Exclusive Contest! Todd Lockwood draws your character! [NO MORE ENTRIES!]

[zorlag]

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Here's my character:

Dein Ossimun Anarias
Stats: Human | 1 th level Fighter / 5th level Rogue / 5th level Thief-Acrobat | Neutral evil

Personality: Calculating, curious and uncaring

Dein is 6'1'' with long, tangled green hair (tips of the hair are greyish white), white eyes. He's wiry and seems like he's starving even when he is eating well. His clothing consists of dark green tunic with torn sleeves, dark red vest (Vest of Escape) and chain shirt that is slowly unravelling (Kyton chain shirt). Dark green pants and soft black leather boots complete his attire. His skin is very pale and smooth, with oval-shaped face that is just about perfectly symmetric. Start contrast to his skin and eyes, his eyebrows are pitchblack and thick. As freakish as he looks, there is something weird about him that draws people to him. He is always carrying a polearm of some kind with him, he changes to different type at whim when he sees a new one in a shop. His favourite expression is smirk when something goes wrong. When he goes in combat, he dons silvery gauntlet on his right hand (+2 silver spiked gauntlet of frost). In a pinch he tosses poisoned dart or two when he faces tough opponent.

Background:

Dein Ossimun Anarias was born in low station noble family as 3rd child. Family Anarias was mostly destroyed during wartime strife that engulfed entire Greyhawk. Dein's father ran and changed his name to Ossimun and hid amongst normal folk to avoid his enemies. Thus, early in life, Dein learned the value of secrecy. Dein's father also taught Dein how to fights when he grew up. However, when he reached adolescence, he grew restless and thirsted for revenge against those who had broken their family. This hadred was carefully nurtured by his aging father. Dein left the city and became traveller. For two years he wandered here and there, drifting from place to place, seeking means for power. And then one day, he found companions to his liking. Adventurers they called themselves, reckless and greedy bunch seeking both glory and riches. So he joined and travelled with them to Sunless Citadel. Rest of the group was killed but he was experimented upon by goblins and crazy druid that we're keeping the lower portion of the old temple as their refuge. He was almost blinded by the experiments and was left rotting in old jail cell. He was rescued by other group that wandered in that accurced place. He joined them and got his revenge on the druid and the goblins. He still hates goblinoids with passion, but is capable of keeping it in check when needed.

Currently he's studying ancient spire in middle of the weird city of Ptolus, where he travelled when he heard about it's many lost secrets and weird magics. He started venetrating Vecna, Lord of Secrets, after his first adventure. He often whispers Vecna's name in short prayer when he uncovers yet another item or fact that might have been better left alone. He has also started collecting various samples of poison and studied little alchemy between adventuring, trying to alleviate his sore eyes that are still sensitive to light. At times, his eyes appearance has served him well, since he can see fine, but often people think he's blind due to his white pupils. Nobody suspects that blind beggar on streetcorner, listening to softly spoken secrets...

Z.

 

[Arravis]

Is begging, pleading, and bribing allowed?

*puts on his best puppy-dog face*

Mejin and Zanatose are both great choices btw , though I'll admit dissapointment on not seeing Sharantyr up there. I am considering writing a short (one or two page) short story on him, to better show his personality and why this character has become so fascinating to myself and everyone in our game as well.

Anyway, Kai, glad to see the thread alive again .

 

[D-Man]

Wow. I'll have to write up a detailed description of my character. Too cool.

 

[D-Man]

Crowe

2e Dark Sun Half-elf Psionicist

Six feet tall, black hair, dressed in tattered rags (its Dark Sun after all), piercing dark eyes.

He had a tendency to bust out Animal Affinity (Kirre) in a fight, so I'd like to see him depicted with four furry muscular arms, claws at the end, and horns protruding from his scalp. I know, I know, how many four armed half-elves with horns sticking out does one contest need, but this one has black hair.

 

[A'koss]

So, without further ado, the two characters that are locked into the final 20 are:

Mejin A’koss

WOOOOOOT!

[huff... pufff...]

WOOOOOOT!



Cheers,

A'koss!!!!!

 

[talinthas]

Talinthas Shadeslayn (dragonlance character)
Male Sylvanesti elf Rogue/Shadow dancer (align TN)
Age- well over 500 years old.

Tal is a rather reclusive and quiet sort, being one of the few mortals to live through three ages of Krynn. Born approximatly 100 years before the fall of Istar and the Cataclysm, he has seen the gods leave, return, leave again, and return again. He posseses the sort of hardened cynicism that only one tired of life could manage.

He was the child of an illicit relationship between a Sylvanesti noblewoman and her Kagonesti house servant, and was abandoned near a human village on the plains to the west of the elven homelands. Tal was left in a wicker basket with but two possesions, a copper amulet bearing the rose of Majere, and a note instructing the plainsmen that found him to bob his ears and raise him as a human child.

Soon, he was found by a scout and brought back to the village, and taken to the chieftan, who handed the child to the only resident who could read the elven script in the message, the tribe's lead hunter. He took the child in, and in a ceremony attended only by the chief, swore to keep the child's heritage a secret until his death, at which time the letter would be shared to the child.

