[Midnight] Escape from Shadow – Character thread

[Midnight] Escape from Shadow – Character thread



Welcome to the character thread for the MIDNIGHT: Escape from Shadow play-by-post game. As characters level up, come and go, they will be edited and added here.

Methusalas

Player: Herremann the Wise
Character: Methusalas (Ironborn Male Dorn Defender 1)
Status: Alive


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Medium humanoid

Hit Die: 1d10+2 (hp 12)
Initiative: +2
Speed: 30 ft.
AC: 13, touch 13, flat-footed 11 (Defender +1 AC Bonus)
Base Attack: +1, grapple +8

Attack: +4 melee (1d6/x2, unarmed)
Full Attack: +4 melee (1d6/x2, unarmed)

Saving Throws: Fortitude +3, Reflex +4, Will +1
Abilities: Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 14

Skills: Bluff +9, Listen +5, Sense Motive +5, Knowledge (Northlands) +4, Move Silently +6
Feats: Skill Focus (Bluff), Improved Grapple

Heroic Path:
Incredible Resilience

Racial Traits:
+2 Strength, -2 Intelligence
1 bonus feats at 1st-level
4 extra skill points at 1st-level
1 extra skill points at each additional level
Cold Resistance 5
+1 Racial bonus to Fortitude
+1 Racial bonus on attack rolls when fighting in groups of five or more Dorns.
Favored class: Any

Class Abilities:
Unarmed Strike
Stunning Attack

Physical Description:
Tall of stature with good musculature in terms of physical prowess, Methuselas represents the typical enslaved and towering Dorn. Lashings of the whip across back in addition to several wicked facial scars show that he has been enslaved for much of his life. Having known many cruel masters, his clear gaze combined with a friendly if cautious demeanour lends a surprising air of confidence to his movements, actions and abilities. His large Dornish hands are powerful, strong and dangerous while his blunted Dornish facial features speak of one able to take a punch without the easy splitting of skin of the typically sharp-featured Sarcosan. When given the opportunity, he would normally shave his head for Dornish shame; unfortunately, lack of access to cutting tools means that he normally has a rough reddish thatch adorning his features and face.

Background:
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As already mentioned, he has been enslaved for most of his life moving from owner to owner. What family he had was quickly replaced by a series of cruel masters and indifferent slavish peers. However, there was an older Dornish slave ruthlessly cut down for some meaningless and petty slight or indiscretion who was his father figure for several years. He instilled both Dornish pride and the smarts to hide it from those who would try to enslave their spirit. For Methuselas, this brought a sense of purpose to his life and a fire in his heart. He knew he would die a young death. He would not however let his life be for nothing. As his mentor taught him, it is the small victories that you cherish.

Having been a slave for most of his life, he has had to survive by bluffing his way our of the daily situations confronting a slave and the whip. In addition, there have been times where fisticuffs between slaves has been needed to work out a pecking order or defend one's self or another. As such, he is good at subduing angry people and correcting them in their behaviour. He looks after the younger slaves and in particular any Dornish ones in terms of trouble with owners, masters or others. He is no stranger to taking the whip for another's indescretion - using his bluff abilities.

In essence though, he sees it his duty to help other Dorns learn of who they were. He struggles himself to learn more of his own background as part of House Orin but he tries his hardest. In him does the flame of Dornish pride, shame and memory reside.
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Personality:
There is something about Methuselas that draws attention to him. While not immediately fair upon the eye, he has the earnest features that at least instil a spark or ember of trust with those of his kind. Others can see that here is one who will not run nor hide if his time is up. It is almost as if others can sense his principles despite his rough, enslaved exterior. Steady of temperament yet boldly cautious describes the somewhat polar personality of the Dorn. Methuselas embodies the heroic will of his people and will always put others before himself. To him, there is still such a thing as honour, despite his present condition and circumstance. He hopes to touch the spirits of many Dorns in his short life, in honour of his people and the man who taught him how to live with the pride of the Dorn once more.

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Torak

Player: Rikandur Azebol
Character: Torak (Ironborn Male Orc Channeler [charismatic] 1)
Status: Alive


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Medium humanoid

Hit Die: 1d8+2 (hp 10)
Initiative: +4
Speed: 30 ft.
AC: 10, touch 10, flat-footed 10
Base Attack: +0, grapple +1

Attack: +1 melee (d4+1/x2, fist)
Full Attack: +1 melee (d4+1/x2, fist)

Saving Throws: Fortitude +2, Reflex +0, Will +2
Abilities: Str 12, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 16

Skills: Diplomacy +7, Intimidate +9, Wilderness Lore +6, Heal +4, Sense Motives +4, Spellcraft +5, Knowledge: Military Tactics +5.
Feats: Magecraft (charismatic), Spellcasting (Universal, Transmutation, Lesser Conjuring), Improved Inititative.

