Epic D&D 3.5: The Eye of Profane Truth [full]

[doghead]

I had some time, so I thought I would try my hand at creating a character. I can't even begin to spend 5 million. This is as far as I got before my brain blew a fuse.

[sblock=Hiitar, Janni Monk 19]Hiitar, Janni Monk 19

STR 14+6+2 --- 22 (+6)
DEX 14+4 --- 18 (+4)
CON 13+2+1 --- 16 (+3)
INT 14+4 --- 18 (+4)
WIS 17+4+1 --- 22 (+6)
CHA 12+2 --- 14 (+2)

HD: 6d6+18+19d8+57
BAB: +20/+15/+10/+5 [+6 janni, +14 monk]
AC 24 [10 +6 Wis, +4 Dex, +3 Monk, +1 Natural]
Speed: 90 ft, Fly 20 feet.
Saves:
* Fort +19 [+5+11+3]
* Refl +20 [+5+11+4]
* Will +22 [+5+11+6]

Unarmed Speed Bonus: +60 feet.
Monk AC Bonus: +3
Unarmed: 2d8+6
Flurry: +20/+20/+20/+15/+10

Skills: 9*(8+4) + 19*(4+4) = 260 skill Points. 22/19 max ranks.

Feats;
Janni Racial:
Janni Racial:
Janni Racial:
Janni Bonus: Improvend Initiative.
Monk Bonus 1:
Monk Bonus 2:
Monk Bonus 6:
Class 01:
Class 03:
Class 06:
Class 09:
Class 12:
Class 15:
Class 18:

Braces of Armour +5 (50,000)
Spike Chain +5 Brilliant Energy Ki Focus (201,000)
Pair of Sai: +5 Axiomatic Ghost Touch Ki Strike Returning (401,000 gp)
Belt of Giant Strength +6 (36,000)
+5 Manaul of Fitness (137,500 gp)
+5 Manual of Quickness of Action (137,500 gp)
+5 Manual of Bodily health (137,500 gp)
+5 Tome of Clear Thought (137,500 gp)
+5 Tome of Understanding (137,500 gp)
+5 Tome of Leadership and Influence (137,500 gp)[/sblock]

 

[Rkhet]

Re Monastic Training:

This and any future requests for materials from books other than the specified ones are automatically denied. Seriously, it's a whole lot of books already. It's a pain to leaf through them all.


Re Genesis:

No. You are actually all just hours old (though with sufficient knowledge and memory implanted that you can function perfectly well) at the start of the game, so you can't have a stronghold. If you want one, you'll have to create it in-game.

I will, however, allow castings of Permanency and the like - i.e. spells that affect only youself - pre-game (long as you foot the bill on the XP - buy scrolls of Permanency with extra XP attached, or get a Rod of Excellent Magic).

 

[lonesoldier]

Still looking for players? I have to finish my artificer for Mark of the Raven first, but I've played Epic before (As a DM) and I can build a character at a decent speed.

 

[Rkhet]

Well, let's have a bit of fun while we're waiting to get started.

The rule: you answer the three questions, then you get to ask three questions. You're not guaranteed answers, though.

- - -


Against your better judgment, you enter the tent. The first thing to hit you is the smell - an unpleasant mix of rotten food, mildew and excrement. A lantern above you gives off a dim, brackish light, not so much illuminating the place as contrasting the shadows. Even by what little light there is, though, you could see that the place is filthy. Rubbish and rags are carelessly strewn on the floor, smeared with what you hoped is only spoilt food.

"Aha."

You spin around, startled. In the corner, sits a shrivelled old crone - you must have mistaken her for a pile of soiled rags - her face resembling that of a giant rat. On the floor in front of her is a crystal ball, cracked and dull, whatever magic it once contained long since fled.

"Everyone comes to see old Etna. Everyone has something to ask, something they want to know. But all those questions, and Etna has no answers. It makes Etna sad. So sad."

She breaks off, rocking slightly back and forth, mumbling, seemingly off in her own world.

