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[D&D 4e] "The Startling"
- Thread starter SeaPainter
- Start date
Voda Vosa
First Post
I have radically changed my mind. Oh, what a surprise 
Quinn, a young man, apprentice of the local herbalist, has recently suffered the loss of his master.
A stormy night days ago, the old shaman -for that was what he really was- was sleeping in his slum house. He had let Quinn mixing herbs and preparing the blends for tomorrow. But there never was tomorrow.
A horrible scream came from Quinn's master's room. By the moment his apprentice made his way there, the shaman Ferroach was convulsing in his bed, with his eyes completely white. Frightened, Quinn stood there, unable to react for several seconds, until his mid started working. He rushed to the front part of the building and collected some herbs and potions, and rushed back to the old man's room.
The desperate Quinn tried to apply all the healing techniques he knew, and succed at ending the convulsions and his master's general condition.
"I'm dying..." the shaman mumbled with worry face "It's not too late..." he said smiling at his apprentice "Give me that vial, quick!" the shaman pointed at a vial of potion resting over his cabinet. Quinn always thought that it was something important, but never quite dare to ask his master about it's content.
After giving his Ferroach his vial, the old man drank it desperately, and begin convulsing again. "Master?! What was that? Master?" Quinn asks with his nerves at the edge. "I'll teach you something interesting... tomorrow..." the shaman answered, before dropping dead on his bed.
Of course no one suspected that Quinn had nothing to do with old herbalist demise, but they also had no doubt that what the shaman told to him was just a ridiculous, pre-death nonsense.
The town folk buried the lone dead man, with no one to cry for him excepting Quinn.
After a night, hunted by nightmares and strange dreams, Quinn woke up in the herbalist's lab. The he heard him. Master Ferroach was speaking to him!
Quinn rushed to Ferroach's room again, but found no one. Just a strange looking totem among his bed cloth. The young man took the totem in his hand, and looked at it in the light that filled the room from the window. The wood carved object had the shapes of beetles, and strange runes on it. Upon watching it, Quinn suddenly felt the power of the Fey wild, navigating his veins, and his skin started to shine and glitter. After he blinked, Quinn had became a huge beetle!
Because you know, Ferroach body might be dead in his grave, but Ferroach spirit was tingling inside Quinn's mind. And it said to him many thing about the natural world and about the primal spirits of the world, and about Quinn's destiny. Ferroach's spirit said many other things, but telling them here would spoil the fun, wont it? Enough is to say the after two days, the young Quinn wished he could find a way to exorcise his head.
Well I let this opened to suggestions, and didn't include names or regions.
The aim is to become a druid, choosing the Initiate of the Old Faith feat. As an herbalist, Quinn would focus on Heal and Nature skills.
Grasping Claws would be an appropriate power, due to the beetle shape, I could call it Grasping mandibles. Or something like that?
His abilities would be like this:
Str 12
Dex 10
Con 14
Int 10
Wis 17
Cha 8
Hope you like it.
Quinn, a young man, apprentice of the local herbalist, has recently suffered the loss of his master.
A stormy night days ago, the old shaman -for that was what he really was- was sleeping in his slum house. He had let Quinn mixing herbs and preparing the blends for tomorrow. But there never was tomorrow.
A horrible scream came from Quinn's master's room. By the moment his apprentice made his way there, the shaman Ferroach was convulsing in his bed, with his eyes completely white. Frightened, Quinn stood there, unable to react for several seconds, until his mid started working. He rushed to the front part of the building and collected some herbs and potions, and rushed back to the old man's room.
The desperate Quinn tried to apply all the healing techniques he knew, and succed at ending the convulsions and his master's general condition.
"I'm dying..." the shaman mumbled with worry face "It's not too late..." he said smiling at his apprentice "Give me that vial, quick!" the shaman pointed at a vial of potion resting over his cabinet. Quinn always thought that it was something important, but never quite dare to ask his master about it's content.
After giving his Ferroach his vial, the old man drank it desperately, and begin convulsing again. "Master?! What was that? Master?" Quinn asks with his nerves at the edge. "I'll teach you something interesting... tomorrow..." the shaman answered, before dropping dead on his bed.
Of course no one suspected that Quinn had nothing to do with old herbalist demise, but they also had no doubt that what the shaman told to him was just a ridiculous, pre-death nonsense.
The town folk buried the lone dead man, with no one to cry for him excepting Quinn.
After a night, hunted by nightmares and strange dreams, Quinn woke up in the herbalist's lab. The he heard him. Master Ferroach was speaking to him!
Quinn rushed to Ferroach's room again, but found no one. Just a strange looking totem among his bed cloth. The young man took the totem in his hand, and looked at it in the light that filled the room from the window. The wood carved object had the shapes of beetles, and strange runes on it. Upon watching it, Quinn suddenly felt the power of the Fey wild, navigating his veins, and his skin started to shine and glitter. After he blinked, Quinn had became a huge beetle!
