Soullessweare
First Post
Well, this is my new character for a PbP game on www.againsttheshadow.org, and wanted to show it to others. I put some work in, that's why, and this is the place to do so, right? To start with a 'first-impression' as if he were a stranger you met along the way, facing you from across the fire, making small-talk. Such happy times are not standard in the Midnight CS though ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Then the full stats, and finally the little history which I'm so proud of 
Udrial is a slim Erunsil, pale like the rest of them, his eyes a bright green. He wears their traditional clothes; hide, leather and fur, adorned with snow-flower motifs, dyed white and dark green. He carries a bow and quiver on his back, the typical fighting knives hanging from his belt, both at the left side. He doesn't look or carry himself much like a fighter though. His face is tight, it seems he's angry or worried, and he often cast scitterish (is that a word?) glances around himself. His voice is soft, almost referently, and tinged with the Erunsil accent.
Name: Udrial
Race: Erunsil
Class: Wildlander 1, Channeler (Spiritual) 1
Alignment: NG
Heroic Path: Faithfull
Level: 2
Exp: 1000
Size: M
Age: 63
Gender: Male
Weight: 93 lbs
Height: 4'6"
Hair: White
Skin: Pale
Eyes: Green
Handedness: Right
Strength 10 (2 points) = 10 (0)
Dexterity 15 (8 points) = 17 (3)
Constitution 12 (4 points) = 10 (0)
Intelligence 10 (2 points) = 10 (0)
Wisdom 16 (10 points) = 16 (3)
Cha 12 (4 points) = 12 (1)
Fortitude = 2 (base) + 1 (Erunsil) = 3
Reflex = 0 (base) + 3 (Dex) = 3
Will = 2 (base) + 3 (Wis) = 5 (+2 vs. Enchantment)
Hit points: 8 + 1d6 = 11
Initiative: 3 (Dex)
AC: 10 + 3 (Dex) + 3 (MW St. Leather) = 16
Spell Failure: 15%
Check Penalty: -1
BAB: +1
Grapple: +1
Melee: +1
Ranged: +4
Icewood Composite Shortbow: +5, 1d6, 70ft, x3
Erunsil Fighting Knife: +2 or +1/+1, 1d6, x2 (+1 attack vs orc)
Racial: Low Light Vision, Cold Resistance 5, 1/day Know Direction, Purify Food & Drink
Heroic: 1/day Bless, Protection f. Evil
Wildlander: Sense Dark Magic
Channeler: Master of Two Worlds
Feats: Two Weapon Fighting
Skills (First number is ranks, 4*6 = 24 for Wildlander, 1*6 for Channeler): Survival (3+3=6), Listen (3+3+2=Cool, Search (3+2=5), Spot (3+3+2=Cool, Climb (3) (+4 in trees), Knowledge Nature (3), Hide (3+2=5), Move Silent (3+2=5), Concentration (3), Spellcraft (3)
Languages: High Elven, Snow Elf Patrol Sign, Erenlander
Equipment: Icewood Composite Shortbow, 2* Erunsil Fighting Knife, MW Studded Leather, 40 arrows, 3 days worth of nuts and roots.
Spell Energy: 1 (level) + 3 (Wis) + 2 (Erunsil) = 6; cantrips/day = 6
Schools: Universal, Transmutation, Lesser Conjuration
Spells: 0 - Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Mending, Ray of Frost, Create Water, Arcane Mark, 1- Entangle, Enlarge, Pass Without Trace
This couldn't be true. He had been wrong, the Whisper had been silent: "The Wood speaks of no such thing to me, child, who has heard its murmurring grow over the centuries to the thunder it is now." The Snow had been polite, but her irritation at being drawn from more important bussisness had been obvious. The Blood, whom she had been talking to said nothing, just cast him a disdainfull look. Of course he had been wrong. How could one who had never heard the Whisper before suddenly do, and clearer even then the eldest Adept in scores upon scores of miles around? His presumptiousness had shamed him, only a day ago. And yet now, Snow and Blood lay at his feet, amongst his friends and kin, trampled into mud and snow, faces paler then ever before, puddles of blood freezing up around them.
