industrygothica
Adventurer
Please do not post anything in this thread other than your sblocked character sheets.
IG's Legend of The Ripper [RG]
PhoenixAsh
First Post
Dacen Athrin, Human Cleric of St. Cuthbert HP: 8/9
Character Sheet:[SBLOCK]
[/SBLOCK]
Background:[sblock] Two men lunge at each other on a padded mat in a simple shack
that has obviously seen better days. One is taller, his short cropped black hair
retreating from a bald spot at the top of his head. The other is smaller, younger
with wavy brown hair parted down the center of his head, slick with sweat.
They lock arms, muscles straining as they attempt to gain leverage on each other.
The younger does, and twisting around to the man's side, kicks at the back of the
other's calf while pulling down. Both men fall, the balding man grunting in
frustration.
Seconds later, the younger has the older in a pin, arms locked around his neck.
The older man taps his fist to the ground, and the younger releases his neck,
accepting the submission. Both rise to their feet slowly.
"Nice work today, Dacen. You're actually starting to give me a challenge, once in
awhile." The older man smirks, reaching for a towel to dry his face.
Dacen smiles sadly. He reaches for his circular holy symbol, and puts it back over
his neck. He can see his trainer is feeling his age, just as his gym is. The man
has a family to feed, but he knows this job is taking an ever increasing toll on
him. But if he were to hold back any... the man's pride would not suffer it.
"We've gone late again, haven't we?" Dacen looks out the window, wincing at the
sun's position in the sky. "We need to be more timely, my duties-"
"You're too young to be going soft on me," the older man interrupts.
"Last time was the third time this month Sara threatened to kill me," Dacen retorts
mildly, fishing out some silver from his coin pouch and slapping it in his
trainer's palm.
"Hmph. Fine, we'll try and cut it down a bit. But that mean's you'll have to work
harder, no goofing around!"
Dacen shakes his head, "See you next week."
***
"Late again Dacen," the stern cleric says without looking up as Dacen enters her
office.
"Forgive me, I was-"
"Wrestling, I know. At least you are consistent when you are late. And despite
what you may think, I don't object to your hobby. When it interferes with your
duties here, however," she looks up with an arched eyebrow.
Dacen bows his head, "I understand."
Sara sighs, "I have something different for you today Dacen. Actually, it'll
probably keep you tied up for a little while. Have you heard of the Ripper?"
Dacen nods slowly, "I've heard stories of what he did."
She looks shrewdly at the young cleric, "He's back. I want you to stop him and
bring him to justice."
Dacen raises his eyebrows, "Me? Is this your way of following up on your threat?"
She shakes her head, "No Dacen, I'm serious. You'll need to be careful, and you
won't be able to do it alone, but this killer has long evaded His justice. You
are to be His instrument in this."
Dacen nods, "Alright. I have faith in his judgment... and yours."
[/SBLOCK]
Character Sheet:[SBLOCK]
Code:
[B]Name:[/B] Dacen Athrin
[B]Class:[/B] Cleric
[B]Race:[/B] Human
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] LN
[B]Str:[/B] 14 +2 (6p.) [B]Level:[/B] 1 [B]XP:[/B] 0
[B]Dex:[/B] 14 +2 (6p.) [B]BAB:[/B] +0 [B]HP:[/B] 9 (1d8+1)
[B]Con:[/B] 12 +1 (4p.) [B]Grapple:[/B] +6 [B]Dmg Red:[/B] N/a
[B]Int:[/B] 10 +0 (2p.) [B]Speed:[/B] 30' [B]Spell Res:[/B] N/a
[B]Wis:[/B] 14 +0 (6p.) [B]Init:[/B] +2 [B]Spell Save:[/B] +2
[B]Cha:[/B] 12 +1 (4p.) [B]ACP:[/B] -2 [B]Spell Fail:[/B] 0%
[B]Base Armor Shld Dex Size Nat Misc Total[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B] 10 +4 +2 +1 +0 +0 +0 17
[B]Touch:[/B] 12 [B]Flatfooted:[/B] 15
[B]Base Mod Misc Total[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B] 2 +1 +3
[B]Ref:[/B] 0 +2 +2
[B]Will:[/B] 2 +2 +4
[B]Weapon Attack Damage Critical[/B]
Heavy Mace +2 1d8 x2
Light Crossbow +2 1d8 19-20x2
Unarmed Strike +2 1d3+2 x2
[B]Languages:[/B] Common
[B]Abilities:[/B] Turn Undead (4/day, 1d20+1, 2d6+2), Protection Domain
([S]Protective Ward 1/day, +1 Resistance on next saving throw, 1hr[/S]), Strength
Domain (Feat of Strength 1/day, +1 Str 1/rd)
[B]Feats:[/B] Improved Unarmed Strike, Improved Grapple
[B]Skill Points:[/B] 12 [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 4/2
[B]Skills Ranks Mod Misc Total[/B]
Concentration 4 +1 +5
Heal 4 +2 +6
Knowledge (Religion) 4 +0 +4
Listen 0 +2 +2
Spot 0 +2 +2
[B]Spells Prepared:[/B]
0 - Resistance, Guidance, Detect Magic
1 - Magic Weapon, Magic Stone, Enlarge Person (Domain Spell)
[B]Spells Per Day:[/B]
0 - 3/day
1 - 2 +1 Domain/day
[B]Equipment: Cost Weight[/B]
[B]Worn:[/B]
Chain Shirt 100gp 25lb
Peasant's Outfit 0gp -
Holy Symbol, Wooden 1gp -
[B]Shoulder/Back:[/B]
Light Crossbow 35gp 4lb
20 Bolts 2gp 2lb
Light Wooden Shield 3gp 5lb
[B]Backpack[/B] 2gp 2lb
Torch x2 2cp 2lb
Sunrod 2gp 1lb
Waterskin 1gp 4lb
Flint & Steel 1gp -
Candles, 10 1sp -
Sewing Needle 5sp -
Chalk, 3 pieces 3cp -
[B]Weight:[/B] 27lbs
[B]Belt/Waist:[/B]
Heavy Mace 8gp 8lb
Spell Component Pouch 5gp 2lb
[B]Total Weight:[/B]50lb [B]Money:[/B] 22gp 3sp 5cp (1lbs)
[B]Lgt Med Hvy Lift Push[/B]
[B]Max Weight:[/B] -58 -116 -175 175 875
[B]Age:[/B] 19
[B]Height:[/B] 5'7"
[B]Weight:[/B] 165lbs
[B]Eyes:[/B] Hazel
[B]Hair:[/B] Wavy Dark Brown, Short
[B]Skin:[/B] Light TanBackground:[sblock] Two men lunge at each other on a padded mat in a simple shack
that has obviously seen better days. One is taller, his short cropped black hair
retreating from a bald spot at the top of his head. The other is smaller, younger
with wavy brown hair parted down the center of his head, slick with sweat.
They lock arms, muscles straining as they attempt to gain leverage on each other.
The younger does, and twisting around to the man's side, kicks at the back of the
other's calf while pulling down. Both men fall, the balding man grunting in
frustration.
Seconds later, the younger has the older in a pin, arms locked around his neck.
The older man taps his fist to the ground, and the younger releases his neck,
accepting the submission. Both rise to their feet slowly.
"Nice work today, Dacen. You're actually starting to give me a challenge, once in
awhile." The older man smirks, reaching for a towel to dry his face.
Dacen smiles sadly. He reaches for his circular holy symbol, and puts it back over
his neck. He can see his trainer is feeling his age, just as his gym is. The man
has a family to feed, but he knows this job is taking an ever increasing toll on
him. But if he were to hold back any... the man's pride would not suffer it.
"We've gone late again, haven't we?" Dacen looks out the window, wincing at the
sun's position in the sky. "We need to be more timely, my duties-"
"You're too young to be going soft on me," the older man interrupts.
