The EN World FREE Character Portrait Request Thread!

Okay, Hunter said I should take a stab at D20Dazza's character Grilok Hookfang, and so I think I will. Should be an interesting challenge.

So, on my plate right now are Knightfall1972's minotaur guy, Kathaer's Keel Tarqham, and D20Dazza's Grilok Hookfang. I'll try to get 'em to you guys in the next 2 weeks. This coming week is a bit busy, but I may be able to squeeze 'em in before the memorial day weekend. That weekend I'll be out in the wilderness. No scanners out there. ;)
 

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G'day Chain Lightning,

Love your work mate, if there's anything more I can do to flesh Grilok out and make the job easier for you just yell. Appreciate you having a go and there is absolutely no rush, take your time. Have a great time 'camp'ing (images of Pythonesque Lumberjacks spring to mind);-D>


Cheers

Daz
 

G'day all,

This thread is a lot quiter than I expected. With the quality of the work I thought there would have been a cacophony of requests. But, seeing as though there doesn't seem to be, I thought I might throw another one up.

I'm just starting to dabble in online RPGing again, after being burnt on email type games previously, and am submitting PC applications for various PbP's. So here's the application for Hanable's Hunter's (http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=2276783#post2276783).

Another Eberron application (so sue me I like the setting - and I don't think I'm alone ;-D>)

Again, no hurry, no expectation. I know there isn't much real detail on his appearance there but my most predominant thoughts on his appearance were the very wide brimmed hat with the front pinned up (a little like the female pirate captain that throws her lot in with Jack in Pirates of the Carribean - but much broader), the urgosh, and the double braided beard, which, incidentally is tied into a steel hoop. Otherwise, I'm hoping to see what the description might inspire in you talented people.

Cheers

Daz

\m/ oVo \m/

That confirmed it in his mind. The merchant sitting outside the emporium and sipping from an expensive looking crystal glass, that shimmered in the sparse afternoon light, sported eight rings upon his chubby, immaculately manicured fingers and that marked him out for special attention; those simple gold bands marked him as an enemy, a member of the Aurum. Whitlok sighed, he had been in Korth for less than an hour and already he had stumbled across a diversion. A diversion that would likely make him late for his meeting, and he hated being late. But the simple fact of the matter was that if he didn’t act now he would be distracted during the meeting and Hanable hated it when he was distracted and didn’t pay close enough attention to the customers wants. So, those waiting for him would just have to continue waiting, he’d get to them when he had finalised this pressing business.

Whitlok whistled sharply and a large badger moved ponderously out of the shadows of the cart which had conveniently been providing a quiet place out of the way to doze. He reached down and stroked the top of the badger’s head with his dirty, stubby fingers. His gaze never left the gaudily dressed human that he had been watching now for the better part of ten minutes.

“So Digga, looks like we gotta lil’ job ta do fore our meetin” He muttered as he distractedly scratched at his wide, oft-broken nose. “But we be need’n a c’motion, sumtin to get this fella off t’ main street.”

He grunted as he stood, an old back injury making him wince in discomfort, and straightened his large, floppy, wide brimmed hat, the front of which had been pinned up so as not to obscure his vision. He looked left and right down the busy thoroughfare, weighing up opportunities for distraction. He spied a cart being drawn by two oxen and grinned – perfect, now all he needed was to make them bolt and that was something that Digga, with his sharp teeth and a well placed bite to the leg, was very good at. Unfortunately it also meant that there might be some damage to the street, an unavoidable side effect of his line of work. He was about to kneel and whisper his plan to Digga when he spied a figure wrapped in a dark, heavy cloak approach the merchant. The figure stopped at the left shoulder of the merchant, bent down so his mouth was equal with the merchant’s ear and whispered urgently while gesticulating towards the mouth of a nearby alley.

“Now this looks promisin’ Digga”, Whitlock said as a broad grin spread across his heavily weathered face. His square, blocky yellowing teeth, normally hidden behind his dark moustache, double-braided beard and depreciating scowl, flashed in the afternoon sun. “Looks like tis day might jus’ be a ripper after all me ol’ friend”.

