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

Not open for further replies.
Gook Moop, Goblin hero
Created by Jessica Jones.

Gook is a classically stupid Goblin. He managed to become a great warrior of his people, saving them from numerous powerful foes, like the nymph that shrank Goblins and fed them to a dragon (actually a cat), and the vicious black dragon that Gook killed by blowing up a bunker filled with gunpowder.

Gook died when he was too eager to play the famous Goblin game, "Dodge the Guillotine."

Even after death, however, Gook lived on to fame. His head was preserved by a mage who wanted to have a shrunken head spirit fetish. Gook was not quite as skilled of a spirit-seer as the mage had hoped, however, and so the gibbering Goblin head traveled from owner to owner, guiding them safely through their travels, but being an annoyance.

Gook always smiles, since it's about all he can do now. And he loves fish. His last owner was Harley, described below.

log in or register to remove this ad

Hera 'Harley' Fyana, Elf performer and stage magician
Created by Jessica Jones.

Hera's family, and indeed her whole people, disapproved of being too friendly or familiar with humans, so when Hera grew too curious and started sneaking into a nearby human community, her cousin Seth Fyana took advantage of the situation and arranged to have Hera killed by humans, hoping he could ride the public outcry to a position of power in the community.

Hera was indeed almost killed, but she managed to sneak out of town by hiding in the wagon of a traveling performer, Miguel Moskowitz, or "The Magnificent Mosko." Hera traveled with Mosko for a while, learning human languages and the skills of a stage performer. She earned her own nickname, Harley, for being a talented and nimble Harlequin in Mosko's stage plays.

Eventually, Harley ran into trouble and had to run, eventually taking to a life of adventuring because it paid well. She disliked the danger involved, but eventually grew to care greatly for her fellow party members, and thus continued to fight with them even though she felt she could be little help. Eventually she proved to herself that she could be a valuable asset, and developed a greater confidence in herself, even though she still disliked the dangers of adventuring. Now, after three years of adventuring, she has again found her mentor Mosko, and travels with him, performing in numerous cities.

Harley dresses more like a human than an Elf, often wearing performing costumes over Elf chain shirts.

One of Harley's adventuring companions died, and left her his sword, a beautiful black scimitar that had been a royal heirloom of an old Elvish nation. The scimitar's blade is edged with thin, gleaming diamonds, and its hilt wrappings are deep violet leather, but aside from that, everything else is almost solid black. Harley respects the old blade, which obviously has magical powers she is unaware of, but she seldom uses it in combat. She usually keeps it in Mosko's wagon.

Harley wears her red-brown hair in one long braid, and though she used to hide her Elven ears, she now is no longer afraid of reactions from humans, and proudly shows off her Elven features. Years of adventuring and practice as a performer have made her an expert acrobat, so when she does fight, she is often a blur across the battlefield.

Bobbie-Sue Komalofski, human mage-for-hire, adopted daughter of gnomes
Created by Courtney Cavaliere.

Bobbie-Sue was raised as an orphan by a group of traveling gnomish gypsies. She learned gnomish illusion magic, and when her adopted brother Ralph left the clan to start a curios and antiques shop, Bobbie-Sue went with him to help.

Bobbie-Sue is very slender and quirky looking, with a long neck and wavy black hair that falls to her shoulders. Though she is very smart, Bobbie-Sue doesn't recognize danger very easily, and so her curiosity often gets the better of her when she accompanies Ralph to explore old tombs and ruins. She wears light robes, often with a blue-green plaid pattern, and recently she became friends with a sentient, talking ring-tailed lemur named Buford.

Bobbie-Sue loves palm trees, hates spiders, and enjoys pretending that she's less smart than she actually is.

Aaron L

Rhaethiir Illiphar Vytheryl N’Vyn

A gold elven bladesinger from Leuhilspar, trained in the bladesong by his grandfather, he is a minor noble known for his opinions and a smart mouth. He gained notoriety in the capitol of Evermeet for his sharp tongue, and became something of a scandel and was popular among the young nobles of the city (those who he didn’t offend with his sarcasm, at least.)

By the time he was a young adult, he had offended most of the noble houses on Evermeet, especially the most arrogant. His mother is a Moon Elf who had married into House N’Vyn, and he had become somewhat of a pariah among the nobility, not being "Gold" enough for the Gold elves, and not "Moon" enough for the Moon elves. The final blow came when, at a whim, he dyed his hair red. Those nobles whom he had offended took this as a mockery of the Queen (who has red hair) and in the following weeks he received 20 challenges to duel. Not wanting to duel half the city of Leuthilspar, he left the island.

He traveled to the mainland and joined with a band of adventurers. Early in their career, this band fought a group of werewolves, but they had no magic or silver weapons, and so were finding it very difficult. Raethiir eventually used his silver holy symbol of Corellon Larethian (a crescent moon) to kill the two werewolves, and thus their group took the name “The Company of the Crescent Blade”. He still wears the symbol, with the battle wear from the fight intact.

Rhaethiir has fought in Myth Drannor and met a baelnorn, aided the crown in Cormyr against espionage from Sembia, fought alongside a Halruuan spellfire wielder and defended him against abduction attempts from the city of Shade, fought Zhentarim and Red Wizards, helped in the reconstruction of Evereska, and helped slay the fang dragon Phlargonnel.

Rhaethiir has long black hair and silver eyes. He is 6' 2"
tall and weighs 155 lbs., and he has golden skin. He wears elven chainmail and carries a mithril longsword. The only magic item he posses is an ioun stone that brings him good luck.

Gold elf male fighter 4/wizard 2/bladesinger 10/ weapon master 1

Str: 12
Dex: 18
Con: 12
Int: 24
Wis: 10
Cha: 14
Last edited:


First Post
Barathon Silvermane, Swordlord of the Purple Dragons

The cool breeze swirled, snapping the banners back and forth in their rhythmic dance with the wind. Rising above those banners and snapping in that same breeze was the Standard of the Silver Lion.

Goblin armies marked the horizon as far as the eyes could see and the Purple Dragons of Cormyr were arrayed against them in the well choreographed lines of a trained Army.

Even among so many cloaks of purple and black, one man stood out. Leading the crown's army this day was The Silver Lion. The battle was yet to be fought, but the victory was all but assured.

The black standard behind him bore the Rising Sun of Lathander under a soaring Purple Dragon. The Sun was flanked on either side by Silver Lions which glinted in the morning sun.

Barathon Silvermane, Paladin of Lathander, is one of Cormyr's five Swordlords. Raised by the church he was found on the doorstep of the Temple in Marsember wrapped in a banner of black velvet. The same banner which rose behind him to mark his place on the battefield.