"Last time was the third time this month Sara threatened to kill me," Dacen retorts
mildly, fishing out some silver from his coin pouch and slapping it in his
trainer's palm.
"Hmph. Fine, we'll try and cut it down a bit. But that mean's you'll have to work
harder, no goofing around!"
Dacen shakes his head, "See you next week."
***
"Late again Dacen," the stern cleric says without looking up as Dacen enters her
office.
"Forgive me, I was-"
"Wrestling, I know. At least you are consistent when you are late. And despite
what you may think, I don't object to your hobby. When it interferes with your
duties here, however," she looks up with an arched eyebrow.
Dacen bows his head, "I understand."
Sara sighs, "I have something different for you today Dacen. Actually, it'll
probably keep you tied up for a little while. Have you heard of the Ripper?"
Dacen nods slowly, "I've heard stories of what he did."
She looks shrewdly at the young cleric, "He's back. I want you to stop him and
bring him to justice."
Dacen raises his eyebrows, "Me? Is this your way of following up on your threat?"
She shakes her head, "No Dacen, I'm serious. You'll need to be careful, and you
won't be able to do it alone, but this killer has long evaded His justice. You
are to be His instrument in this."
Dacen nods, "Alright. I have faith in his judgment... and yours."
[/SBLOCK]
Last edited:
Rayex
First Post
[sblock]Rexy
Female human Swashbuckler 1
Alignment: neutral
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid
Speed: 35ft
Str: 10 (+0) [2points]
Dex: 16 (+3) [10points]
Con: 14 (+2) [6points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6points]
Wis: 10 (+0) [2points]
Cha: 10 (+0) [2points]
HP: 12 (1d10 + 2con)
AC: 17 (10 + 3dex + 4armor)
Saves:
Fortitude: +4 (2base + 2con)
Reflex: +3 (0base + 3dex)
Will: +0 (0base)
Init: +5 (3dex + 2imp.init.)
Base attack bonus: +1
Attacks:
Rapier: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 18-20/x2
Javelin: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 20/x2, Range 30 ft.
Skills:
Skill points: 28
Max Rank: 4
Balance: (4ranks + 3dex)
Bluff: (4ranks)
Climb: (4ranks)
Escape Artist: (4ranks + 3dex)
Jump: (4ranks)
Tumble: (4ranks + 3dex)
Use Rope: (4ranks + 3dex)
Feats:
Lvl 1 - Improved Initiative
Human bonus - Dash
Class bonus - Weapon Finesse
Languages:
Common
Equipment:
Rapier 20gp
Javelin x3 3gp
Chain shirt 100gp
backpack 2gp
caltrops 1gp
flint and steel 1gp
trail rations x6 3gp
silk rope 10gp
signal whistle 8sp
waterskin 1gp
whetstone 2cp
98gp 1sp 8cp
Info:
The Wailer was in port for the time being. Bailie Muran, the captain of the trader, was waiting for a shipment of silk that was late in arriving. Rexy took the oportunity to visit her sister and husband in town.
It was after dark and Monis, Rexy's sister, and herself was waiting for Monis' husband to get home. The steak was on the table, slowly congealing in its own fat, and the peas and carrots were already cold. Monis was pacing up and down the room nervously. "He never runs late. At least, not without sending someone to tell him..." The coffeehouse where Monis' husband worked at was at the other end of the town. He was a chief-waiter there, and had a host of underlings, all of whom would jump at his command. Surely one of them would have been there with a message if he was running late.
Early the next morning one of the seniour under-waiters was knocking on the door. Monis, who had barely slept all night, opened the door bleary-eyed. Rexy stayed in the kitchen, but came running at the grief-filled wail coming from the entryhall. She found her sister on the floor, clutching the doorframe and crying hard. The waiter stood in the doorway, rubbing his hand over his head. "Master Clowe was found dead this morning, miss. In the alley. The backalley of the coffeehouse. He... Ah, he was dead, I fear. It was horrible, miss. He was... Ah, forgive me." With a appologetic glance at the crying Monis, he bowed and said his goodbyes.
Monis was in bed, sleeping soundly. Rexy had put some herbs that would make her sleep, in her sisters tea. With her jaw set, she headed for the harbor. Explaining to the captain in short words what had happened, she finnished while buckling on her swordbelt. "I'm going to find who did this. If the cargo comes while I'm gone, I'll find a way to catch up to you." The captain grumbled, but understood.
Without further ado, she set out to find the killer.
-----------
At a young age, Rexy knew she was different from her sister, Monis. Where Monis played with dolls, Rexy played with soldiers and wooden swords. She was going to grow up to be a Hero!
Alas, things seldom turn out as one dreams about. Rexy ended up in the employment of a trader, shipping valueable goods up and down the river. Herself and four others were hired as fighting men (and women) to defend the boat from bandits, ruffians and other dangers that one might encounter in the rivertrading world.
While most other prefered the brute force of a broadsword or two-handed axe, Rexy always preferred lighter blades, and trusted in her speed and dexterity to fight around the cumbersome, big brutes.
[/sblock]
Female human Swashbuckler 1
Alignment: neutral
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid
Speed: 35ft
Str: 10 (+0) [2points]
Dex: 16 (+3) [10points]
Con: 14 (+2) [6points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6points]
Wis: 10 (+0) [2points]
Cha: 10 (+0) [2points]
HP: 12 (1d10 + 2con)
AC: 17 (10 + 3dex + 4armor)
Saves:
Fortitude: +4 (2base + 2con)
Reflex: +3 (0base + 3dex)
Will: +0 (0base)
Init: +5 (3dex + 2imp.init.)
Base attack bonus: +1
Attacks:
Rapier: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 18-20/x2
Javelin: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 20/x2, Range 30 ft.
Skills:
Skill points: 28
Max Rank: 4
Balance: (4ranks + 3dex)
Bluff: (4ranks)
Climb: (4ranks)
Escape Artist: (4ranks + 3dex)
Jump: (4ranks)
Tumble: (4ranks + 3dex)
Use Rope: (4ranks + 3dex)
Feats:
Lvl 1 - Improved Initiative
Human bonus - Dash
Class bonus - Weapon Finesse
Languages:
Common
Equipment:
Rapier 20gp
Javelin x3 3gp
Chain shirt 100gp
backpack 2gp
caltrops 1gp
flint and steel 1gp
trail rations x6 3gp
silk rope 10gp
signal whistle 8sp
waterskin 1gp
whetstone 2cp
98gp 1sp 8cp
Info:
The Wailer was in port for the time being. Bailie Muran, the captain of the trader, was waiting for a shipment of silk that was late in arriving. Rexy took the oportunity to visit her sister and husband in town.
It was after dark and Monis, Rexy's sister, and herself was waiting for Monis' husband to get home. The steak was on the table, slowly congealing in its own fat, and the peas and carrots were already cold. Monis was pacing up and down the room nervously. "He never runs late. At least, not without sending someone to tell him..." The coffeehouse where Monis' husband worked at was at the other end of the town. He was a chief-waiter there, and had a host of underlings, all of whom would jump at his command. Surely one of them would have been there with a message if he was running late.
Early the next morning one of the seniour under-waiters was knocking on the door. Monis, who had barely slept all night, opened the door bleary-eyed. Rexy stayed in the kitchen, but came running at the grief-filled wail coming from the entryhall. She found her sister on the floor, clutching the doorframe and crying hard. The waiter stood in the doorway, rubbing his hand over his head. "Master Clowe was found dead this morning, miss. In the alley. The backalley of the coffeehouse. He... Ah, he was dead, I fear. It was horrible, miss. He was... Ah, forgive me." With a appologetic glance at the crying Monis, he bowed and said his goodbyes.
Monis was in bed, sleeping soundly. Rexy had put some herbs that would make her sleep, in her sisters tea. With her jaw set, she headed for the harbor. Explaining to the captain in short words what had happened, she finnished while buckling on her swordbelt. "I'm going to find who did this. If the cargo comes while I'm gone, I'll find a way to catch up to you." The captain grumbled, but understood.
