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Airwalkrr's Shatterscape Rogue's Gallery (Cooperative Design-As-You-Go PBP)
- Thread starter airwalkrr
- Start date
hafrogman
Adventurer
Kylest
[sblock=Kylest]
[/sblock][sblock=Background]I have occasionally heard others speak of our people and the glory of the old kingdom, but I'm not sure I believe them. I never got close to any dwarves. I never really got close to anyone, but it's the dwarves I'm talking about now. So I was never close, but I watched them enough. They didn't impress me. Lickspittle toadies, sniveling cowards, soulless automatons, or foolish zealots. Everybody has to find their own way to live under the orcs. Mine was blood.
I don't know who my parents were. I assume they're dead. Either way, I wasn't raised around other dwarves, I think that's intentional. My earliest memories are of my handler, an Orc of course. When I was young, I called him 'Master'. Once I was old enough to understand what it meant, I stopped. He tried to beat that little bit of impertinence out of me, but didn't succeed. I think I was worth too much money for him to simply kill me.
Most of my youth was spent learning how to fight. The orcs like to train the fighters young, and alone. Less chance of any friendship or blood kin causing trouble during the fights. Once you're in the pit, you fight. It doesn't matter that the dwarf across from you might be your father, or your brother. He's going to try and kill you, and you'll do just the same. . . there are no choices.
Every morning started with practice. After shaving of course. All male dwarves start their day by shaving. The orcs have this real thing against beards, I don't know why. I once saw some damn fool that wasn't trying to make a statement or something. He must have managed to avoid notice for a few days at least, but the fur on his face gave him away. Six orcs pinned him down and started shaving him with a rusty knife. Once they were done with the beard, they just kept going, flaying the skin away from his face. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Every so often, I'd be sent to a pit to fight. Sometimes it was a disobediant slave, sometimes an animal, or monster, and sometimes it was another gladiator, just like me. There was a lot of betting involved, and I assume my handler got a share, because he was always smiling after I won. I don't think it was out of concern for my safety.
Then the routine changed. The fights started coming more frequently, and they were always against other gladiators. My handler wouldn't tell me anything, just mentioned a 'tournament', and then ignored me. So I kept fighting. The whys and the wherefores don't matter so much when someone is trying to kill you. Since I'm here today, you can assume I didn't lose. I won fight after fight, until the last one. I can still remember the look on the face of the dwarf as my steel pinned him to the wall. He was really young, and he just looked really surprised.
A huge cheer went up from above the pit, and went on for quite a while. Then a knotted rope was tossed down into the pit, and a large orc peered over the side. I'd never seen him before, but he looked important.
"Congratulations on your victory, dwarf. You may go."
I was puzzled.
"Go where?"
He blinked one or twice and looked at someone else, out of my view for a second. Then he barked in laughter. It wasn't a pleasant noise.
"You just won your freedom. Take it now, or lose it again. Your choice."
I climbed out of the pit then, and stood at the top looking around. My handler was there, he looked furious, but said nothing. The important orc pointed down a tunnel, and I set off. Eventually daylight led me to my first taste of the outside world. Freedom wasn't something I had ever even thought of before, but now that I had it, I was going to make use of it. I quickly made my way out into the mountains.
I don't think my handler intended to let me go. He couldn't stop me in front of his own leader, but later I saw him leading a group of orcs around the mountainside. They were looking for something. I didn't let myself be seen, and once they gave up, I started making my way down the mountain side. Perhaps in the lowlands I could find a new life. One of my own.
As I camped that day, I found myself thinking about the dwarves. Every slave I'd seen crumble under their load. Every voice shouting for dwarven kind that was silenced under an iron-shod boot. Every dwarf, raised to fight, that had died by my hands. Their silenced voices asailed me in my sleep, but I railed against them. Who am I to owe anything to the dwarves? They did nothing for me, I fought my own way to freedom. So why do they haunt me?[/sblock][sblock=Appearance]Kylest doesn't look like much the dwarves from the old stories. He has no axe, no horned helmet, and most notably, no beard. Kylest may no longer be required to shave totally smooth every morning, but he still keeps most of the beard gone. Only a layer of stubble graces his chin as a gesture of freedom. His face is grim, and bears old, badly healed scars. His hair is ill-kempt, and hangs loosely around his head.[/sblock]
[sblock=Kylest]
Code:
[B]Name:[/B] Kylest
[B]Class:[/B] Barbarian 2
[B]Race:[/B] Dwarf
[B]Size:[/B] Medium (4'2", 175 lb)
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] True Neutral
[B]Str:[/B] 19 +4 [B]Level:[/B] 2 [B]XP:[/B] 1,000
[B]Dex:[/B] 14 +2 [B]BAB:[/B] +2 [B]HP:[/B] 26 (2d12+8) [i]+4 While Raging[/i]
[B]Con:[/B] 18 +4 [B]Grapple:[/B] +6 [B]PP:[/B] 2
[B]Int:[/B] 13 +1 [B]Speed:[/B] 30'
[B]Wis:[/B] 14 +2 [B]Init:[/B] +2
[B]Cha:[/B] 10 +0
[SIZE="1"](+2 str, +2 con (bonus); +1 str @ level 2) [/SIZE]
[B]Base Armor Shield Dex Size Misc[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B] 16 10 +3 +1 +2 +0 -- [i]-2 While Raging[/i]
[B]Touch:[/B] 12
[B]Flat:[/B] 16 (Uncanny Dodge)
[i]+1 ac vs. giants[/i]
[B]Base Mod Misc[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B] +7 +3 +4 +0
[B]Ref:[/B] +2 +0 +2 +0
[B]Will:[/B] +4 +0 +2 +0 [i]+2 While Raging[/i]
+2 save vs. poison, spells, spell-like effects.
