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Midnight: A Lost Faith's Shadow PbP Cast of Characters
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<blockquote data-quote="Dirigible" data-source="post: 2631400" data-attributes="member: 12631"><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>Jon Rane</strong></span> - played by Dirigible</p><p>Erenlander</p><p>1st level <strong>Rogue</strong> (Twice-Born) </p><p><em>Alignment:</em> Lawful Good</p><p></p><p><strong>Ability Scores</strong></p><p>STR: 12 (+1) </p><p>DEX: 16 (+3) inc. +2 racial</p><p>CON: 13 (+1) </p><p>INT: 13 (+1) </p><p>WIS: 12 (+1) inc. -2 racial</p><p>CHA: 14 (+2) </p><p></p><p><strong>Hit Points:</strong> 7</p><p></p><p><strong>Saves</strong></p><p>Fortitude: +1 (+0 base, +1 Con) </p><p>Reflex: +5 (+2 base, +3 Dex) </p><p>Will: +1 (+0 base, +1 Wis) </p><p></p><p><strong>Speed:</strong> 30 ft.</p><p></p><p><strong>Initiative:</strong> +3 (+3 Dex) </p><p><strong>Armor Class:</strong> 13 (+3 Dex) </p><p></p><p><strong>Attacks</strong></p><p>Improvised club +3 (1d6+1, 20/x2) </p><p></p><p>Thrown club +3 (1d6+1, 20/x2) 10 ft.</p><p></p><p><strong>Class Abilities</strong></p><p>Sneak Attack +1d6, Trapfinding. </p><p></p><p><strong>Heroic Path</strong></p><p>Unlock Memories (class skills: <em>Handle Animal, Knowledge (warfare, Northlands), Survival</em>).</p><p></p><p><strong>Feats</strong> </p><p>Combat Expertise, Improvised Weapon, Weapon Finesse.</p><p></p><p><strong>Skills</strong></p><p>Appraise +2 (1 rank, +1 Int), Balance +4 (1 rank, +3 Dex), Bluff +6 (4 ranks, +2 Cha), Craft (tinker) +5 (4 ranks, +1 Int), Diplomacy +5 (3 ranks, +2 Cha), Disguise +4 (2 ranks, +2 Cha), Escape Artist +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Gather Information +5 (3 ranks, +2 Cha), Hide +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Intimidate +4 (2 ranks, +2 Cha), Knowledge (Central Erenland) +3 (2 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (Northlands) +3 (2 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (Shadow) +4 (3 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (warfare) +4 (3 ranks, +1 Int), Listen +3 (2 ranks, +1 Wis), Move Silently +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Perform (dance) +3 (1 rank, +2 Cha), Perform (song) +3 (1 rank, +2 Cha), Search +2 (1 rank, +1 Int), Sense Motive +2 (1 rank, +1 Wis), Spot +3 (2 ranks, +1 Wis), Survival +2 (1 rank, +1 Wis).</p><p></p><p><strong>Languages</strong> </p><p>Erenlander [3], Norther [3], Trader's Tongue [2].</p><p></p><p><strong>Equipment and Treasure</strong></p><p>(Light 43; Medium 86; Heavy 130).</p><p><em>Carried/Worn:</em> Artisan's Outfit, Caltrops, Piton (x4), Rope (10 ft), Winter Bedroll.</p><p></p><p><em>Trade Goods:</em> Iron wealth (6 lbs), Pots and pans (10 lbs), Nails & needles (1 lbs), Olive oil (2 pints), Washing soap (2 lbs).</p><p></p><p><strong>Appearance</strong> </p><p>Jon Rane is a healthy, leanly muscled youth of 19. Not remarkably tall, especially amongst the Dorns, his face is classically Erenlander; oval, broad of cheek, strong of jaw, a ruddy pink in hue. A patch of pale, shiny skin disfigures one corner of his mouth, the mark of an old burn. His hair in an unruly mop of brown, and his eyes an unusual shade of bright indigo capable of great warmth or wryness.</p><p></p><p>Hears wears a bulky coat over a plain grey woollen tunic and canvas trousers. The pockets of the coat and the sack that hangs from his belt contain a variety of oddments, including cloth sacks of broken glass, jagged gravel and iron shavings that work as caltrops; a leather wallet of nails, pins, thimbles and other sewing gear for trade; and a sprue of iron wealth, half-formed plough-shears good for barter with any farmer. He in unarmed and unarmoured, so as not to attract any undue Shadow-attention.</p><p></p><p><strong>Background</strong></p><p>I was born in Hallow's Landing, a small village on the shore near Baden's Bluff. My family were poor and miserable, but not much more so than anyone else. Had I not been so afraid of the water, I suppose I would have been a fisherman like the rest of the people there; as it was, I became a tinker. The mine overseer from the Hills didn't like anyone using forges; probably worried about us stealing his precious ore. It was hard to repair hooks, gutting knives and pans without fire, but I found a way to cut pieces of scrap metal and fit them to the damaged gear. I've always been good at improvising that way.