A tall Aasimar, just over 6'2", he is marked with hair of the brightest silver and brilliant topaz eyes. Raised by the temple of Lathander he is a natural born leader. Men flock to his banner to fight and he fights for Cormyr.

Riding a Celestial Heavy Warhorse of the deepest black with a silver mane, he stands out on the battlefield and where he goes, so goes defeat for his enemies.

"For Cormyr, Bring the Dawn!!"


Li Shenron

Dehra Dun & Ur-Quan Shenron

Dehra Dun is a juvenile good Druidess of Human father and Elven mother. She has joyful shining green eyes and long, curly red hair which is always messy and which she likes to keep flowers and plants in, some of which seem even to be growing there spontaneously. A lot of freckles wink from her fair skin, and in the summer they tan and nicely cover her whole body. Despite her young age she has seen quite a lot: she first lived in his father’s human community, but he was an adventurer and explorer of the seas and she ended up spending most of the year without him, which later made her feel the need to seek her true identity among the elves of the woods. There she met an elven druid who was destined to make her join the druidic religion. But on one dark winter day a message arrived, that her father’s ship had not returned; haunted by the thought of having lost him forever, and feeling the guilt for having left, she departed from the wood folks and started her quest for his father which so far has led her to many adventures, but without discovering yet the reason why the ship disappeared.
Dehra loves nature and all the animals, she is never afraid when she is in the wilderness and knows perfectly what she can trust. Her respect and understanding for every creature or natural entity is unmatched even by many elders of the druidic community. On the downside, cities are not Dehra’s realm, as she feels uncomfortable with everything which strays too far from what she calls ”the roots of every being”. She wants to trust people, but feels more in tune with her two animal companions she travels with, a proud eagle called Cotca and a young and playful female wolf called Zuzy: she would never deliberately expose them to harm or threat to life, but reality is that she can’t really keep them from helping her bravely when she is in distress.
Dehra learned how to cope with the hard way of adventuring when she was imprisoned as a slave on a galley, a time of sorrow which, on the bright side, brought her to meet Shenron, one of her now most beloved friends and fellows. Now she has become a skillful and fierce combatant as well, but never ceases to worship nature for comfort, and always follows her druidic oaths to take from nature what nature gives us, as it can be seen even when she fights, by the fact she only uses weapons of simple craft: a crude scimitar, a wooden shield, and protections of animal hides.

Ur-Quan Shenron (”Shenron of the clan of the strong”) is a good-hearted young adult Wild Elf of solid build and simple mind. Raised in a tribe of free-spirited hunters and brawlers in a distant land, he learned to value friendship, fraternity and freedom above everything else. From his people he inherited an attitude of protecting the weak, respect the different, and esteem the wise. As a young tribesman, he was not stranger to the favourite sports of his fellows, like wrestling or archery games, and to fair hunting, but his notable insight soon brought him to the attention of the elders, who teached him to become a Cleric of Kord, the God of Strength and Courage.
One day when tired for hunting too late and too far with his squad, he and his companions were caught into an ambush lead by sea mercenaries; the ones who didn’t fell to the swords were captured and sold as slaves on pirate ships. That bloody red day was the end of Shenron’s life with his people, and the beginning of his adventures with a Druid called Dehra Dun. Once their slavery was put to end by the aid of a well-armed mercantile fleet, Shenron arrived in a new and unknown civilized land, whose people and culture tickled both his elven curiosity and his chaotic spirit, but the bonds that kept him slave on a galley for months had not left him unscathed, as he swore before his ancestors and Kord himself to never leave any tyranny, slavery or oppression stand in front of him, and never he will. Against such evil he fights fearless, blindly trusting the aim of his eye and the speed of his fingers playing the string of his oaken bow, for he still kills as he was used when hunting: mercyless and quickly, because even the worst foe does not deserve a slow and painful death. And when evil approaches closely, there is always his stone headed battleaxe, the only legacy left to his former family.
Shenron isn’t a smart person, and he knows that. He doesn’t often understand the way of Wizards and other knowledgeable folks, how they manage to dwell among books, when he gets headaches just by the browsing through the pages. But he is respectful of the ones more intelligent than him. He doesn’t scorn nor envy. He just loves freedom more than anything else, not only his own but others’ as well, and this greatest attitude manifests in all his habits, from wearing only armors of animal skins to move more freely, to resting every night under the sky, somewhere there outside the current town’s ring, where he can still believe for a while that the wind that whistles is the same that swept his homeland.

A note from the chronicles of this world:
Dehra and Shenron are very likely in love with each other, although the haven’t realized it at all. Whoever asks them about if there’s an affaire between the two, receives only smiles as an answer. Whatever there is, or whatever there will be, one thing is sure: so much they are fond of each other, and so many emotions they have shared, that no trouble can separate them any more. Whatever fate awaits one of the two, being it to die in battle or to become immortal, to fall to a doom or to retire to Arborea, or simply to end up in a picture on someone’s scroll, it will never happen without the other…
Last edited:



<img src=http://us.f1.yahoofs.com/groups/g_8331324/Character+Art/Arryn+Raven+the+Black+Bard.jpg?bcyXMK_A7kVF49Z6><br><br>The general din of the tavern lowers as a man in his early twenties takes the stage. It’s not his appearance that commands attention, although with his green eyes, black close-cropped hair, and goatee he does strike a handsome image. No it’s his presence on stage that draws all eyes to him. He seems to light up the room by just standing there. <br><br>He is oddly dressed for a performer, the leather clothing and rapier at his side give him a rough, capable look, yet he moves with a grace of a dancer. From the looks some of the women in the audience give him, they are obviously imagining him moving in a much different way. He turns and graces the crowd with a grin that can only be described as “roguish.” His expression seems to say, <font color=blue><I>”That’s right… I’m good and I know it… and you haven’t seen anything yet.”</I></font> Despite his cocky manner, there is something very appealing about him.<br><br>He removes the satchel from his side and places it on the stool provided for him. He cracks his knuckles loudly to loosen his fingers and reaches into his bag. He rummages around for a second and finally pulls out an object from the bag, still grinning at the crowd. There are a few titters from the crowd, and the man’s grin fades as he sees what the audience has already figured out… in his hand, instead of an instrument, he holds what appears to be a fake chicken. His expression changes to one of shock as he quickly stuffs the chicken back in his bag. He begins rummaging again, leaving the audience with one thought, <I>”Was that supposed to happen?”</I><br><br>After a moment or so, the grin returns to the man’s face and he pulls forth another item. This time the crowd gasps in astonishment, for out of the small bag he pulls a full sized lute. He gingerly sets the bag on the floor and strikes a chord on the exquisitely made instrument. The sound from the lute is sheer beauty; one would think there is no more perfect sound… that is until he begins to sing. The tenor voice that comes from his mouth is rich and powerful. He sings:<br><br><br><center><font color=blue><I>The Lady Fair walked in the room,<br>
Her beauty, plain to see. <br>
And I, being a flirty rogue, <br>
Said, "Lady, Dance with me?" <br><br>