Because you know, Ferroach body might be dead in his grave, but Ferroach spirit was tingling inside Quinn's mind. And it said to him many thing about the natural world and about the primal spirits of the world, and about Quinn's destiny. Ferroach's spirit said many other things, but telling them here would spoil the fun, wont it? Enough is to say the after two days, the young Quinn wished he could find a way to exorcise his head.
Well I let this opened to suggestions, and didn't include names or regions.
The aim is to become a druid, choosing the Initiate of the Old Faith feat. As an herbalist, Quinn would focus on Heal and Nature skills.
Grasping Claws would be an appropriate power, due to the beetle shape, I could call it Grasping mandibles. Or something like that?
His abilities would be like this:
Str 12
Dex 10
Con 14
Int 10
Wis 17
Cha 8
Hope you like it.
Atanatotatos
First Post
Quinn huh? Ahah that reminds me of something... 
hafrogman
Adventurer
Well, it seems that everyone else and their brother is thinking druid, same as I was. . .
I guess I'll be scrapping the dwarf in favor of something else entirely.
[sblock=Khepra]
Growing up with my father was a strange experience. Even before I truly understood the implications, I knew he was different. Even before I realized that I was different, too. I loved the inn when I was young. I grew up playing with the children of the other servants, and we had a wild, carefree life. I'd spend my nights above the stables with my father, and he'd tell me exciting stories of far off lands. My father was big, and strong, but I never saw him raise a hand in violence or anger. I once asked him why, and he responded by teaching me about people. About how the threat of violence can be more effective than the act itself, and how the promise of friendship can do more than either.
As I grew older, things changed for me. I quickly outgrew all of my old playmates, and their parents began to take notice. Those who I had numbered among my friends quickly became those who shouldn't be seen with one such as I. I grew distant from them, spending more of my time in the stables with my father, working along side him. Sometimes when he would have an errand to run elsewhere, he would even leave me in charge, alone in the stables.
It was on one such occasion that I found the sword.
I had been hanging a lantern hook when I spotted the bundle concealed up in the rafters. It was long and heavy, and wrapped in old rags. My curiosity got the better of me, and I unwrapped it revealing a large sword of curious design. There was a silhouette of a great cat etched into the blade, and a tiger's eye embedded in the pommel. When my father returned late that night, he found me still awake, with the sword laid across my knees and questions in my heart. He sighed, and sat down beside me. For a long while he remained silent, and then he began to speak.
"Far to the south, lies the Wasted Lands, a desert of unrelenting harshness. In between here and there lies the Gan, miles upon miles of steppes, plains and grasslands. On the cusp between the two, where the grass fades into sand, there you will find my people. I still call them my people, though I doubt they would make any such claim.
I can still recall the day with ease. The sun shone bright in a clear sky, as we assembled on the hilltop. I stood proudly beside my father and brothers as we gazed across to where our enemies were assembled. I don't think any of us knew the exact reason why we were there. An insult of some kind had been issued, and we were demanding a retraction. Of course, we expected no such apology, and had gathered in eager anticipation of the coming battle. Such battles were a common enough occurrence between the tribes, but it was to be my first. I was young, and so incredibly proud. My grandfather was too old to fight, but he had chosen me to carry his sword into battle, because I was his favorite, despite being the youngest, or because of it.
After a few more tense moments, word came down. No apology had been issued. A great shout went up from both tribes, and we began our charge. Then came the moment when my life would change forever.
Tradition held that each clan stood alone on its own merit. The strong prevailed and the weak fell. The balance continuously shifted over the generations as the strong eventually faltered and the weak resurged, and thus did our way of life preserve itself. But a new force had entered the equation. Why be content to rule your own clan, when you could rule them all?
The insult was not boastful warriors being proud and headstrong. It was a calculated act of treachery. When the battle was joined a new force revealed itself from behind us. A third clan had allied themselves with our enemy and had struck from secrecy.
Confusion ran through the warriors as they struggled to confront this new attack even as they fought the enemy in front of them. The effect was brutal. Before I even swung my weapon, I saw my father and eldest brother cut down in front of me. Their blood splashed upon me, and I looked upon their broken bodies. I stood for a moment, my grandfather's sword in my hand, and the pride of my clan in my heart.
And then I ran.
Like a cowardly dog, I ran. As far and as fast as I could."
He finally brought himself to pick up the sword, although it obviously brough him pain. He weighed it in his hands and then traced the etching with one finger.
