4e: Lost Temple of Roanorn
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  1. #1

    4e: Lost Temple of Roanorn

    Post your PC's descriptions and whatnot here, please.

  2. #2

    Tyron "Torn" Duskmeadow

    Tyron "Torn" Duskmeadow

    Torn between two worlds. This tends to sum up the life of Tyron (called "Torn"). Born of a human father and an Eladrin mother (halfelf = half Ė elf or eladrin?). He was raised by his father to his mothers grief. Her people live mostly in the feywild and her Bralani elders didn't allow for a half-breed child. Feeling the anger of his younger pure human siblings he ran away from home and survived on the streets of a small city near his fathers castle. Here he befriended a scrawny goblin called Rat-Catcher. Learning street craft and the goblin tongue from him, the friendship was broken by an "accident" with a magic trap. Mourning his friends death he once more became a loner.
    Having some successes as a pretty thief and charmed some rich men's daughters with his otherworldly charm he tried to reclaim his lost inheritance. Studying all texts he could find regarding the fey, he found old texts about the connection of his mother's people to the "true fey".

    At last, standing in an ancient stone circle, near the woods his mother calls home, he performs the ancient rituals to embrace his destiny.Tyron was able to make some pacts with the wild spirits that appeared.

    If he killed an enemy in the name of his patrons, they allowed him to step briefly into the feywild.

    Of one of the gloom fae, close relatives to the Shadar-Kai he received the ability to vanish as he moves fast and an eldritch blast of pure dark energy.

    The prismatic being Duke of the Rainbow let him blind his foes with brilliant energys.

    The Queen of Winter bestowed her frozen touch upon him and the Summer King gave him silvery flames.

    But the greatest gift was the ability to inflict a waking nightmare in his enemies and tore their perceptions, their mind torn from this world.

    He got the dark-brown hair of his father and his mother's emerald eyes. He prefers dark-green clothing accentuated with scarlet.

    His general appearance is (for humans) exotic enough to be attractive but without the alieness of his mother's people.

    Height: 5' 9"
    Weight: 185 lb.

    Tyron is friendly and charming to everybody, because he really wants to belong to someone, but has problems letting people close to him. After the death of Rat-Catcher he is afraid to loose another friend. He is pride of his abilities as a warlock, but is afraid of some of the truths and commands in his dreams. He likes cats, but no dogs. In a tavern he will order wine and no beer.
    Last edited by Walking Dad; Monday, 18th August, 2008 at 02:54 PM.

  3. #3
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    Skamos Redmoon

    Skamos is a foundling, left quite literally on the doorstep of the famed magus Labroth of the Hungry Eyes. It's entirely possible that whoever left the infant tiefling there was hoping that the infamous wizard would sacrifice him to some demon or another, or perhaps use him to cast some sort of horrifying spell ("He uses the blood of babes to paint his foul runes, y'know. And then he drinks whatever's left, from a cup of gold!"), but alas...Labroth's reputation was terribly exaggerated. He was simply a wizard, no more evil than any other, who deeply valued his privacy.

    Why he took the squalling infant in, even he could never say for certain. Perhaps he'd gained an inkling of his own mortality in his researches into the nature of the cosmos, and wished to pass his knowledge on to another before passing from the mortal realm. Or perhaps he simply wanted someone to talk to.

    It matters little, in the end. He took the boy in, and raised him as his own, and showed him as much love as the old man could manage. Which wasn't much, really; Labroth was never entirely comfortable with other people.

    He left Labroth's tower two decades after his arrival there, casting many a trepidatious glance over his shoulder as he strode away. It was time; he knew it, and Labroth agreed. The World was calling to him, and he had to answer. I just wish I knew where I was going, he thought mournfully, as the tower shrank in the distance, Or how long it will tkae me to get there.