Thus did Tal grow up learning the ways of a plainsmen scout, as he was never quite as big or strong as the other boys, but much sneakier and quieter. He spent about 30 years training in the ways of the scout, but eventually it was noticed that he was much younger seeming than his contemporaries and tended to mature much slower. This talk was suppressed by the chief of the village for about 10 years, when it finally became clear that Tal looked like he could have been the child of his younger brother, who was nearing his 40th year.

At this point, Talinthas demanded to know the truth, and his adopted father, seeing no other choice in the matter, relented and shared the letter of origin. Immediatly afterwards, the venerable hunter killed himself, as per the condition set during the ceremony years past. Out of shame, Tal left his home of half a century and went wandering the world, with only the medallion to remind him of his birth parents, and his hunter's dagger, bestowed upon him when he became a full fledged member of the tribe after his right of passage ceremony.

In the course of his wanderings, he returned to Sylvanesti, only to find that his birth father had been killed at the hands of his maternal grandfather, and that his mother had been cloistered in a nunnary dedicated to austerity. Tal was turned away by his maternal family, and banished from the elven homelands as a dark elf, merely for trying to discover who he was.

It was at this time that the Gods turned their back on Krynn. Tal, having lost sight of his life, was aimlessly ambling northwards towards Istar, and saw the fiery mountain fall from the sky and annihliate the landscape. Watching the destruction of the world as he knew it completely shattered any grip on sanity that this elf had. The next 20 years were spent in a haze, as Talinthas became more and more withdrawn and desolate.

It was at this time that he began to attract the shadows. The cataclysm caused death on such a massive scale that the souls of the innocent and guilty alike could not be separated and sent to their divine abode quickly enough. Coupled with the complete withdrawl of divine presence, and the lack of final rites, these souls became the restless dead of krynn. Talinthas, with his blasted mind and empty soul, started to attract the attention of these ghosts and shadows. Some of the more aggresive spirits possesed Tal, and started him down the path of the Shadow Dancer.

The next few hundred years passed quickly, as Tal started to regain his senses and adapted to his new symbiotic relationship with these shades that hovered around him. He searched others who were similarly affected by incredibly mind altering events, and helped them to cope with their empty souls, starting a loose group of Shadow Dancers through Ansalon. Somewhere in there, he managed to get married a few times, and father a child or two.

Fast forwards to the War of the Lance. Tal, now in his 450th year or so, is a venerable old elf with massive control over the spirits and shadows that reside within him. Years of having been hunted as an evil necromancer and other such misunderstandings have left him hardened and wary of strangers. The return of the gods has not brought him the joy that it has brought to the masses, for the newly indocrinated clergy find him to be an abomination, and try to free the spirits trapped within him by any means necessary. The shadow dancers withdraw from the public light and hide from Gods and man alike.

Fast forwards another 30 years or so, to the cusp of the chaos war. With minions of chaos wreaking havoc on the realms of mortals and spirits, Tal was forced to fight for the survival of his shadow dancers, and was nearly destroyed once again by a Shadow wight, at the southern edge of the Blood sea of Istar, where 392 years before a young elf witnessed the destruction of the ancient world.

Shadow wights completely erase every living thing they touch, and force them into a state of non being, deleted from even the memories of those that knew the victims. Tal, having been buffered by the symbiotic spirts, managed to survive by shunting his shadow soul into the wight, leaving a living, but empty husk.

Once again, the retreat of the Gods was his saving grace, as the souls of the dead were completely unable to escape the mortal plane. Tal's shell, empty of all but the smallest spark of his soul, became a nexus of mystical energy. He lay there, on the beach of the Desolation, while the waters of the newly calmed blood sea threatened to take him away. There he was found by Dauroth, an Ogre Mage looking for a suitable subject to test a new magical form on. The hollow shell, coursing with just enough life and residual energy to keep functioning, was the perfect fit.

Dauroth took Tal, now known as the Shadeslayn, and proceeded to subject the elf to a ceremony granted to the ogre in a vision from his evil goddess, Takhisis. Tal's body was charged with Spiritual energy and mystic forces, and combined with scores of ghosts and spirits who were tied to the mortal plane. The newly fused shadow soul inhabited the body of the elf, and returned to a form of unlife never seen before. Talinthas Shadeslayn was faster, smarter, and stronger than the elf he had once been. Dauroth the Ogre Mage was stunned by his sucess, and immediatly took a sample of Tal's blood. Discovering that this blood held the magical properties needed to force this magical enhancement, Dauroth took it upon himself to endure the ceremony and transform into the Ogre Titan of legend. It was in the recovery time from this process that the multi spirit of the Shadeslayn decided to take initiative and escaped the prison of Dauroth's laboratory along the shores of the Blood Sea.

A struggle of wills ensued, but eventually the true soul of Talinthas asserted victory and regained command. The Shadeslayn went and recovered the remenants of his Shadow Dancers, and went into hiding, lest the Ogre Titans find him and completely drain him of his blood. His whereabouts are currently unknown, though he is thought to be in the north east part of Ansalon, biding his time and gathering souls to him.

Appearance-
Tal is an elf of about 5'5. The many soul drains and transfers he has endured have left him rather emaciated looking, with almost porcelin white, thinly stretched skin. However, following the ceremony by Dauroth, he has started to look a little more lively, with a fuller face and a shade darker skin. This change has been slow to come though, as his body has had five hundred years of abuse thrust upon it.