[B]Weapon Attack Damage Critical Type[/B]
Longsword, 1h +6 1d8+4 19-20 S
Longsword, 2h +5 1d8+6 19-20 S (-1 AC)
Spiked Gauntlet +6 1d4+4 20 P
Dagger +6 1d4+4 19-20 P/S
Unarmed +6 1d3+4 20 B
[i]Raging (+2 attack, +2 dmg 1h, +3 dmg 2h)
+1 attack orcs and goblinoids[/i]
[B]Languages:[/B]
Common, Dwarven, Orc
[B]Abilities:[/B]
Dark Vision
Stonecutting
Dwarven Weapon Familiarity
Stability
+2 Save vs. Poison, Spells
+1 Attack vs. Orcs, Goblinoids
+4 Dodge vs. Giants
+2 Appraise Stone, Metal
+2 Craft Stone, Metal
Fast Movement
Illiteracy
Rage (1/day)
Uncanny Dodge
[B]Feats:[/B]
Improved Unarmed Strike [1st]
Wild Talent [Bonus]
[B]Skill Points:[/B] 25 [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 5/2
[B]Skills: Ranks Mod Misc[/B]
*Climb +8 5 +4
Concentration +4 0 +4
Intimidate +5 5 +0
*Jump +7 5 +3
Listen +7 5 +2
Survival +3 1 +2
*Tumble +2 2cc +1
*Armor Check Penalty: -1
[B]Equipment: Cost Weight[/B]
Backpack 2gp 2lb
Belt Pouch 2gp 1lb
Rations (4 days) 2gp 4lb
Rope, Silk (50') 10gp 5lb
Waterskin 1gp 4lb
Whetstone 2cp 1lb
Longsword 15gp 4lb
Spike Gauntlet 5gp 1lb
Dagger 2gp 1lb
Studded Leather 25gp 20lb
Buckler 15gp 5lb
[B]Total Weight:[/B] 48lb / 76lb light load
[B]Money:[/B] 15 gp 9 sp 8 cpI don't know who my parents were. I assume they're dead. Either way, I wasn't raised around other dwarves, I think that's intentional. My earliest memories are of my handler, an Orc of course. When I was young, I called him 'Master'. Once I was old enough to understand what it meant, I stopped. He tried to beat that little bit of impertinence out of me, but didn't succeed. I think I was worth too much money for him to simply kill me.
Most of my youth was spent learning how to fight. The orcs like to train the fighters young, and alone. Less chance of any friendship or blood kin causing trouble during the fights. Once you're in the pit, you fight. It doesn't matter that the dwarf across from you might be your father, or your brother. He's going to try and kill you, and you'll do just the same. . . there are no choices.
Every morning started with practice. After shaving of course. All male dwarves start their day by shaving. The orcs have this real thing against beards, I don't know why. I once saw some damn fool that wasn't trying to make a statement or something. He must have managed to avoid notice for a few days at least, but the fur on his face gave him away. Six orcs pinned him down and started shaving him with a rusty knife. Once they were done with the beard, they just kept going, flaying the skin away from his face. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Every so often, I'd be sent to a pit to fight. Sometimes it was a disobediant slave, sometimes an animal, or monster, and sometimes it was another gladiator, just like me. There was a lot of betting involved, and I assume my handler got a share, because he was always smiling after I won. I don't think it was out of concern for my safety.
Then the routine changed. The fights started coming more frequently, and they were always against other gladiators. My handler wouldn't tell me anything, just mentioned a 'tournament', and then ignored me. So I kept fighting. The whys and the wherefores don't matter so much when someone is trying to kill you. Since I'm here today, you can assume I didn't lose. I won fight after fight, until the last one. I can still remember the look on the face of the dwarf as my steel pinned him to the wall. He was really young, and he just looked really surprised.
A huge cheer went up from above the pit, and went on for quite a while. Then a knotted rope was tossed down into the pit, and a large orc peered over the side. I'd never seen him before, but he looked important.
"Congratulations on your victory, dwarf. You may go."
I was puzzled.
"Go where?"
He blinked one or twice and looked at someone else, out of my view for a second. Then he barked in laughter. It wasn't a pleasant noise.
"You just won your freedom. Take it now, or lose it again. Your choice."
I climbed out of the pit then, and stood at the top looking around. My handler was there, he looked furious, but said nothing. The important orc pointed down a tunnel, and I set off. Eventually daylight led me to my first taste of the outside world. Freedom wasn't something I had ever even thought of before, but now that I had it, I was going to make use of it. I quickly made my way out into the mountains.
I don't think my handler intended to let me go. He couldn't stop me in front of his own leader, but later I saw him leading a group of orcs around the mountainside. They were looking for something. I didn't let myself be seen, and once they gave up, I started making my way down the mountain side. Perhaps in the lowlands I could find a new life. One of my own.