She looked me up, she looked me down.<br>
She seemed quite lost in thought. <br>
But then she said six dreadful words, <br>
"With you sir? I think not." <br><br>

Now I have never been a man <br>
Who gave up easily. <br>
So I did say, with roguish charm, <br>
"But Lady, I love thee." <br><br>

Now though the Lady is quite fair, <br>
Apparently she's smart. <br>
She laughed at me and said, "I see <br>
Right through your lying heart." <br><br>

I had no witty quip for that, <br>
So I left with a groan. <br>
The Lady Fair would not be mine. <br>
Tonight, I sleep alone.</I></font></center><br><br>
Amidst a hail of laughter and cheers, Arryn Raven smiles at the crowd and winks…<br><br><center> Oh yeah… this guy is good.</center>


Arryn Raven’s mother was a chambermaid in the King Azoun’s palace. His father, Arden Telawyr, was an Ambassador from Thay on a diplomatic visit. Arden was struck by Cassandra’s beauty and he two became intimate. Arryn was the result. His mother with the aid of the entire maid staff raised Arryn. His charm and musical skill both became evident at an early age. As was his curiosity; he spent much of his youth in the vast library of the Palace.
Tragically, his mother died the winter of his 13th year. That spring his father made another visit to the Palace. Arryn found out and went to visit his father. Arden’s bodyguards did not believe the young man's claim so they taunted and ridiculed him. When Arryn got angry, they beat him severely. He fled the palace never to return again.
He lived on the streets for the next few years. His only income was stealing and singing for handouts. During his time on the street, he would often run afoul of slavers who would try to steal orphans off the streets and put them to work. He was always able to stay ahead of them, but his experiences have fostered in him a deep hatred of slavery and those who practice it.
When Arryn was fifteen a Wizard with an ear for music happened to watch his street performance. The Wizard recognized Arryn's talent and took the young man under his wing. Langdurin trained Arryn to be a Bard and taught him the basics of magic while his wife, Cindra (a formidable Duelist) taught him how to fight.
One night, after performing at a local inn, he returned to find Langdurin’s house burnt to the ground. It was often rumored that Langdurin experimented with unusual items. The Purple Dragons decided that one of his experiments went wrong. Arryn always suspected his mentor to be a Harper, and he believes the Mage met foul play..
After Langdurin's death, Arryn traveled around the realms seeking adventure. He did many things during this time, he was an adventurer, a performer, a lover, and a thief. The young man inherited his mentor's love of all things magical, often dropping everything he was doing to investigate a rumor of magical items. He is currently wandering, in search of his next big adventure.<br><br>His story begins…

Li Shenron

talinthas said:
ur-quan? like in the video game star control?

I have never had much inspiration about names :rolleyes:

I liked "Ur" which is also the name of one of the most ancient megalopolis, and "Quan" sounded like clan in a savage language.

Bob the Reaver

First Post
Well i better try i suppose. I let the wizards contest go without entering so I better do this as well before I regret it (I think that I might avoid these contests becuse I can neither rite or spel!)

Ive been a GM for all but like 3 games in the past 15 years but in all my game worlds there is a Dogbiter, the character that I have yearned to play since I was 10 years old. So with no preperation and lttle sleep i present too you...


A nasty aging halfling of ill repute and worse hygine. Dogbiter makes a living doing the jobs others find either too tasteless or, most ofton, too disgusting. If you have lost your magic ring in the citys sewers, Dogbiter is the guy you need to go find it. If you need a few "rare" necromantic spell componats, Dogbiter can dig them up for ya. If you need some one to discreetly bury the 12 rogues you roasted with your fireball last night, well Dogbiters your half a man.

Dogbiter is most ofton found lurking in a number of run down taverns in the dock district. Usually roaming the bar trying to get new customers to buy him a drink or pick the pockets of the drunk or unaware, dogbiter dosnt stray far from the ale.

Dressed in a worn leather jacket, soiled old green breaches and an anciant leather cap reinforced with metal studs, his clothes are not much to look at. Sadly his face is worse still. Deep lines set with dirt draw about the halflings face. His eyes, still very much aware, are marred by a scar running across the left side of his brow. His left eye, damaged by what ever weapon scarred his face, is a milky blue. Always quick with a smile Dogbiters mouth reveils only the jagged remains of teeth, most however are missing. Unshaven for perhaps decades Dogbiter only sports a few wispy grey and black wiskers. Long halfling ears reach out from his wrinked smile. Both ears are adorned with cheap brass and copper rings, the right ear is missing its tip. His hair when not hidden under his leather cap is long, greasy and unkept. He attempts to control the sweaty mop with a large leather lash begemmed(is that a word?) with colored glass.

At his belt hangs a dagger of tarnished steel, its hilt is covered in several unknown symbols. Dogbiter claims this weapon is magical though few belive him. The dagger is perhaps his greatest treasure.

When Dogbiter came to the town not many can say. It is said when Dogbiter arrived he went to the nearest tavern and begane to drink. He became rowdy and the inn keeper sicked his dog on the "little runt", thats when dogbiter got the moniker hes carried for the last 12 years. The "little runt" leaped from his chair and bit the dogs ears off.

It is known that he had spent a long time travelling, for his knowledge of forign lands is surprisingly complte. Every so ofton he is visted by strange adventerous folk, mages, barabarians, once it is, said even a king from a distant land had jorneyed to see the rogish halfling. What is discussed between Dogbiter and his mysterious visitors is always secret and most ofton very brief.
Although Dogbiter seems a worthless begger of ale, poor pick pocket or, when really drunk, a rowdy bruiser, a few know that he possesses useful skills. Some come to him for these talents, usally a bit of information that he had picked up in his shrowded past but occassionally, if you can get him sober enough, he is able to do more descreat work. Tomb robbery and dungeon delving are a few of his unknown but highly prized skills.

Most of his days however are wiled away drinking, whoring and commiting petty crimes (in that order). Not much fazes Dogbiter anymore. Those in the know genrally give him a wide berth (most ofton to avoid the stencth). This is fine for the runty halfling. What ever adventures are behind him he would like them to stay there. Now he is content to be. (A dirty drunk whoring halfling that is)

Krail Stromquism

First Post
is it any small wonder? Im my own favorite.

My favorite character is Krail Stromquism.