Without further ado, she set out to find the killer.
-----------
At a young age, Rexy knew she was different from her sister, Monis. Where Monis played with dolls, Rexy played with soldiers and wooden swords. She was going to grow up to be a Hero!
Alas, things seldom turn out as one dreams about. Rexy ended up in the employment of a trader, shipping valueable goods up and down the river. Herself and four others were hired as fighting men (and women) to defend the boat from bandits, ruffians and other dangers that one might encounter in the rivertrading world.
While most other prefered the brute force of a broadsword or two-handed axe, Rexy always preferred lighter blades, and trusted in her speed and dexterity to fight around the cumbersome, big brutes.
[/sblock]
Autumn
First Post
[sblock=Fen]Fenadin 'Fen' Cassell
Human Male
Neutral
Scout 1
12 Strength (+1) (4 pts.)
16 Dexterity (+3) (10 pts.)
12 Constitution (+1) (4 pts.)
14 Intelligence (+2) (6 pts.)
12 Wisdom (+1) (4 pts.)
8 Charisma (-1) (0 pts.)
BAB: +0
Grapple: +1
HP: 9
Initiative: +3
Speed: 30 ft.
ACP: -0
AC: 15 (+3 Dex, +2 Armor), flat-footed 12, touch 13
Attack:
Handaxe +1 Melee, Damage 1d6+1, Crit 20/x3
or Shortbow +3 Ranged, Damage 1d6, Crit 20/x3, Range 60 ft.
or Light Crossbow +3 Ranged, Damage 1d8, Crit 19-20/x2, Range 80 ft.
Notes:
+1 Attack and Damage with Ranged Attacks within 30'
No penalty for firing into melee
+1d6 Damage within 30' while Skirmishing
Fort Saves: +1 (+0 Base, +1 Con)
Reflex Saves: +5 (+2 Base, +3 Dex)
Will Saves: +1 (+0 Base, +1 Wis)
Feats:
Point Blank Shot (Human Bonus)
Precise Shot
Abilities:
Skirmish (+1d6)
Trapfinding
Skills: (44; max ranks 4/2)
+5 Balance (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+5 Climb (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+7 Hide (4 ranks +3 Dex)
+3 Jump (2 ranks +1 Str)
+4 Knowledge (Local) (2 cc ranks +2 Int)
+5 Listen (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+7 Move Silently (4 ranks +3 Dex)
+6 Search (4 ranks +2 Int)
+5 Sense Motive (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+5 Spot (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+5 Survival (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+3 Swim (2 ranks +1 Str)
+5 Tumble (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+7 Use Rope (2 ranks +3 Dex +2 Circumstance)
Notes:
Languages:
Common
Elven
Orc
Equipment:
Shortbow (2 lbs, 30 gp)
20x Arrows (3 lbs, 1 gp)
Light Crossbow (4 lbs, 35 gp)
20x Bolt (2 lbs, 2 gp)
Handaxe (3 lbs, 6 gp)
Leather Armor (15 lbs, 10 gp)
Backpack (2 lbs, 2 gp)
-50' Silk Rope (5 lbs, 10 gp)
-Bullseye Lantern (3 lbs, 12 gp)
-2 pints Oil (2 lbs, 2 sp)
-10x Tindertwig (0 lbs, 10 gp)
2x Smokestick (1 lb, 20 gp)
Potion of Cure Light Wounds (0 lbs, 50 gp)
11gp, 8 sp
Total Weight: 42 lbs (Light Load)
Age: 31
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 185 lbs
Eyes: Blue-grey
Hair: Brown
Skin: Deeply Tanned
[sblock=Appearance]Fen is a big, lanky guy, giving off a general impression that's all old leather and hard liquor. He doesn't really look like someone you'd want to tangle with, even if his build is wiry rather than buff and even if the weary expression in his eyes and his slumped posture make him look old before his time. Years of hard living have taken their toll, but it seems there's some fight in him yet. He wears a battered old broad-brimmed hat and an equally battered travelling cloak, rarely bothering to remove either of them except to sleep.[/sblock]
[sblock=History]Fen's father was a military man, and he always expected his son to follow in his footsteps. That was fine with Fen. He was raised on war stories, drinking them up while sat wide-eyed on his father's knee. The hitch came when Fen was twelve. Maybe he wouldn't have minded so much if his father had died a good death in battle. That, he could have understood. But it just seemed so wrong that his father, the man he'd always idolised, who had always seemed so strong and brave, could meet his inglorious end at the wrong end of a broken bottle in a bar room brawl.
The next few years were difficult, but eventually Fen did join the army. His mother managed to convince him, far enough, that it was what his father would have wanted, and that the dead man's wishes were still worth honoring. The boy went through basic training with sullen determination and even saw a little action. His commanding officer noted that he seemed to have some natural aptitude and passed his observations along. The result was that Fen was offered a chance to get out of the ranks and train as one of the army's elite scouts and skirmishers. Caring little one way or the other, he accepted, retrained, and served another year.
By this time he was eighteen, and he was becoming the typical angry young man. He spoke little to his comrades, or to anybody else for that matter. On leave, while the rest of them chased girls around and danced, he sat in a corner drinking hard.
It was the alcohol that finally did for him. He was caught drunk on duty one day when he was twenty, and reacted to his commanding officer's reprimands by punching him in the jaw.
He was duly court-marshalled and discharged. He went back to his hometown beaten, confused and angry. He crawled inside a bottle, and stayed there more or less for nearly a decade, scraping together enough money to live by mooching off his mother and through occasional stints as a bouncer or day laborer.
When he was thirty, his mother finally died. It had been a long time since they'd spoken, but the shock of it hit Fen hard. He was sober at the funeral, and though it didn't last he hasn't quite slipped back into his earlier rut. He's begun making a living as a freelance investigator - a calling that hasn't on the whole endeared him to the watch, but that has at least given him something to occupy his mind and keep him sober part of the time.[/sblock][/sblock]
Human Male
Neutral
Scout 1
12 Strength (+1) (4 pts.)
16 Dexterity (+3) (10 pts.)
12 Constitution (+1) (4 pts.)
14 Intelligence (+2) (6 pts.)
12 Wisdom (+1) (4 pts.)
8 Charisma (-1) (0 pts.)
BAB: +0
Grapple: +1
HP: 9
Initiative: +3
Speed: 30 ft.
ACP: -0
AC: 15 (+3 Dex, +2 Armor), flat-footed 12, touch 13
Attack:
Handaxe +1 Melee, Damage 1d6+1, Crit 20/x3
or Shortbow +3 Ranged, Damage 1d6, Crit 20/x3, Range 60 ft.
or Light Crossbow +3 Ranged, Damage 1d8, Crit 19-20/x2, Range 80 ft.