As I camped that day, I found myself thinking about the dwarves. Every slave I'd seen crumble under their load. Every voice shouting for dwarven kind that was silenced under an iron-shod boot. Every dwarf, raised to fight, that had died by my hands. Their silenced voices asailed me in my sleep, but I railed against them. Who am I to owe anything to the dwarves? They did nothing for me, I fought my own way to freedom. So why do they haunt me?[/sblock][sblock=Appearance]Kylest doesn't look like much the dwarves from the old stories. He has no axe, no horned helmet, and most notably, no beard. Kylest may no longer be required to shave totally smooth every morning, but he still keeps most of the beard gone. Only a layer of stubble graces his chin as a gesture of freedom. His face is grim, and bears old, badly healed scars. His hair is ill-kempt, and hangs loosely around his head.[/sblock]
Attachments
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Code:
[B]Name:[/B] Micheal Bingport
[B]Class:[/B] Cleric
[B]Race:[/B] Human
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] Neutral(Possibly Choatic Nuetral? I dunno right now)
[B]Deity/Group:[/B] Kredon/Order of the Changing Sky
[B]Str:[/B] 15 +2 [B]Level:[/B] 1 [B]XP:[/B] 500
(Defenders of the order must be strong, and courageous to protect thoes they must defend)
[B]Dex:[/B] 14 +2 [B]BAB:[/B] +0 [B]HP:[/B] 10 (1d8+2)
(They must also be quick and agile in their duties)
[B]Con:[/B] 12 +1 [B]Grapple:[/B] +2 [B]Dmg Red:[/B] N/A
(Being a Defender means that you must be a sturdy as you possibly can)
[B]Int:[/B] 14 +2 [B]Speed:[/B] 30' [B]Spell Res:[/B] N/A
(Most Defenders have a keen mind and know what to do in dire situations)
[B]Wis:[/B] 18 +4 [B]Init:[/B] +2 [B]Spell Save:[/B] +4
(Taught in the same places as their Diviner Breathren, they are stong in their skills as a caster)
[B]Cha:[/B] 10 +0 [B]ACP:[/B] -1 [B]Spell Fail:[/B] N/a
(They however, leave the talking, and diplomacy to the Diviners.)
[B]Base Armor Shld Dex Size Nat Misc Total[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B] 10 +3 +X +2 +X +X +X 15
[B]Touch:[/B] XX [B]Flatfooted:[/B] XX
[B]Base Mod Misc Total[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B] 2 +1 +3
[B]Ref:[/B] 0 +2 +2
[B]Will:[/B] 2 +4 +6
[B]Weapon Attack Damage Critical[/B]
Longbow +2 1d8 x2(The wind's greatest weapon, and thus the Favored weapon of the order)
Sickle +2 1d6+2 x2(The blade used by thoes who have not the skill to use a Kukri/Falcion/Scrimitar)
Dagger +2 1d4+2 19-20x2(For survival purposes)
[B]Languages:[/B] Common, Auran, Aquan(the languages of the elementals of the sky)
[B]Abilities:[/B] Water, Weather domains. Spontaneous Casting. Turn or Rebuke Undead.
[B]Feats:[/B] Martial Weapons Proficiency(Longbow)(Human)
Self-Sufficent(1st)(Decided to go with flavor over ImpIni or another MWP)
[B]Skill Points:[/B] 20 [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 2/4
[B]Skills Ranks Mod Misc Total[/B]
Spellcraft 4 +2 +6
Concentration 4 +1 +5
Knowledge(Religion:Kredon) 4 +2 +6
Survival 4 +4 +2(SS) +10
Heal 4 +4 +2(SS) +10
[B]Equipment: Cost Weight[/B]
Longbow 75gp 3lb
Sickle 6gp 2lb
Dagger 2gp 1lb
Standard Adventure's Kit 15gp 33lb(Yea...thats straight out of 4E, but it simplifies many rudamentary things...and the costs and weights have not changed)
Studded Leather 25gp 20lbs
Two Quivers of Arrows(20 each) 2gp
One Quiver Containing
10 Silver Arrows
5 Sleep Arrows
5 +1 Arrows
Wooden Holy Symbol 1gp
Spell Component Pouch 5gp 2lb
Clay Tankard 2cp 1lb
[B]Total Weight:[/B]62lb [B]Money:[/B] 28gp 12sp 3cp
[B]Lgt Med Hvy Lift Push[/B]
[B]Max Weight:[/B] 66 133 200 400 800
[B]Age:[/B] 21
[B]Height:[/B] 6'2"
[B]Weight:[/B] 190lb
[B]Eyes:[/B] Deep Blue
[B]Hair:[/B] Brown
[B]Skin:[/B] Pale[sblock=Background] Originally the son of one of the farmers that work around the Dragon's forest, it seemed like Micheal would be taking in that trade until one rather blustery and eventful day.
It had been a normal humid day of summer, as your family had been working extra hard on the crops. The yields we small, as they had been since the time of nightmares, but it was more than enough for your family to sustain itself. As the day started passing into evening, a small group of priestly men were seen transversing the road, and talking to the farmers they ran into. Whatever they had said seemed to put the somewhat panicked frenzy, which really confused me. Micheal's father came out to greet them, and spoke for a little bit, as they discussion ended, he could see his fathers face go white with fear.
"Father whats wrong?" He asks
"Thoes were the priests of the changing sky and they just told us that we are in for a violent night, and to try to get a far below ground as possible once the rains begins. Usually I wouldn't trust them, but there have been times when such proficies have come true..."
Following the priests orders, Micheal, and their family did their best hid inside the cellar of the farm(the lowest point below ground). As the rains began, and got heavy, they were greeted with the constant flashes of lighting and the booming of thunder...and then...it came...
It sounded at first like a low howl coming accross the west of the house, but it slowly grew louder and louder, and then suddenly was accompanyed by the sounds of many things shaking and falling apart. His Mom, and his sisters were screaming in fear, but he and his father calmed them, and the howling slowly stilled and dissapeared....
The next morning, Micheal's Family left the cellar to find that no one had died in that storm, even through whatever it was had destoryed several homes, and ripped up many a crop, all thanks to the priestly warnings of the Order of the Changing Sky.