Now first off Krails an NPC from my recently concluded adventures based off the Ruins of Adventure better known as the Gold Box computer game Pools of Radiance. set in the city of New Phlan.

also I'd like to get this off my chest, I didn't come up with the name stromquism. its the name of some other guys PC. when I was a young spoo, I played in a game that had already existed for 14 years. So I was 2nd generation spoo. and all the 1st gen players had insanely powerful PCs that the DM had control of. One of the more famous ones was Stromquism, a Kensai of the 2-handed sword from OA. there was a crazy story of him decapitating a long line of warriors. 1st Ed rule about 1HD warriors, you could automatically kill 1/level/round. Of course hes 20th level. from early in the Dms career. we 2nd gen spoo never had it so good.

anyhow, I reuse the name to honor that spooey spoo of yesterday.

Enter Krail Stromquism: My character concept is this: The Ultimate Goth Chick. She has milk white skin. Raven black hair. and those piercing grey/blue eyes that seem to watch with both indifference and disdain. If I can steal a line "talk about beauty and the beast...she's both" (man I wonder how many times thats been said on this thread already?) anyway

I try and stay true to the original Stromquism and since Krail is begotten from that Idea I make Stromquism her father, whos a LE Master of the 2-Handed Sword selling his training services to the Zhents or Slavers or who ever is willing to pay his price, which isn't always money. Hes currently in Mulmaster knee deep in running a fighting school, and probably slaves and all sorts of unsavory business.

How would the UGC (Ultimate Goth Chick) rebel against that sort of father figure? How would being raised amongst the strict, fierce discipline of a fighting school affect a young girl blossoming into womanhood? (I smell a WB show here) MY answer is she'd find god. Literally I mean. Shed cast off the shackles of strict regime and discipline and non affection and run right into the arms of an all loving higher power.

Who is that higher power?


Ok, so the shackles didn't get thrown far, CN god of Slaughter and all, but keep in mind the UGC isn't going to become some flower sniffin sissy pants (not that theres anything wrong with that if thats what you're into...er yeah.)

So after picking up a few levels of fighter from growing up in the Stromquism School of Applied Warfare, Krail finally takes the plunge and picks up a level of Cleric and steals some equipment and runs away from her home in Mulmaster and finds her way to New Phlan (al right, for those of you looking at a map of Faerun and the Moonsea region, you'll notice she didn't run particularly far. The point is shes asserted her independence and struck out to shape her own destiny.)

So theres kinda Krails origin.

Heres her Nuts and Bolts, as it were:

Krail is an attractive woman in her early 20s. Her eyes are piercing but open and expressive. They retain an attractive innocence yet harbor a knowing maturity. If you've ever met someone and felt they had an "old soul", Krail exudes that quality. Young beauty harboring aged maturity.

Shes young and attractive, beautiful some would say. She has a strong voluptuous body and dresses to show it off. She has no qualms exploiting the weakness of men to her advantage especially in combat.

Her arms and armor are always silvered with a heavy black patina worked into the recesses and designed to show off her form. I envision the impossible plate mail boustier, cut low for ample cleavage. (Krails starting to sound really slutty but I swear shes not, I am, but thats another story)

She has a few favorite accessories. One is a Collar of Domination and its your run of the mill studded black leather (dog) collar. Her Custom built Wings of Flying, a long cloak of darkest raven feathers, it trails on the ground. A flaming long sword, no doubt a personal affront to her father and his choice of weaponry. And a Silvered Shield to match her armor.

Early on in her career shes gets tainted by chaos along with most of the rest of the PCs and pics up an oddity or two. First, tattoos, sharp, abstract, angular, tribal tattoos appear in various places on her body. Later on, in a second tainting, they all connect and begin to shift and change and move around on her body. In a final taintfilled episode she grows rams horns. She likes to keep her hair long.

And her motto is of course "The Sword is Family"

Well thats about it folks: heres the crunch of Krail:
Divine Emissary-1
-Power Attack
-Divine Might
-Improved Initiative
-Craft Arms and Armor
-Craft Wondrous Item
-Weapon Focus LS, War Domain
Strength (divine emissary)
86 HP

Hope that was not too jumbled

good luck everyone!
Last edited:

Krail Stromquism

First Post
Alright I cant take credit for this name either but I feel it Must be included with all the others.

Its was used on SNL by Norm McDonald, playing the role of Burt Renoylds on Celebrity Jepordy, Half way thru the skit he changes his name to:


now I see Turd as being a over weight halfling or Gnome with irratable bowel syndrome maybe an inventor/mage striving to create the first Bidet tied directly to the elemental plane of water.

Now thats fresh!



First Post
Character Concept.

My character's name is Jarib Hiraim, and he is a high-level tiefling paladin!
History: Jarib was born in a decadent city governed by an evil priest, whose ancestors mixed their bloodlines with those of devils. He had six brothers, and all of them succumbed to their fiendish nature. But Jarib was the only family member who did not follow the path of Evil. When he turned eighteen, he fled the city and escaped to the north. Jarib was captured by Walkers of the Celestial Path, a secretive order dedicated to combating evil outsiders. To their surprise, they discovered no evil disposition in Jarib; in fact, he showed the potential to become an ardent champion of Good! Thus, the tiefling was accepted into the Order and became a paladin.
Over the years, Jarib became one of the greatest heroes of the land. Together with his comrades, he battled efreet, evil wizards, corrupt priests, and fiends from the nether planes. He rescued a large city from imminent destruction at the hands of a salamander army. He travelled to the North, and defeated the King of Frost Giants. In southern jungles, he battled the Shadow Wyrm and freed an enormous couatl from his planar prison.
Jarib knew great success and great sorrow. He lost his love, an aasimar sorceress, to the depredations of an enraged efreet. His Order was all but wiped out by an incursion of fiends. Jarib aided the rebels in his home city, had to kill his brother Faris, and was viciously betrayed. Malevolently accused, he had to flee a city which became a new homeland for him. His faithful steed fell in the frozen wastes of the North.
But Jarib's spirit never failed.
Physical Description: Jarib is seven feet tall, and his long black hair reaches his shoulder-blades. His skin is dark, and his face is that of a southerner. Jarib's eyes are grey, but they glow with red light when the tiefling is angry or agitated.
Jarib typically wears a long dark robe with a sash; his feet are clad in sandals. Over the robe, Jarib wears an exquisitely crafted mithral chain shirt, ensorcelled and gifted to him by the elves. He is never seen without his black cloak, which is actually wings of flying ; it turns into a pair of glossy black wings should Jarib wish to rise into the air. The paladin's weapon of choice is a finely sharpened falchion that can ignite itself; it has seen the death of countless enemies, mainly frost giants. When airborne, Jarib uses his longbow, a reward from a certain planetar for destroying a diabolist wizard.
Jarib is often accompanied by his mount, a black pegasus; it was a consolation present from cloud giants, who heard of his previous mount's demise.