    His skin is pale, his hair is black as coal, and his eyes smolder with a dull red radiance. Small horns crown his forehead, curving in smooth and symmetrical arcs, and his long tail is in constant motion...almost serpentine when he is relaxed, and lashing like an angry cat when he is disturbed.

    He stands tall and slender. Rather, not so much slender as skinny. Gawky, one might even say. But he moves with a certain deliberate grace that belies his awkward seeming, and his gaze is disturbingly sharp.


    He's scared, Skamos is. Terrified, even. He's haunted by dreams of some strange destiny, and he feels helpless against them. He doesn't entirely understand the world he's found himself in, and is terribly nervous about approaching other people. Already he's had to flee from hurled stones, and he's morbidly certain that there's something worse lurking around the next bend in the road.

    Even so, he'll not hesitate to help those in need. He knows the reputation that Tieflings have -- Labroth, cheerfully enough, told him a few tales of his ancestors and their horrible deeds -- and he's determined to show that he's not some kind of soulless monster. If anyone will give him a chance.
    Last edited by Rolzup; Monday, 24th March, 2008 at 07:24 PM.

  4. #4

    Armarantan of Borne, Human Cleric

    Armarantan of Borne watched the sun rise over the hill, his armor glinting as the fine links caught the early morning rays. He sat quietly by himself on a solitary rock on the tallest hill in the area around Borne. The morning was a time of reflection, a time to devote himself to the matters of his faith. But this morning he found himself casting his mind's eye back to the events of years before. Because, unlike every other morning that he'd come up here to cherish the sun and his faith, this moment was different. It was exactly a year since it had happened.

    Rose had been the most glorious jewel, a previous stone that's clarity and beauty could rival even the sparkling sun. She was, according to his parents, not the most suitable woman, but the fire that burnt in her was captivating. It enhanced his faith, fueled it and gave it new meaning. Here on this earth he had reason to worship something else other than the radiance of the sun. But she'd quickly darkened. And the pain of the event still cut his heart every time he thought about it. Killed, not by accident, not even by something worthy, but by the humiliation of swarms of lowly kobolds that had nearly killed him and cut her to pieces.

    He tried not to reflect too much on that day. The mistakes he'd made, the things he could've changed. And the parting from his parents at the funeral. 'Good riddance' is not a comment that any son wanted to overhear.

    Life continued, his faith continued, though it was subdued. And as the days past, he started to change, to find again an inner fire - some sort of radiant madness with which to quench the hurt and pain. Sighing heavily, he stood up, tall and handsome, his outfit and armor meticulous in cleanliness and organisation. Borne had given birth to him, raised him, shown him life beyond what he could've expected. Now it was time to make a life away from Borne. Armarantan of Borne would rise to the challenge.

    Armarantan is a tall, blond-haired man with sharp chiselled features and a finely sculpted look. His appearance is meticulous, though his mood is sombre and often serious. His eyes are a deep blue, and they hide a life experienced and richness of joy mingled with dark patches of sadness. He wears a shiny coat of chain mail armor, each link polished and clean, though most of the time it is hidden beneath a cream tunic. In a hidden pocket of his tunic is a single embroided handkerchief, a lasting memory of Rose.

    Armarantan is a serious, though often unpredictable individual. He is prone in recent years to acts of rashness, thought to be the result of a complete lack of fear for his own life. He values other people's lifes, though, and their opinions, and is a willing listener. He hides a hidden anger at both himself and the unrighteousness of the world, and is prone to bouts of rage and flashes of uncalled-for madness. Throught it all he holds fast to his faith, and believes that religion offers a better life to those that have little hope. He has a tendency to be cynical at times, and can often be called humourless.

    Armarantan of Borne

    Armarantan of Borne
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    Last edited by Pinotage; Wednesday, 26th March, 2008 at 11:44 AM.