Micheal joined the order the next day, and after completing two years of training under the tutaliage of a Master Defender, has been assigned to protect one of the young diviners of Narovan...one who just botched a forecast on the day of a wealth man's festival.[/sblock]
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GlassEye
Adventurer
Arden of Narovan
[sblock=Arden]
[/sblock][sblock=Advancement]Background & 1st level bonus:
300xp
Psicrystal also holds 1 PP (as Cognizance Crystal)
Psionic Tattoos (usable 1/day): Conceal Thoughts, Detect Psionics, Dissipating Touch, Empty Mind, Inertial Armor, & Skate
---
Crookside Inn -1 gold, +3 silver, +4 copper
Dawn House -5 gold
looted gear sold at Fhelid's +11 gold, 8 silver
Safety's Rest (private room & meal) -8 silver[/sblock][sblock=Background]It is dark and I am still on the streets of Narovan. My heart is thudding in my chest. Thum-thum. Thum-thum. My throat tightens; I draw a gasping breath. Soft boots scuff cobblestones behind me. I run. Run! Run! It’s all I can think, all I can do. Lost, wildly, I run. Until there is no place to go. Stumbling, sobbing, screaming, and behind me is a Midnight man with a glinting steel knife. I pound out my fury and frustration. I shouldn’t be here! And then, I am not…
Crack!
The hand is large, thick with the callouses of hard labor, tattooed round the fingers and across the back with the third scriptus, an injuction against acting contrary to the Law. It moves quickly leaving a trail of blurred blue letters in the air of the moment. Palm connects with the flesh of my cheek. The sound seems quite loud. My head jerks to one side, my body follows its movement, and I tumble from my perch to sprawl in the mud.
“Concentrate, girl! Gather your wits, master your fear.” Easier said than done, believe me. Haerdal’s face, tattooed with the scriptus’ of Illene initiation, the Ordered Body (I have that one, too), the Hand of Law, and several others I just cannot remember, scowls down at me as if he can read my mind. He really can; he’s done it before. I return scowl for scowl and hope he’s not reading my mind right now.
I remember that night in Narovan. I was certain I was going to die. And then I was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere beyond the reach of Law and I was absolutely certain I was going to die. I was ripped apart and I had to fight to gather myself together again. Fear got in the way and I molded a cage for it; not all of it, just enough. Enough so that I could fight my way out of that place. Haerdal says I only fought myself, that if anything else had been there I would never have made it back.
Haerdal’s coarse hand thrusts out towards me. Tentatively I reach out and he pulls me roughly to my feet. “Nothing else is going to get done tonight,” he snarls. A thick finger pokes my forehead right on my initiation tattoo. I was only inducted into the Order of the Illenes a few days ago. It hurts, almost more than getting the tattoo in the first place. Tears well up. “Get your mind together and get some sleep.” He stalks off towards the sod hut he built into a hillock for protection from the weather and other, less friendly things. I climb back up onto my stump to look out at the Moor and think.
When Haerdal found me I clutched an irregularly shaped stone. It is actually a crystal the size of my fist with black and gray striations. In the sun the gray bands lighten to a murky tan color. If you squint at it, it looks somewhat like a bee. Haerdal says it is my fear and that I formed it in that shape. I call it the Coward. I was a potter before; I think if I had formed it I could have done a better job. He found it amusing and rigged a harness for it in my sleeve giggling and buzzing to himself the whole while. I’m not sure what he found so funny.
Sometimes I think Haerdal is crazy. Then I remember that he is an Illene and I am certain of it. They are all crazy. Have you read any Illene scriptus? Four times as long as the Books of Law and filled with contradictory philosophical ramblings and obscure prophecy of the one chaos-born, someone like Sir Engvold, I suppose, who will bring about the ordered world. I think they all want to be the one who fulfills the prophecy and that’s why they nourish the chaos within themselves. So why am I an Illene? I guess I’m crazy, too.
Tomorrow I will receive the Tattoo of the Expanded Mind. It is the last before I am allowed to leave my apprenticeship with Haerdal. I’m ready. The Coward won’t like it, but I think I’ll go to Narovan.