Heroic Path:
Incredible Resilence

Racial Traits:
Dark Vision 60 ft.
Light sensitivity (-1 attack rating in bright light)
Night fighting (+1 attack rating without light)
Proficiency with vardatch.
Cold Resistance 5
+1 racial bonus to attack when in fight with 10 orcs or more, regardless of enmity.
+2 racial bonus to saves against spells and spellike abilities.
+1 racial bonus to attack against dwarves.
+2 racial bonus on Intimidation and Wilderness Lore checks.
Favored Class Barbarian.

Class Abilities:
Magecraft (charismatic)
Bonus School (Universal, Transformation, Lesser Conjuring)
Bonus Spells
Art of magic
Channeler gift (Force of Personality)

Spells:
Base DC 13 + spell level
0-level spells per day: 6
Spell Energy: 4
Spells Known: 0—create water, cure minor wounds, detect magic, mage hand, prestidigitation;
1—cure light wounds, mage armor, spider climb;

Physical Description:
In his 16 year he is standing 6' tall and weighting 260 lbs Torak isn't the biggest orc in the
world but is impressive and hansome in wild, predatory way. Black like charcoal, with gray
lionlike mane and amber eyes of cougar.

Background:
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His life was charmed, until now. Being born in family of powerful matron-mother, who wielded her legate's power like many orc generals were wielding their vardatchs. With unmatched speed and irressitible force. Despite fact that he was born as male, he was raised as commander, his willpower crushing those of lesser spirit even when he was just a small runt. Nobody dared to raise hand against favored offspring of Mathron, even if it was just a boy. Only thing that was nagging him during his childhood was fact that house's women treated him as half witted fool, and visibly were favoring his stupid and ugly twin sister, Ruk'det. And why she had two part name just because she's a girl ? That was unfair, just unfair. His forceful personality barely standed it, and he were expressing his disagreement in small ways. When he saw that women treat slaves badly, he was kind to them. When his sister shouted that she want that ... he gently asked. When legate tutoring children of the rich was speaking that Great God relives them from the taint of forbidden magic ... he devolped secret desire for it. But was aware that such desires were forbidden, and gloated in his free will and cleverness when alone in his small, humble quarter. And was slowly groving to realisation that he differs from his brethen. While bad tempered as all orcs were alvays, Torak discovered fast that following someone's orders isn't satysfing. He was sure that only fools, like his sister, would mindlessly follow orders from more powerful, who were bowing in turn to those stronger than them. Desire to became strong ... was one of first well remebered from early childhood. As well as painful punishments for disobedient children.

When growing of age, Torak was frequently irritiated, especially with himself being treated as
mindless fool while his stupid sister was treated as adult whole year now. And was allowed to punish him regularly for his misbehaviors, opportunity she seized with great delight. And this had taught him patience. He wasn't aware how easy his sheltered life was until he volontuareed to Ruk'det's freshly forming warband. His first suprise was when she agreed. Despite mutual discontent they shared for each other, twins knew each other's strengths. Ruk'det was big and very strong. Torak was alvays capable of besting most foes, even those clearly stronger than him. This mystery surrounding her brother was very infuriating, as well as his ability to avoid conflict at all ... she had alvays to beat her subjects first into obedience, and he ? He just come by, smiled and had a follower ! No matter how often she beaten him, he alvays remided undefeated. With such qualities he should strive to became a warlord, train with vardatch all the time, like her, instead he was wasting time with all this daydreaming. And he was so easygoing !!! Torak was enjoying his newfound freedom, walking the wilderness with his warband. All aware that they were hateful towards him and his sister, filthy black highborns. But their lessers obeyed under mighty fist of Ruk'det and Torak's irressistible voice.