  5. #5
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    No one would ever have believed Corrin could be a Paladin had they known him as a child. His parents, both explorers had left him behind during one of their ventures and were never seen again. At first he took to trying to steal for his survival, but after several getaways that seemed the results of pure luck, he decided he needed to try things another way. He realized that it was in fact far safer, and far more successful, to convince others to do the stealing for him. Sometimes even buy things for him legitimately. He formed a small gang of street urchins, who quickly became a menace to merchants throughout the poorer districts of the city, though he was careful to keep their connections from being too obvious.

    To this day, he is unsure of just what happened that night, but it was so long ago that it likely no longer matters. By this point, his gang had become quite a bit larger, and he had become a young man, or well, Halfling. In any case, he and several compatriots were settled into their hideout, enjoying the dayís spoils. They had actually started to make some money out of this, rather than simply scraping by. They had invited over a few of ladies of ill repute from the local brothel and were having a bit of a party, when a sudden loud knock came on the door. Everyone stopped to stare at the door, and after a moment there was another sound, the sound of an axe hacking into wood, and the sight of a metal blade coming through the door. The group stared for but a moment longer and then quickly panicked and ran for the back door. Corrin, with his short legs did not reach it first, and it saved his live. For as he watched, that door was smashed inwards, and a massive humanoid barged in, grabbing one of his friends by the head and tossing him aside like a ragdoll. Everyone was screaming, and Corrin is sure to this day that it was the intervention of the goddess of luck herself that got him out of there alive. He certainly doesnít remember it. All he remembers is running over rooftops with wild abandon and then falling through an open skylight into hot soapy water. He couldnít breath. Was it the water, or was it because his face was buried in something soft and warm? He felt himself being lifted out of the water, and realized to his (admittedly slight) embarrassment, that he had disturbed a human woman in her bath. She looked at him with an expression halfway between anger and amusement, and it was fairly clear that she wasnít quite sure what to think of the young Halfling who had just fallen face first on top of her while she was bathing.

    Corrin quickly came to the conclusion that his very survival might well depend on getting into this womanís good graces, and that was one thing he was good at. Aside from her ridiculous height, she was pretty good looking too, so he figured he could get away with a bit of flattery even if she wasnít as dumb as the women he usually spent time with. He looked down at himself, sopping wet from head to toe and soapy, not that she was any less that way, but he was still fully clothed. He looked back up at the woman and smiled sheepishly. ďI do not know whether I should apologize, or thank Tymora for that stumble, my lady. It seems sure that The Smiling Lady herself has ordained that I should fall through your ceiling and to be saved by your most exquisite self. My name is Corrin, Lady, I would be honored if you would share yours.Ē

    The woman watched him curiously, having quickly covered herself with a towel once she had extricated the bewildered Halfling from atop herself. She smiled at his humorously overdone flattery, even more so because it sounded so sincere (And certainly, quite a bit of it was). ďAnd what do you know of my mistress?Ē The lady asked, taking Corrin completely by surprise.

    A priestess, this could be either very good, or very bad for him. In any case, he would have to use all his charm, and show his piety. He did, quite well, and in the morning he was still alive, and had made a new and important acquaintance, one that would influence his life from then on. Sophia had gotten into his mind. Made him think of thinks in a way he never had before. She introduced him to a Paladin, and he became a squire of Tymora, and eventually a Paladin himself.

    Heís left his old life behind him completely. He does not know what happened that night, or what happened to his friends. It seems that they were all killed, but he doesnít know why, or by whom. He has simply dedicated his life to Lady Luck, though never let it be said that he is averse to dedicating some time to other ladies. He has decided to begin adventuring recently, as that is a favored profession of his goddess. Hopefully her favor will last.

    Corrin is a bit stocky for a Halfling, fairly muscular, and very handsome. He has long dark hair, and tanned skin, and he wears a seemingly perpetual smile under his brown eyes. Most of this is usually very hard to see, thanks to his use of full plate armor.