</p><p></p><p><em>I was born in the Keep of the Wind Stallions in Alvedara. I was taught to read using old campaign diaries as texts; I was taught to walk with a broadsword as my crutch. My father, dead; my uncle Sussar of the Midlands under the king, determined I become a solider as my blood demanded. I rode across Erenland as a page, and they said I had the makings of a fine horseman; I levied troops from outlying hamlets, and they said I had the makings of a fine orator; I lead them against traitors, rebels and bandits, and they said I had the makings of a fine captain.</em></p><p></p><p>Then the Fell came.</p><p></p><p><em>Then the orcs came.</em></p><p></p><p>They marched out of the sea, bitter and slimy and grimacing, and they started killing, and they started feasting. What did we have to fight them? Blunt hatchets? Scaling knives? Oars? Besides, how can you fight the dead... that I figured out. You run. When one got in front of my, I tripped, but I got hold of a billpole. I just kept jabbing at it, making it keep its distance, not letting it get close to me...</p><p></p><p><em>We went to the Fortress Wall, but it was fruitless. This was not the Battle of Eris Aman from so many centuries ago; there was no limitless black host to meet on pitched battle. They fought like fleas, jumping and biting, testing and retreating, slaying traders and farmers, not swordsmen. For years, we tried to guess their tactics, chase them down, stop their raids, but with little success. At last, though, I discovered a great body of troops massing, and prepared to crush them...</em></p><p></p><p>The Fell ate their fill and left. There were many dead, but few bodies. Who did they blame for the horrors? Me, of course. Me, whom they saw unscathed and uninjured while they all bore bloody wounds. Me, whom they muttered should have been makings swords and shields, not nails and plates. Me, whom they drove out of town with curses and kicks. I probably would have been lost in the wilds of the Hills, had not a gnome ship put ashore nearby. With them, I heard tales of the Resistance, of free lands of plenty. It's funny, but when they say it, you believe them, even though the black priests and their orcs have never done anything to me. Their tales made me want to travel, find a cause, and there was this voice inside that agreed with them, like the one that had told me how to fight the dead men. I was able to pay my way with my skills, and the gnomes agreed to take me to the North.</p><p></p><p><em>But they were not the anvil, they were the hammer. And they had come to crush <strong>us</strong>. Against their might we fell back to the keep, losing many, and the siege locked like a vice about us. There were orcs and graks, giantmen and fiendish beasts with them. Cunningly, they had already slaughtered all our client farmers and blockaded our trade routes, and their allies pressed all along the Fortress Wall; we would receive no aid from any quarter. The giants catapulted sacks of rancid entrails and muck over the walls to force us out with stench and pestilence, but we endured. hey set fires at the walls to choke us with smoke, but we endured. They brought prisoners before us and tortured them to death in the most vile way. And that broke my men. They sallied forth and joined battle, crazed with revenge. But the Shadow's forces were too great, and they breached the bailey, brought the fight inside the keep.</em></p><p></p><p>I hated crossing the Pellurian. Hated. It. If I never see another boat, I'll die a happy man. After laughing themselves silly over my vomiting, the gnomes dropped me off near some place called Davindale with best wishes and the little I had managed to steal from their holds. The North is a bitter, black land. I think... somehow... I remember the lay of the land near here. Very strange. I have to avoid the city, too many questions... isn't there a town called Caft a ways inland? Probably not ideal, but there was a rumour on the ship about a few Resistance agents roaming the lands near here, and little villages like that tend to get Shadow-visits infrequently.</p><p></p><p><em>I died at the gates of the last tower, holding it against three demons with the skin of black lizards and the voices of children. They cut the sword from my fist, taking my fingers with it, and I was torn asunder, my back against the bound oak gate. With my dying breath, I vowed to rise again, take the battle back to the Shadow. To win hope and victory, in this life or the next. I died, and a few years later the Second Age died too, a hollow victory wrought of dragonsfire and ashes.