First Post
Galin Shieldbreaker

Galin Shieldbreaker
Race: Winged Elf
Concept: Skilled Temple Guard Commander who has lost his faith.
Position: Sword Prince(2nd born)/Trained Warrior.
Known Traits: Arrogant, quiet, skilled and talented with all manner of weapons, intelligent, distrustful of magic and no magical aptitude whatsoever(rumored to be a lie, others speculate it may be the cause of his distrust of magic), athiest.
Weapons: Shieldbreaker, a truesilver longsword of exquisite craftmanship, the hilt is engraved with the Arien rune for blademaster on one side, on the other, the broken shield he has taken as his sigil, both in red. Set with a black diamond in the pommel, the hilt is wrapped in smooth black leather.
Armor: A truesilver chain shirt, black leather armor on his other parts.
Heraldry: A golden shield split in a lightning bolt pattern on a field of black..

Impenetrable midnight-black orbs gaze out of the face of an animated work of art. Framed in a halo of silver-white hair, the lines of his face have the sort of hardness for which no danger on earth is a match and such shocking perfection of beauty that any work seems too dangerous. The face has no expression; it looks as if the man lost the capacity to feel long ago, and what remains are only features that seem implacable and dead.
More than handsome, he has the startling beauty of physical perfection; the hard proud features, scornful mouth and long, slender figure. He has a ruthless innocence belonging not to a man, but an avenging angel which will neither seek forgiveness or grant it. His lustrous wings are raven feathered, of a black as dark as his eyes, with a noticable gleam. He moves with a fluid grace and a casual ease that betrays the power in his body, a body honed to a deadly perfection over years of practice. His enchanting voice is clear, but quiet and melodious, at ease in a whisper or filling a room with his commanding presence. There is an aura about him that drives away those without serious business and his air of civility has under it a perceptible menace that he has other means in reserve if necessary. He is always immaculately dressed, armor and leathers brightly polished. His sword is belted at his waist and his right hand is encased in a black leather glove. A signet ring is the only jewelry that he bears.

Born to the blade was Galin. Shieldbreaker was brought to his hand shortly after his birth and has never left his side. His service as a member of the Temple Guard is a proud and honored tradition, one that he takes seriously. His life is dedicated to the protection of the temple. He has committed himself 100% to this task. He is well learned, necessary as a noble and officer. Versed in all manner of weapons, armor and military tactics, he has the knowledge and training of some of the best minds and bodies in the country. Galin's mind is that of an introvert always applying his mind to his surroundings and constantly alert and planning. His fighting style is almost unique, as he is as close to one with his blade. He has an intense distrust of magic as he can only rely on his knowledge of sorcerous capabilities and his skill with a blade to save him. He is sure that he will die one day due to magic and is ever vigilant for enemies with access to such arts. He is one of the few opposers of the vaunted Guardians and has gone so far as to make obvious his disdain for the magic of his people. He prefers his relative anonymity as he generally dislikes most. Few have seen him smile, and even fewer really understand him. His arrogant manner extends even to other nobles, his opinion of them as spoiled, lazy children never far from his eyes or lips. He takes his position very seriously, his noble birth inversely less so. He is reputed to be uncaring and cold in his dalliances, ending them suddenly and often, only speaking with the most beautiful his country has to offer, and quite uncaring of the rank or position of those he dallies with or their families. He is said to be a perfectionist and though he often displays a barbed wit he is usually unfailingly polite, although displays of outright rudeness and mockery have been recorded. His heraldry is feared by most who recognize it, though only a handful have witnessed his prowess in person. It is said that noone but his master has bested him in single combat, but whether this is from deference to his position or actual skill, is as yet undetermined.


Guthric Battlehammer

Guthric Battlehammer is a young wizard rebelling against his dwarven heritage. Tired of traditional hidebound dwarven culture (that involves spending your time stomping around, drinking, grumbling and mining), Guthric shaved off his beard, learned Elvish and took up the worship of Corellon Larethion. His mother is desperately hoping that he'll 'grow out of it' and Guthric’s father ordered him to leave home, saying: ‘You’re not welcome again in these halls again, boy, until hair is properly growing on your face again!’.

From an early age, Guthric was always interested in magic. He was fascinated by stories about elves and shocked his parents when he told them he wanted to learn elven-style wizardry. Unable to make their son see the light of reason, Guthric's parents apprenticed him to a 'proper' dwarven wizard, Morgan Whitestone, a famous
smith whose enchanted armours were sought after throughout the Dalelands. Morgan got Guthric hooked on forging weapons and now Guthric wants to be one of the greatest weaponsmiths in the lands. Unfortunately, any contact Guthric had with elven culture only made him more intrigued.

When a beginning adventuring party stopped by Morgan’s shop to buy some enchanted armour, Morgan encouraged Guthric to leave and travel with them, hoping that travel would broaden Guthric’s horizons and make him appreciate his own culture more. (At least that’s what Morgan tells the dwarven elders. Meggan Silvertine, the town gossip whispers that instead of folk saying ‘Hey, aren’t you Morgan Whitestone, the legendary smith? The fellow who forged ‘Grimblade’ for the king? Cor, I’ve got to see that!’ they were starting to say ‘Hey, aren’t you that fellow with the strange apprentice? A dwarf shavin’ off his beard? Cor, I’ve got to see that!’)

Guthric's aim is to become one of the most famous crafters of magical weapons hroughout the Realms. Unfortunately, he's not taken seriously by either his own people or by the elves whose culture he really digs. So far, the only group of people Guthric feels comfortable with are the members of his own adventuring party. When he first started adventuring, he was disgruntled to find that he was being continually mistaken for a female dwarf, especially by his party's human fighter. Guthric usually dresses in an elven chain shirt, worn over flowing silken robes. He shaves daily in a habit that has become a certain grim ritual and hopes that magic weapons he will create will win him approval from his people even if his appearance does not.

Exchanges like this with other dwarves are typical:

(At the dwarf-owned general store):
GUTHRIC: I'd like to buy something.

(At the dwarven inn)
GUTHRIC: I'd like a glass of mead please. And a light salad.
DWARVEN BARKEEP (growling): We’ve got ale. And stew.
GUTHRIC: What about wine?
DWARVEN BARKEEP (growling louder): We’ve got ale.
GUTHRIC: What about white wine?
DWARVEN BARKEEP (shouting): WE’VE GOT ALE! GOOD, BROWN, STOUT ALE! THAT’S ALL WE’VE GOT! Can’t you understand that you beardless freak!
GUTHRIC: Okay then.
DWARVEN BARKEEP (looks relieved). Phew.
GUTHRIC: What about honey schnapps?
Last edited:


First Post
Well, it's worth a shot...