Across the street the merchant rose heavily to his feet, his wide paunch stretching the expensive fabric of his expertly stitched and embroidered tunic. He eyed the crowd around him distastefully until his eyes settled on a mailed thug leaning against a nearby building. The merchant tilted his head imperceptibly at the warrior and motioned for the cloaked figure to lead the way.

“Interestin”, Whitlok mumbled under his breath “looks like tis jus’ got a lil’ bit difficult”. He quickly adjusted the straps on the chain shirt that fit snugly over his wiry body and stamped some life back into his feet.

Luckily for Whitlok he knew exactly where the alleyway that the pair made their way towards led. He watched as the warrior eased his way from the wall and strode nonchalantly after the pair. Whitlok studied the man, who he saw now was more boy than man, probably hadn’t even seen service in the war he thought to himself. The boy carried himself with an air of self-importance, he swaggered as if the street was his and even threatened an old woman that had the audacity to accidentally bump into him.

“Typical of the stingy bastards” Whitlok whispered to Digga, “tryin’ to save a few gold, buys substandard goods and now he’s gonna pay. Hehe, this is gunna be fun Digga, time for the old tag n’ trip me ol’ mate”

Digga slowly perambulated the crowded street, following the young warrior who was even now reaching the mouth of the alleyway. Whitlok, on the other hand, quickly raced up the street in the opposite direction, having to roll under the pair of startled oxen that blocked his way forward as they continued to work their way ponderously up the street. He careened around the corner of the next alleyway, climbed expertly up on to a pile of wooden kegs and launched himself into the air fingers scrabbling to catch hold of the rooftop. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as the roof gave a groan but he managed to kick his legs and throw his weight forward pivoting and rolling sideways on to the roof before a handful of tiles slipped from their housing and crashed to the alley below.

“Thank Balinor” he managed to squeeze out as he pushed himself to his feet. He pulled Khezek, his ancestral urgosh, from it’s sheath upon his back and steadied himself as he quickly made his way across the rooftop. Luck seemed to be with him this day, the damned Aurum was so confident in his wealth and the ability of the guard that trailed him, that he wasn’t even bothering to try and be unobtrusive. He was making enough noise, arguing heatedly with someone, the cloaked stranger Whitlok presumed, that he would never even hear the attack coming. Whitlok reached the far edge of the roof, caught sight of the merchant and his cloaked comrade and launched himself into the air.

He landed on his feet with a heavy thud, the soles of his high, black leather boots absorbing most of the impact. Letting the momentum of his leap tip him forward he drew his shoulders in and curled into a ball tumbling between the startled pair. The Aurum slouched to the ground and let out a scream as the razor sharp axe blade sliced through his Achilles heel. Whitlok rolled to a stop, sprung to his feet, spun and growled at the cloak figure.

“It’s the dandy man I want, I have no beef with ye at t moment and ye’d be best off keeping it tat way”

The cloaked figure looked down at the hamstrung man who was screaming and clawing at the hem of his cloak. He stomped on the merchant’s fingers and spat in disgust.

“You can have him dwarf.” A silky voice purred from the depths of the hooded cowl, “He has proven he is of no use to my mistress but I mark ye, and I will tell my mistress of what transpired here this day, and, know this, if my mistress desires it you will die. Know this to be true.” Before Whitlok could react the cloaked figure whispered ancient magic and disappeared in a swirl of inky darkness.

Whitlok quickly turned his attention to the warrior that was warily making his way down the street, his sword blade wavering as he held it resolutely before him. The merchant was slowly dragging himself up the alley, trying desperately to claw his way to freedom, a bloody trail marking his route in the dirt of the alley, flies starting to gather to lap thirstily at the mans lifeblood as it leaked into the ground.

The merchant wasn’t going to get far, not, at any rate, before Whitlok took care of the inexperienced warrior. He quickly advanced down the alley towards the young fighter, his axe shaft cradled comfortably in his hands. He wanted this over with quickly, and wanted the boy unbalanced. He glared at the boy, mustering all his years of experience in the Karrnathi army into his stride and bearing, trying to impress upon the young man just how much trouble he was in. The boy swung his sword threateningly before him; sweat beading on his brow, the tip of his blade dropping slightly as his immature muscles struggled to keep the heavy blade steady.