Notes:
+1 Attack and Damage with Ranged Attacks within 30'
No penalty for firing into melee
+1d6 Damage within 30' while Skirmishing
Fort Saves: +1 (+0 Base, +1 Con)
Reflex Saves: +5 (+2 Base, +3 Dex)
Will Saves: +1 (+0 Base, +1 Wis)
Feats:
Point Blank Shot (Human Bonus)
Precise Shot
Abilities:
Skirmish (+1d6)
Trapfinding
Skills: (44; max ranks 4/2)
+5 Balance (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+5 Climb (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+7 Hide (4 ranks +3 Dex)
+3 Jump (2 ranks +1 Str)
+4 Knowledge (Local) (2 cc ranks +2 Int)
+5 Listen (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+7 Move Silently (4 ranks +3 Dex)
+6 Search (4 ranks +2 Int)
+5 Sense Motive (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+5 Spot (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+5 Survival (4 ranks +1 Wis)
+3 Swim (2 ranks +1 Str)
+5 Tumble (2 ranks +3 Dex)
+7 Use Rope (2 ranks +3 Dex +2 Circumstance)
Notes:
Languages:
Common
Elven
Orc
Equipment:
Shortbow (2 lbs, 30 gp)
20x Arrows (3 lbs, 1 gp)
Light Crossbow (4 lbs, 35 gp)
20x Bolt (2 lbs, 2 gp)
Handaxe (3 lbs, 6 gp)
Leather Armor (15 lbs, 10 gp)
Backpack (2 lbs, 2 gp)
-50' Silk Rope (5 lbs, 10 gp)
-Bullseye Lantern (3 lbs, 12 gp)
-2 pints Oil (2 lbs, 2 sp)
-10x Tindertwig (0 lbs, 10 gp)
2x Smokestick (1 lb, 20 gp)
Potion of Cure Light Wounds (0 lbs, 50 gp)
11gp, 8 sp
Total Weight: 42 lbs (Light Load)
Age: 31
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 185 lbs
Eyes: Blue-grey
Hair: Brown
Skin: Deeply Tanned
[sblock=Appearance]Fen is a big, lanky guy, giving off a general impression that's all old leather and hard liquor. He doesn't really look like someone you'd want to tangle with, even if his build is wiry rather than buff and even if the weary expression in his eyes and his slumped posture make him look old before his time. Years of hard living have taken their toll, but it seems there's some fight in him yet. He wears a battered old broad-brimmed hat and an equally battered travelling cloak, rarely bothering to remove either of them except to sleep.[/sblock]
[sblock=History]Fen's father was a military man, and he always expected his son to follow in his footsteps. That was fine with Fen. He was raised on war stories, drinking them up while sat wide-eyed on his father's knee. The hitch came when Fen was twelve. Maybe he wouldn't have minded so much if his father had died a good death in battle. That, he could have understood. But it just seemed so wrong that his father, the man he'd always idolised, who had always seemed so strong and brave, could meet his inglorious end at the wrong end of a broken bottle in a bar room brawl.
The next few years were difficult, but eventually Fen did join the army. His mother managed to convince him, far enough, that it was what his father would have wanted, and that the dead man's wishes were still worth honoring. The boy went through basic training with sullen determination and even saw a little action. His commanding officer noted that he seemed to have some natural aptitude and passed his observations along. The result was that Fen was offered a chance to get out of the ranks and train as one of the army's elite scouts and skirmishers. Caring little one way or the other, he accepted, retrained, and served another year.
By this time he was eighteen, and he was becoming the typical angry young man. He spoke little to his comrades, or to anybody else for that matter. On leave, while the rest of them chased girls around and danced, he sat in a corner drinking hard.
It was the alcohol that finally did for him. He was caught drunk on duty one day when he was twenty, and reacted to his commanding officer's reprimands by punching him in the jaw.
He was duly court-marshalled and discharged. He went back to his hometown beaten, confused and angry. He crawled inside a bottle, and stayed there more or less for nearly a decade, scraping together enough money to live by mooching off his mother and through occasional stints as a bouncer or day laborer.
When he was thirty, his mother finally died. It had been a long time since they'd spoken, but the shock of it hit Fen hard. He was sober at the funeral, and though it didn't last he hasn't quite slipped back into his earlier rut. He's begun making a living as a freelance investigator - a calling that hasn't on the whole endeared him to the watch, but that has at least given him something to occupy his mind and keep him sober part of the time.[/sblock][/sblock]
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Xao's Character Sheet
[sblock]
[/sblock]
Xao's Background
[sblock]Most people in these foreign lands had no idea about the world of spirits that surrounded them. They happily pursued their lives in ignorance. It was the reason Xao had come here, really. When he had heard of such a peculiar place as a child, it planted a seed of curiousity that would not die. When Xao finally reached the age of majority he acted on his childhood dreams, travelling long and far to reach the land of the poor, ignorant people. After all, the spirits were everywhere, whispering advice and warnings to protect the living. You just had to learn to listen to them. Xao could think of nothing better than to teach others to open their minds and hearts to these spirits.
Of course, not all spirits were welcome. Xao stood at the edge of the courtyard and wiped the cold rain from his brow. This spirit was restless, and it would not let him be. It haunted him at the edge of his dreams, calling to him, drawing him toward some unspeakable secret. Although he did not want to discover what horrors the spirit hid, he somehow still found himself standing alone, in a dark courtyard, shivering against the rain. Without knowing why, Xao waited.
[/sblock]
[sblock]
Code:
Xao
Human
Wu-jen 1
Neutral Good
[B]Hit Dice[/B]: 1d4+1 (HP: 5)
[B]Initiative[/B]: +2
[B]AC:[/B] 12 (Dex +2)
[B]Move[/B]: 30'
[B]BAB/Grapple[/B]: +0/-1
[B]Attacks[/B]: Dagger -1 melee; Light X-bow +2 ranged (80' increment)
[B]Damage[/B]: Dagger 1d4-1, 19-20/x2; Light X-bow 1d8, 19-20/x2
[B]Strength[/B]: 9
[B]Dexterity[/B]: 14
[B]Constitution[/B]: 12
[B]Intelligence[/B]: 16
[B]Wisdom[/B]: 13
[B]Charisma[/B]: 10
[B]Saves[/B]: Fortitude +1 Reflex +2 Will +3
[b]Skills[/b] (24 Wu-jen ranks):
Ranks Ability Misc. Total
Concentration 4 1 +5
Knowledge Arcana 4 3 +7
Knowledge History 3 3 +6
Knowledge Geography 2 3 +5
Knowledge Planes 4 3 +7
Knowledge Religion 3 3 +6
Spellcraft 4 3 +7
[B]Languages[/B]: Common, Draconic, Celestial, Auran
[B]Feats[/B]: Guardian Spirit, Sudden Silent Spell, Scribe Scroll
[B]Special Abilities[/B]: Watchful Spirit (Allows Xao to re-roll initiative 2/day
and re-roll a save 1/day), Spells, Taboo: Must remain clean-shaven
[B]Equipment[/B]: Dagger (2g), Light crossbow (35g), 20 Bolts (2g),
Spellbook (15g), Ink vial (8g), Inkpen (1s),
10 sheets paper (4g), 2 Belt pouches (2g), Waterskin (1g)
2 Scroll cases (2g), 2 Sunrods (4g), 3 Flasks acid (30g),
4 Tindertwigs (4g), 10 gold pieces, 9 silver pieces
[B]Spells per day [/B] [U](DC 13 + spell level)[/U]: 3 / 2
[B]Spellbook[/B]:
[U]0th[/U] - All
[U]1st[/U] - Obscuring Mist, Sleep, Elemental Burst,
Comprehend Languages, Shield, Ghost Light
[B]Spells Prepared[/B]:
[U]0th[/U] - Mage Hand, Light, Acid Splash
[U]1st[/U] - Sleep, Elemental BurstXao's Background
[sblock]Most people in these foreign lands had no idea about the world of spirits that surrounded them. They happily pursued their lives in ignorance. It was the reason Xao had come here, really. When he had heard of such a peculiar place as a child, it planted a seed of curiousity that would not die. When Xao finally reached the age of majority he acted on his childhood dreams, travelling long and far to reach the land of the poor, ignorant people. After all, the spirits were everywhere, whispering advice and warnings to protect the living. You just had to learn to listen to them. Xao could think of nothing better than to teach others to open their minds and hearts to these spirits.
Of course, not all spirits were welcome. Xao stood at the edge of the courtyard and wiped the cold rain from his brow. This spirit was restless, and it would not let him be. It haunted him at the edge of his dreams, calling to him, drawing him toward some unspeakable secret. Although he did not want to discover what horrors the spirit hid, he somehow still found himself standing alone, in a dark courtyard, shivering against the rain. Without knowing why, Xao waited.