    Corrin has a friendly, seemingly carefree personality that servants of stuffier religions would likely find offensive. However, he always tries to maintain civility, even to his adversaries. He is not an intellectual by any stretch of the imagination, but has a good innate sense for things that often helps him where careful thought canít or wouldnít. He unfortunately has a rather bad weakness for members of the opposite sex, of most any race.

  6. #6

    Growing up in the Feywild was not an easy thing for any eladrin, with the constant threat of fomorians and other dangers of the fey darkness. Being the son of the ruling noble, the Bralani of Autumn Winds, wasnít much easier. Riardonís father bore the tremendous burden of protecting their city-state from the encroaching darkness. Due to the constant pressure and commitment required of his position, Riardonís father was not able to spend the time with his son and the times they were together were awkward and cold. Riardon spent more time with the captain of the guard, Illtheil, and grew to look upon him as a father figure. For his part Illtheil relished the role as he had lost his wife and son during childbirth.

    They spent much time training in both martial weaponry and more scholastic topic, such as history and the natural world. Often, Riardon would sneak out of his home to travel on patrol with Illtheil. During these times Riardon was taught how to keep himself hidden, how to detect concealed threats, and how to utilize his inborn fey abilities to their utmost.

    Things were idyllic for Riardon until his father heard about the kinship that the two had developed and grew extremely jealous. His father was already upset that Riardon hadnít shown any interest in the political circles his father entertained or in the ruling of a city. His father had Illtheil banished from the city on pain of death. In a rare show of emotion, Riardon burst into tears at the news and pleaded with his father to reconsider. However, his mind wasnít about to be changed and so Illtheil was sent out of the city never to return.

    Riardon was distraught and grabbing what gear he could, including his trusted bow and sword, he struck out after Illtheil. Utilizing all the skills heíd been taught Riardon tracked Illtheil for three days before he finally caught up to him. They began to travel to the human lands, thinking it would be the best place to hide from Riardonís father. They managed to make their way out of the Feywild in one piece and began to travel to the nearest settlement. When they arrived to a small farming hamlet, they were shocked at the scene they found.

    A group of bandits was ransacking the town. They were a motley group of individuals, orcs, goblins, humans, and a few dragonborn. Looking to each other, they realized they had to help these people and launched into action. Luckily for them the bandits were disorganized and easily fell to their combined blade and arrows. However, one dragonborn stood above the rest and began to rally the others. He carried a massive spiked chain and wielded it with obvious skill. Emboldened by his appearance the other bandits began to organize themselves and pressed Riardon and Illtheil back. The duo still managed to strike down most of the bandits when the large dragonborn struck. He pulled the sword from Illtheilís hands and followed up with a low sweep of his chain, knocking him to the ground. Riardon was battling a pair of orcs and couldnít make his way to Illtheil before the dragonborn brought the chain above his head and smashed it down into the prone form. Riardon had overcome his enemies by then and cautiously advanced on the powerful bandit drawing his sword while he walked. The dragonborn advanced on Riardon twisting and rotating the chain with ease, laughing as he approached. Riardon suddenly disappeared and was behind the large creature, he struck his sword deep into its back all the way through the other side. With the threat neutralized he ran over to Illtheil and attempted to revive him, but it was too late.

    Overcome with grief Riardon tended to his friends burial and also brought the dragonbornís body to a secluded place. He created a set of hide armour from the large creature swore that heíd make Illtheil proud. With that he advanced out into the world seeking new challenges and, hopefully, new friends.

    Riardon is of average height for an eladrin and is quite thin relative to an average human, although very defined. His fair skin and small frame lead some to think him a weak member of the nobility, although they are half right. Riardon favours loose-fitting clothing that is of a darker colour, which helps him blend into his environment. He keeps his head shaved as he feels it could provide an enemy an advantage. Riardon has piercing green eyes, which he uses to scan the area wherever he happens to be.