Whitlok broke into a run. The boy steadied himself for a charge but he wasn’t expecting what happened next. The dwarf hurtled down the alley and skidded to a halt just in front of the boy warrior, who quickly stepped back, tripped over the badger that had quietly snuck up behind him and fell heavily to the ground, the sword spilling from his grasp. Whitlok kicked the blade further away and jammed the point of his urgosh at the boys exposed throat, stopping just short of actually piercing the skin.

“Let this be a lessin for ye brat.” Whitlok thundered as he kept a wary eye on the boy “I watched ye bully the peasants in the street earlier, let’s see just how threatin’ ye are without that yard of cold steel at yer side. Stand, slowly like and strip”. The boy got shakily to his feet “I was only doin’ me job” he muttered as he unbuckled his armour and let it fall to the ground.

Whitlok addressed the badger without taking his hands from the haft or his eyes from the boy “Digga, go and see t’ that mewlin’ bastard that be makin’ ‘is way down t’ alley, don’t let ‘im go any further ‘fore I get t’ chance t’ finish ‘im orf.’ The badger ambled slowly up the alley, bearing down on the unfortunate merchant whose once immaculate clothing was now bedraggled and caked with blood, vomit, snot and tears.

“Now boy, tat weren’t doin’ no job, nope, you was employed t’ protect that snivellin’ ‘eap o’ trash back there n’ look at ‘im. If you’d spent more time doin yer job n’ less time parading around like some popinjay ye might’ve found yerself still employed and not in t’ unfortunate position you’re in at t’ moment.” The boy, was openly weeping and shaking and had stripped down to all but his smalls. “and those boys” Whitlok growled looking at his undergarments. “And then you can march on down the street or I’ll let me lil ‘airy friend over there bite ye dangly bits.” That was enough for the boy, he threw his (now thoroughly soiled) undergarments to the ground and raced down the alley and out of sight.

Whitlok turned back to the merchant that now lay still in the middle of the alley a short distance away, the bulky badger standing before him and blocking his progress forward. Whitlok strode resolutely down the dusty alley. His face set in a determined scowl. The merchant looked up at the bulky mass of the angry dwarf.

”Why?” he gasped “what have I done to you?”

“You chose t’ wrong side” Whitlok spat as the point of his urgosh flashed downwards “This is fer me kin you Aurum dog.”

Whitlok ir’Khasamenn

Dwarf Ranger 4/Extreme Explorer 1 (XP 10,000) Alignment: CG
Height: 4'8" Weight: 167lbs. Age: 58
hair: black, blonde streaks eyes: blue skin: dark, dusty
Region of Origin: Mror Holds
 
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Decided to repost this, since it was lost in the ages of time (otherwise known as page 8 :P)

Hannible Lothmoren Holmes (Epic Human Blood Lord vampire)

A Small Historical Background
After his great grandfather Lothmoren killed many people in his insane experiments, Hannible had much to do to bring honor back to his family name. In order to accomplish this, Hannible joined the Purple Dragons of Cormyr at a very young age (14) and trained hard to become a warrior worthy of recognition. He also begin training as a paladin of the god Lathlander, the deity of the sun and dawn, for he knew that eventually he would have to take back his family's ancestral home, a run-down castle at the edge of their lands that was reportedly rife with the walking dead created by his recent ancestor. However, Hannible ran into an evil that surpassed even that of his grandfather one winter day that ended his mortal life and began him on the same vile path that his grandfather had traveled during the last three decades of his life. This evil was Zanatose Everhate, a powerful undead drow wizard and cleric of Bane who ripped his mortal heart from his chest with one boney hand and replaced it with a malignant growth with the other in one smooth motion of magic. With the necromantic magic pumping the blood through his veins, he succumbed and turned into what he hated the most, the undead. Zanatose had selected Hannible years before to become his general and had watched in the shadows, waiting for the day when the boy would become a man. The new vampire had the bloodline and ancient talent of magic within him and that was what the lich wanted in an apprentice. Unfortunately, the lich had neglected to realize the willpower of his general and eventually lost control of him. The two became bitter enemies, striking out at one another whenever a hint of the other's presence was detected in anything.