The Shadow's chosen had wielded fell magics, ripping the lifes from all in his way, their souls fuel for the next onslaught of dark fire, burning down the trees in which the defenders found shelter. In the ensuing panic the orcs had butchered the fleeing elves, driving them back to the fort. Many had stood their ground as they realized they'd lead the enemy into Faltorin; he had ran.
As he reached the outer lines of the fort he had been weeping, realizing now, too late, that he had already given away the exact direction of his home. Before his stuttered and sobbing report was clear to the guards, the Shunned Mother orcs made themselves understood, playing the victory note on their warhorns. His patrol had been eredicated.
In the ensuing battle most of Faltorins able had met the orcs head on, while the Snow and Blood gathered a small group of experienced woodsmen to attack the enemy's rear, where the Legate was holding back now, encouraging his man to slaughter the elves, promising fresh meat to those that lived and the Shadows personal caress to those that died. No one had seemed to notice Udrial as he slipped behind the farthest trees, away from the battle, into the silent forest.
When the sounds of battle finally stopped he had walked back, taking no precautions, welcoming death at the hands of the Shadows minions, were it to be them who had won... And here he stood, amongst his dead and injured kin. All he could do now was tend to the wounded; the one thing he had always had a knack for, the reason Faltorins druids had chosen to teach him the ways of the forest and its spirits, the reason the Blood had agreed to train one warrior less, one much needed warrior less.
It had never been his path to be a warrior, he knew, and he'd gotten over that in the years before, focussing on his spiritual lessons instead. He'd taken pride in his ability to call upon the forest and its ephemereal inhabitants to help the Erunsil, and the others had acknowledged his worth.
As he sat down with a warrior he didn't recognize, but who was still breathing, he tried to clear his mind. The spirits would lend him the power to heal this woman. To preserve her for a next battle he thought to himself. A next battle in which she might be suprised, ravaged, unwarned by the Whisper or it's Adepts He tried to ban the thoughts from his mind, knowing the doubt and anger wouldn't let him heal this woman, but he couldn't let go of them. Child, child the Snow kept saying, but he knew he hadn't been wrong, he knew what he had heard, and he knew what had happened...
As the shadows around him seemd to move he looked up, resigned to face his foes, but only saw Laurin, the old druid who'd taught him. "We've won Udrial, but at what cost? Too few of us survive to man the inner fortress even..." The old man sat down to cure the warrior, his face the resigned calm Udrial had come to know himself, blue lights flowing from his fingers to the injured body, the body closing its wounds. As the woman gasped for more air and opened her eyes he spoke: "Why didn't the Whisper warn us? Have the Legates found some way to confuse it, taint it even?"
Udrial never answered, only ran and ran, focussing all his anger on being away from here, from this, and the forest welcomed him. The spirits of anger and despair, recognizing their kin, offered him a path without a trace, a there that the here could never find...
Then the full stats, and finally the little history which I'm so proud of Udrial is a slim Erunsil, pale like the rest of them, his eyes a bright green. He wears their traditional clothes; hide, leather and fur, adorned with snow-flower motifs, dyed white and dark green. He carries a bow and quiver on his back, the typical fighting knives hanging from his belt, both at the left side. He doesn't look or carry himself much like a fighter though. His face is tight, it seems he's angry or worried, and he often cast scitterish (is that a word?) glances around himself. His voice is soft, almost referently, and tinged with the Erunsil accent.