[/sblock][sblock=Appearance]The most striking thing about Arden's appearance is her facial tattoos: lines of vertical holy text on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. She also has tattoos on the backs of her hands and spiraling up her forearms though these are more easily concealed. Otherwise, she is plainly common and if it weren't for the tattoos she could easily pass as a craftsman or goodwife. Her skirt and shirt is made of good quality Moorlander linen, durable and warm but not pretty, and protected by a leather overtunic; all in various shades of brown. Her overcloak, given to her by Haerdal, is a rich, royal blue in surprisingly good shape. It is a bit too large for her and she suspects it is a piece from her master's vestment.[/sblock]
[sblock=Arden]
Code:
[b]Name:[/b] Arden of Narovan
[b]Class:[/b] Psion (Shaper) 1
[b]Race:[/b] Human
[b]Size:[/b] Medium [i](5 ft. 6 in.; 135 lbs.)[/i]
[b]Gender:[/b] Female
[b]Alignment:[/b] LN
[b]Str:[/b] 10 +0 [b]Level:[/b] 1 [b]XP:[/b] 300 / 1000
[b]Dex:[/b] 12 +1 [b]BAB:[/b] +0 [b]HP:[/b] [color=red]10[/color] / 12 (1d4+8)
[b]Con:[/b] 14 +2 [b]Grapple:[/b] +0 [b]Dmg Red:[/b] -/-
[b]Int:[/b] 18 +4 [b]Speed:[/b] 30' [b]Power Points:[/b] 4 (2 +2 bonus)
[b]Wis:[/b] 14 +2 [b]Init:[/b] +1 [b]Manifester Level:[/b] 1
[b]Cha:[/b] 10 +0 [b]ACP:[/b] -0 [b]Save DC:[/b] 14 + power level
[b]Base Armor Shld Dex Size Nat Misc
Armor:[/b] 11 10 +0 +0 +1 +0 +0 +0
[b]Touch:[/b] 11
[b]Flat:[/b] 10 [i](AC +4 with inertial armor)[/i]
[b]Base Mod Misc
Fort:[/b] +2 0 +2 +0
[b]Ref:[/b] +1 0 +1 +0
[b]Will:[/b] +4 2 +2 +0
[b]Weapon Attack Damage Critical[/b]
Dagger +0 1d4 19-20/x2
Crossbow, light +1 1d8 19-20/x2
[b]Languages:[/b] Common, Abyssal, Halfling, +1
[b]Abilities:[/b]
Psion Class Abilities
- Discipline: Metacreativity
[b]Psionic Powers[/b]
[i]1st[/i]
Astral Construct
Inertial Armor
Vigor
[b]Feats:[/b]
H) Psicrystal Affinity (Coward)
1) Psionic Body
P1) Overchannel
[b]Skill Points:[/b] 28 [b]Max Ranks:[/b] 4/2
[b]Skills Ranks Mod Misc[/b]
Concentration +6 4 +2 +0
Craft (Sculpting) +8 4 +4 +0
Hide +6 2cc +1 +3
Knowledge (History) +8 4 +4 +0
Knowledge (Local) +8 4 +4 +0
Knowledge (Religion) +8 4 +4 +0
Listen +2 0 +2 +0
Psicraft +8 4 +4 +0
Search +4 0 +4 +0
Spot +2 0 +2 +0
[b]Equipment: Cost Weight[/b]
Light Crossbow 35g 4
--20 bolts 2g 2
Dagger 2g 1
Backback 2g 2
Bedroll 1s 5
Waterskin 1g 4
Sunrod x3 6g 3
Beltpouch 1g .5
Psicrystal
Psionic Tattoos (usable 1/day):
Conceal Thoughts, Detect Psionics, Dissipating Touch [Existence Unbound], Empty Mind,
Inertial Armor, Skate
[b]Total Weight:[/b] 21 lb
[b]Money:[/b] 28 gold, 12 silver, 4 copper
[b]Lgt Med Hvy Lift Push
Max Weight:[/b] 33 66 100 200 500300xp
Psicrystal also holds 1 PP (as Cognizance Crystal)
Psionic Tattoos (usable 1/day): Conceal Thoughts, Detect Psionics, Dissipating Touch, Empty Mind, Inertial Armor, & Skate
---
Crookside Inn -1 gold, +3 silver, +4 copper
Dawn House -5 gold
looted gear sold at Fhelid's +11 gold, 8 silver
Safety's Rest (private room & meal) -8 silver[/sblock][sblock=Background]It is dark and I am still on the streets of Narovan. My heart is thudding in my chest. Thum-thum. Thum-thum. My throat tightens; I draw a gasping breath. Soft boots scuff cobblestones behind me. I run. Run! Run! It’s all I can think, all I can do. Lost, wildly, I run. Until there is no place to go. Stumbling, sobbing, screaming, and behind me is a Midnight man with a glinting steel knife. I pound out my fury and frustration. I shouldn’t be here! And then, I am not…
Crack!
The hand is large, thick with the callouses of hard labor, tattooed round the fingers and across the back with the third scriptus, an injuction against acting contrary to the Law. It moves quickly leaving a trail of blurred blue letters in the air of the moment. Palm connects with the flesh of my cheek. The sound seems quite loud. My head jerks to one side, my body follows its movement, and I tumble from my perch to sprawl in the mud.
“Concentrate, girl! Gather your wits, master your fear.” Easier said than done, believe me. Haerdal’s face, tattooed with the scriptus’ of Illene initiation, the Ordered Body (I have that one, too), the Hand of Law, and several others I just cannot remember, scowls down at me as if he can read my mind. He really can; he’s done it before. I return scowl for scowl and hope he’s not reading my mind right now.
I remember that night in Narovan. I was certain I was going to die. And then I was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere beyond the reach of Law and I was absolutely certain I was going to die. I was ripped apart and I had to fight to gather myself together again. Fear got in the way and I molded a cage for it; not all of it, just enough. Enough so that I could fight my way out of that place. Haerdal says I only fought myself, that if anything else had been there I would never have made it back.
Haerdal’s coarse hand thrusts out towards me. Tentatively I reach out and he pulls me roughly to my feet. “Nothing else is going to get done tonight,” he snarls. A thick finger pokes my forehead right on my initiation tattoo. I was only inducted into the Order of the Illenes a few days ago. It hurts, almost more than getting the tattoo in the first place. Tears well up. “Get your mind together and get some sleep.” He stalks off towards the sod hut he built into a hillock for protection from the weather and other, less friendly things. I climb back up onto my stump to look out at the Moor and think.
When Haerdal found me I clutched an irregularly shaped stone. It is actually a crystal the size of my fist with black and gray striations. In the sun the gray bands lighten to a murky tan color. If you squint at it, it looks somewhat like a bee. Haerdal says it is my fear and that I formed it in that shape. I call it the Coward. I was a potter before; I think if I had formed it I could have done a better job. He found it amusing and rigged a harness for it in my sleeve giggling and buzzing to himself the whole while. I’m not sure what he found so funny.
Sometimes I think Haerdal is crazy. Then I remember that he is an Illene and I am certain of it. They are all crazy. Have you read any Illene scriptus? Four times as long as the Books of Law and filled with contradictory philosophical ramblings and obscure prophecy of the one chaos-born, someone like Sir Engvold, I suppose, who will bring about the ordered world. I think they all want to be the one who fulfills the prophecy and that’s why they nourish the chaos within themselves. So why am I an Illene? I guess I’m crazy, too.
