions about her past or present, or how she feels – it’s just as she likes it. When it comes to her friends, they are in a sphere of just them, and everything on the outside doesn’t matter, not their work or failing relationships or mistakes. Nikita doesn’t like others help, she doesn’t like the burden of owing others and she hates the weight that dependency lies on her shoulders. If she wants something, Nikita is determined to get it herself through her own means. As such, independence is an important aspect of her life and Nikita would rather die than be trapped in a dependent relationship of sorts – whether it’s platonic, romantic, or toxic. Therefore, Nikita has a tendency to hold others at arm length rather than embracing a friendship or relationship, leading to Nikita’s relationships with family, friends, and significant others being rather difficult and ultimately failing. As a general rule of thumb, if you want to assume something about Nikita, assume she doesn’t care. Nikita finds it hard to care about anything and finds generally everything pointless. Her apathetic carelessness often leads to her hurting others, making mistakes, and pissing everybody off. When Nikita became a cop, she didn’t become a cop in order to protect others, but rather it was a steady source of income and she was good at it. She tends to not pay much mind to things that don’t directly involve her and in moments in which bad things do happen to her, Nikita simply shrugs it off. Being a rather quiet person who tends to keep to herself as well as an undercover cop, Nikita has become really good at reading others’ body language. This, of course, does not mean she knows exactly what other people are thinking – that’s impossible – but Nikita is rather good at picking up social queues and picking up when others aren’t acting like themselves or are being suspicious. Furthermore, Nikita has a lot of patience and is willing to wait for others to come to her when they want to talk rather than force it out of them. She prefers subtlety that way, and keeps secrets rather well, though most of the time she does so out of the pretense that it is none of her goddamn business rather than because she cares or feels obligated to. \| L I K E S & D I S L I K E S \| ✔Vanilla Ice Cream w/ Soy Sauce ✔Phone App Games (especially Angry Birds) ✔Incense ✔Strawberry Smoothies ✔Bad Movies/Parody Movies (Sharknado is currently her favorite) ✔Cat Videos on YouTube ✔Wet Weather ✘Green Food ✘Moths ✘Pretentiousness ✘Feather Pillows ✘Hot Weather ✘Day Drinkers ✘Unfashionable Jackets \| H I S T O R Y \| Unlike most other demons, Nikita doesn’t have to lie about her age – yet. Twenty-six years ago, on September 22, Nikita was born to Valentina Yankovsky. Nikita never knew much about her father; he was a random incubus stranger who was too unimportant to know his name and, apparently, the owner of a bad batch of condoms. Despite not knowing her father, Nikita never really questioned her mother about or let it bother her; family never seemed that important to Nikita. Perhaps it was because of her isolated upbringing, in which Nikita spent her time going to school and coming home to an empty house. Growing up, Nikita always knew what she was. She understood that, while she could go to school with humans and have a regular job like humans, humans would always be her prey in some way or another. Therefore, Nikita never bothered envying humans or wishing she could be normal, instead Nikita focused on what was rather than what could be. In school, instead of having close relationships with her classmates, Nikita spent her time doing homework, reading, and playing videogames. Her life at home was mostly lonely. Valentina loved her daughter, but they were both very secluded, withdrawn people and so they didn’t really bond or speak at all. Around the time when Nikita turned eleven, Valentina decided she could stay at home for long periods of time by herself, and began to leave for months at a time. When Nikita was sixteen, she didn’t see her mother for a whole year. Nikita never experienced a real romance, she didn’t have the presence of mind to even try for a romance. Her first time was in the backseat of a car of a random stranger who just happened to be incredibly handsome and vulnerable. That was as romantic as Nikita got. When she became legal, Nikita entered the adult film business in order to pay for university. At university, Nikita studied political science and, well, had a lot of sex if we’re being completely honest – like a lot. However, when Nikita was twenty-one, she got a call from a stranger claiming to be her long lost twin sister, named Nadia. Apparently, Nadia became aware of her through her adult films that her boyfriend seemed to like. Unfortunately, Nadia did not know of her succubus nature in which Nikita had to break it to her, which was an affair in itself. The idea of having a family member she didn’t know anything about pissed Nikita off and she confronted her mother, Valentina about it. Valentina shared that, when she found out she was pregnant with twins, she decided that two kids was too much for her, as simple as