Rinney Flanagan is an illusionist in the Land of Maissen, with the added complication of wizardry being illegal. Despite this, he kept his wizardry secret and was chosen as a Hero of Maissen - one of those who go out and tame the countryside, as it were. He is something of an aristocratic rarity in Maissen, as he is pure Founder in descent - the Founders are like conquistadors of the Churkey, the native inhabitants, who are somewhat like South Americans in appearance, but barbarians in culture. While adventuring, an encounter with the Arch-Lich Idien, evil and still-living (or un-living) brother of Maissen (founder of Maissen), left Rinney reduced... permanently. He is now about three feet tall and weighs 17 pounds. His weapon of choice is the rapier, and he's quite good at woodcarving. Also, because horses tend to be scarce in Maissen, when Rinney left his hometown to travel to the capital of Maissen (also called Maissen), he left on a cow. Or an early ancestor of the same. He has grown attached to Ichiopa, and tries his best to make sure no harm comes to her.

Without describing my adventures thus far, that's about it, except for a bit of his origin story, which can be found here: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=46195

EDIT: I forgot to add that he currently wears a red silk shirt given to him in Maissen (My avatar is what we use for Rinney in OpenRPG). He also throws daggers, and wears a cheap brass moon charm, sacred to the moon goddessses, and explains his wizardry by saying that it is "lucky" (this does make some sense, as Sorcerors are something like Moon Priests).
Last edited:


First Post
That's one of the best contest I've ever seen on Internet !!!

English is not my primary language, but I'll do my best to describe my character.

Liandra Amakiir, Elven Paladin of Tyr, lv19

Race : Moon Elve (F)
Age : 130 years
Height : 5' 4" (1,64)
Weight : 55 Kgs (about a hundred pounds)
Unaugmented characteristics (With equipment):
STR : 10 (14)
CON : 14
DEX : 20 (24)
INT : 12 (14)
WIS : 14
CHA : 19 (25)

Description :
Beautiful, even according to elven standard, Liandra's presence goes rarely unnoticed. For an elve, she's quite tall, with a relatively strong constitution, although she doesn't really look like a fighter. Her hair are light silver, almost white, with very light blue accents.

At first she looks like a cleric, with a cleric robe that hides most of her mythril chainmail armor. This robe, of elven manufacture, is adorned with the colors of Tyr (mainly white, with some blue and purple), and is more adapted to travel and combat than ceremonial duties, though few humans would see a difference. She also wears a heavy shield that looks like an a powerful artefact (Prator's shield from DMG), 2 swords, a justice sword and a rapier, and finally, an elven longbow , which looks like a masterpiece, but doesn't seem to have magical properties. With all her equipment, she almost looks like she's radiating some lights (Command Armor). Since paladins are always welcomed in some places, she sometimes hides herself in a long, dark hood.

Her appearance is calm, with a friendly smile, though she often seems somewhat distant. The main exception is with half-orcs, whith whom she has difficulties to hide her contempt, few people knows this but she was almost raped by an half-orc once, and only her paladin vows has prevented her from truely hating them. She will not let this alter (well, not too much) her judgement however. Unless in dire circumstances, she rarely seems angered, and she has almost never been seen losing her temper, although some could argue that cold anger can be much more dangerous...
In combat, she's very cold, almost emotionless, but will fight like a paladin, with fervor.
Her mount is a Griffon.

Background :
Liandra belonged to a small elven community in the north of Faerun that was established not too far from human settlements. The relations were quite good with the humans, to the point that most elves, even those who had never travelled outside had a basic knowledge of the human culture. As a child, Liandra had always been a bit different and not very well integrated (Loyal alignment), not surprisingly she was among those elves that were the most influenced by the human culture.

During a very harsh winter, a portal opened, and some demons entered the material plane. they weren't not a horde, but definitely more than what the community could handle, and Liandra was sent with others non-combatant to the humans to ask for back-ups. The few paladins that were protecting the town were immediately sent, but they arrived almost too late. The elven warriors had suffered heavy losses, and part of the settlement was already desacrated.
Altough the paladin saved the days, there was no real celebration that evening, and with the losses suffered, the elven community was disbanded gradually over the next years.

That fateful day, however, Liandra discovered her vocation, and how she could help her kin. She had already received a formal training with elven weapons, but she was not a warrior, and had to finish her formation. She started to pray her gods, and they answered that no elven gods could help her on the path she had chosen, but that they respected her decision to protect the other elves. She went on and travelled, until she reached a Tyr Cathedral/Fortress. There, she was formally accepted by Tyr, and trained as a paladin.

After becoming a paladin, Liandra wandered on her own on some small quests. She was welcomed in most human settlements, but she had difficulties with the other elves, who appreciated her as an ally, but now considred her as an outsider. Her main objective is to protect people from evil powers, whatever their species, especially elves. She also tries, whenever she can to better elf/human relations, and prevent inter-species disputes (Diplomacy at 25)

A stranger in both communities, Liand has become quite a loner since her mentor (for whom she had started to develop some... feelings) was killed. She is now far older than any of her superiors, and has served Tyr longer than most of them. Fortunately, Tyr has noted her efforts, and she's quite free of her actions, as long she serves the greater good. With Tyr's blessing she serves as a hunter of demons and other powerful evil entities like dragons.

Liandra rarely fights unprepared, and whenever possible, blesses both her gear and herself before combat. She's not much of a front line fighter (low VPs, despite an AC of up to 45), but she's still a real threat with her bow (4 attacks with a max bonus of +43, and damage between 50 and 64 to evil creatures...) and her arrows have been directly responsible for more than one evil entity's destruction. Otherwise, she uses a rapier, or her justice sword.

I hope my english isn't too broken, but I had to give it a try
Last edited:


Cauis Philetas

This is a character I've had in my head for some time, I've even considered writing a novel about him.
Caius Philetas heritage is celestial in nature, so he therefore has catching green orbs in a silver pool for eyes. He stands 5' 4'' and has a muscled athletic body. Over his tunic he wears a vest underneath which he keeps most of the tools of his trade, the rest is either in the pockets on the side of his pants or in the square backpack he has on his back.
His black hair is short, but not as short rough bristles on his face. By the hip on his right side he carries a bladed gauntlet which he will quickly slip his hand into and fasten if in danger, an enchanted glove adorns his other hand. But the gauntlet is not his only defense though. He wears a knife in his left boot, and a hand crossbow is strapped to his backpack so that he can easily reach it. On his left overarm there are 3 crossbow bolt with their heads concealed and coated in sleep poison.