His hair is caught in a shoulder length pony tail, bound by an ornate clasp in the style of the tribe of his upbringing. However, it is notable that there are two streaks of molten silver hair that start at his eyebrows and go back to the end of his hair length.

His ears are raggedly cut at the tips, a symbol of his childhood, and his eyes, once a startling hazel/green, are now completely silver, with black irises and small red pupils. When he opens his mouth, his teeth are fanged, but as he never smiles, people hardly notice.

Around his neck is a battered coppery-green medallion impressed with the image of a Rose and Mantis, symbols of the God Majere, and only relic of Tal's birth. His clothing reflects his profession, and is black leather meant to blend in with shadows and appear completely unobtrusive from his coat to his thick hunting boots.

Around his waist are an assortment of pouches and packs, and two weapon holsters. One holds a blessed mace of disruption, granted to him by Majere during the Chaos war, and the other holding an ancient hunting knife dating to pre cataclysm tribes of the Plains of Dust.

However, these are all mundane things, for that which makes the Shadeslayn most noticable are the omnipresent shadows and spirits that dwell around him. Those who are Spiritually inclined, or dabble in Necromancy, can see that there are always shades and spirts in orbit around Tal, the way an electron orbits a nucleus. At times of trouble, Tal can gather these spirits and expel them in a damaging blast towards his enemies. Whenever the Shadeslayn walks into an area, all incorporeal undead, restless spirits, and lost souls are immediatly attracted to his presence, so this orbit is continually renewed. When normal, untalented people are around him, they get the eerie feeling that they are being watched, or feel a ghostly wind down their backs, or hear a faint whistle of haunted air. When clerics attempt to determine the presence of undead, Tal glows like a beacon to them.

For the most part though, the Shadeslayn is an elf in his 500th year of his existance, with much of that time spent in extreme pain and anguish. As such, his life view is bleak and dark, and he tends not to associate with people as much. The soul ceremonies have granted him a form of immortality, which the tired mind of Tal craves not at all. Some sages have likened it to the curse of Lord Soth, but worse, as Tal had done nothing to deserve this fate but be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With the end of the War of Souls near, and the freeing of the trapped spirits, only time will tell what happens to the elf without a soul.


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Wow, thats kinda long. But i guess i never actually came up with a complete background before. Even if i dont win the contest, i'm glad for the mental excersize. =)

 

[A'koss]

Okay, one more...

Grenloke, the Ashen

"Okay, so I'm a wraith-like, undead entity composed entirely of ash, but does that make me a bad person?"

- Grenloke, while being rousted by some visiting paladins new to Greyhawk City...


N(G) formerly human Fighter/Rogue/etc..
Age - apparant 39, actual 116 (52 of which spent dwelling in a limbo-like state on the Plane of Ash)
Height: originally 5' 11", now 6'-ish.
Weight: originally 189 lbs, now... pretty light.

Description: If you didn't know him, you'd be reaching for your holy symbol right about now... Most of the time, Grenloke likes to appear as human as possible - a 6' well-toned man wearing dark, grey-blue breeches, soft boots with norse-like wrappings, an almost midnight blue shirt with simple gold embroidery and a pair of ornate blue and gold metallic bracers that cover most of his forearms that taper to a sharp, pointed protrusion past the elbow. However the snazzy attire does little to disguise the fact that Grenloke is comprised entirely of a slightly warm-grey colored ash. He is able to alter his color slightly to give himself more "definition" as he calls it, making his "hair" and his "eyes" darker and other features (like his teeth) lighter. His surface features seem smooth, but they are constantly swirling with numerous eddies playing along it's surface. There seems to be a constant low-to-the-ground cloud of ash that follows wherever he goes which makes dusting around the office a real pain. Grenloke's shoulder-length hair just seems to stream away from his head ending in whispy trials as he moves. He does nothing to disguise his nature, relying on his reputation and disarming charm to get him through "the little foibles of life". Barring that, he's still one of the foremost fighters of his age though he always aims to disarm and disable unless the attacker is clearly evil.

Weapons: His little "accident" on the Plane of Ash destroyed most of the items he owned at the time, but one item did survive... albeit somewhat altered. He normally carries it around as a simple ashen staff with a lot of surface irregularities which reveal a dim green misty glow. In battle, he can alter it's shape into any weapon desired, though he creates an ornate, oversized glaive-like weapon. It has the power to cleave through dimensional barriers creating temporary portals with virtually pinpoint accuracy in regards to the destination.

Brief History: Grenloke is currently the proprietor of a transplanar travel service called... well, he never really gave it a name so people just ended up calling it Grenloke's Transplanar Travel Service. He and eclectic planar staff offer Safe(ish) Planar tours, Accurate Planar Portals, Search & Rescue services (pricey), Planar Travel Advice and Workshops, and so on. His office has a number of stable portals leading to places like Sigil, the Astral, the Plane of Fire and a deceptively random (and possibly intelligent) one which is locked and barred. The latter being the portal that dumped him into a divinely powered, magically abberrant region of the Plane of Ash for over 50 years and the cause of his uncurable "condition".