    Riardon is quiet and appears cool to those who donít understand the eladrin. He struggles to keep his emotions in check, especially as he recalls Illtheilís death. Riardon feels pity for the weak and will always go out of his way to help those in need, heedless of his own safety. He has a love for music of any kind and will travel to an inn when he first gets to a new town to hear what the local bard is playing, often spending hours enjoying the music.

  7. #7
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    Skarra Ironshield


    Skarra Ironshield is a dwarf, a mighty protector of one of the many egresses to the Ironhome Mountains. She was, basically, a door guard.

    She'd guarded this entryway to a mountain for 80 years, just as her father, her father's mother and her father's mother's father had.
    They had been great warriors in the old days. Valiant vanguards against forces of darkness. Each child was trained in those traditions.
    But the Ironhome Mountains were depleted of Iron in her grandmother's day and the dwarves moved deeper into the mountains. Their entry fell into disuse.
    There were other, better entryways.

    With the cessation of trade other raiders and other threats dried up.And the Ironshield family dwindled down to a couple.
    Her parents were old when she was born.
    They died one fall, her father one day after his mother.
    She lived alone for many years.
    A few times a season a trader (usually a trapper) or a traveler would pass through the door.
    She'd remember their faces at night. Imagine conversations they could have had, things they might have told her of places she would never see.

    One day, saw the first white hair in her head.
    It had been six months since anyone had used the door. It had been fifty years since she'd lifted her waraxe to do more than salute a passing trader. Humans trappers she had know as pups tagging along behind their parents had grown old; last year the grandson of the first woman she'd ever let through the door had come to tell her that the old woman had passed on a cold winters night.

    In centuries past the Ironshield name, its proud history, the prestige of being a protector of the kingdom (however small) would have attracted suitors. But Skarra had had none.

    She looked at the hair on her head and realized she was going to stop.

    She methodically carved runes (in dwarven) on both sides of the entryway, carefully explaining that the door was now closed and suggesting alternate routes. When a trapper finally came by she explained that she was leaving, that the door would be closed and asked the trader to tell others so no one would be inconvenienced.

    The trader, another dwarf, was so surprised, so amazed that he simply nodded and went through. And so this dwarf dropped the stones on both sides to seal it. And went <wherever is good for the story>.

    Skarra comes off as "typically dwarven". Reserved and quite she prefers to let others speak first and tends to limit her speach and interactions to gruff practicalities around people she's not comfortable with.
    She tends to approach interactions with people with a methodical, almost simplistic, mindset. What do I want? What do they want? Can we come to an agreement?

    While hardly naive she's never seen or experienced anything wild or adventurous, never dealt with non-dwarves for any length of time and she will respond with undwarf-like glee to new experiences and interactions.

    She has embraced, with finality, a difficult decision, giving up her old role and social status to try to "be herself". This gives her a sort of reserve, a patience and energy that keeps her going. Years of sitting in one spot have given her a fine eye for detail, she tends to find joy or interest in even the smallest of things.

    She can be almost unbeleivably patient when waiting is called for.

    Skarra still comes off as the job she performed for so long. Her expression is naturally neutral, grim. People who know her well may catch the sparkle of laughter in her eye when she hears a joke, but she has little practice with or affinity for showing her true feelings to the outside world.

    She's squat and powerfuly built, blessed with the frame that allowed her great great grandmother to be one of the "five of five hundred" who stood fire against the dragon Pyrax when the dwarves first came to the Ironhome.

    Her armor and equipment are ornate, but not gaudy, functional heirlooms forged of true Ironhome Steel and handed down through the generations.

    Skarra values them immensely and always keeps them polished and in excellent condition.

    How other Dwarves see her
    She's not an "outcast" or "hunted" per se. But other dwarves, no matter how polite they may be to her face, find it scandalous that she would leave her post.
    Like leaving a marriage a hundred years ago it simply isn't done. No matter what the circumstances.

    This, naturally is something the DM has the final word on. Just how I see it knowing nothing about the world.

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