An uncomfortable silence passes, and you are wondering if you should leave when she speaks again:

"Questions, questions. Everyone has questions. Even Etna has questions. You there, maybe you have answers, yes? And, maybe if you have answers, then Etna has answers too, for you, yes?"

"What do you see when you sleep, child? What troubles your dreams?"

"Who pulls your strings? Who's the puppetmaster makin' ye dance all pretty? Or," she cackles, "do you think yourself a freeman?"

"And, you didn't forget a gift for poor old Etna, did you? Yes, I can see it, it's in that backpack, yes... what did you bring poor old Etna? Show me."

 

[Azaar]

Not a problem about Monastic Training. I'll try and have my warlock/chameleon ready tonight, if possible.

 

[Wrahn]

He stood in the tent, tall and straight. His hair and beard were as black as midnight, precisely trimmed, his robe meticulously clean made of the finest black silks, with an elegant waterfall pattern stitched in it. His dusky skin was offset by his piercing green eyes. In the filthy tent he was very out of place, like a whale in the dessert.

He looked down at the old witch and contemplated the best way to get answers from her. While his usually solution to this circumstance was to rip it from her mind, he suspected that tactic would not work here. She probably was a creature of impulse, not knowing the answers until the questions themselves were asked. He had prepared for this, his informants had forewarned him.

Answering the questions cost him nothing and he could always see what she knew afterwards. After a brief pause contemplating her fate, Lorgrane answered, “My dreams are disorganized and emotional. I see suffering and feel those suffering calling to me to save them. More significantly, I want to save them. I suspect this state is more of a representation of what I was created to be.”

“If you are asking specifically, what I dream of, then last night I dreamt of a girl child, lost in the woods, being chased by things too horrible to describe. As they caught her, she looked directly me at me, beseeching me for assistance. I woke just before I could act.”

“I attach no meaning to these dreams.” He says, completely emotionless.

“My strings, as you call them, are being pulled by the Perfect, by Naramyr, whether he knows it or not, by the Eye of Profane Truth and by whatever fell force is behind the Eye. To a lesser extent, several others have grasps on my strings, including you Etna.” The last part of his statement is delivered coldly, menacingly.

“As for your “gift,” I have brought you a half dozen freshly picked oranges from the verdant orchards of distant Coulem. They are sweet and delicious.”

It had been a simple thing to teleport there and back, costing no more than a few coppers. An exotic gift and one that should appease someone who lives like this. If she truly has answers, it is her choice to live like this, so valuables should not be an issue. Sweet treats seemed more appropriate.

As he presented her with a small sack containing the oranges, Lorgrane considered carefully the questions he should ask.

“What will it take to stop Naramyr?”

“Where can I discover the true nature of the Eye of Profane Truth?”

“Can the Perfect effect me directly?”

 

[Rkhet]

The old woman offers no response to your answers, but when you present the sack, she croons with delight, snatching it from you. The crone picks out an orange and bites into it hungrily, skin and all, making a mess as the juice dribbles down her chin. In moments she has eaten the first and is reaching for a second.

“What will it take to stop Naramyr?”

"The killer-of-big-lizards, now there's a stubborn one. So tired, so cold, yet he refuses his bed and blankets. Whatever he's staying up for, it must be worth it, eh?"

She pauses, chewing and muttering.

"...They all wanted to play heroes, those Wyrmslayers. Naive of 'em. Is it any wonder it turned out the way it did? Hah. What's it to Etna? They bring Etna no oranges."

The old woman finishes the second orange, picks out a third, and begins to peel it.

“Where can I discover the true nature of the Eye of Profane Truth?”

"Why would you want to know about that? what's so interesting about some feller's eyeball? You've got so much time to waste, go read a book or something."

She tosses the fruit inside into a corner, and eats the peel. The orange-peel must have been bitter, and she makes a face, but reaches for a fourth.

“Can the Perfect effect me directly?”

"Sure 'ee could. but the big hand in the sky, ee's gotta be careful scratchin' himself when he's got them nasty sharp nails. so he'll keep pullin' on them strings instead."

"who pulls his strings, i wonder?"

The old woman examines the orange, turning it round and round in her hands.