Though while on the surface, Grenloke treats his undeadish state as source of endless party tricks, deep down he is very concerned. There was an incident several years ago, while on a rescue mission to save a band of adventurers trapped in the Grey Waste, which ended with a pitched battle against a pack of arcanaloths. It was a desperate fight which ended with Grenloke using a power he never consciously wanted to admit his ashen form possessed - Life Draining. It was like suddenly being alive again... even more than being alive, it was like being a god. However, seeing the horror on the arcanaloth's face and the unbridled joy of the experience... he knew then what true evil was.

So to this day he is haunted by the fear of losing control and becoming a true monster... and it is a fear he feels will one day be inevitable. However, he has taken steps to assure that if he does turn, that he will be resoundly dealt with. He has secretly paid a huge sum to powerful assassin's society called The Garrote to put him down should he turn to evil and is unable to do so himself. Only one memeber in his employ is aware of the deal and Grenloke has given her detailed information on himself, how he thinks, and tactical advice to give to the Garrote should the time come.



Cheers,

A'koss.

 

[ArielManx]

OK, I finally have my characters ready to post. Please excuse some of the repetition in background (it's unavoidable for married adventurers who were childhood sweethearts...).

Here's the first one...the first character I ever created and who I have played for the past three years.


Zorra Himar Lightshadow

Human Female Wizard 12 NG

STR 9 DEX 13 CON 16 INT 17 WIS 17 CHA 9

Background: Vaasan in heritage and Shadowdarran in nationality, Zorra is the youngest of 5 children born to a simple farm couple near the village of Imuston in northeastern Shadowdale. Her oldest brother was a member of the local militia during the Time of Troubles and never came home from a particularly nasty orc battle. Zorra did her best to take Daltik's place beside her 3 surviving brothers, helping with all the chores she could. Her parents gave her a basic but thorough education.

Zorra was just a little girl when her uncle Simon Himar, a wizard who himself had adventured across Faerun, recognized a potential for magic in her. At the age of nine she began an apprenticeship under him. The shy farm girl had a very hard time adjusting to town life and was terribly homesick, so Simon made arrangements with his friend Porthus Verunnay, a priestess at the Temple of Mielikki, for Zorra to meet Porthus's acolyte, Devin Lightshadow. The two forged a fast friendship which became something more as they grew older.

The young lovers began an adventuring career on Zorra's 17th birthday (they married several months later). Their travels brought them to Iriaebor where they became charter members of the Company of the Sunset adventuring party. They soon found themselves enemies of the Zhentarim, friends and allies of the Harpers, and heroes of the Western Heartlands. During their travels the party made the horrifying discovery that Zorra's "dead" brother was in fact a commander in the Zhentarim army and a Hunter of Herne (an evil ranger). While Daltik Himar's forces were sorely defeated by the party and their allies in the town of Parnast, he escaped and Zorra has since watched for him at every turn in the road.

The Company of the Sunset has now made their way to the Dales as they travel to the Firepeaks to meet with Gold Dwarf King Markos Silverhammer at behest of King Ashal Hammerstone, a former party member who recently reclaimed the dwarven kingdom of Hammerstone Hall with the party's help. It would appear Zorra has returned home at just the right time, as the Dales are in need of defending from the Zhents and spider-kissing drow who would threaten to overrun to the lands…and she finds herself in the difficult position of agreeing to an alliance with worshippers of Vhaeraun in order to save her homeland.

Zorra has borne to Devin identical twin daughters, Solace and Cammara. The twins are the Chosen of Mielikki. Solace has traveled through the Western Heartlands, across the Anauroch desert and into the Dales in an leather armor carrier on her mother's back, while Devin carried Cammara. After several frightening close calls on the journey to the Dales, Devin and Zorra have made the heart-wrenching decision to leave their toddler daughters in the protective arms of Zorra's parents (and under the watchful eyes of High Priestess Porthus Verunnay and Archmage Simon Himar) when they depart for the trail once again in the spring.

Zorra's signature spell is Magic Missile, the first spell beyond cantrips that she ever mastered. She can prepare the spell from memory alone and can in fact spontaneously cast it. Her first original spell is actually a more deadly version of Magic Missile, appropriately named Zorra's Magic Missile. She also has developed the ability to prepare spells without somatics. She is currently studying the ways of the spell chandler and hopes to soon master the art of scribing candles.

Physical Description: Zorra stands 6'2" and is of medium build with generous curves (especially since the birth and nursing of her daughters). While not very strong her muscles are conditioned for stamina after years of farm labor and now nearly three years of adventuring. She has jet black waist length hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, and dark blue eyes. Her skin is fair but tans lightly during the summer months. When adventuring few would guess she is powerful mage by her simple dress - a linen shirt, landshark leather jerkin, Bracers of Armor, buckskin pants, Boots of Grounding and a Cloak of Deflection. For more formal situations Zorra wears a Robe of Stars. Holy symbols of both Mystra and Mielikki hang around her neck, as well as a pretty and simple gold chain (actually a Necklace of Fireballs); she wears a blue feather in her hair that grants her the same low-light vision of a half-elf. On her right hand are a Ring of Wizardry I and a mundane silver ring set with several blue gems; on her left is a wooden wedding band carved by her husband and of a slight magical nature. She has pierced ears and usually wears gold dove-shaped earrings with ruby drops (a gift from her husband). A Brooch of Shielding is pinned to her cloak. Several pouches of spell components, healing herbs, coins and gems, etc, hang from her adventurer's belt.