that. Valentina gave up Nadia for adoption and that was that – thoughts of her second (and oldest) child left her mind. With the truth known, Nikita set up a meeting between Valentina and Nadia which didn’t end up well (especially with Nadia being overly affectionate and warm and the Yankovsky duo being rather cold and impersonal). Having met Valentina, Nadia decided to introduce Nikita to her adoptive parents, who were rich business owners that were not too happy with a doppelganger appearing naked on the internet with her daughter’s face. Nadia’s parents blackmailed Nikita to quit the porn industry and, without the money to pay for her university, Nikita dropped out. With no further education than her basic High School Diploma, Nikita decided that a job in law enforcement was really the only way to go. She moved off campus and into Edgetoun as well as entered training school to become a police officer. The training period went by quickly and Nikita’s (albeit lacking) acting skills made her a good option for an undercover cop. Nothing much happened during this time period, Nikita pretty much ignored Nadia’s existence, except for the occasional coffee if Nikita felt particularly guilty that day, and Valentina was somewhere off in Asia, probably making more family members that Nikita did not want to have. However, with the arrival of knowledge that the human community attained, Nikita didn’t know quite what to do with herself. In the beginning, she had felt like panicking, but instead quelled it and pushed it down, pretending the problem didn’t exist. The following week, Nikita went to work and move about, pretending as if nothing was happening. Still is, though anxiety is quietly creeping up her spine. \| F A M I L Y \| \|\|Nadia Ackermann \| 26 \| Twin Sister\|\| - Nikita's long lost twin sister. Nadia found it odd when she saw her face in her then-boyfriend's newly bought adult film. After a little bit of digging, they made contact. While Nadia adores Nikita and wants to get closer to her, Nikita mostly ignores her sister's presence with the occasional birthday card a few days late. Nikita thinks of Nadia as a little bit of a dumb bimbo, with her dyed blonde hair and her love for acronyms, but Nadia is intelligent in her own way. \|\|Valentina Yankovsky \| Unknown \| Mother\|\| - Nikita's succubus mother. Nikita was raised by her mother, though they had a strained relationship. It's not so because they were different or that they didn't like each other, but mostly because they were both very private people and would not often share personal things with each other. When Nikita was in her tweens, Valentina saw her fit to become independent and would often leave for months at a time - even for a whole year, once. Nikita never blamed or held it over her mother's head, because she understood Valentina's need for adventure and for a life on the edge. However, with the news of a twin sister she never heard of, their relationship has been tenser than usual. \| S T R E N G T H S \| Observant Seductive Patient \| W E A K N E S S E S \| Apathetic Withdrawn Sex-Driven \| T H E M E S O N G \| Hurricane – Halsey "I'm a wanderess I'm a one night stand Don't belong to no city Don't belong to no man I'm the violence in the pouring rain I'm a hurricane” \| H O U S E N U M B E R \| Faircourt - 5361 Spruce Avenue \| E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N \| Bilingual (Russian and English)
999	14	14	2,567	1,182	Location: Avalon Point – Home. Interacting with: Alistair Underneath layers of blankets and another additional layer of plushies and stuffed animals, Megumi was curled up around a teddy bear, fast asleep and in dreamland. Several of her stuffed animals that were neatly placed on her bed were scattered across the floor from her moving around so much in her sleep. Everything about the room was bright, happy and warm, just as Megumi liked it. Pinks, oranges, and yellows were by far her favorite colors, and there were several pictures taped up on the walls with that very color scheme. "Mmmmm...." Megumi stirred, a slight frown forming as she rolled over. She burrowed herself more deeply and securely underneath the blankets, going as far as pulling the blanket over her head. Her bed was so warm and soft and nice, perfectly cocooning her small body... She was in the perfect position in her bed where everything was comfortable and begging her to stay in its cozy confines. 「あと五分・・・」 Five more minutes. She wasn't ready to go outside and go to school. It was increasingly becoming more difficult to force her feet to move her forward to take her to her classroo— Wait. School? Off? A small, pale hand poked out from underneath the blanket, pushing aside the swath of blankets so her face could peek out. Bleary eyes were directed towards the voice as she pushed herself into a sitting position, gazing at nothing as her sleepy mind struggled to piece together what was just said. There was drowsy confusion on her face before it shifted into a thoughtful expression before it finally brightened into a happy smile. All sleepiness forgotten, Megumi shoved aside the blankets and stuffed animals to leap enthusiastically out of the bed. (She didn't forget to grab her stuffed bunny doll's paw though.) Giggling blithely, she scampered across the room to yank open the door. She had to completely tilt her head up to cast a wide smile to her current father-figure.