[/sblock]
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Rhun
First Post
Rexy (as modified by Rhun)
REXY
[sblock]
Rexy
Female human Swashbuckler 1
Alignment: Neutral
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid
Speed: 30ft
Str: 12 (+1) [4points]
Dex: 16 (+3) [10points]
Con: 14 (+2) [6points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6points]
Wis: 08 (-1) [0points]
Cha: 10 (+0) [2points]
HP: 12 (1d10 + 2con)
AC: 17 (10 + 3dex + 4armor) or 18 (+ 1dodge)
Saves:
Fortitude: +4 (2base + 2con)
Reflex: +3 (0base + 3dex)
Will: -1 (0base - 1wis)
Init: +7 (3dex + 4imp.init.)
Base attack bonus: +1
Attacks:
Rapier: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 18-20/x2
Javelin: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 20/x2, Range 30 ft.
Skills:
Skill points: 28
Max Rank: 4
Balance: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Bluff: +4 (4ranks)
Climb: +5 (4ranks + 1str)
Escape Artist: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Jump: +5 (4ranks + 1str)
Swim: +3 (2ranks + 1 str)
Tumble: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Use Rope: +5 (2ranks + 3dex)
Feats:
Lvl 1 - Improved Initiative
Human bonus - Dodge
Class bonus - Weapon Finesse
Languages:
Common, Goblin, Elven
Equipment:
Chain shirt 100gp 25lb
Traveler's Outfit 1gp Worn
Rapier 20gp 2lb
Javelin 1gp 2lb
Dagger 2gp 1lb
Beltpouch 1gp 1/2lb
-- Flint and steel 1gp -
-- Trail rations (x2) 1gp 2lb
Waterskin 1gp 4lb
Caltrops 1gp 2lb
Signal whistle 8sp -
Encumberance: Light (38.5 lb)
107gp 2sp
Background:
The Wailer was in port for the time being. Bailie Muran, the captain of the trader, was waiting for a shipment of silk that was late in arriving. Rexy took the oportunity to visit her sister and husband in town.
It was after dark and Rexy and her sister Monis were waiting for Monis' husband to get home. The steak was on the table, slowly congealing in its own fat, and the peas and carrots were already cold. Monis was pacing up and down the room nervously. "He never runs late. At least, not without sending someone to tell me..." The coffeehouse where Monis' husband worked was at the other end of town. He was a chief-waiter there, and had a host of underlings, all of whom would jump at his command. Surely one of them would have came with a message if he was running late.
Early the next morning one of the senior under-waiters was knocking on the door. Monis, who had barely slept all night, opened the door bleary-eyed. Rexy stayed in the kitchen, but came running at the grief-filled wail coming from the entryhall. She found her sister on the floor, clutching the doorframe and crying hard. The waiter stood in the doorway, rubbing his hand over his head. "Master Clowe was found dead this morning, miss. In the alley. The backalley of the coffeehouse. He...ah, he was dead, I fear. It was horrible, miss. He was...ah, forgive me." With a apologetic glance at the crying Monis, he bowed and said his goodbyes.
Monis was in bed, sleeping soundly. Rexy had put some sleeping herbs in her sister's tea. With her jaw set, she headed for the harbor. Explaining to the captain in short words what had happened, she finished buckling on her swordbelt. "I'm going to find who did this. If the cargo comes while I'm gone, I'll find a way to catch up to you." The captain grumbled, but understood.
Without further ado, she set out to find the killer.
-----------
At a young age, Rexy knew she was different from her sister. Where Monis played with dolls, Rexy played with soldiers and wooden swords. She was going to grow up to be a Hero!
Alas, things seldom turn out as one dreams. Rexy ended up in the employment of a trader, shipping valuable goods up and down the river. Herself and four others were hired as guards to defend the boat from bandits, ruffians and other dangers that one might encounter on the river.
While most the other guards prefer the brute force of a broadsword or two-handed axe, Rexy always preferred lighter blades. She trusts in her speed and dexterity to outfight the big, cumbersome brutes.
Appearance
Rexy is short and slender, with a well-toned, athletic build. A mop of short, thick black hair frames a young but pretty face...despite the freckles. Her skin tone would normally be fair, but many days of plying the river has left her with an attractive bronze tan.
She dresses plainly enough: High black leather boots, a knee-length skirt of grey wool, a chain shirt over which she wears a blue-dyed leather jerkin, and a heavy traveller's cloak of black wool.
Personality
Rexy is something of a spitfire, and is prone to making impulsive decisions. She is somewhat overconfident in her appraisal of her own abilities, and this has sometimes gotten her into trouble.
[/sblock]
REXY
[sblock]
Rexy
Female human Swashbuckler 1
Alignment: Neutral
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid
Speed: 30ft
Str: 12 (+1) [4points]
Dex: 16 (+3) [10points]
Con: 14 (+2) [6points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6points]
Wis: 08 (-1) [0points]
Cha: 10 (+0) [2points]
HP: 12 (1d10 + 2con)
AC: 17 (10 + 3dex + 4armor) or 18 (+ 1dodge)
Saves:
Fortitude: +4 (2base + 2con)
Reflex: +3 (0base + 3dex)
Will: -1 (0base - 1wis)
Init: +7 (3dex + 4imp.init.)
Base attack bonus: +1
Attacks:
Rapier: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 18-20/x2
Javelin: +4 (1base + 3dex), 1d6 damage, Threat 20/x2, Range 30 ft.
Skills:
Skill points: 28
Max Rank: 4
Balance: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Bluff: +4 (4ranks)
Climb: +5 (4ranks + 1str)
Escape Artist: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Jump: +5 (4ranks + 1str)
Swim: +3 (2ranks + 1 str)
Tumble: +7 (4ranks + 3dex)
Use Rope: +5 (2ranks + 3dex)
Feats:
Lvl 1 - Improved Initiative
Human bonus - Dodge
Class bonus - Weapon Finesse
Languages:
Common, Goblin, Elven
Equipment:
Chain shirt 100gp 25lb
Traveler's Outfit 1gp Worn
Rapier 20gp 2lb
Javelin 1gp 2lb
Dagger 2gp 1lb
Beltpouch 1gp 1/2lb
-- Flint and steel 1gp -
-- Trail rations (x2) 1gp 2lb
Waterskin 1gp 4lb
Caltrops 1gp 2lb
Signal whistle 8sp -
Encumberance: Light (38.5 lb)
107gp 2sp
Background:
The Wailer was in port for the time being. Bailie Muran, the captain of the trader, was waiting for a shipment of silk that was late in arriving. Rexy took the oportunity to visit her sister and husband in town.
It was after dark and Rexy and her sister Monis were waiting for Monis' husband to get home. The steak was on the table, slowly congealing in its own fat, and the peas and carrots were already cold. Monis was pacing up and down the room nervously. "He never runs late. At least, not without sending someone to tell me..." The coffeehouse where Monis' husband worked was at the other end of town. He was a chief-waiter there, and had a host of underlings, all of whom would jump at his command. Surely one of them would have came with a message if he was running late.
Early the next morning one of the senior under-waiters was knocking on the door. Monis, who had barely slept all night, opened the door bleary-eyed. Rexy stayed in the kitchen, but came running at the grief-filled wail coming from the entryhall. She found her sister on the floor, clutching the doorframe and crying hard. The waiter stood in the doorway, rubbing his hand over his head. "Master Clowe was found dead this morning, miss. In the alley. The backalley of the coffeehouse. He...ah, he was dead, I fear. It was horrible, miss. He was...ah, forgive me." With a apologetic glance at the crying Monis, he bowed and said his goodbyes.
Monis was in bed, sleeping soundly. Rexy had put some sleeping herbs in her sister's tea. With her jaw set, she headed for the harbor. Explaining to the captain in short words what had happened, she finished buckling on her swordbelt. "I'm going to find who did this. If the cargo comes while I'm gone, I'll find a way to catch up to you." The captain grumbled, but understood.
Without further ado, she set out to find the killer.
-----------
At a young age, Rexy knew she was different from her sister. Where Monis played with dolls, Rexy played with soldiers and wooden swords. She was going to grow up to be a Hero!