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>But was I dead? Mayhaps. But I was amongst the Lost, sightless and unseen, screaming and silent. For years beyond counting I roamed the ruins of my keep, lamenting my failure and my dead comrades. But through the Shadow's own magic, the dead cannot be gone forever.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>And come the next Age, the Last Age, I would return.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Dirigible, post: 2631400, member: 12631"] [size=4][b]Jon Rane[/b][/size] - played by Dirigible Erenlander 1st level [b]Rogue[/b] (Twice-Born) [i]Alignment:[/i] Lawful Good [b]Ability Scores[/b] STR: 12 (+1) DEX: 16 (+3) inc. +2 racial CON: 13 (+1) INT: 13 (+1) WIS: 12 (+1) inc. -2 racial CHA: 14 (+2) [b]Hit Points:[/b] 7 [b]Saves[/b] Fortitude: +1 (+0 base, +1 Con) Reflex: +5 (+2 base, +3 Dex) Will: +1 (+0 base, +1 Wis) [b]Speed:[/b] 30 ft. [b]Initiative:[/b] +3 (+3 Dex) [b]Armor Class:[/b] 13 (+3 Dex) [b]Attacks[/b] Improvised club +3 (1d6+1, 20/x2) Thrown club +3 (1d6+1, 20/x2) 10 ft. [b]Class Abilities[/b] Sneak Attack +1d6, Trapfinding. [b]Heroic Path[/b] Unlock Memories (class skills: [i]Handle Animal, Knowledge (warfare, Northlands), Survival[/i]). [b]Feats[/b] Combat Expertise, Improvised Weapon, Weapon Finesse. [b]Skills[/b] Appraise +2 (1 rank, +1 Int), Balance +4 (1 rank, +3 Dex), Bluff +6 (4 ranks, +2 Cha), Craft (tinker) +5 (4 ranks, +1 Int), Diplomacy +5 (3 ranks, +2 Cha), Disguise +4 (2 ranks, +2 Cha), Escape Artist +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Gather Information +5 (3 ranks, +2 Cha), Hide +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Intimidate +4 (2 ranks, +2 Cha), Knowledge (Central Erenland) +3 (2 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (Northlands) +3 (2 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (Shadow) +4 (3 ranks, +1 Int), Knowledge (warfare) +4 (3 ranks, +1 Int), Listen +3 (2 ranks, +1 Wis), Move Silently +5 (2 ranks, +3 Dex), Perform (dance) +3 (1 rank, +2 Cha), Perform (song) +3 (1 rank, +2 Cha), Search +2 (1 rank, +1 Int), Sense Motive +2 (1 rank, +1 Wis), Spot +3 (2 ranks, +1 Wis), Survival +2 (1 rank, +1 Wis). [b]Languages[/b] Erenlander [3], Norther [3], Trader's Tongue [2]. [b]Equipment and Treasure[/b] (Light 43; Medium 86; Heavy 130). [i]Carried/Worn:[/i] Artisan's Outfit, Caltrops, Piton (x4), Rope (10 ft), Winter Bedroll. [i]Trade Goods:[/i] Iron wealth (6 lbs), Pots and pans (10 lbs), Nails & needles (1 lbs), Olive oil (2 pints), Washing soap (2 lbs). [b]Appearance[/b] Jon Rane is a healthy, leanly muscled youth of 19. Not remarkably tall, especially amongst the Dorns, his face is classically Erenlander; oval, broad of cheek, strong of jaw, a ruddy pink in hue. A patch of pale, shiny skin disfigures one corner of his mouth, the mark of an old burn. His hair in an unruly mop of brown, and his eyes an unusual shade of bright indigo capable of great warmth or wryness. Hears wears a bulky coat over a plain grey woollen tunic and canvas trousers. The pockets of the coat and the sack that hangs from his belt contain a variety of oddments, including cloth sacks of broken glass, jagged gravel and iron shavings that work as caltrops; a leather wallet of nails, pins, thimbles and other sewing gear for trade; and a sprue of iron wealth, half-formed plough-shears good for barter with any farmer. He in unarmed and unarmoured, so as not to attract any undue Shadow-attention. [b]Background[/b] I was born in Hallow's Landing, a small village on the shore near Baden's Bluff. My family were poor and miserable, but not much more so than anyone else. Had I not been so afraid of the water, I suppose I would have been a fisherman like the rest of the people there; as it was, I became a tinker. The mine overseer from the Hills didn't like anyone using forges; probably worried about us stealing his precious ore. It was hard to repair hooks, gutting knives and pans without fire, but I found a way to cut pieces of scrap metal and fit them to the damaged gear. I've always been good at improvising that way. [i]I was born in the Keep of the Wind Stallions in Alvedara. I was taught to read using old campaign diaries as texts; I was taught to walk with a broadsword as my crutch. My father, dead; my uncle Sussar of the Midlands under the king, determined I become a solider as my blood demanded. I rode across Erenland as a page, and they said I had the makings of a fine horseman; I levied troops from outlying hamlets, and they said I had the makings of a fine orator; I lead them against traitors, rebels and bandits, and they said I had the makings of a fine captain.