"And who pulls Etna's strings, hmm?"

Suddenly angry, she throws the orange at you, then the sack.

"Go, rude man, and take your oranges with you. They taste awful."

 

[Shayuri]

The white-haired, pale-skinned woman-child who knew herself only as Shard entered the tent, her pert little nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell and squalor, even as her white-irised eyes widened and a voice far older than her own warned in the back of her skull, This is how it is for a reason; there is method AND madness here.

Delicate hands clenched on the edges of her cloak, Shard started to walk deeper in, when a cancerous voice croaked, "Everyone comes to see old Etna. Everyone has something to ask, something they want to know. But all those questions, and Etna has no answers. It makes Etna sad. So sad."

She breaks off, rocking slightly back and forth, mumbling, seemingly off in her own world.

An uncomfortable silence passes, and Shard considers leaving when the hag speaks again:

"Questions, questions. Everyone has questions. Even Etna has questions. You there, maybe you have answers, yes? And, maybe if you have answers, then Etna has answers too, for you, yes?"

"What do you see when you sleep, child? What troubles your dreams?"

Shard hesitated, for this was personal knowledge, this was -powerful- knowledge...she sensed it without knowing how or why. Finally she spoke simple and true, "I see an eye of crystal and an eye of obsidian, whirling 'round a great orb in the void, always on opposite sides so that one can never see the other. The black eye touches the world, and flames and screams rise in its wake. The white eye dares not, but it sheds tears that it tries to put the flames out with. Yet the tears catch fire as they fall, they blacken, and become brittle...and in the end I cannot see if they will put out the fire, die in it, or start more of their own."

She shivers. "It makes me sad."

"Who pulls your strings? Who's the puppetmaster makin' ye dance all pretty? Or," she cackles, "do you think yourself a freeman?"

Shard shakes her head and replies unhappily, "I know that I am broken. I am all that's left of what was something else...something greater, and something that was made. Whoever made what I was may still have a string to me. Whoever broke me, also has a string." She pauses, and adds, "In coming here, in listening to you, I've given you a string too. And the others that fell with me...they have strings, and I feel them always tugging at me." Shard lifts her chin then, "But I have a string too! I may not be free, but I do have something to say about what I do and why."

"And, you didn't forget a gift for poor old Etna, did you? Yes, I can see it, it's in that backpack, yes... what did you bring poor old Etna? Show me."

Shard reaches into the backpack, turning from defiant to bashful in an eyeblink.

"A berry pie, taken from the kitchens of a lord's castle in the highlands, where the berries are fresh and ripe, and the cooks have had the way of baking since olden times. Still hot too." She produces the pie, and a wooden fork, and sets it before the witch.

"A rare sunstone from the caves under the desert. Keep it outside during the day, and it will draw the sun's light and warmth into itself. When night falls, it will shine like a torch, and give off heat to keep the winter's chill away...yet never enough to burn or smoke." Shard sets the yellow spherical gem beside the pie.

The last item is...a bit strange given the first two. It seems to be a wooden box made of thin planks and filled with soft, pungent soil. And nothing else.

"And this is the richest soil from the lowlands and the great forsests," she explains. "When you eat the pie, spit the seeds into this box. Keep it outside in the day, and under the sunstone at night. It will grow berries bigger and tastier than you've ever seen...and it will keep doing so as long as you spit their seeds back into the soil, and keep it sunned."

She clears her throat. "Now...I do have some questions."

"How can I, and the other who fell, be made whole again?"

"Who will help us?"

"What is our most dangerous foe?"

 

[Kafkonia]

Bas the Seeker

The stench that hit his nostrils was a delight to him. He had not smelled anything so offensive in his life; it was almost a palpable presence, an oppressive weight on his lungs. A new sensation. A new experience. He committed it to memory even as the hag began to speak to him.


"Everyone comes to see old Etna. Everyone has something to ask, something they want to know. But all those questions, and Etna has no answers. It makes Etna sad. So sad."