Day that had to be fateful, started like any other. Torak avoke with heavy kick from his sister. One of lazy subordinates was in need of medical treatment ... so Torak burned his wound that it stopped bleeding. And they moved onvard, following route of patrol. It was said that human rebels were hiding somewhere there and many patrols, as their, were sent to investigate. Ruk'det choosed duty over comfort, as alvays.Torak knew that his sister was stubborn as mule, even he wouldn't convice her to change route on this where they would end up in warm tavern, not in wilderness. They weren't some goddamn cave-orcs to live like human-animals. But Torak didn't argued for long for he enjoyed all things that he earlier just read about ... thrill of hunt, when he tracked stag and killed it with well aimed bolt from his beloved crossbow. He gained much respect, even from his sister when he managed to set fire during rain, and knew how to preserve campfire from drowning in it. But the forest clearing they choosed for camp, were also occupied by someone sleeping in ragtag rags worn by humans. Soldiers laughed and shouted loudly, just as they spot easy victim. Stranger avoked, raised hands against onslaught and spoke one word. In place where was greatest number of orcs, exploded fiery death sending half burned corpses in every direction. Torak stood amazed with such display, oblivious of fact that of all fighters only his sister charged forward striking forcefully at nimble wizard with her vardatch. Other cowardly fools were too busy fleeing in every direction ... wich was probably planned by the stranger all the way. For fev breathtaking moments Ruk'det was exchanging blows with wounded enemy, who was faring quite well for someone wounded and armed with just a staff. Unable to perform another feat of magic without risking fatal blow, magician was loosing. Torak stepped forward, observing his sister's duel with interest and commenting loudly how much worth would be living magician to legates. That disturbed enemy for a moment that his sister used to score decisive blow. She barked at him to tie wounds and arms of the prisoner. While rest of the warband returned quickly ... fools shouting one trough another about on what they will use their share of reward. Ruk'det laughed them off and spoke that if they will be lucky ... they will live the day. And orcs fell on each other, as it was common for greed to overcome fear of the superior. Torak's sister was dealing with them in her usual, brutal and efficient way. Torak kneeled by the wounded one and saw that these wounds were mortal, and without his best hidden secret, without his secret power this stranger would die by the wayside like thousands of others. He considered for a moment to let the stranger die ... just to mock his sister. And raised hood of the magician. For the moment he was staring in amazement on the pale, alien features of an exotic woman with pointy ears and face more softer and delicate than the most prized human maiden he ever saw. Or had. And this spirit ... emanating from every curve, almost as strong as his own. He made his decision and muttered phrases remembered from old musty tomes from wich he learned trading tongue. Power flowed from his black hands into the lithe frame of woman lying on his knees. In meantime, he used strong alcohol to purify the wounds, raising moan of pain from elfless. Her breath stabilised and colours returned to her cheeks under power of Torak's magic. He were tired to no end, but smiled brightly when she opened her eyes. He winked to her and put a finger on his lips, while enjoying sight of her bright big eyes. So different from dull stares of humans, goblinoids and hateful glares of his fellow orcs. He didn't regretted that he put himself at risk by spending his power on healing her. He laid elf gently on the ground and charged on his sister, knowing that she wouldn't let elf to live. Ruk'det almost beheaded him with backswing, but he luckily managed to deflect the blow enough ... that hit didn't cost him life. While falling on the ground, he saw elf racing for the woods and smiled when blackness overcame him.

He avoke stripped of everything, hungry ... cold and in chains ! Several next days of slavery taught him much more about life than ten years in his house, or several weeks on the patrol. But why his sister sold him ? Did she hated him so much ? Indeed, his life was charmed ...
Until now.
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Personality:
Depending on his shifty mood, Torak could be Your best buddy or bitterest enemy. His curiosity and open mind make him distinct from most other people, not only orcs. Very prideful he never take it lightly when mocked.

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Abdiel Lyanthra

Player: Eonthar
Character: Abdiel Lyanthra (Mystic Male Erenlander Wildlander 1)
Status: Alive


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Medium humanoid

Hit Die: 1d8+1 (hp 9)
Initiative: +4
Speed: 40 ft.
AC: 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10
Base Attack: +1, grapple +3

Attack: +3 melee (1d3+2/x2, unarmed)
Full Attack: +3 melee (1d3+2/x2, unarmed)

Saving Throws: Fortitude +3, Reflex +4, Will +2
Abilities: Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 10

Skills: Climb +8, Handle Animal +4, Heal +6, Hide +10, Knowledge (nature) +4, Move Silently +10, Profession (hunter) +6, Spot +6, Survival +6, Swim +8.
Feats: Track, Athletic, Stealthy.