Tomorrow I will receive the Tattoo of the Expanded Mind. It is the last before I am allowed to leave my apprenticeship with Haerdal. I’m ready. The Coward won’t like it, but I think I’ll go to Narovan.
[/sblock][sblock=Appearance]The most striking thing about Arden's appearance is her facial tattoos: lines of vertical holy text on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. She also has tattoos on the backs of her hands and spiraling up her forearms though these are more easily concealed. Otherwise, she is plainly common and if it weren't for the tattoos she could easily pass as a craftsman or goodwife. Her skirt and shirt is made of good quality Moorlander linen, durable and warm but not pretty, and protected by a leather overtunic; all in various shades of brown. Her overcloak, given to her by Haerdal, is a rich, royal blue in surprisingly good shape. It is a bit too large for her and she suspects it is a piece from her master's vestment.[/sblock]
Attachments
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Deuce Traveler
Adventurer
Not complete, yet, but I have the stats down after rolling 4d6 three times and dropping the lowest. I didn't reroll 1s, though. 
Changed hps.
Kleb von Ludwig, the Human Paladin
Stats
[sblock]
AL: LG, Level: 2, HP: 22, AC: 16, Init: -1
Melee Attack: (Born's Battle-Axe) +6 hit/+2 damage, (other) +4 hit/+2 damage
Range: +1 to hit
Str: 16
Int: 13
Wis: 14
Dex: 8
Con: 14
Cha: 16 (+1 bonus at 2nd level)
Fort: +7
Ref: +2
Will: +5
Weapons: Born's Battle-Axe (Masterwork, can cast bless once a day and allows for lay on hands to be cast on the wielder's body as an immediate action if Kleb goes to 0 hit points or less.
Armor: Born's Masterwork Chain Mail, Heavy Steel Shield
Equipment: Book of Luthes, Tunic bearing the crest of the Order of Luthes, Traveler's Outfit, 4 torches, 7 Trail Rations, Waterskin, Backpack, Flint and Steel, 50 ft coil of rope, 3gp, 2sp, 6cp.
Feats: Power Attack, Weapon Focus (Battle-Axe)
Skills:
Knowledge [Nobility and Royalty] (4 ranks): +5
Diplomacy (4 ranks): +6
Sense Motive (4 ranks): +6
Ride (4 ranks): +3
Special: Aura of Good, Detect Evil, Smite Evil 1/day, Divine Grace, Lay on Hands
[/sblock]
Description
[sblock]
Kleb is a tall, broad shouldered veteran with shaggy, black hair and a thin beard that appears as if he gives it an occasional trimming and grooming. The paladin wears a slightly worn suit of chain mail that looks well-oiled, but is otherwise dull. An aged tunic is worn over the chain mail with a design used by the followers of Luthes. Although the man is only 22, he seems haunted beyond his years and almost middle-aged. This weariness reflects in his lack of agility, as does an old leg wound he received as an adolescent. On cold nights it grows stiff and causes him to hobble slightly.
[/sblock]
Story
[sblock]
In progress...
"What is the second tenant of the lawful?"
The bored voice answered, "Laws that benefit society are always binding."
"Who wrote the Circles of Truth?"
"St. Agatha of Sevene."
"What is the First Law of Man?"
"Bind together to survive, and by surviving flourish."
"And the Fourth Law of Compassion?"
"Sharing is caring."
The wrinkled, whispy-haired knight coughed almost uncontrollably in the cold. "No, no no! By Luthes no! If you don't know the answer just say so, Kleb! I'm too old for smart-ass comments!"
Kleb sighed as he stooped to pick up another dried branch from the sack he had to hall all the way up to Half Moon Peak, the tallest point overlooking the valley containing the Arm of Luthes. "Born, I know your lessons and the teachings of Luthes. But they are just words. You don't give them any context, and you continue to just spout off the phrases in that old, worn book of yours. You're not sure yourself what half of them mean. Every month you bring us out here and every month you say and ask the same things. And every month I find that I'm the one lugging your supplies around."
Now it was old Born's turn to sigh. "There is little to teach. The Order of Luthes flourished before the Dreamer, but now... well, when my master taught me decades ago I only met three other aged men who wore the crest," he said pointing to the symbol on his tunic. "My master taught me the ways of the Order as he knew them, but with a book and some verbal history being all there is left much has been lost. I'm trying now to teach you. I've shown you the ways of courtesy, riding, weapons, and honor. You know the way of armor, of shield, crossbow, sword, staff, morningstar, and most importantly the axe," he said again pointing to the weapon along his hip. "Yet you seem to be more interested in combat than morality! Kleb, if there is one thing I can teach you remember this. A man who only cares about using force to get what he wants is not truly a man, but a beast. You must be better than this. Follow a moral code, Kleb. Be a man."
Kleb stopped feeding the flame and crouched next to his feeble master, "I'm sorry I doubt at times, Sir Born. But your code is outdated. No one follows to these beliefs anymore."
The old paladin shook his head and stared down into the valley below. "No. The world needs such codes more than ever. Try to learn from the teachings, Kleb. When more men such as we did so the land was a better place. There used to be a city down there, with citadels and tall, marble spires gleaming in the sun..." He settled down in his blankets, his eyes on the valley.
As Kleb thought on his master's words the young man did not notice the ancient paladin's breath stop in the middle of the night. When morning finally came, Kleb found his master's body to be as cold as the ground around him. The young apprentice frowned and stripped the body of valuables, keeping the axe, tunic, armor, and other pieces of note, taking the paladin's book last.