Appearance: Hannible attempts to hold onto his past as a noble warrior dedicated to Cormyr's protection by continuing to wear his now old and marred armor of office. Just before he was turned, he had acquired the title of Oversword and was made commander of a small platoon of knights which protected a nearby bridge. The armor he wore had been a present from his father who had it specially made for the occaison. Unfortunately, the armor had also been blessed by Lathander's church, and its mere touch burned the vampire lord's flesh once it was corrupted. The suns on the arm and legplates that had so artisitically been crafted from magic paints are deliberately scratched (the symbol of the sun harms Hannible) and the enchanted metal itself is now rusted and old with pitted holes marring its surface. The breastplate's decoration is a powerful snake-like purple dragon that winds around his body three times, it's tail starting at his waist and its face ending just below the vampire lord's neck, jaws open as if to feed from the vampire's own blood.

His hair, which had once been the color of the night sky now has long grey streaks running through it as if it had been unnaturally aged from the process of the turn (He keeps his hair tired back out of his face, but the pose should show that he has long hair by either having the hair over one shoulder or from the side somehow). His face, handsome at one time (all planes and angles), is now grizzled and feral in appearance like a predatory wolf king. A short beard and mustach now cover the lower part of his face in order to try and hide a bit of the wolfish appearance, especially when his sharpened teeth are extended. His eyes do not glow, but are completely red in color as if the interior of his eyes were now filled with the blood of his victims. Unlike most of his lesser kin, Hannible does not appear to be the epitome of male beauty and is actually quite frightening and intimidating, even when not trying to be. He does not drip with sexual power, but instead is the vision of an angry king waiting for someone to swing for his amusement.

In addition to his old armor, the vampire lord keeps a silver cape draped around his neck that is both beautiful and magical in nature, decorated with small embossed dragons that are dark purple in color. He fights with a sword and a staff at the same time. His unnatural strength and speed allow him to do so without much problem and the magical items (only one which he created, the sword was a present from his 'master' Zanatose and contains the soul of his mortal lover, Marianae). The staff allows him to cast spells without the need of somantic and material components (thus allowing him to fight two-handed and still cast spells) at the cost of his own health (which is quickly healed by his vampiric abilities). So the pose in question should have the vampire lord either with the staff gripped in both hands and the sword sheathed at his waist or in a battle stance with the sword and staff out and ready for combat.

The staff, also called the Staff of Bloody Kings (or the Blood Staff by common folk who have seen it used), looks like a simple wooden staff that has been carved rather clumbsily to contain the screaming faces and bodies of the damned, all entertwined and in some cases coming together as one. Dark stains cover the weapon from top to bottom, a testament to whatever abilities it may confer on its wielder. The decoration at the top is a simple golden crown that has barbed points to inflict more damage. The sword, Sanguine, is an intelligent weapon of significant power. The blade, made from a clear crystalline material of magical origin, is hooked at the end like a large tooth or as if a scythe blade has been somehow added to the sword for the added benefit of being able to behead an opponent in a single strike. When in combat, bloody mist can be seen drawn from an enemy's wounds into the sword itself, bloating the blade and turning it a bright crimson in color.

Whether in combat or at rest, the vampire lord always has a palpable aura of magic surrounding him and will often stave off boredom by casting spells on himself just to experience the rush of magic through his otherwise unfeeling corpse of a body.
 


Ok, here is an odd request for Grewhawk character:
I mysterious character that is a nomadic or journeyman, pilgrim, trekker, vagabond, wanderer, wayfarer and a funeral director/undertaker. This character will dress in a gothic style clothes that say oddness, strange and still show both his vagabond life style and undertaker profession. He will be tall with a athletic build humanoid (still working on race) that shadows will cover what his race is. He will have adventuring gear, daggers, pouches and caring a shovel for weapon. If you have seen pics of tall gothic trenchcoat and top-hat wearing morticans or undertakers, put him in a D&D style setting with all the trimings.
 