In Action:
His first defense against a foe he does not wish to fight is his crossbow. After put to sleep, he will either slit their throats, or just leave them alone if they for example were city guards just doing their job. In close combat he usually crouches and tumble as much as possible to gain any advantage over his foe, his heritage has given him acrobatic aptitude, so he often tries to impress his foes with stunning acrobatic maneuvers, coupled with not-so-effective attacks. If that fails he will move in for close combat, using his enchanted, almost impenetrable glove, as a kind of buckler grabbing or blocking the enemies blows and digging in with his bladed gauntlet. If need be, he will grab a poisoned crossbow bolt and use it as a melee weapon.

Short History:
Caius grew up in a huge cosmopolitan city named Waterdeep, abandoned by his real parents he was forced to live with 2 thieves who took care of him. He learned quickly the ways of the city and in his teenage years became a competent thief himself, but with competence came a higher status in the thieves guild and a higher understanding of what they were doing. As he realized how many lives they destroyed he left the guild, barely an adult, and vowed only to steal from people whom deserved it, which in his opinion are corrupt merchants and the like, and has to this day kept his vow.
He is also a kind of adventurer though and believes that nothing is so secure that it cannot be stole, so if he hears about something well guarded, he will often go to great lengths to obtain it, just for the thrill of the danger and in spiting whomever was so arrogant. If he can't use the item himself though, he would often return it anonymously, an act that would repel everyone in his former thieves guild.

I hope you like him :)


"To those reading these lines: their intent is to let You understand – neither more – nor less. Understanding is the sign of all civilised races – boon and curse at the same time. One who is able to understand – is able to learn from mistakes. This brings us to the principle I chose live by:

History never learns by itself – but it may teach those who dare to listen.

Knowledge may blossom into wisdom and understanding. So keep reading – know, listen – and understand.:

I fear I will have to start with my youth – and I will try to add explanations concerning several more specific aspects since I can't assume that this journal is being read by one of my people. The – village – I hail from follows the path, that has been followed since it's founding by the ancestors of my ancestors – the path of tradition. The clutches of our eggs are guarded deep within the Hall of Gathering, the central building of all – villages. They resemble the future and the whole – village – would rather die than let harm come to the clutches during the Time of New Life. I use the term "village" as the closest approximation to the true meaning of the word I know. However – each approximation – be it as close as it may – holds the seed of deviation, which could blossom to misunderstanding. So it is this deviation that requires more explanation.
When the Time of New Life comes, all females bearing the gift of new life follow one of the most primal instincts and gather within the well-prepared Hall. There they help the new life to take it's first step into our world – this first step is the very last we can't make ourselves. Thereafter it is mostly up to us to make that first step – for every path we take starts with it. We mature within our leathery shells in the warm pools of the Hall – fiercely protected by the females. Every egg looks about the same and it is difficult – if not impossible – to differentiate them. But this is not intended – it is the clutch of the whole "village". Within the numbers of the fertile eggs lies the grace of the Worldsnake, two out of three are held as a good omen for the coming season. After the new life has taken it's first own step by breaking the protective shell, the Hatchlings have proven themselves to be strong enough and they are carefully cleaned. Those Hatchlings who are not strong enough to break their shells – will perish and every fertile egg lost this way saddens the whole village. But it is the path of tradition, for if we are not able to take our first own step – we won't be able to follow our path along the hidden and intertwined ways of fate. Even in times most dire we do not interfere with the grace of the Worldsnake which decided what was worthy to take the first step – and what not.
After three Moons of care within the warm pools some of the Hatchlings may have died - the weaker ones barely survive the first EightDay – nevertheless this also is the way of things our people follow since the dawn of our time. Now those who deem themselves able to teach the Lore of his or her life choose their Hatchling – their Ssian S'shay. They will raise him or her and teach them all they know. This way every Hatchling is a Hatchling of the whole "village", nobody is able or even willing to determine "his" or "her" Hatchling from "his" or "her" clutch of eggs. "Ch'klann" – our word for "village" - bears the meanings of "community", of "tribe" – and of "family".

Thus during my time as a Hatchling I became the Ssian S'shay of Shiruvarr – the Keeper of Knowledge.

It was Shiruvarr who taught me to learn anytime, anyplace. It was Shiruvarr, who taught me the secret of the sacred Starstones – or gems, taken from deep within the womb of earth, as You may refer to them. And it was Shiruvarr which I left behind, deciding to part ways to follow my own path.

Shiruvarr showed me the history of the World and how we understand her. Thus I learned of the Beginning of existence – and the emergence of the Three Elements – Air, Earth and Water – from the Second Dream of Nothing, after it had dreamed the Void during it's First Dream. I also learned of the Hatching of the Worldsnake during the Third Dream – and how she created the world out of the Three Elements. Unfortunately – the dream of Nothing did not end at this time – and from the Third Dream sprang forth different entities, children of the Dream of Nothing like the Worldsnake. These children were Hatchlings without guidance, without history and tradition – without teachings.
Thus – the First Controversy broke out amongst them – and many others where to follow. In their controversy they created small images of themselves to aid them. The existence of these creations was finite – whilst the entities were always dreamed anew by the Nothing. Thus those talented to reason came to existence – the peoples of the world. They were bound to their creators and part of their conflict which may have lasted eternally – if it weren't for one of the entities, who did mean to end this conflict – by contacting her own creator – the Nothing itself. What exactly happened then has been lost from memory during the following Darkness of Ssokhonn Th'arr – the Great Seperation. Many of the entities perished when the Nothing did border the Awakening of the Eternal Dream. With them innumerable of the people passed on, whole peoples vanished and were forgotten – did they ever exist?
Restless the Nothing again sank deep into its Eternal Dream – nevertheless part of the requests of the complaning entity – the Worldsnake - where heard. And such the face of the world did change to the one we know. The majority of my people honors the Worldsnake as their creator – perhaps she did shape us after the characteristics of the first people of all – the Dragons. Others say that it was Ppyr – Ancestor to all Dragonkind – who gave us existence by the powers granted to him by the Worldsnake as her Avatar and Voice. All this happend aeons ago and even my people had to bow to Oblivion. Ppyr chose his own path so long ago and the Worldsnake began to guard the slumber of the Nothing to protect the Eternal Dream.

And thus the Keepers of Knowledge use the power of the sacred Starstones, gifts from the First Fire of Ppyr. They resemble the Trinity of Elements: the Clarity of Air, the Durability of Stone and the Coldness of the Water with its unfathomable dephts.