She carries a magical spell-storing staff carved with a dragon's head, which can cast Light, Dancing Light, Shocking Grasp, and Lightning Bolt. Strapped to her back is an iron-shod Quarterstaff of Battle for when the party's in a tight spot. A Sling of Seeking and a +2 Light Crossbow are always within easy reach, with a mixed pouch of bullets and an assortment of bolts in a case on her belt. Strapped to her right thigh is a silvered dagger; she carries her wands of Fireball and Magic Missile on her left.

(Other notable items: Crystal Ball of True Seeing, a hooded lantern with an Everburning Candle, Gem of Seeing, scrollcase full of arcane scrolls, seven spellbooks of various sizes spread out among backpack, saddlebags, wizard's bag, etc, scryer's kit.)

Ever at her side (and often sitting on her shoulder) is her familiar, a charcoal gray tressym named George. She also has a light gray Cormyrian mastiff guard dog named Gustav, who she raised and trained from a pup. Zorra is 19 years old.

Personality: Zorra is extremely shy and reserved, rarely speaking until spoken to, which is misinterpreted by some as snootiness. She is always quiet and polite, almost to the point of being terse, in formal situations. The hustle and bustle of a large city still (and likely always will) intimidate her. Some would assume one so meek wouldn't make much of an adventuring wizard. But Zorra is a fierce and confident battle mage, drawing strength from her strong connection to the Weave. Many a foe has been caught by surprise when the quiet woman "hiding" behind the archers and fighters unleashes a fireball. Her height - which she carries proudly - also tends to intimidate her enemies.

When among those she holds near and dear to her heart, Zorra is very warm and friendly, even talkative. She always enjoys talking to another wizard and sharing adventures. Her husband and daughters are the shining lights of her life and she looks forward to the days of domesticity in her future when her work on the road is done. Zorra has a deep appreciation for good food (especially sweets) and good wine or cider. She loves the study of magic and has already created several new spells, but is just as happy being outside tending to an herb garden. She is skilled with the healing powers of herbs, and is also a talented seamstress and chandler.

 

[ArielManx]

And my second character...who started out as a NPC in the same campaign as Zorra, but became a PC under my control about a year and a half to two years ago.


Devin Lightshadow

Half Gold Elf Male Cleric of Mielikki 9/Ranger 4 NG

STR 19 DEX 16 CON 17 INT 10 WIS 21 CHA 14

Background: Devin was the third child born to a gold elf mother and a human father (who, though Devin does not know this, was a Barbarian of the Ride with a bit of wood elf blood). His childhood was shattered during the Time of Troubles when a raiding Zhentarim force on Shadowdale killed his parents, brother and sister as they tried to defend their forest home. After three long weeks alone in his family's cabin in the forests northwest of Shadowdale Town (the events of that time, Devin has blocked from his memory) Devin was rescued by Porthus Verunnay, a priestess of Mielikki from Imuston in northeastern Shadowdale. Porthus took Devin back to her temple and raised him as her own.

Devin knows little of his family history. He does know that his mother was raised near the High Dale, met his father at The Dancing Place, and was disowned by her entire elven community for marrying the human. The pain of being so shunned affected her deeply, and she spoke nothing of the elves to her children, and never again uttered a single word of the Elvish language. (And despite several years of adventuring with other elves and half-elves, Devin still has virtually no understanding of the tongue.) He knows even less of his father's past.

Porthus trained Devin in the ways of the ranger to supplement his divine studies. Devin had had very little in the way of an education before he came to the temple, and his lessons were always hard for him, so he welcomed the easy hands-on learning of ranger training. When Devin was 12 years old he met Zorra Himar, who was apprenticing with her uncle, the town wizard. The two forged a fast friendship which became something more as they grew older.

Devin was granted his first divine spells during his 17th year, and around the same time came to the realization that Zorra was the woman he would spend all of his days with. But he decided to wait to propose marriage until they were a little older and had something to live on besides love.

The young lovers began an adventuring career on Zorra's 17th birthday (they married several months later). Their travels brought them to Iriaebor where they became charter members of the Company of the Sunset adventuring party. They soon found themselves enemies of the Zhentarim, friends and allies of the Harpers, and heroes of the Western Heartlands. The discovery of the true fate of Zorra's brother - a Hunter of Herne within the Zhentarim ranks - has left Devin with an ache in his heart. The Zhentarim are his avowed enemy, and followers of Herne are enemies of the Lady…but if the chance comes, he wonders if he will have the emotional strength to take down his wife's brother.

The Lady of Silverymoon herself asked Devin to join the Harpers, much to his surprise. A friend and High Harper, Ali Huzzah, now travels with the party, and Devin can't help but wonder if part of reason Ali has temporarily joined the party is to keep an eye on him.

The Company of the Sunset has now made their way to the Dales as they travel to the Firepeaks to meet with Gold Dwarf King Markos Silverhammer at behest of King Ashal Hammerstone, a former party member who recently reclaimed the dwarven kingdom of Hammerstone Hall with the party's help. It would appear Devin has returned home at just the right time, as the Dales are in need of defending from the Zhents and spider-kissing drow who would threaten to overrun to the lands…and he finds himself in the difficult position of agreeing to an alliance with worshippers of Vhaeraun in order to save his homeland.