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Sorry guys - - no art at the moment. Got swamped at work. (and by 'work' I don't mean 9-5 - I mean late hours at the office -basically working all day, go home, sleep and do it again ....so no, haven't had time to squeeze in a sketch here or there. :( )But soon hopefully . . . I'll try maybe to do one of them this weekend. If I do get the time, I'll post up one this coming Sunday night or Monday. If all goes well that is. If not . . . definitely sometime a week from then.

Again, sorry for the delays.

Oh, and D20Dazza, as far as anything you can do to help me, actually yes...heh heh, there is. Can you give me a simple itemized discription of Grilock? Armor, weapon, height, weight, race, class, stuff you see him wearing, etc. I only ask for this because it takes a while for me to re-read your whole story to get the vision of him again. Plus, you may want to add some things on him that you didn't mention in the short story.

Oh, his skull helmet...does that obscure his entire face so you only see the eyes? How big is the skull on his head and how much of his real face can you see when he's wearing it? Or, do you want me to draw him at a moment when he's not wearing the skull helmet?

thanks
 
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Hi Chain LIghtning.

I'm still waiting to see if Grilok is accepted in to the game I've applied for so haven't statted him out yet. Fingers crossed he gets in to a game that's about to kick off, we should be finding out who is in some time today. As soon as I find out I'll be rolling him up and completely statting him (which will impact things like weapons and armour, the game is 7th level so his purchases may have a bearing on his end look). I'll post the relevant bits here as well as in the RG (sblocked). Fingers crossed it'll be up in the next couple of days.

In the mean time though he is stocky and tall (6'4"). Since arriving in Sharn he has been labouring for the Cannith family in their foundry. It has been during this time he has picked up the fighter levels. 'Typical' half-orc build. If he gets into this game he will be 4 Druid/3 Fighter. I see the skull sorta like what the bad guy in Highlander (for the life of me I can't recall his name - "It's better to burn out than to fade away, there can be only one") wore early in the movie.

Here's a bit more of his story.

\mo0om/

Since being in Sharn Grilok has been able to follow several leads regarding the mysterious Belkor, but they've all ended in dead ends. He just wasn't cut out for investigative work. His means were those of the wild, he was more straightforward, more direct. And this Belkor was elusive, and powerful, everywhere Grilok turned there was another red herring. Sure as it would rain tomorrow, Belkor knew Grilok was in Sharn. He knew and he revelled in that knowledge. He toyed with Grilok and there was nothing the half orc could do about it.

It'd been three years now since Grilok's shame, three long hard, lonely years. If not for Sithek he would have gone insane, and he wasn't sure if he might not have 'lost-it-a-little'. It became obvious to Grilok early in his time in Sharn that he didn't fit. Well it wasn't so much he didn't, but his beliefs didn't. He didn't feel right in the city, he didn't feel as attuned to his power, he didn't fell like he could 'grow' in his beliefs. It was hard being in Sharn and he had to adapt or die.

Grilok managed to find a job as a labourer for the Cannith family in Ashblack . He carried raw ore for the family, ore to fragile to be trusted to the constructs that normally carried out the heavy-duty work. During the day he would work the Cannith foundries, growing in strength, using his determination to regain his stolen heritage, to drive him on, to help him through the hard days.

He also had his newfound faith. Grilok had discovered The Traveler. With the Traveler he felt some kinship, he felt a little closer to his roots. There was something about the chaotic nature of the God that appealed to Grilok's wild side. He soon found that he had more than Sithek to comfort him when he was lonely, he had his faith.

It was almost two years before Grilok had saved enough money to move out of the Mud Caves. Two years of lugging ore and fighting with the riff raff that occupied the shantytowns that sprawled at the base of the City of Towers. But eventually he was able to save enough money to relocate from the Mud Caves to Deathsgate. A place of opportunity, a place where he would find it easier to get aid in his quest; and a place where he could use his new found strength and fighting ability to keep him and Sithek dry and fed.
 


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