Heroic Path:
Burst 1/day: Increase land speed by 10 ft. as a swift action for one round

Racial Traits:
+2/-2 to any two abilities
2 Bonus feats at 1st level
8 extra skill points at 1st level, 2 extra skill points per level
4 Bonus ranks in one Craft or Profession skill
Knowledge (Central Erenland) as class skill

Class Abilities:
Wild Empathy: d20 + wildlander level + Cha bonus to influence animals like Diplomacy
Wildlander trait: Quick Stride (Ex): +10 ft. speed when wearing light or no armor

Physical Description:
Abdiel, at 5'11" and 185lbs, is of average height and weight for an Erenlander. He has relatively pale skin that is currently deeply tanned from spending all of his time outside. He has short, wavy auburn hair, and piercing green eyes. Not having access to any blades to shave with, he has a scraggly beard that is finally starting to fill in. His back is covered in scars from the lashings that he has received at the hands of his captors. The upper part of his left forearm is covered in a strange patterned, almost tribal, tattoo, which he has had as long as he can remember. Abdiel is currently 18 years old.

Background:
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Abdiel does not remember much of his early childhood, he has vague memories of flames engulfing a building, a voyage in a stuffy, cramped and noisy boat, and a long voyage across the plains. His only reminders of that time are the strange tattoo that cover his upper left arm and a slight aversion to fire.

His childhood was spent in the refugee hamlet of Merranham, a small collection of buildings just within the Eastern border of Erethor near the Westlands. Since the village was inhabited mainly by children, along with a few, mostly elderly adults, there was very little manpower available to clear the land for farming. This meant that most of the people lived from small plots of vegetables along with whatever they could hunt or gather from their surroundings. Since the hamlet had little impact on the nearby environment, the local elven tribe let them live peacefully.

Abdiel spent much of his time running through the woods, climbing trees, swimming in the nearby river, befriending animals, hunting and gathering food. He was a great provider, he seemed to have a knack for being able to catch game that eluded everyone else, climb to the very highest branches of the trees to get the eggs in the nests that no one else could reach, and follow trails that no one else could find. He made many friends, often being the first to greet those that sought the hamlet for refuge.

By the time he was 15, Abdiel was the fastest, strongest man in Merranham, and indeed in the entire region. That fall, at the festival of Zimra, the harvest festival, an event where people from all of the nearby villages came to meet, trade and rejoice, a tournament was held for all of the single men of age, in which the winner would be allowed to chose any single woman to have as his wife. The contest was an obstacle course, which involved tree climbing, swimming, foot races, as well as an archery competition [Think of the modern Biathlon]. Abdiel entered and won the competition. As his wife, he selected Brianna, a pretty, sweet freckled girl of 14, with flaming red hair, hazel eyes and a dazzling smile, whom he had fallen in love with the year before.

They were very happy, and by the harvest festival of the next year, they were the proud parents of beautiful twin girls, Kiana and Kyra. Life could not get any better. Being the strongest, fastest, wisest male in the village, as well as its best provider, he was, for all intents and purposes, the leader of the village. Life could not get any better.

In fact, it got much, much worse.

At the zenith of the arc of Hisha, the winter solstice, Abdiel's life changed forever. A patrol of orcs on their way back to their camp came across the hamlet of Merranham. The party of orcs was too much for the valiant, but overmatched, defenders of the village and everyone was either killed or enslaved. Brianna and the twins were captured and sent to a female prison camp, while Abdiel was sent to a male prison camp. This was the last time that he ever saw his wife and children.

Abdiel has spent the last two years working in prison camps. He has made a number of unsuccessful attempts to run away and now bears the scars as a reminder of his failures. He believes that he will need partners in order to be able to successfully escape, and stay out of, these prison camps. He is currently searching for like-minded individuals who's abilities will complement his so that he can escape and try to find Briana, Kiana and Kyra.
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Personality:
Abdiel is a very determined man, anything that he sets his mind to, he will accomplish ... eventually. While he is currently a little depressed, he is an eternal optimist believing that good things come to those who persevere. He believes in personal freedom and the greater good. He is not necessarily looking to defeat the dark lord, he is simply looking for a normal happy life with his family and friend around him.

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Karita

Player: Dirigible
Character: Karita (Beast Female Erenlander Wildlander 1)
Status: Alive


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Hit Die: 1d8+3 (hp 11)
Initiative: +3
Speed: 30 ft.
AC: 13, touch 13, flat-footed 10
Base Attack: +1, grapple +2

Attack: +2 melee (d3+1 S / x2, claw)
Full Attack: +2/+2 melee (d3+1 S / x2, 2 claws) and +0 melee (d2 / x2, bite)

Saving Throws: Fortitude +5, Reflex +5, Will +2.
Abilities: Str 13, Dex 16, Con 16, Int 8, Wis 15, Cha 9.