As she went on, he picked his way over to the crystal ball and touched it with his fingers -- it was cracked and pitted, no longer as smooth as it had once been. Still, what knowledge might it have once purveyed... what knowledge might it yet provide in the proper hands?

"Questions, questions. Everyone has questions. Even Etna has questions. You there, maybe you have answers, yes? And, maybe if you have answers, then Etna has answers too, for you, yes?"

"I have answers, woman. That is the one thing I possess."

"What do you see when you sleep, child? What troubles your dreams?"

He snorts derisively. "In my dreams I see nothing but fog. The fog from which I was born, the mist of nothingness." He pauses. "In my nightmares I see the impossibility of the life I never led. I see the friends I never made, the lovers I never took, the family I was never born to. In my nightmares I see decades of existence pass. And when I wake I long all the more for the fog of my dreams."

"Who pulls your strings? Who's the puppetmaster makin' ye dance all pretty? Or," she cackles, "do you think yourself a freeman?"

"Nothing pulls my strings." He corrected himself. "Nothingness, I should say. The unmaking. I know enough not to think myself free. I am the vessel for my search."

"And, you didn't forget a gift for poor old Etna, did you? Yes, I can see it, it's in that backpack, yes... what did you bring poor old Etna? Show me."

"Hmm? Oh, yes." He reached into the pack and pulled out a small parcel. "I bring you the eyes of the blind seeress Oksana of the Empire of Dreaming Petals. If you place one into a lit brazier, the smoke will show you the death of a loved one. Also, the tongue of Abdul ab-Nezar, the greatest liar in the Thousand Shiekhdoms. Cooked with the entrails of a virgin goose and eaten, it will let you speak with a fallen ancestor." He tossed the parcel to her. "You are welcome to them."

"My questions, now.

"Does my existence matter to the Perfect?"

"What will happen if I fail?"

"Will I be unmade if I succeed?"

 

[Lord_Raven88]

Below is my 95% completed Character concept, Durkon (Half-Giant [+1 A] Fighter 14 / Occult Slayer 5 / War Hulk 10)

[sblock]

[B]Name:[/B] Durkon
[B]Class:[/B] Fighter 14 / Occult Slayer 5 / War Hulk 10
[B]XP:[/B]
[B]Race:[/B] Half Giant
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] NE
[B]Deity:[/B] Perfect
[B]Speed:[/B] 30'

[B]Str:[/B] 60 +17 (16p, +2 Racial, +5 Inherent, +7 Level, +20 PrC, +8 Enhancement)            
[B]Dex:[/B] 22 +6  (06p, -2 Racial, +4 Inherent, +6 Enhancement)             
[B]Con:[/B] 30 +10 (10p, +2 Racial, +4 Inherent, +8 Enhancement)          
[B]Int:[/B] 16 +3  (04p, +4 Inherent)           
[B]Wis:[/B] 14 +2  (02p, +4 Inherent)             
[B]Cha:[/B] 14 +2  (02p, +4 Inherent)     

                   [B]Base  Armor Shld   Dex  Size   Nat  Misc  Total[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B]              10    +13    +0    +3    +0    +1    +X    27
[B]Touch:[/B] 13              [B]Flatfooted:[/B] 24

[B]Init:[/B] +6
[B]HP:[/B] 517 (14d10 +10d12 +5d8 +290)


                         [B]Base   Mod  Misc  Total[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B]                     10    +11    +4    +23
[B]Ref:[/B]                       5    +6     +4    +15
[B]Will:[/B]                      8    +2     +4    +14

[B]BAB:[/B] +24 (+19 BAB +5 Epic)
[B]Grapple:[/B] +53

[B]Weapon                  Attack   Damage     Critical[/B]
+5 Keen Greatsword        +55    3d6+42     16-20x2
+1 Rock                   +50    2d8+25        20x2


[B]Languages:[/B] Common, 

[B]Abilities:[/B] 
Half-Giant[list]
[*]+2 Str, -2 Dex, +2 Con
[*]Giant Type
[*]Low-Light Vision
[*]Fire Acclimated (+2 bonus to saves vs fire spells and effects)
[*]Powerful Build: Treat as one size larger when advantageous, use weapons as if one size larger.
[*]+1 LA[/list]