Devin has built three shrines to Mielikki in the Western Heartlands, and restored two that were battle-ravaged to their rightful glory. Under his tutelage two rangers turned to the priesthood. Along the adventuring trail, the Lady of the Forest came to Devin in a dream and decreed that he and Zorra would conceive her Chosen. Nine months later Zorra bore him twin daughters, Solace and Cammara. Cammara has traveled through the Western Heartlands, across the Anauroch desert and into the Dales in an leather armor carrier on her father's back, while Zorra carried Solace. After several frightening close calls on the journey to the Dales, Devin and Zorra have made the heart-wrenching decision to leave their toddler daughters in the protective arms of Zorra's parents (and under the watchful eyes of High Priestess Porthus Verunnay and Archmage Simon Himar) when they depart for the trail once again in the spring.

Physical Description: Devin is unusually large for a half-elf, obviously taking after his human father. He stands 6'6" tall and is 235 lb. of solid lean muscle. His elven heritage is evident, though, in his distinctive elvish facial features (and ears as pointed as any full-blooded elf), golden tanned skin, and green eyes flecked with gold. His hair is a bright golden blond, worn shoulder length, with a braid near each ear. During the winter he grows a sparse beard. His typical adventuring dress is magical leather scale armor with the holy symbol of Mielikki tooled onto the breastplate, Gauntlets of Ogre Power, a Cloak of Deflection, Boots of Elvenkind, and a woodsman's cap. (He owns clerical vestments for formal occasions.) His left ear is pierced with a platinum hoop. On his left hand is a gold wedding band etched with leaves (and of slight magical nature), on his right is a Ring of Protection. He wears a Periapt of Wisdom about his neck along with a silver holy symbol of Mielikki. (Also in his possession is a Torc of Animal Speech, which he trades for the Periapt when needed.) After several months of keeping it hidden, Devin now proudly and openly wears a Lesser Harper Pin on his cloak. Several pouches hang from his belt, holding healing herbs, assorted potions and holy water, and his pipe and pipeweed (which he rarely smokes outside of the winter months).

Ever present in his left hand is Daervon's Revenge, a magical composite longbow Devin crafted himself and named after his murdered father. The bow has a unicorn's head carved at each end and the handhold is detailed with roses and ivy. Mielikki blessed the bow with several magical powers, and it is especially deadly against Zhentarim. He wears a magical buckler shield. His primary melee weapons are the longsword Black Dragon Bane and a +2 Flaming Dire Flail which has not yet earned a name. A +1 Dagger is strapped to his right thigh, and a Wand of Neutralize Poison to his left. He has several quivers with an assortment of magical and mundane arrows.

(Other notable items: Decanter of Endless Water, Bag of Holding, censer and aspergil, scrollcase full of divine scrolls, Arrow of Greater Slaying - Iron Golem.)

Devin has two animal followers, a red tiger named Giselle and an Elven Cat (Cathshee) named Cheshire. He also has a very deep bond with his riding mare, Ashes (for whom he has purchased Horseshoes of Speed), and his companions often refer to him as "The Horse Whisperer". He is 22 years old.

Personality: A reluctant leader who prefers the roles of party scout and healer, Devin nonetheless realizes that his companions look to his wisdom for answers and he does his best to live up to their expectations. He takes seriously and approaches with enthusiasm his place in the clergy of Mielikki, as well as his new rank among Those Who Harp. He is a deadly foe in battle, especially against the Zhentarim, whom he has vowed vengeance upon for the tragedy and heartache they have brought to his family and Zorra's. His wife and daughters are the greatest loves of his life and he does not hesitate to put his own life in danger to protect them.

Wise beyond his years, Devin is friendly and charming. He is often quiet in conversation, preferring to listen than to participate. Though he has ever struggled with traditional book learning, he does enjoy reading and is well-versed in many topics through experience. He finds the wonders and opportunities of a city interesting and even fun at times, but greatly prefers the wild open of the trail. He enjoys good food and good drink, but neither to excess. He is a skilled bowyer/fletcher, and is a talented woodcarver - a connection to his late father, who was a woodworker by trade.

 

[PA]

1 post, 3 entries — COMMENTS WELCOME!!

The Rootcrow Theatre Company is composed of three core members: Luthanel, Brisemur and Élisandre. They travel together in a worn-out wagon pulled by two donkeys, to display their talents from villages to towns, from towns to cities, and sometimes on the side of busy roads.


HOW IT ALL BEGAN:


Luth and Brisemur are orphans — an all-too-common occurrence among adventurers, and even more among half-breds. Neither knows but rumors about his parents. Luthanel received his name from the hooker who raised him to replace and support her in her old age. Since, as a half-elf, he was aging quite slower than the woman, he was still a kid when he decided it was time for him to depart. With not so much as a good-bye, the ungrateful brat left when everyone else slept, in the middle of the day.

He did not stop before reaching the next town. As it happened, it was a city of some wealth, for a share of which Luth began to beg. Being a cute child, with a cute smile, and still rather clean, he proved successful enough to buy his first meal. Soon thereafter, two delegates of the local guild of beggars came to “invite” him to their headquarters, where he was slapped back to consciousness.