"I kept the sword, of course. I could not bring myself to throw it away, sell it or to destroy it. But now it is a symbol of my shame. The news reaches me even here, our clan no longer exists as it once did. Through conquest or submission, all clans have been united under the alliance. No warriors carry this clan symbol any longer. I once dreamed that I could return and restore the balance, that I could save what remains of my family. But I am only fit to save myself. I am a coward, and an oathbreaker. I bring shame to my clan."
His story stunned me. He had never told me any of this part of his life before. I only knew that he had once been a wanderer, and a brief romance had left behind a son that the girl's parents were ashamed to claim kinship with. For my sake he had settled down at this inn, a stable master's work to provide a stable life for his child. I thought back upon what I knew of my father. It is true that he never once fought when insulted or threatened, but neither did he flee, nor cower, nor compromise. And that is a kind of courage as well. I realized then that he was not nearly as much of a coward as he himself believed. I reached out my hand a laid it upon his shoulder as he stared at the blade.
"I am proud of my father."
Then, with no more words we wrapped the sword once more in its bundle, and returned it to its hiding place. As I slept later, I dreamed of the wild grasslands and the barren wastes and a village poised on the brink between the two.[/sblock]
I guess I'll be scrapping the dwarf in favor of something else entirely.
[sblock=Khepra]
Code:
[B]Name:[/B] Kehpra No-Clan
[B]Class:[/B] -
[B]Background:[/B] Redemption Seeker
[B]Race:[/B] Half-Orc
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] Good
[B]Str:[/B] 17 +3 [B]Level:[/B] 0 [B]HP:[/B] 13+X
[B]Con:[/B] 13 +1 [B]XP:[/B] 0 / 1,000 [B]Bloodied:[/b] X
[B]Dex:[/B] 16 +3 [B]Speed:[/B] 5 [B]Surge Value:[/b] X
[B]Int:[/B] 10 +2 [B]Init:[/B] +3 [B]Surges:[/b] X+2
[B]Wis:[/B] 10 +0
[B]Cha:[/B] 14 +2
[B]SENSES:[/b]
Passive Insight: 10
Passive Perception: 10
Special: Low-light vision
[b]DEFENSES Base Armor Class Stat Misc Enh Total[/B]
[b]Armor Class:[/b] 10 +2 -- +3 -- -- 15
[b]Fort:[/b] 10 -- -- +3 -- -- 13
[b]Ref:[/b] 10 -- -- +3 -- -- 13
[b]Will:[/b] 10 -- -- +2 -- -- 12
[b]BASIC ATTACKS Attack Damage[/B]
Melee +4 1d10+3
[B]Languages:[/B] Common, Giant
[B]ABILITIES:[/B]
Half-Orc Resiliance
Swift Charge
Furious Assault
[B]Feats:[/B]
Durable [1st]
SKILLS Base Trnd. Mod Misc Total[/B]
Endurance 0 -- +1 +2 +3
Intimidate 0 -- +2 +2 +4
[B]EQUIPMENT:[/B]
Greatsword
Leather Armor
[B]Total Weight:[/B] --
[B]Money:[/B] -- gp
[B]Age:[/B] 14
[B]Height:[/B] 5'11"
[B]Weight:[/B] 160 lb
[B]Eyes:[/B] Brown
[B]Hair:[/B] Black
[B]Skin:[/B] Sandy-greyGrowing up with my father was a strange experience. Even before I truly understood the implications, I knew he was different. Even before I realized that I was different, too. I loved the inn when I was young. I grew up playing with the children of the other servants, and we had a wild, carefree life. I'd spend my nights above the stables with my father, and he'd tell me exciting stories of far off lands. My father was big, and strong, but I never saw him raise a hand in violence or anger. I once asked him why, and he responded by teaching me about people. About how the threat of violence can be more effective than the act itself, and how the promise of friendship can do more than either.
As I grew older, things changed for me. I quickly outgrew all of my old playmates, and their parents began to take notice. Those who I had numbered among my friends quickly became those who shouldn't be seen with one such as I. I grew distant from them, spending more of my time in the stables with my father, working along side him. Sometimes when he would have an errand to run elsewhere, he would even leave me in charge, alone in the stables.
It was on one such occasion that I found the sword.
I had been hanging a lantern hook when I spotted the bundle concealed up in the rafters. It was long and heavy, and wrapped in old rags. My curiosity got the better of me, and I unwrapped it revealing a large sword of curious design. There was a silhouette of a great cat etched into the blade, and a tiger's eye embedded in the pommel. When my father returned late that night, he found me still awake, with the sword laid across my knees and questions in my heart. He sighed, and sat down beside me. For a long while he remained silent, and then he began to speak.
"Far to the south, lies the Wasted Lands, a desert of unrelenting harshness. In between here and there lies the Gan, miles upon miles of steppes, plains and grasslands. On the cusp between the two, where the grass fades into sand, there you will find my people. I still call them my people, though I doubt they would make any such claim.