Occultslayer[list]
[*]Magical Defense (+3 save vs spells and spel-like abilities)
[*]Weapon Bond (+1d6 damage vs spellcasters)
[*]Vicious Strike (x2 damage vs spellcasters if attack readied)
[*]Mind Over Magic 2/days (Turn spell or spell-lie ability back upon caster, as spell turning)
[*]Auravision (Detect Magic as free action)
[*]Nondetection Cloak (as nondetection spell)
[*]Blank Thoughts[/list]

War Hulk[list]
[*]No time to think (All Int, Wis & Cha skills treated as 0 ranks)
[*]Ability Boost (Str +20)
[*]Massive Swing
[*]Might Rock Throwing (2d8 dam, 50', Add Str to attack rolls)
[*]Massive Sweeping Boulder (Affect 4 squares in a line)[/list]


[B]Feats:[/B]
1st Able Learner (LA+1)
2nd Weapon Focus (Greatsword), Power Attack
3rd Quick Draw
4th Cleave
5th Weapon Spec (Greatsword)
7th Hurling Charge, Leap Attack
9th Improved Critical (Greatsword)
10th Point Blank Shot
11th Far Shot
13th Great Cleave, Improved Bull Rush
15th Improved Sunder
16th Combat Reflexes
19th Awesome Blow
22nd Fast Healing
25th Overwhelming Critical (Greatsword)
28th Devastating Critical (Greatsword)

[B]Skill Points:[/B] 77       [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 32/16
[B]Skills                   Ranks  Mod  Misc  Total[/B]
Climb                      15   +25         +40
Intimidate                 10   +2          +12
Jump                       20   +25         +45
Know(Arcana)               4    +3          +7
Ride                       10   +6          +16
Spellcraft                 3    +3          +6
Swim                       15   +25         +40

[B]Equipment:               Cost  Weight[/B]
Books (+5 Str, +4 Dex, Con, Int, Wis, Cha)
Epic Belt of Str(+8)
Epic Bracers of Health(+8)
Boots of Swiftness
+5 Keen Greatsword
+1 Rock (50lbs)
XXXX                     XXgp   XXlb
[B]Total Weight:[/B]XXlb      [B]Money:[/B] XXgp XXsp XXcp

                           [B]Lgt   Med   Hvy  Lift  Push[/B]
[B]Max Weight:[/B]               2128   4256  6400  12800  32000

[B]Age:[/B] XX
[B]Height:[/B] 7'10"
[B]Weight:[/B] 350lb
[B]Eyes:[/B] Ruby
[B]Hair:[/B] none
[B]Skin:[/B] Tanned

Appearance:


Background:
Opening his eyes, his first sight was that of the serene beautiful face of the Perfect, gazing down at his body in wonder Durkon looked up at his maker with eyes full of love and hope, then came the pain.

Doubling over Durkon vomited uselessly on the floor as his perfect body became infused with dark energies, the last thing Durkon heard was the shocked voice of the Perfect before the pain caused him to lose consciousness "The Profane Eye of Truth, it reaches out to corrupt my perfect creation, in the hopes of thwarting my plans".

Looking down upon his creation with sorrowful eyes the Perfect watches as it's flesh seems to warp and distort before his very eyes, his creation seems to swell with muscle and grow taller and thicker as each moment passes, it's flawless white skin darkens to a rock-like grey.

Gone is it's lithe graceful form, replaced instead by it's new hulking body, kneeling down beside his creation the Perfect lays his hand upon it's chest "You shall be called Durkon(meaning Dark Slayer), you will be my sword against the Profane Eye of Truth, you and the others I shall create, shall search the lands to find the eye, and destroy it and its wielder, whatever the cost" a golden glow surrounds the Perfect's hand as he eases the pain the transformation left in its wake.

Opening his ruby coloured eyes, Dark Slayer gazes upon his creator for the second time that day, where once there was joy, love and peace, now all that remains is a dark purpose that fulls his heart, that and a profound sense of loss for what he could have been.[/sblock]