Alas, things seldom turn out as one dreams. Rexy ended up in the employment of a trader, shipping valuable goods up and down the river. Herself and four others were hired as guards to defend the boat from bandits, ruffians and other dangers that one might encounter on the river.
While most the other guards prefer the brute force of a broadsword or two-handed axe, Rexy always preferred lighter blades. She trusts in her speed and dexterity to outfight the big, cumbersome brutes.
Appearance
Rexy is short and slender, with a well-toned, athletic build. A mop of short, thick black hair frames a young but pretty face...despite the freckles. Her skin tone would normally be fair, but many days of plying the river has left her with an attractive bronze tan.
She dresses plainly enough: High black leather boots, a knee-length skirt of grey wool, a chain shirt over which she wears a blue-dyed leather jerkin, and a heavy traveller's cloak of black wool.
Personality
Rexy is something of a spitfire, and is prone to making impulsive decisions. She is somewhat overconfident in her appraisal of her own abilities, and this has sometimes gotten her into trouble.
[/sblock]
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industrygothica
Adventurer
*deleted post*
Last edited:
Rayel Tumai: [sblock]
Rayel Tumai
Female Human Warlock 1
Medium Humanoid
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (with Good tendencies)
Region:
Deity: Olidamara
Height: 5' 7''
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Red-purple
Eyes: Bright green
Age: 16
Str: 8 (-1) [0 points]
Dex: 14 (+2) [6 points]
Con: 12 (+1) [4 points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6 points]
Wis: 10 (+0) [2 points]
Cha: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Class and Racial Abilities: Extra feat at 1st level, extra 4 skill points at 1st level, 1 additional skill point at each subsequent level. Eldritch blast 1d6, least invocations. Proficient with light armor and simple weapons (but not shields). Has scent ability (from snake tongue invocation).
Hit Dice: 1d6+1
HP: 7
AC: 12 (+0 armor, +2 Dex)
ACP: 0
Init: +2 (+2 Dex)
Speed: 30ft
Saves:
Fortitude +1 [+0 base, +1 Con] +5 vs poison [from snake tongue invocation]
Reflex +2 [+0 base, +2 Dex]
Will +2 [+2 base, +0 Wis] +3 vs enchantments [from Fey Legacy feat]
BAB: +0
Melee Atk: -1 (1d4-1/19-20/x2/P, dagger)
Ranged Atk: +2 (1d6/x2/60 ft./eldritch blast)
Skills:
Bluff +7 [4 ranks, +3 Cha]
Craft (flower-making) +3 [1 rank, +2 Int]
Disguise +9 [4 ranks, +3 Cha, +2 disguise kit]
Knowledge (arcana) +6 [4 ranks, +2 Int]
Listen +0 [0 ranks, +0 Wis]
Spellcraft +5 [3 ranks, +2 Int]
Spot +0 [0 ranks, +0 Wis]
Use Magic Device 7 [4 ranks, +3 Cha]
Feats:
Fey Heritage (human bonus 1st level) [ComMag pg. 43]
Night Haunt (1st level) [ComArc pg. 81]
Languages: Common, Sylvan, Abyssal
Invocations Known
Save DC +3
Least – Serpent’s Tongue (ComMag)
Spell-like abilities
dancing lights, prestidigitation, unseen servant 1/day each
Equipment
2 daggers – 4gp 2lbs
Backpack - 2gp 2lbs (backpack has hidden flap [1gp] that contains a potion of cure light wounds [50gp])
Disguise kit – 50gp 8lbs
Bedroll - 5sp 5lbs
Belt pouch - 1gp ½ lb
Flint and steel – 1gp
Signal whistle – 8sp
Traveler’s outfit (Free)
Money
59gp, 7sp
~~~~~
Appearance: Because she was infused with the power of a fiendish fey, she bears the scars of his manipulation. Her hair is reddish-purple, the color of a deep bruise, and her eyes are a bright, unnatural, poisonous green. Tall and somewhat slender, her carriage and face are long and thin. She keeps her mouth shut as much as possible, mumbling her words when she does speak, for her tongue is a serpent’s, a further mark of her arcane servitude. She keeps her hair under a kerchief and her eyes downcast, and dresses modestly, in sturdy and practical fabrics in dull colors.
Personality: Rayel is wary of the rich and mighty, and maintains a guarded attitude around them. She is generally friendly, if wary, but lies roll with distressing ease off her tongue. If her loyalty is won, she is fiercely steadfast. She comes from a background of poverty, and has a practical attitude towards crime and violence. She knows she can’t right every wrong in the world, and accepts a certain amount of that as a matter of course.
Background: My name is Rayel Tumai. Three times in my life I faced a crossroads, and each time I took the darker path. I did not know that at the time, but looking back, I can see how my life became so grim. But now I know that at the bottom of the deepest well, one can look up. Perhaps I shall never reach the top of it, but I can always see it, if I choose to.
My powers came to me early, in light and cold, deception and illusion, change and power, by a way I am ashamed to say. I am no mighty wizard, but my powers answer easily and well, if not always the way I expect. I can only hope that they will bring me closer to something good in my life.
Rayel grew up only a few short steps from poverty, a family consisting only of her and her mother. Barely scraping by, selling flowers made from scraps of cloth and wood, her mother Ora had occasionally supplemented her income in a sadly more typical way for women in her position. The result had been Rayel, and her mother had desperately tried to give her a slightly better life than she had enjoyed. Ora’s efforts got them a garret room, for with Rayel’s clever hands being directed by her experienced ones, they could actually do enough of their simple crafts to keep them in old bread.
Rayel dreamed of being able to do more for her mother, to give her some rest, and began to use her own charm to try to attract buyers with deeper pockets. A sweet girl barely blossoming into beauty, she could have been easy prey for any who cared to try. One took advantage of the desperate and innocent child and told her to bring her wares to his fine house; his guests would certainly like to buy.
Stealing out when her mother was asleep, for Rayel intended for the extra money she would get to be a grand surprise, Rayel went to the house of Tregal, a wealthy nobleman, to sell her false flowers. She was very lucky in that Tregal did not desire to despoil her flesh, like some cruel men, but instead desired to despoil her mind.
She walked through the grand and elegant rooms, selling her flowers to the finely dressed noblemen and women that were his guests. She tried to avert her eyes from the various acts of debauchery, but found her spiritual innocence being corrupted as she saw acts of carnality and brutality, abuse of body and spirit. The victims of these decadent nobles were of a type she knew; poor girls and boys from her own streets. And her own horror was simply another pleasure to these corrupt nobles. Terrified and sickened, she fled, but had learned the lesson that power could buy anything.
Rayel never spoke of that experience to her mother, but often found her mind straying to it. From time to time she recognized a boy or girl from the house of Tregal, their eyes empty and faces lined with fear and sorrow. There was no retribution against Tregal, not even from clever thieves or skillful thugs. She might have tried to forget what she had seen, were it not for Pral.
Pral was a fellow craftswoman in the ranks of the poor, only a few years older than Rayel. She made things out of pottery shards, tiny glued pots or tiles, things to decorate the house, to brighten dark and dank quarters. She often acted like a big sister to Rayel, and the two had become friends.
So when she had seen Pral wandering the streets after spending several days missing, with blank eyes and a lined face, Rayel knew that Tregal’s depredations had finally hit home. Terror shook her as she considered the consequences. Pral was able to defend herself against common thugs and trickery, for she was far stronger than she seemed. Tregal had simply taken what he wanted, with no thought of consequences.
Who or what could stop him? Only someone with more money, more authority, or more power. With money one could bribe him to stop, or hire people to stop him. With authority one could order him to stop, or threaten him. But with power, one could do the stopping oneself. Power, the kind that could make water appear out of air, or create light, or wind, the power of magic or the gods, that kind of power could even make noblemen pause.
There had been no magicians at Tregal’s house, Rayel remembered that. From the tales she had heard in taverns and on the streets, sometimes people were born with power, some people could learn it, and some could possibly bargain for it.