A Keeper is able to wake the powers of the Starstones, he or she uses them as a fokus to reach his or her Innermost Self, the very essence of our being. Every living being is part of the Eternal Dream and by our dreaming ourselves we take part of the process that shapes it. The emerald forests dream and remember, the prey within the woods dreams and remembers – and we dream – remember – and sometimes we are granted the gift to shape our dreams, forging a tiny part of the fabric of the Dream of Existence consisting of the Three Elements. But every living being should also know about the origin of it's Innermost Strength: should the Nothing awake from it's Eternal Dream because we were too greedy, too eager to shape the Dream – the world and all people will end. So we will preserve the knowledge of the past – for to shape the "now" – so there will be a "then". Still the Worldsnake prevents the Awakening though the Nothing grows restless again in its slumber, stirred again by growing powers longing for the might of entities. And still we all – wether from my people or from others – add our part to the Eternal Dream, keeping it stable.

I choose the Path of Balance - knowing that Life must end in Death, knowing that Order needs Change and that neither Light nor Darkness can be without the other. It is because of this that I chose a path different from most of my people: I left my Ch'Klann to explore the outside world and to watch the other people. Their past may well be the key to our past – and who understands the past is able to learn from it. Perhaps this way I may contribute my tiny fraction to preserve the Eternal Dream and with it – the Essence of Being."

Sharissa - hailing from the Ch'klann S'ssthylhas - is a female lizardman. She longs to explore the world outside her own, the countless wonders of other civilisations. The heritage of her people - a history hidden deep in the past, now almost forgotten even by her elders. By learning the past of other races - knowing about their achievements, their errors - their cultural golden age and their darkest hours - she may be able to glimpse what the future holds for her people who have once forged the base of the known civilisations - and destroyed it by their own foolishness. They forgot about the Balance of things - that basking in the sun means also having a shadow - and a night. Thus came the downfall of her people - and now only the ancient ruins claim the heritage to a once glorious history. Mayhaps it is her destiny to find the lost city of Szss'inarr - the famed City of Gold - "amber jewel within an emerald eye" - lost in the depths of the steaming jungles where even her people don't dare to go.

Most scholars refer to her race as "Common Lizardmen" - upright, bipedal humanoids with scaled skin - smooth and dry to the touch - with reptilian features, elongated snouts filled with sharp teeths for cutting prey. Webbed hands and feet, larger than those of humans comparable to her size of 6' 4" - and a sleek 4' long tail, digitigrade legs. Her scales have a rich, dark green-tone getting slightly lighter and nearly emerald green on the joints and the plates covering her front torso and abdomen. Her eyes are deep amber and hint of the knowledge she has achieved so far, regarding her surroundings with a calm and curious interest.

She wears a leather armour crafted out of the tough and boiled hide of the Krraa'nukh which won't dissolve as easily in the humid environment as normal hide might.


and yes - that was my attempt in drawing


Barrymore Booth, Bard Extraordinaire

Barrymore Booth, Living Greyhawk Character of Corey Johnston, San Diego
6th Level Bard
STR: 10, DEX: 13, CON: 11, INT: 14, WIS:12, CHA 16
Male, 26, Weight: 175, Height: 5'8", Eyes: Green, Hair: Lt. Brown

Master Booth is of average height and weight for a human, appearing to be in his late 20's/early 30's. He is usually seen attired in brown studded leather armor with alternating vertical dark and light brown stripes and poofy sleeves, the leggings of which he keeps tucked in his tall dark boots. He has a short, light brown beard. His head is adorned with long curly blonde hair capped with a large-brimmed leather hat and a fluffly tan ostrich plume. Many have said he appears rather like a chocolate and caramel truffel, topped with a dollop of frosting (but they would never say this to Master Booth's face, of course...)

Master Booth is of mixed Flan/Oeridian/Suloise heritage, unfortunately fitting in with the rest of the mongrel-mix so common in Nyrond, a part of the Flanaess. Rarely is he caught without his Lute (which he has named Cherub) close at hand, but when engaging in more hostile activities (regretably so necessary in his line of work) he keeps his crossbow and longsword at the ready. Many times, especially in the provincial regions of Nyrond, he has been seen striding into town on his chestnut brown mare, Ethel, strumming his music and generally causing a commotion. He would like to think he is quick to smile (but this is usually when he talks about himself). His epic ballads are often unsolicited but always...stunning.

Master Booth doesn't like to talk about his past. He'd really rather concentrate on the glory that is the present, and even greater magnificence and fame that will come in the future! Actually, he's taken great pains to hide his... well, sadly mediocre life story... but as long as you don't tell anyone, we'll let you in on the gossip...


Born to travelling merchant parents killed in a raid, Barrymore was raised by his aunt and uncle who lived in the first village along the road south of Rel Mord. Barrymore was bored with their simple tailoring life, though, and paid particular attention to the troupes of performers as they travelled through. Oh, for a life of adventure, fame, history, fame, art, and...fame! It seemed the road had all the things that poor Barrymore didn't, and would never get if he stayed at home and stitched his life away.

And then one day a particularly nice bard, smitten with Barrymore's keen curiosity about his profession (well... that's the 'story', anyway...) began to encourage his modest talent and feed his voracious appetite for history, stories, music, and knowledge whenever he passed through. He knew the day would come when Barrymore, too, would set out to discover the horizons far beyond any realm of his imagination, and begin to share his own tales (and remarkable performance abilities) with the folks he met.

Finally, over the objections of his aunt and uncle, Barrymore assembled a collection of gear and his life savings (as well as his best entertainer's outfit, lute, and stunning singing voice) and set out on the rode, armed with his bit of training and vowing to earn his living as a performer, not a tailor! On the road he has encountered many creatures and peoples, taken part in many different adventures, and stunned audiences in many a fair town.

Notable Quotes:
--"Surely you caught my Hamlet in Rel Mord...? Really, it was fantastic, if I do say so myself. Everyone was raving! The critics said, "Barry: More!" How could I argue?"

Notable Deeds:
Barrymore has received the Favor of both the Barony of Woodwych and the Church of Pholtus, as well as Rolan (Cleric of Heironeous). He has been proclaimed a Hero of the Realm, and was a Savior of Adrean's Landing. Barrymore has also been personally introduced to and received the personal thanks of Count Cunal Huldane of Mowbrenn, Durinken the High Priest of Rao, and the Count of Brackenmoor. He has some small influence with Duke Grevin Damar of the Duchy of Flinthill and the Mistwatch Citadel in the Flinty Hills. Barrymore is a member of the Oerth Theatre Association, and a Licensed Adventurer.

Not open for further replies.

An Advertisement