「学校無いの！？本当に！？」 There's no school? Really!? In her moment of excitement, she completely forgot that she was supposed to be speaking English on a regular basis.	\| Name \| Fiona Blake Preston If you call her Fiona, she will cut you. It's Blake. \| Date of Birth \| October 13th, 1997 \| Gender \| Female \| Sexuality \| Fluid \| Occupation \| High school dropout — Blogger/Youtuber and barista Blake was never a straight A student. She often cut class, didn't turn in homework, didn't study... It was only a matter of time until she dropped out. Fortunately for her, she's found minor success in blogging. While she doesn't rake in the a LOT of money, it's enough to keep her afloat. As long as she keeps her barista job at this little coffee shop, she can get by with a little extra left over for herself. \| In-Depth Appearance \| Despite the fact that she's always telling people to "FITE ME," Blake is a rather frail and petite. She may be tough, and she may bite and claw and kick and play dirty, but at the end of the day she's a petite lady that only stands at 5'2. She definitely does not look physically imposing whatsoever. Her threats are often disregarded for good reason — Blake is in no way able to hold her own in a fight. Blake is "unladylike" according to her mother. She doesn't sit up straight, and spreads her legs when she sits down. Even after years of being chastised by her mother, she hasn't learned (or rather, refused to learn) and her posture is the worst it's ever been and it makes her look even shorter than she actually is. There's usually a cigarette between her slender fingers, and when she's relaxing at all, she sprawls out all over the ground, bench, couch, chair... Whatever it may be. Yup, she's the type of person to sit at the edge of a seat and lean back, spread her arms and legs out and hog the entire thing. It's obvious from her own sense of style (it's grunge, by the way) that she doesn't particularly put too much effort into her appearance. Her unruly hair is always tied up in a messy ponytail without a second thought or any particular styling. Her naturally brunette hair is hastily bleached with her roots beginning to show. Her face is usually devoid of makeup — it's too much work, and too girly. Oh, speaking of which, Blake will always always always resist wearing skirts or dresses or heels. It takes a lot of convincing to force her into one of those things. She's content with her ripped jeans, combat boots and flannel thank you very much. "Blake Preston; Blogger, youtuber, queer extraordinaire, and general failure at life at your service." \| Personality \| ♦ Hotheaded ♦ Temperamental ♦ Aggressive ♦ Tomboy ♦ A girl prone to outbursts of emotions, Blake is someone who doesn't know the meaning of the word "restraint." She lets her emotions run freely and away, often leaving her more rational brain behind. She doesn't hold back whatsoever; when she's angry, she rages. When she's sad, she wails. When she laughs, everything about her lights up. She's passionate, and she experiences life to the fullest. Sometimes a little too fully. Her passionate moods have a tendency to be volatile and rampant, often swinging wildly out of her own control. There's little to no chance in reasoning with her when she's upset in any way. Blake has an adventurous streak that's unbound and unrestricted by rules. She bends and sometimes even breaks laws (to her, they're more like guidelines) to suit her needs. A lot of her interest was peaked by stories of the supernatural and the occult, so she's done her fair share of breaking into abandoned houses that were supposedly haunted and such. She's not a skeptic, she's a believer. There's just got to be something beyond humanity. It's a little cheesy, but her fascination with monsters, ghost stories, fortune telling... It's unparalleled. She's never been the type to sit down and study anything, but she's spent hours and hours poring over books concerning the mystical. She's rather aggressive and isn't afraid to get into anyone's face. She can often be heard telling people to "FIGHT ME" and "Wanna say that to my face!?" and "I can take ya!" while shooting death glares. She's all talk though, and although she wouldn't hesitate to punch someone in the face, she knows that she's a bit too weak to really fight someone. It doesn't stop her from egging someone on though. That's landed her in a lot of trouble in the past when she bites off a lot more than she can chew and pushes someone too far. Blake doesn't make friends very easily due to her temperamental and aggressive nature, but when she does make friends she displays a softer side. She cares a lot about many different things, and that includes the people close to her heart. She's overprotective, sometimes a bit smothering with her affection, and is a bit clumsy at being a friend, but she sure as hell is loyal and tries her very best. \| Likes & Dislikes \| ✔Occult, ghost stories and horror movies ✔Chocolate milkshakes with whipped cream topping and a chocolate drizzle on top ✔Tim Burton movies ✔Bending rules and sneaking around ✔Spicy snacks like hot cheetos and takis ✔Cheesy romantic movies, gestures and whatnot ✔Thrills and adventure ✔Nachos ✔Fortune Telling (notably palm-reading and tarot cards) ✔Playing guitar ✘Being feminine ✘Cheesy romantic movies, gestures and whatnot ✘Feeling trapped ✘Being forced to do something (like schoolwork) ✘Licorice ✘Cats — They're cute but she's very allergic ✘Fancy chocolates \| History \| Can you believe that the tomboy-ish Blake was once a girl that dressed in Mary Janes, flouncy skirts and ribbons in her hair? When she was younger, Fiona actually went by her first name, and she was her mother's little angel and dress up doll. Coming from a very traditional family that adhered to gender norms and such, she was expected to be quiet and ladylike, while her brother was allowed to be unruly and wild. She didn't appreciate that at all. Why did she have to stay indoors and play house and dress up her barbies when her brother was allowed to play outside in the dirt? It was around middle school when she started rebelling against her parents. You know, the dreaded "goth" phase that a lot of people go through when they're in the beginning stages of a teenager. She dyed her hair black, wore a ton of eyeliner, scoffed at the "prepz and pozers" and rejected everything that her mother expected her to be. Thankfully she grew out of it eventually, but she found herself a completely different identity than what she was supposed to be. And you know what? She never looked back. She ditched the skirts, the ribbons, all of the pink and lace — much to her mother's chagrin. That's when her relation with her parents plummeted. They couldn't comprehend why she was being so rebellious. What happened to the sweet little girl that they raised? Where did they go wrong? She rejected her birth name of Fiona, started staying out past curfew, ditching school, started hanging out with the wrong crowd... Her grades were suffering, she stopped caring about things and started living for herself. Needless to say, she didn't last too long at school or home after that. She dropped out of school in the middle of her Junior year, and moved out the moment she turned eighteen. She stayed at her friend's house for a few months, working the odd jobs until she had saved up enough to go rent her own place. For years, she's maintained a blog and a youtube channel. In her sophomore year, it started really picking up and gaining popularity. She has a large following that are dedicated to her — enough for her to start making money off of those. She's fairly well-known as a presence on the internet. She talks about a lot of stuff on the two, but notably she explores various supernatural theories and the occult. And now it's been confirmed that the supernatural do exist? Uh, can you say best day ever? \| Family \| Maria Preston - Mother — Maria Preston is Blake's strict mother. She had high expectations for her only daughter, and was extremely disappointed when she didn't grow up to be as she hoped. She wanted Blake to grow up to be a proper lady — educated, respected, independent, and to marry a nice man. A doctor, perhaps. Obviously Blake rebelled against it, and their relation has been strained ever since. They haven't talked to each other ever since Blake moved out a few years ago. Michael Preston - Father — Michael has always been out and about, flying all over the world for his job. He's been absent for a lot of Blake's childhood, so Blake harbors some resentment towards him. He came back in her preteen years, just in time for her transition into a new person. Along with his wife, he tried a bit too hard to push Blake back into a more appropriate direction. He's been absent for the majority of her childhood; what does he know? Andy Preston - Older brother — Blake has always been jealous of her brother; he always got to do all of the things that she wasn't allowed to. Nevertheless, the two have always managed to maintain a close relationship. He's her best friend, and is also the only family member she continues to contact every so often. \| Strengths \| Passionate Free-spirited Independent \| Weaknesses \| Stubborn Short-fused Overly and needlessly aggressive Rebellious "Don't you think that there's no way we're the only ones here? Science can't explain everything — There's something more out there. And I'm going to find out what; damn all the consequences. I want to know." \| Theme Song \| Bad Reputation – Joan Jett and the Blackhearts ”I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation You're living in the past, it's a new generation A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do” \| House Number \| Faraday Heights, 24A \| Extra Information \| She has over 10,000 followers on various social media Fairly skilled with photography — nothing professional, but she has a good eye At one point she worked as a professional fortune teller "Bitch, you wanna go? Fight me."

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