Rayel had no hope of learning it; she had no apprentice fees. Surely if she had been born with power, she would have felt it by now. So that left bargaining. That she was familiar with. She was the daughter of a merchant, small businesswoman though her mother was, and had done her share of bargaining for rooms or food from as long as she could remember.
Her mother had worked so very hard to shelter her daughter, but the dark streets of the city harbored many secrets. Rayel might have been innocent of some things, before Tregal had shown her his house, but she knew far more than most girls in the city. There were places where it wasn’t safe to tread, where beings of shadow and power lived. Those who intruded upon them as a dare often ended up dead. But a few had safe passage through their places, for they placated them in some way. Perhaps she could bargain with them as well.
Her mother never knew why Rayel vanished one Midsummer’s Night, only leaving behind a half-literate note that her daughter loved her, but had to do something important. Rayel wasn’t entirely certain herself why she was doing this. It was only that she had terrible nightmares about what she had seen in Tregal’s house, and to see her only close friend and sister fall victim to them was more than she could bear.
She remembered little of the incident afterwards. Only icy terror as she walked into the darkened, dead-end alley, the smooth whisper of a non-human voice, the frigid caress of a too-slick hand, demanding, “Why? Why?” Why shouldn’t it kill her? Rayel offered what she had, her hard work, her loyalty, more if she had to. She knew the circumstances of her birth quite well.
“And in return?”
“Power,” she said. Power to help her friend, her mother, power to stop Tregal.
“It is done,” the being said, its sharp, sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness. It was then Rayel learned that all power has a price.
For many months, Rayel spent the time in a daze, caught in a world of shadow. She came to understand what had caught her was a fey creature of darkness and trickery, the Shadow Serpent. Her youthful enthusiasm, tempered with determination and grief, intrigued him. He infused her with a scrap of his power, granting her the ability to call forth power from her hands and even the air, teaching her the words of power in the languages of his ancestors, having her learn his arts of knowledge and deception. In return, Rayel found herself trapped, answering to every whim, her will bound to his. Too late she realized she had bargained in bad faith, and now merely endured what she could as the Shadow Serpent drove her to control her new-won powers.
Almost two years passed in a dream-like state as Rayel struggled against the Shadow Serpent, begging from enough freedom to help her mother, to free Prel, or to stop Tregal.
“Freedom is an illusion, little toy. I chose to take your service in exchange for power. You failed to specify, foolish mortal,” he had told her, with his toothy grin.
But in that statement of her servitude, she found her freedom. Words, she had learned, were power. In calling freedom an illusion, she used the powers she had barely mastered to slip her bonds, placing her own mental illusion over the Shadow Serpent’s bonds. Hissing rage filling her ears, she fell back into the real world, the raw grit and stench of the alley too bright and powerful after the years in swathed and shadowed darkness.
The Serpent had claimed many victims over the years, and she had scrabbled to pick up what she could from the desiccated bodies before fleeing for her life.
Trying to go back and find what she could of her mother, she soon learned the cruelest lesson yet, that power, not given its full due, can bring nothing but sorrow. Two years she had been gone from the world, and her mother had descended back into the lowest rung of a desperate poor woman, that of a street prostitute. Asking a terrified neighbor, not realizing how her appearance had changed from the touch of the Shadow Serpent’s power, she found where Ora was staying, and went to what she assumed would be a happy reunion.
Rayel barely recognized her mother in the battered and worn-down creature sleeping in the streets. But she was determined to help her, as she had meant to all those years ago.
Ora had looked up in her daughter’s face as she tried to raise her out of the gutter, and screamed in terror. Her once red hair was tinged bizarrely with purple, her green eyes were as bright and luminous as a snake’s, and her tongue was a veritable serpent’s! Screaming and thrusting herself away from this waking nightmare in the shape of her long-lost daughter, Ora fled into the night.
Defeated and horrible disheartened, Rayel went in search of her one remaining friend, Prel.
But for Prel it was too late. She found her, after long and careful searching, eager lies spilling off her tongue with an ease that shocked her. It was the Serpent’s doing of course, the things he had taught her. Disguising her altered appearance with gesture and clothing, she found where poor Prel had been staying, in the attic of an abandoned inn called the Ten Bells.
Her body was mutilated almost beyond recognition, sprawled in pile of dust and dirt in the filthy attic. Her last friend gone, her family lost to her, and burdened with powers she wasn’t sure would answer to her, Rayel gathered up the body of her friend and cried.[/sblock]
Rayel Tumai
Female Human Warlock 1
Medium Humanoid
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (with Good tendencies)
Region:
Deity: Olidamara
Height: 5' 7''
Weight: 130lbs
Hair: Red-purple
Eyes: Bright green
Age: 16
Str: 8 (-1) [0 points]
Dex: 14 (+2) [6 points]
Con: 12 (+1) [4 points]
Int: 14 (+2) [6 points]
Wis: 10 (+0) [2 points]
Cha: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Class and Racial Abilities: Extra feat at 1st level, extra 4 skill points at 1st level, 1 additional skill point at each subsequent level. Eldritch blast 1d6, least invocations. Proficient with light armor and simple weapons (but not shields). Has scent ability (from snake tongue invocation).
Hit Dice: 1d6+1
HP: 7
AC: 12 (+0 armor, +2 Dex)
ACP: 0
Init: +2 (+2 Dex)
Speed: 30ft
Saves:
Fortitude +1 [+0 base, +1 Con] +5 vs poison [from snake tongue invocation]
Reflex +2 [+0 base, +2 Dex]
Will +2 [+2 base, +0 Wis] +3 vs enchantments [from Fey Legacy feat]
BAB: +0
Melee Atk: -1 (1d4-1/19-20/x2/P, dagger)
Ranged Atk: +2 (1d6/x2/60 ft./eldritch blast)
Skills:
Bluff +7 [4 ranks, +3 Cha]
Craft (flower-making) +3 [1 rank, +2 Int]
Disguise +9 [4 ranks, +3 Cha, +2 disguise kit]
Knowledge (arcana) +6 [4 ranks, +2 Int]
Listen +0 [0 ranks, +0 Wis]
Spellcraft +5 [3 ranks, +2 Int]
Spot +0 [0 ranks, +0 Wis]
Use Magic Device 7 [4 ranks, +3 Cha]
Feats:
Fey Heritage (human bonus 1st level) [ComMag pg. 43]
Night Haunt (1st level) [ComArc pg. 81]
Languages: Common, Sylvan, Abyssal
Invocations Known
Save DC +3
Least – Serpent’s Tongue (ComMag)
Spell-like abilities
dancing lights, prestidigitation, unseen servant 1/day each
Equipment
2 daggers – 4gp 2lbs
Backpack - 2gp 2lbs (backpack has hidden flap [1gp] that contains a potion of cure light wounds [50gp])
Disguise kit – 50gp 8lbs
Bedroll - 5sp 5lbs
Belt pouch - 1gp ½ lb
Flint and steel – 1gp
Signal whistle – 8sp
Traveler’s outfit (Free)
Money
59gp, 7sp
~~~~~
Appearance: Because she was infused with the power of a fiendish fey, she bears the scars of his manipulation. Her hair is reddish-purple, the color of a deep bruise, and her eyes are a bright, unnatural, poisonous green. Tall and somewhat slender, her carriage and face are long and thin. She keeps her mouth shut as much as possible, mumbling her words when she does speak, for her tongue is a serpent’s, a further mark of her arcane servitude. She keeps her hair under a kerchief and her eyes downcast, and dresses modestly, in sturdy and practical fabrics in dull colors.
Personality: Rayel is wary of the rich and mighty, and maintains a guarded attitude around them. She is generally friendly, if wary, but lies roll with distressing ease off her tongue. If her loyalty is won, she is fiercely steadfast. She comes from a background of poverty, and has a practical attitude towards crime and violence. She knows she can’t right every wrong in the world, and accepts a certain amount of that as a matter of course.