I can still recall the day with ease. The sun shone bright in a clear sky, as we assembled on the hilltop. I stood proudly beside my father and brothers as we gazed across to where our enemies were assembled. I don't think any of us knew the exact reason why we were there. An insult of some kind had been issued, and we were demanding a retraction. Of course, we expected no such apology, and had gathered in eager anticipation of the coming battle. Such battles were a common enough occurrence between the tribes, but it was to be my first. I was young, and so incredibly proud. My grandfather was too old to fight, but he had chosen me to carry his sword into battle, because I was his favorite, despite being the youngest, or because of it.
After a few more tense moments, word came down. No apology had been issued. A great shout went up from both tribes, and we began our charge. Then came the moment when my life would change forever.
Tradition held that each clan stood alone on its own merit. The strong prevailed and the weak fell. The balance continuously shifted over the generations as the strong eventually faltered and the weak resurged, and thus did our way of life preserve itself. But a new force had entered the equation. Why be content to rule your own clan, when you could rule them all?
The insult was not boastful warriors being proud and headstrong. It was a calculated act of treachery. When the battle was joined a new force revealed itself from behind us. A third clan had allied themselves with our enemy and had struck from secrecy.
Confusion ran through the warriors as they struggled to confront this new attack even as they fought the enemy in front of them. The effect was brutal. Before I even swung my weapon, I saw my father and eldest brother cut down in front of me. Their blood splashed upon me, and I looked upon their broken bodies. I stood for a moment, my grandfather's sword in my hand, and the pride of my clan in my heart.
And then I ran.
Like a cowardly dog, I ran. As far and as fast as I could."
He finally brought himself to pick up the sword, although it obviously brough him pain. He weighed it in his hands and then traced the etching with one finger.
"I kept the sword, of course. I could not bring myself to throw it away, sell it or to destroy it. But now it is a symbol of my shame. The news reaches me even here, our clan no longer exists as it once did. Through conquest or submission, all clans have been united under the alliance. No warriors carry this clan symbol any longer. I once dreamed that I could return and restore the balance, that I could save what remains of my family. But I am only fit to save myself. I am a coward, and an oathbreaker. I bring shame to my clan."
His story stunned me. He had never told me any of this part of his life before. I only knew that he had once been a wanderer, and a brief romance had left behind a son that the girl's parents were ashamed to claim kinship with. For my sake he had settled down at this inn, a stable master's work to provide a stable life for his child. I thought back upon what I knew of my father. It is true that he never once fought when insulted or threatened, but neither did he flee, nor cower, nor compromise. And that is a kind of courage as well. I realized then that he was not nearly as much of a coward as he himself believed. I reached out my hand a laid it upon his shoulder as he stared at the blade.
"I am proud of my father."
Then, with no more words we wrapped the sword once more in its bundle, and returned it to its hiding place. As I slept later, I dreamed of the wild grasslands and the barren wastes and a village poised on the brink between the two.[/sblock]
Attachments
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Insight
Adventurer
hafrogman
Adventurer
Yeah, I know it's not everybody.You can rest assured that I am NOT going Druid
But I figured with two druids characters, and two leader characters, I'd be risking major redundancy with either. And since I'm all defendered out, striker it was. 
SeaPainter
First Post
I really like the submissions so far, and there are already a couple that I intend to accept... but there are some changes I might "request" first. The characters' ages will be below standard starting age for an adventurer, because your characters will not have adventured yet. They are going to be thrown into adventure by fate & happenstance. With some of the backgrounds, you will have been raised by someone with that background and recieve the benefits because your parents raised you from that mindset.
For example, I really like Khepra's story... except that with this campaign I'd prefer that Khepra were about 14.5, and finds his grandfather's sword hiden in the back of the closet without even realizing that it is a mark of shame that his father had fled that battle & settled down far away. Now Khepra has to hold his head up when he meets people who understand the sword's history. It doesn't have to be exactly like that, but I really like the story of the battle... I'd like to keep that as the past deed that Khepra is trying to redeem, but the deed is not his own. Anyway, hafrogman let me now if you're good with the changes, and you're in.
For example, I really like Khepra's story... except that with this campaign I'd prefer that Khepra were about 14.5, and finds his grandfather's sword hiden in the back of the closet without even realizing that it is a mark of shame that his father had fled that battle & settled down far away. Now Khepra has to hold his head up when he meets people who understand the sword's history. It doesn't have to be exactly like that, but I really like the story of the battle... I'd like to keep that as the past deed that Khepra is trying to redeem, but the deed is not his own. Anyway, hafrogman let me now if you're good with the changes, and you're in.
Lord Sessadore
Explorer
So ... is this full then? Or what? I'll admit I'm a little confused as to who's in and who's not ...
SeaPainter
First Post
Its still open for apps, I'm in the process of reviewing submissions...
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