With a whorehouse for home, Luth had spent his nights wandering the streets so his mother and many aunts could work. He knew the rule out there: wherever an underworld “guild” exists, even just begging without its benediction is a no-no. Of course, he also knew enough not to brag about his being street-savvy. He pled ignorance. He started to weave an incredible tale regarding his rich father and mean stepmother, that kept the whole audience quiet until he was out of breath, and maybe half out of ideas.

The first reaction, after a pause, was a huge laugh, coming from the middle-aged man sat beside the guildmaster. This laugh was followed by many others, merging into a thunderous roar. When the last wave quieted down, Luth could not decide if he was alive or not. But he was, and soon a bard’s apprentice for the middle-aged man.

It is in the course of those years of learning that Luth met Brisemur. One night, hearing a commotion, his natural curiosity drove him close enough to witness a group of street toughs trampling on a form on the ground, shouting “half-bred” and “bastard” the whole time. He reacted as if the insults had been directed to him: he leapt out of the shadows right into the fray, first punching two surprised bullies away from their prey, soon being punched in turn, then kicked when he fell down.

The next surprise came from the first victim. While Brisemur had let the thugs waste their shoes on his tough hide, he could not agree with their hurting someone who had come to his rescue. He stood up. He was awfully tall. He was awfully big. At first, the bullies sníggered nervously, then they tried to resume their beating and they met with a wall. They met with a wall with fists, who answered back, pummeling them into a headlong flight. In an instant, Brisemur alone was standing, Luth half-conscious behind him.

Brisemur took care of the half-elf, carrying him back to his abode: a temple he had dedicated to the god who had helped him – a half-orc in a human city – to survive all those years. Brisemur was a self-proclaimed cleric of Olidammara, whose converts were mainly street urchins whom he protected, and sometimes healed through non-magical means. What skills he had, he had learnt from other social rejects, members of this “guild of beggars” also known as a guild of thieves.

Even then, never had he been really accepted, and that too linked him to Luth. If few people had the knowledge to recognize a half-drow in the bard’s apprentice, his appearance was alien enough to elicit suspicion in most parts of the city, even among its outcasts. Being naturally charming and witty, the kid had soon learnt to compensate and gather people around him, yet until Brisemur, he had never trusted anyone but his mentor; until Brisemur, he had never had a friend.

With his mentor gone on some adventure, Luth decided it was also time for him to leave the city. Brisemur left with his friend like it was the most natural thing in the world. They gathered their meager possessions one morning and departed. They became wandering entertainers, Luth with his wits and Brisemur his strength. With some practice, they also became acceptable comedians, rehearsing new roles while walking between towns and villages. When it would not feed them, they also accepted odd jobs; they became “adventurers” and, in the eyes of some, heroes.

Still, for most people, the half-breds were better kept at a distance. While Brisemur lacked in social graces, Luth’s exotic charm made him the fear of fathers everywhere. The pair happily kept on the move, now more comfortably as a wagon had been the reward of their oddest job to date. Only once did they part, and then not for very long: Luth had learnt that elves lived in a nearby forest and, always curious about his non-human legacy, he had set his mind on paying them a visit.

Brisemur did not like the idea; he did not like elves, or rather, he knew all too well that elves liked him even less than did humans. They decided to meet two weeks later: Brisemur would wait in the wagon, letting his friend pursue on foot.

To pretend that Luth received a warm welcome would be an exaggeration, but the elves finally let him stay one night among them. He was housed by their ruling family, sun elves whose grace and knowledge the half-bred could not but admire. Still, he began to feel that what kindness he was shown was painfully close to pity, a sting he could not stand. At dawn, he had already left, with due thanks to his hosts.

On his way back to the edge of the forest, he became aware of being watched. At first, it did not surprise him. Only when the stalker followed him in the open did he feel it was odd. When he turned around and discovered who had been in his steps, he thought he was seeing his death. The young daughter of the family who had welcomed him was standing there, her hand on the last tree, looking at him questioningly.

Abduction. He was going to serve as practice target for elven arrows. Could he run away? As if reading his mind, she had already taken a step toward him. Controlling his first impulse to back up, he let the maiden get closer. The archers would not dare shooting if there was a risk of hurting her. Would they? She was facing him now and explaining how his tales had moved her, how much she wished to discover the world. When he mentioned her parents, she claimed they had no right to restrain her, that she was of age and free, as any elf should be free to choose their own path.

Yeah, sure. Luth bowed, smiled and agreed. He invited her to follow him to his wagon, where his companion was waiting. She hurried by his side. The half-elf called for Brisemur, who slowly extracted himself from the wagon. The elven maiden missed a heartbeat, her eyes suddenly wide open. Then she passed Luth and, curtseying in front of his friend, presented herself: “I have for name Élisandre, and it is my pleasure to meet you.”

Luth made a bet with Brisemur that their princess would leave within a month, or would beg to be brought back to her parents. One month later, the half-orc was ten silvers richer. The whole little troupe was more in funds, though, as the exquisite Élisandre added to its luster. And she had more to offer.

She had felt estranged all her life because magic, which was a subject of study for her kind, was for her a natural talent… that she did not control all that well. Luth found a way for her to gain this control, when he suggested that she copied the wizards in her family, using the same gestures and material components. The weird part is when Luth found that he could, also going through the same motions and using the same props, cast spells too.