Background: My name is Rayel Tumai. Three times in my life I faced a crossroads, and each time I took the darker path. I did not know that at the time, but looking back, I can see how my life became so grim. But now I know that at the bottom of the deepest well, one can look up. Perhaps I shall never reach the top of it, but I can always see it, if I choose to.
My powers came to me early, in light and cold, deception and illusion, change and power, by a way I am ashamed to say. I am no mighty wizard, but my powers answer easily and well, if not always the way I expect. I can only hope that they will bring me closer to something good in my life.
Rayel grew up only a few short steps from poverty, a family consisting only of her and her mother. Barely scraping by, selling flowers made from scraps of cloth and wood, her mother Ora had occasionally supplemented her income in a sadly more typical way for women in her position. The result had been Rayel, and her mother had desperately tried to give her a slightly better life than she had enjoyed. Ora’s efforts got them a garret room, for with Rayel’s clever hands being directed by her experienced ones, they could actually do enough of their simple crafts to keep them in old bread.
Rayel dreamed of being able to do more for her mother, to give her some rest, and began to use her own charm to try to attract buyers with deeper pockets. A sweet girl barely blossoming into beauty, she could have been easy prey for any who cared to try. One took advantage of the desperate and innocent child and told her to bring her wares to his fine house; his guests would certainly like to buy.
Stealing out when her mother was asleep, for Rayel intended for the extra money she would get to be a grand surprise, Rayel went to the house of Tregal, a wealthy nobleman, to sell her false flowers. She was very lucky in that Tregal did not desire to despoil her flesh, like some cruel men, but instead desired to despoil her mind.
She walked through the grand and elegant rooms, selling her flowers to the finely dressed noblemen and women that were his guests. She tried to avert her eyes from the various acts of debauchery, but found her spiritual innocence being corrupted as she saw acts of carnality and brutality, abuse of body and spirit. The victims of these decadent nobles were of a type she knew; poor girls and boys from her own streets. And her own horror was simply another pleasure to these corrupt nobles. Terrified and sickened, she fled, but had learned the lesson that power could buy anything.
Rayel never spoke of that experience to her mother, but often found her mind straying to it. From time to time she recognized a boy or girl from the house of Tregal, their eyes empty and faces lined with fear and sorrow. There was no retribution against Tregal, not even from clever thieves or skillful thugs. She might have tried to forget what she had seen, were it not for Pral.
Pral was a fellow craftswoman in the ranks of the poor, only a few years older than Rayel. She made things out of pottery shards, tiny glued pots or tiles, things to decorate the house, to brighten dark and dank quarters. She often acted like a big sister to Rayel, and the two had become friends.
So when she had seen Pral wandering the streets after spending several days missing, with blank eyes and a lined face, Rayel knew that Tregal’s depredations had finally hit home. Terror shook her as she considered the consequences. Pral was able to defend herself against common thugs and trickery, for she was far stronger than she seemed. Tregal had simply taken what he wanted, with no thought of consequences.
Who or what could stop him? Only someone with more money, more authority, or more power. With money one could bribe him to stop, or hire people to stop him. With authority one could order him to stop, or threaten him. But with power, one could do the stopping oneself. Power, the kind that could make water appear out of air, or create light, or wind, the power of magic or the gods, that kind of power could even make noblemen pause.
There had been no magicians at Tregal’s house, Rayel remembered that. From the tales she had heard in taverns and on the streets, sometimes people were born with power, some people could learn it, and some could possibly bargain for it.
Rayel had no hope of learning it; she had no apprentice fees. Surely if she had been born with power, she would have felt it by now. So that left bargaining. That she was familiar with. She was the daughter of a merchant, small businesswoman though her mother was, and had done her share of bargaining for rooms or food from as long as she could remember.
Her mother had worked so very hard to shelter her daughter, but the dark streets of the city harbored many secrets. Rayel might have been innocent of some things, before Tregal had shown her his house, but she knew far more than most girls in the city. There were places where it wasn’t safe to tread, where beings of shadow and power lived. Those who intruded upon them as a dare often ended up dead. But a few had safe passage through their places, for they placated them in some way. Perhaps she could bargain with them as well.
Her mother never knew why Rayel vanished one Midsummer’s Night, only leaving behind a half-literate note that her daughter loved her, but had to do something important. Rayel wasn’t entirely certain herself why she was doing this. It was only that she had terrible nightmares about what she had seen in Tregal’s house, and to see her only close friend and sister fall victim to them was more than she could bear.
She remembered little of the incident afterwards. Only icy terror as she walked into the darkened, dead-end alley, the smooth whisper of a non-human voice, the frigid caress of a too-slick hand, demanding, “Why? Why?” Why shouldn’t it kill her? Rayel offered what she had, her hard work, her loyalty, more if she had to. She knew the circumstances of her birth quite well.
“And in return?”
“Power,” she said. Power to help her friend, her mother, power to stop Tregal.
“It is done,” the being said, its sharp, sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness. It was then Rayel learned that all power has a price.
For many months, Rayel spent the time in a daze, caught in a world of shadow. She came to understand what had caught her was a fey creature of darkness and trickery, the Shadow Serpent. Her youthful enthusiasm, tempered with determination and grief, intrigued him. He infused her with a scrap of his power, granting her the ability to call forth power from her hands and even the air, teaching her the words of power in the languages of his ancestors, having her learn his arts of knowledge and deception. In return, Rayel found herself trapped, answering to every whim, her will bound to his. Too late she realized she had bargained in bad faith, and now merely endured what she could as the Shadow Serpent drove her to control her new-won powers.
Almost two years passed in a dream-like state as Rayel struggled against the Shadow Serpent, begging from enough freedom to help her mother, to free Prel, or to stop Tregal.
“Freedom is an illusion, little toy. I chose to take your service in exchange for power. You failed to specify, foolish mortal,” he had told her, with his toothy grin.
But in that statement of her servitude, she found her freedom. Words, she had learned, were power. In calling freedom an illusion, she used the powers she had barely mastered to slip her bonds, placing her own mental illusion over the Shadow Serpent’s bonds. Hissing rage filling her ears, she fell back into the real world, the raw grit and stench of the alley too bright and powerful after the years in swathed and shadowed darkness.
The Serpent had claimed many victims over the years, and she had scrabbled to pick up what she could from the desiccated bodies before fleeing for her life.
Trying to go back and find what she could of her mother, she soon learned the cruelest lesson yet, that power, not given its full due, can bring nothing but sorrow. Two years she had been gone from the world, and her mother had descended back into the lowest rung of a desperate poor woman, that of a street prostitute. Asking a terrified neighbor, not realizing how her appearance had changed from the touch of the Shadow Serpent’s power, she found where Ora was staying, and went to what she assumed would be a happy reunion.
Rayel barely recognized her mother in the battered and worn-down creature sleeping in the streets. But she was determined to help her, as she had meant to all those years ago.
Ora had looked up in her daughter’s face as she tried to raise her out of the gutter, and screamed in terror. Her once red hair was tinged bizarrely with purple, her green eyes were as bright and luminous as a snake’s, and her tongue was a veritable serpent’s! Screaming and thrusting herself away from this waking nightmare in the shape of her long-lost daughter, Ora fled into the night.
Defeated and horrible disheartened, Rayel went in search of her one remaining friend, Prel.
But for Prel it was too late. She found her, after long and careful searching, eager lies spilling off her tongue with an ease that shocked her. It was the Serpent’s doing of course, the things he had taught her. Disguising her altered appearance with gesture and clothing, she found where poor Prel had been staying, in the attic of an abandoned inn called the Ten Bells.
Her body was mutilated almost beyond recognition, sprawled in pile of dust and dirt in the filthy attic. Her last friend gone, her family lost to her, and burdened with powers she wasn’t sure would answer to her, Rayel gathered up the body of her friend and cried.[/sblock]
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