He began to walk away, but for reasons he could not at first understand he turned back around and built a rock cairn over the corpse. As he continued to build the cairn he thought on the few years he had with old Born, who had found him struggling for survival in the streets of Narovan. Born was a protector, teacher, and even a father to the orphan. As he wiped the tears from his eyes, Kleb realized he was not going to sell his dead teacher's goods afterall. He would try to follow in his footsteps, armed not only with axe but also with the mostly forgotten codes of the nearly extinct Order of Luthes. He would try to be a man to make Born proud.
[/sblock]
Changed hps.Kleb von Ludwig, the Human Paladin
Stats
[sblock]
AL: LG, Level: 2, HP: 22, AC: 16, Init: -1
Melee Attack: (Born's Battle-Axe) +6 hit/+2 damage, (other) +4 hit/+2 damage
Range: +1 to hit
Str: 16
Int: 13
Wis: 14
Dex: 8
Con: 14
Cha: 16 (+1 bonus at 2nd level)
Fort: +7
Ref: +2
Will: +5
Weapons: Born's Battle-Axe (Masterwork, can cast bless once a day and allows for lay on hands to be cast on the wielder's body as an immediate action if Kleb goes to 0 hit points or less.
Armor: Born's Masterwork Chain Mail, Heavy Steel Shield
Equipment: Book of Luthes, Tunic bearing the crest of the Order of Luthes, Traveler's Outfit, 4 torches, 7 Trail Rations, Waterskin, Backpack, Flint and Steel, 50 ft coil of rope, 3gp, 2sp, 6cp.
Feats: Power Attack, Weapon Focus (Battle-Axe)
Skills:
Knowledge [Nobility and Royalty] (4 ranks): +5
Diplomacy (4 ranks): +6
Sense Motive (4 ranks): +6
Ride (4 ranks): +3
Special: Aura of Good, Detect Evil, Smite Evil 1/day, Divine Grace, Lay on Hands
[/sblock]
Description
[sblock]
Kleb is a tall, broad shouldered veteran with shaggy, black hair and a thin beard that appears as if he gives it an occasional trimming and grooming. The paladin wears a slightly worn suit of chain mail that looks well-oiled, but is otherwise dull. An aged tunic is worn over the chain mail with a design used by the followers of Luthes. Although the man is only 22, he seems haunted beyond his years and almost middle-aged. This weariness reflects in his lack of agility, as does an old leg wound he received as an adolescent. On cold nights it grows stiff and causes him to hobble slightly.
[/sblock]
Story
[sblock]
In progress...
"What is the second tenant of the lawful?"
The bored voice answered, "Laws that benefit society are always binding."
"Who wrote the Circles of Truth?"
"St. Agatha of Sevene."
"What is the First Law of Man?"
"Bind together to survive, and by surviving flourish."
"And the Fourth Law of Compassion?"
"Sharing is caring."
The wrinkled, whispy-haired knight coughed almost uncontrollably in the cold. "No, no no! By Luthes no! If you don't know the answer just say so, Kleb! I'm too old for smart-ass comments!"
Kleb sighed as he stooped to pick up another dried branch from the sack he had to hall all the way up to Half Moon Peak, the tallest point overlooking the valley containing the Arm of Luthes. "Born, I know your lessons and the teachings of Luthes. But they are just words. You don't give them any context, and you continue to just spout off the phrases in that old, worn book of yours. You're not sure yourself what half of them mean. Every month you bring us out here and every month you say and ask the same things. And every month I find that I'm the one lugging your supplies around."
Now it was old Born's turn to sigh. "There is little to teach. The Order of Luthes flourished before the Dreamer, but now... well, when my master taught me decades ago I only met three other aged men who wore the crest," he said pointing to the symbol on his tunic. "My master taught me the ways of the Order as he knew them, but with a book and some verbal history being all there is left much has been lost. I'm trying now to teach you. I've shown you the ways of courtesy, riding, weapons, and honor. You know the way of armor, of shield, crossbow, sword, staff, morningstar, and most importantly the axe," he said again pointing to the weapon along his hip. "Yet you seem to be more interested in combat than morality! Kleb, if there is one thing I can teach you remember this. A man who only cares about using force to get what he wants is not truly a man, but a beast. You must be better than this. Follow a moral code, Kleb. Be a man."
Kleb stopped feeding the flame and crouched next to his feeble master, "I'm sorry I doubt at times, Sir Born. But your code is outdated. No one follows to these beliefs anymore."
The old paladin shook his head and stared down into the valley below. "No. The world needs such codes more than ever. Try to learn from the teachings, Kleb. When more men such as we did so the land was a better place. There used to be a city down there, with citadels and tall, marble spires gleaming in the sun..." He settled down in his blankets, his eyes on the valley.
As Kleb thought on his master's words the young man did not notice the ancient paladin's breath stop in the middle of the night. When morning finally came, Kleb found his master's body to be as cold as the ground around him. The young apprentice frowned and stripped the body of valuables, keeping the axe, tunic, armor, and other pieces of note, taking the paladin's book last.
He began to walk away, but for reasons he could not at first understand he turned back around and built a rock cairn over the corpse. As he continued to build the cairn he thought on the few years he had with old Born, who had found him struggling for survival in the streets of Narovan. Born was a protector, teacher, and even a father to the orphan. As he wiped the tears from his eyes, Kleb realized he was not going to sell his dead teacher's goods afterall. He would try to follow in his footsteps, armed not only with axe but also with the mostly forgotten codes of the nearly extinct Order of Luthes. He would try to be a man to make Born proud.