What she was to magic, he was to acting: they both had a Gift. As for Brisemur, he had been blessed in another way: one day, after a nasty battle that had left Élisandre bleeding on the ground, unconscious, the half-orc had thrown a tantrum, calling to Olidammara and even insulting the god, until this one answered and made a miracle, curing the elven maiden completely.

In a glow of holy light, and the echo of a laugher, the small troupe had been granted a cleric.


THE CAST:


Luthanel

CG half-elf, bard 1. Str 12 Dex 14 Con 14 Int 16 Wis 8 Cha 15. Feat: Improved Initiative. Skills: Bluff 4 (6), Concentration 4 (6), Diplomacy 4 (8), Disguise 4 (6), Gather Information 4 (8), Listen 4 (3), Perform: staging 4 (6), Sense Motive 4 (3), Tumble 4 (6). Spells: 0- Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Read Magic.

Luth walks the world with the grace of a dancer, with the sparkling fluidity of a cat. His almond-shaped eyes light a dark blue fire under a bush of white hair, dense and soft as fur, while his feline smile is made even more dazzling from the swarthiness of his beardless skin. Naked, his long limbs and leanness make him look taller than he really is; of course, most people never see him but in costumes or in his traveler’s outfit: a patchwork of materials gathered during his wanderings, nearly a wearable logbook.

In his mid-twenties, Luth still comes across as a teenager playing the part of an adult. He exudes self-confidence; his ready smiles and exotic looks never cease to intrigue the fair sex. Still, in spite of his treating the ladies with what many call undue familiarity, he stays inexperienced. Only Brisemur, who knows about his friend having been raised in a whorehouse (from a time they brought some money to Luth’s foster mother), has an inkling of how the half-elf feels in the presence of women: while he treasures their company, he is wary of those who show too much interest in him, and even more of the few he finds himself attracted to.

In spite of that, he seems unable not to be charming, a talent that saved his life a tad more often that it got him into trouble. He is especially fascinating when spinning out tall tales, which he often acts out with his comrades. Should you believe Brisemur and Élisandre, his talent for staging is such as to border to magic, expanding beyond the boards even to the battlefield.


Élisandre

CG elf, sorcerer 1. Str 6 Dex 15 Con 11 Int 12 Wis 10 Cha 18. Feat: Skill Focus (Craft: illusions). Skills: Bluff 1 (5), Concentration 4 (4), Craft: illusions 4 (8), Knowledge: arcana 1 (2), Spellcraft 2 (3). Spells: 0- Detect Magic, Flare, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Read Magic. 1- Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Shield, Silent Image.

A smile of Élisandre’s is like the break of dawn, like a flower opening after the rain. Supple as a reed, and just as frail, she is never happier than when she can share her love for life. Though many have felt love for her, for this unsettling mixture of childlike enthusiasm and long life, she has never answered sigh for sigh. She looks everyone straight in the eyes, with a disarming frankness.

Only the wind is her avowed lover, when it makes a banner of her pale golden hair. When it kisses her brow, she drinks it into her violet eyes and it seems that the whole world is suddenly brighter. Élisandre likes to wear clothes that flow easily; she favors colors you can find in a natural environment, with a predilection for the lighter hues.

Is she still a child? She may look even younger than Luth but Élisandre has matured quite a bit since she joined the half-elf and his half-orc friend. Though barely past her first century, she has seen more of the world than any of her older cousins. She has begun using Silent Image to express her feelings artistically, and as she gains experience – and access to better Illusion spells – her talent may outgrow the little troupe.

In the meantime, she is a vital part of it. She even christened the company, from the picture of a crow holding a root in its claws, on the side of their wagon. She also found this one to be magical, but she still lacks the ability to pierce its secrets.


Brisemur

CG half-orc, cleric 1. Str 19 Dex 10 Con 16 Int 7 Wis 15 Cha 8. Feat: Martial Weapon Proficiency (greatsword). Skills: Bluff 1 (0), Concentration 1 (4), Heal 1 (3), Knowledge: religion 1 (-1). Domains: Luck, Trickery.

While younger than his two comrades, Brisemur looks the oldest and also acts the part. If he seems sullen, it is only that, aware of being a lousy speaker, he prefers to listen and ponder. He knows enough to welcome the many pleasures of life, if seldom the same as Élisandre. Still, does he have feelings for the elven maiden? Luth has sometimes thought so, but for once his intuition failed him: Brisemur sees Élisandre as a flower to be preserved, maybe as a younger sister. For lovers, he prefers women who will not break in his arms. Contrary to Luth, he gets his share of sexual bliss — with the occasional bold lady, less afraid of his looks than attracted to his muscles or more subtle qualities.

Brisemur is big: big hands, big arms, big chest, and a big big heart beating under his tough hide. You will always find him siding with the underdogs, with a religious devotion he ties to the “laughing rogue”: before even Luth and Élisandre, for whom he would lay his life, he has Olidammara as his best friend, if an unreliable one.

The god’s weapon of choice is the rapier; when the half-orc proved unable to wield effectively the puny weapon, he picked up a greatsword instead and named it “Rapier”. For lack of better, he currently wears as armor the hides of beasts that proved stupid enough to prey on him. His overall look is more that of a barbarian warrior than of a cleric, but his god himself being deceptive, the fact does not bother Brisemur.


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