[/i] Then the Fell came. [i]Then the orcs came.[/i] They marched out of the sea, bitter and slimy and grimacing, and they started killing, and they started feasting. What did we have to fight them? Blunt hatchets? Scaling knives? Oars? Besides, how can you fight the dead... that I figured out. You run. When one got in front of my, I tripped, but I got hold of a billpole. I just kept jabbing at it, making it keep its distance, not letting it get close to me... [i]We went to the Fortress Wall, but it was fruitless. This was not the Battle of Eris Aman from so many centuries ago; there was no limitless black host to meet on pitched battle. They fought like fleas, jumping and biting, testing and retreating, slaying traders and farmers, not swordsmen. For years, we tried to guess their tactics, chase them down, stop their raids, but with little success. At last, though, I discovered a great body of troops massing, and prepared to crush them...[/i] The Fell ate their fill and left. There were many dead, but few bodies. Who did they blame for the horrors? Me, of course. Me, whom they saw unscathed and uninjured while they all bore bloody wounds. Me, whom they muttered should have been makings swords and shields, not nails and plates. Me, whom they drove out of town with curses and kicks. I probably would have been lost in the wilds of the Hills, had not a gnome ship put ashore nearby. With them, I heard tales of the Resistance, of free lands of plenty. It's funny, but when they say it, you believe them, even though the black priests and their orcs have never done anything to me. Their tales made me want to travel, find a cause, and there was this voice inside that agreed with them, like the one that had told me how to fight the dead men. I was able to pay my way with my skills, and the gnomes agreed to take me to the North. [i]But they were not the anvil, they were the hammer. And they had come to crush [b]us[/b]. Against their might we fell back to the keep, losing many, and the siege locked like a vice about us. There were orcs and graks, giantmen and fiendish beasts with them. Cunningly, they had already slaughtered all our client farmers and blockaded our trade routes, and their allies pressed all along the Fortress Wall; we would receive no aid from any quarter. The giants catapulted sacks of rancid entrails and muck over the walls to force us out with stench and pestilence, but we endured. hey set fires at the walls to choke us with smoke, but we endured. They brought prisoners before us and tortured them to death in the most vile way. And that broke my men. They sallied forth and joined battle, crazed with revenge. But the Shadow's forces were too great, and they breached the bailey, brought the fight inside the keep.[/i] I hated crossing the Pellurian. Hated. It. If I never see another boat, I'll die a happy man. After laughing themselves silly over my vomiting, the gnomes dropped me off near some place called Davindale with best wishes and the little I had managed to steal from their holds. The North is a bitter, black land. I think... somehow... I remember the lay of the land near here. Very strange. I have to avoid the city, too many questions... isn't there a town called Caft a ways inland? Probably not ideal, but there was a rumour on the ship about a few Resistance agents roaming the lands near here, and little villages like that tend to get Shadow-visits infrequently. [i]I died at the gates of the last tower, holding it against three demons with the skin of black lizards and the voices of children. They cut the sword from my fist, taking my fingers with it, and I was torn asunder, my back against the bound oak gate. With my dying breath, I vowed to rise again, take the battle back to the Shadow. To win hope and victory, in this life or the next. I died, and a few years later the Second Age died too, a hollow victory wrought of dragonsfire and ashes. But was I dead? Mayhaps. But I was amongst the Lost, sightless and unseen, screaming and silent. For years beyond counting I roamed the ruins of my keep, lamenting my failure and my dead comrades. But through the Shadow's own magic, the dead cannot be gone forever. And come the next Age, the Last Age, I would return.[/i] [/QUOTE]
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