[/sblock]
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arcanaman
First Post
Lestrivus
is a pale elf man who keeps to himself he wears nondescript tan travelers robe and hooded cloak
Background
"pull your mind into the water and with mental push bring into the air"
I took a deep breath and did as my instrutor said at first I was able to control the water but I lost focus and the water fell again I let out and angry sigh
"Magic is hard to master eventually victory will be yours but only in time there are no shortcuts when it come to magic go to your private chamber and practice meditation techinques."
I was tired of failing tired of waiting to get it to take control of the power.I heard of a way whispered in the halls that none would dare touch I went to the library and searched for the book of the hells a book forrbidden to apprentices there I found the power to summon forth my new instructor Laesra was weak compared to what I had uncovered. I set to work at the midnight hour in my private chamber a circle of salt my blood spilt on the floor and a circle of candles and summon Funedor.
"Mortal what reason do you have for summoning a lowly Imp to your humble abode.
I want you to show me magic I said confidently (I am not afraid of an imp there are bizzarer things in hell)
What is your tution it asked
Upon gaining mastery the price will be yours to name
Funedor smiled something which made me shudder We must put this in writing for me to teach you
Then so be it
a piece of paper and a inked pen appear from nowhere
Sign and we shall beign apprentice
I took the piece of paper and signed
Let us begin ....
The Trial
I was brought to the amiptheater in chains the archmages sat around
Amondio: you're found breaking the arcana compact there is devil taint in your private chamber and on your very soul the evidence is at point to which it cannot be denied
Shaelya: Full punishment shall be placed upon you however since your are only an apprentice green in the ways of magic and the world we give you the lesser sentence of exile instead of the greater punishment of death
Mikal: In 200 years time when you have learned your lesson you may again walk with your people and learn magic until then be gone from this place
In Unison: we have spoken
there was a flash of light and I was at the very edge of my former homeland again Funedor came to me " those fools are weak in 200 years you shall be more powerful then they I shall teach you how"
Lestrivius
Race:elf
Gender: male
Class: Wizard
Alignment:LE
Str:13+1
Dex:14+2
Con:11+0
Int: 18+4
Wis: 16+3
Cha: 14+2
BA+1
Range+2
HD:4
Fort+0
Ref+2
Will+5
Skills
Spellcraft 4(4Int)+8
Concentration4(+0Con)4
Knowledge Arcana4(4Int)8
Profession(Apothecary)4(3Wis)7
Craft(Alchemy)4(4int)8
Knowledge(Geography)4(4Int)+8
Feats
Silent spell
Spells
0th
light
magehand
arcane mark
1frst
sleep
magic missle
Orb of lesser fire
grease
Cause Fear(scroll1)
Weapons
dagger 1d4
Short bow Composite 1d6
Miscellanous Equipment
Travelers apparel and cloak
Book of hells
Spell Component pouch
scroll case (1)
is a pale elf man who keeps to himself he wears nondescript tan travelers robe and hooded cloak
Background
"pull your mind into the water and with mental push bring into the air"
I took a deep breath and did as my instrutor said at first I was able to control the water but I lost focus and the water fell again I let out and angry sigh
"Magic is hard to master eventually victory will be yours but only in time there are no shortcuts when it come to magic go to your private chamber and practice meditation techinques."
I was tired of failing tired of waiting to get it to take control of the power.I heard of a way whispered in the halls that none would dare touch I went to the library and searched for the book of the hells a book forrbidden to apprentices there I found the power to summon forth my new instructor Laesra was weak compared to what I had uncovered. I set to work at the midnight hour in my private chamber a circle of salt my blood spilt on the floor and a circle of candles and summon Funedor.
"Mortal what reason do you have for summoning a lowly Imp to your humble abode.
I want you to show me magic I said confidently (I am not afraid of an imp there are bizzarer things in hell)
What is your tution it asked
Upon gaining mastery the price will be yours to name
Funedor smiled something which made me shudder We must put this in writing for me to teach you
Then so be it
a piece of paper and a inked pen appear from nowhere
Sign and we shall beign apprentice
I took the piece of paper and signed
Let us begin ....
The Trial
I was brought to the amiptheater in chains the archmages sat around
Amondio: you're found breaking the arcana compact there is devil taint in your private chamber and on your very soul the evidence is at point to which it cannot be denied
Shaelya: Full punishment shall be placed upon you however since your are only an apprentice green in the ways of magic and the world we give you the lesser sentence of exile instead of the greater punishment of death
Mikal: In 200 years time when you have learned your lesson you may again walk with your people and learn magic until then be gone from this place
In Unison: we have spoken
there was a flash of light and I was at the very edge of my former homeland again Funedor came to me " those fools are weak in 200 years you shall be more powerful then they I shall teach you how"
Lestrivius
Race:elf
Gender: male
Class: Wizard
Alignment:LE
Str:13+1
Dex:14+2
Con:11+0
Int: 18+4
Wis: 16+3
Cha: 14+2
BA+1
Range+2
HD:4
Fort+0
Ref+2
Will+5
Skills
Spellcraft 4(4Int)+8
Concentration4(+0Con)4
Knowledge Arcana4(4Int)8
Profession(Apothecary)4(3Wis)7
Craft(Alchemy)4(4int)8
Knowledge(Geography)4(4Int)+8
Feats
Silent spell
Spells
0th
light
magehand
arcane mark
1frst
sleep
magic missle
Orb of lesser fire
grease
Cause Fear(scroll1)
Weapons
dagger 1d4
Short bow Composite 1d6
Miscellanous Equipment
Travelers apparel and cloak
Book of hells
Spell Component pouch
scroll case (1)
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