Skills: Craft (bone & antler) +1, Craft (hides) +3, Climb +4, Heal +4 (no ranks), Hide +7, Jump +4, Listen +6, Move Silently +7, Spot +6, Survival +8.

Feats: Improved Unarmed Strike (virtual), Multiattack, Lightning Reflexes, Self-Sufficient.

Heroic Path:
- Vicious Assault (Natural weapons: two claws and a bite).
- Scent

Racial Traits:
+2 Con, -2 Cha
2 Bonus feats at 1st level
8 extra skill points at 1st level, 2 extra skill points per level
4 Bonus ranks in one Craft or Profession skill
Knowledge (Central Erenland) as class skill

Class Abilities:
- Master Hunter (Animals)

Physical Description:
[sblock]Karita is a feral-looking woman of mixed parentage and imprecise, but young, age. She stands a wiry and tanned 5'10", but her tendency to hunch over and squat makes her seem shorter. Thick, dirty hair that has never been touched by a blade and seldom washed hangs down to her mid-back, and is brown with lighter streaks. Each of her fingers ends in a long, curved claw, and her teeth are sharp, with especially prominent canines. Like all slaves, her body bears the marks of torture and bondage; unlike many, however, the majority of them are vicious animal-attack wounds, and long predate her life in captivity. It's possible that, without the encrusted layer of dirt that comes from living in the wilds and being afraid of water, a fairly attractive young woman might be revealed. Karita moves like a stalking wolf, always subconsciously watching her step and keeping her eyes on her prey. She wears filthy, crude but hard-wearing clothing of uncured hides, consisting of deer-skin trousers and a vest. Karita wears no shoes, and he feet are oddly deformed: she has only three large toes on each, though this doesn't cause her any trouble in walking.[/sblock]

Background:
[sblock]Legate Golghan slurped another gobletful of wine, and eyed the farmer who stood in supplication before his table. "So, Rethlin, would you care to tell me why you are five bales of wool behind on your tithe?"

"M'lud..." the man quavered, "My flock... there's been a beast eatin' of 'em... and I've no arrers for me bow..."

Golghan scowled, making his flabby jowls jiggle. He was not fool enough to let his subjects retain weapons, to let them kindle the hope of armed defiance, but it did create irksome problems like this. "It is not my role, you cretinous villein, to drive off whatever wolves or bears wander onto your farm..."

"P-pardon, m'lud... taint no wolf, no bear." The man was squirming now.

"No?" Golghan asked, raising a brow. "Then what?"

"It... looks like a man, but I've seen it rip a ewe's throat out with one 'and... then drag the carcass back into the woods. 'Tis..." Rethlin shuddered, and whispered "...'tis the were-wolf."

Some might have dismissed such talk as folk tales, but legate Golghan was cannier than that. The books of the Order spoke of such creatures, animalistic shape chagers that could wreak havoc on whole villages, and would fall only to magic. He levered his bulk out of the chair, and retrieved a huge, iron-headed mace from where it hung on the wall.

"It's your lucky day, Rethlin..." the fat priest grinned spitefully. "Have your wife put on supper for me. I'm going hunting."

- - -

Berria's birth pains culminated with the high, angry whine of her daughter not long after midnight. Joerel quickly cut the mothercord, and wrapped the squirming infant in a lambs wool blanket. He met his wife's eyes as she tried to wriggle upright, panting and wet with perspiration, and smiled affectionately. "I would have preferred a son, beloved, but there's always next time. No, an eldest daughter will be good, as long as she is health..."

The word died on his lips as he unwrapped the child. Saw the claws flexing on her tiny fingers. Saw her three-toed feet and pointed teeth prematurely present in her mouth. Saw the fine brown hair on her head. Joerel ran a callused hand through the thick, Dornish blond mane on his head, fear, anger, panic and confusion rising in his mind like bile.

"Berria... what is this?" he almost pleaded, forcing the infant into her mother's hands. "How did you birth this... witchspawn?" His voice rose to a furious shout, overwhelming the child's cries. "You swore you would stop your Art, woman! Do you want to bring the legates down on our heads? What demon did you cavort with to get with this... cursed brat!"

"Joer...Joerel..." Berria was nearly sobbing, but there was iron in her eyes. "You don't understand... the spirit of the woods, he came to me... our daughter, my daughter! She has a destiny...!"

"Enough! I will not have this monster in my house, you cuckolding whore!" Joerel roared, roughly snatching back the baby and flinging open the door. "Let the forest that fathered her have her, then!"

With Berria's screams and pleas echoing in his ears, the Dornish woodsman strode out into the windy night. He pushed through the trees until he felt that he was far enough away for the cottage, and then he placed the snarling, wild bay into a hollow between two roots. With a last glance at it, an expression that revealed much pain, he walked away, leaving the cold and night to do what it would.


Some time later, as the wind lashed leaves through the air, a tall figure stooped to pick up the motionless infant in his huge, emerald green hands. He raised the child to his face, peering at her closely. The moonlight gleamed off his antlers. He though to himself, Yes..

Cradling the baby in the crook of his elbow, the figure strode off into the deepest part of the woods.

- - -

Golghan thrived on being underestimated. No-one believed that such a fat man would be such a fierce fighter... or so quick on his feet.

Certainly, this 'beast' had no idea what it was in for.

His ears picked up a faint rustling, and his instincts warned him what was comming. Golghan pivoted, swinging his mace through the air. He struck the leaping, brownish streak as it lunged towards him, and knocked it aside. A thin, savage human figure crashed into the soil of the forest, blood trickling from a bloody gash in its thick tangle of hair.

The hawk perched on a branch above screeched in triumph. The bird that currently housed Golghan's astirax had already warned him that whatever haunted this forest was no ordinary animal. Standing over the body, the legate heard it give a pained groan, and was inclined to agree. He reached out with his boot and flipped the figure over, and saw that it was human. Or near enough.

Golghan squatted with a release of breath, and dubiously examined the wiry, dirty young female. Saw her claws and the fangs in her gaping mouth.

"Well now... here's a puzzle,' he said softly. "One I think the Order would be most interested in examining..."

- - -

"Karita!"

The feral girl looked up sharply from her meal of raw rabbit, eyes wide and ears pricked.

"Karita!"

The blue woman had returned. Quietly, the girl crept through the undergrowth, finding a spot beneath a bush where she could hide and watch.

The blue woman picked her way through the forest, her cloak pulled tightly around her. She came to a flat rock in the middle of a clearing, and slowly sat, letting the garment fall open. Her lined face looked sadly around the wall of trees, and she sighed.

"Oh, Karita, my child... I don't even know whether you're alive or dead, let alone whether you're here," the woman murmured, then raised her voice. "I've brought the book, my love. Shall I read?"

The woman began to recite old tales and great stories in her soft, rich voice. Under the branches, the wild girl's eyes half closed, and she lay listening to the sound, her lips occasionally moving in time with them subconsciously. She liked hearing the sounds the blue woman made, but she never dared approach; the blue woman unsettled her almost as much as the green man with horns she sometimes saw in the distant parts of the wood.

That evening, when the blue woman had gone, the girl sat and skinned the rabbit with a crude knife of sharpened bone. As she worked, she made shapes with her lips, and blew air through them.

"Ka. Kaaaah. Ka. Ree. Ka. Ree. Taa."[/sblock]

Personality:
[sblock]Karita was raised without civilisation or socialisation, and is in many ways more animal than human. She learned some words thanks to her mother's attempts to contact the girl, but it was only since she was captured that she has had a chance to use them, and her grasp of the language is very weak. Survival is the foremost goal in her mind; as far as she is concerned, the slave pens are not fundamentally different to the wilderness she lived in before: both are places where death comes easily. Normally, she simply ignores things that she does not understand, but of late the proximity to other humans has lit a spark of curiosity within her, one that may grow into a desire for increased human contact and knowledge if enslavement doesn't quench it. She has come to fear the orcish guards like the bears of the forest; they are just too strong and brutal for her to fight, and the last time she tried they took her claws out with pincers. Lacking the intelligence to come up with an escape plan of her own, Karita waits for an opportunity to present itself, like a caged animal waiting for the keeper to make a mistake.[/sblock]

Notes:
Karita was declawed when she was enslaved to make her less of a threat to the slave drivers, reducing her natural weapon damage from d4 lethal to d3 subdual. She has lost claws in hunting accidents before, and they always regrow; how long this takes is up to the DM.

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