Name: Udrial
Race: Erunsil
Class: Wildlander 1, Channeler (Spiritual) 1
Alignment: NG
Heroic Path: Faithfull
Level: 2
Exp: 1000
Size: M
Age: 63
Gender: Male
Weight: 93 lbs
Height: 4'6"
Hair: White
Skin: Pale
Eyes: Green
Handedness: Right
Strength 10 (2 points) = 10 (0)
Dexterity 15 (8 points) = 17 (3)
Constitution 12 (4 points) = 10 (0)
Intelligence 10 (2 points) = 10 (0)
Wisdom 16 (10 points) = 16 (3)
Cha 12 (4 points) = 12 (1)
Fortitude = 2 (base) + 1 (Erunsil) = 3
Reflex = 0 (base) + 3 (Dex) = 3
Will = 2 (base) + 3 (Wis) = 5 (+2 vs. Enchantment)
Hit points: 8 + 1d6 = 11
Initiative: 3 (Dex)
AC: 10 + 3 (Dex) + 3 (MW St. Leather) = 16
Spell Failure: 15%
Check Penalty: -1
BAB: +1
Grapple: +1
Melee: +1
Ranged: +4
Icewood Composite Shortbow: +5, 1d6, 70ft, x3
Erunsil Fighting Knife: +2 or +1/+1, 1d6, x2 (+1 attack vs orc)
Racial: Low Light Vision, Cold Resistance 5, 1/day Know Direction, Purify Food & Drink
Heroic: 1/day Bless, Protection f. Evil
Wildlander: Sense Dark Magic
Channeler: Master of Two Worlds
Feats: Two Weapon Fighting
Skills (First number is ranks, 4*6 = 24 for Wildlander, 1*6 for Channeler): Survival (3+3=6), Listen (3+3+2=Cool, Search (3+2=5), Spot (3+3+2=Cool, Climb (3) (+4 in trees), Knowledge Nature (3), Hide (3+2=5), Move Silent (3+2=5), Concentration (3), Spellcraft (3)
Languages: High Elven, Snow Elf Patrol Sign, Erenlander
Equipment: Icewood Composite Shortbow, 2* Erunsil Fighting Knife, MW Studded Leather, 40 arrows, 3 days worth of nuts and roots.
Spell Energy: 1 (level) + 3 (Wis) + 2 (Erunsil) = 6; cantrips/day = 6
Schools: Universal, Transmutation, Lesser Conjuration
Spells: 0 - Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Mending, Ray of Frost, Create Water, Arcane Mark, 1- Entangle, Enlarge, Pass Without Trace
This couldn't be true. He had been wrong, the Whisper had been silent: "The Wood speaks of no such thing to me, child, who has heard its murmurring grow over the centuries to the thunder it is now." The Snow had been polite, but her irritation at being drawn from more important bussisness had been obvious. The Blood, whom she had been talking to said nothing, just cast him a disdainfull look. Of course he had been wrong. How could one who had never heard the Whisper before suddenly do, and clearer even then the eldest Adept in scores upon scores of miles around? His presumptiousness had shamed him, only a day ago. And yet now, Snow and Blood lay at his feet, amongst his friends and kin, trampled into mud and snow, faces paler then ever before, puddles of blood freezing up around them.
The Shadow's chosen had wielded fell magics, ripping the lifes from all in his way, their souls fuel for the next onslaught of dark fire, burning down the trees in which the defenders found shelter. In the ensuing panic the orcs had butchered the fleeing elves, driving them back to the fort. Many had stood their ground as they realized they'd lead the enemy into Faltorin; he had ran.
As he reached the outer lines of the fort he had been weeping, realizing now, too late, that he had already given away the exact direction of his home. Before his stuttered and sobbing report was clear to the guards, the Shunned Mother orcs made themselves understood, playing the victory note on their warhorns. His patrol had been eredicated.
In the ensuing battle most of Faltorins able had met the orcs head on, while the Snow and Blood gathered a small group of experienced woodsmen to attack the enemy's rear, where the Legate was holding back now, encouraging his man to slaughter the elves, promising fresh meat to those that lived and the Shadows personal caress to those that died. No one had seemed to notice Udrial as he slipped behind the farthest trees, away from the battle, into the silent forest.
When the sounds of battle finally stopped he had walked back, taking no precautions, welcoming death at the hands of the Shadows minions, were it to be them who had won... And here he stood, amongst his dead and injured kin. All he could do now was tend to the wounded; the one thing he had always had a knack for, the reason Faltorins druids had chosen to teach him the ways of the forest and its spirits, the reason the Blood had agreed to train one warrior less, one much needed warrior less.
It had never been his path to be a warrior, he knew, and he'd gotten over that in the years before, focussing on his spiritual lessons instead. He'd taken pride in his ability to call upon the forest and its ephemereal inhabitants to help the Erunsil, and the others had acknowledged his worth.
As he sat down with a warrior he didn't recognize, but who was still breathing, he tried to clear his mind. The spirits would lend him the power to heal this woman. To preserve her for a next battle he thought to himself. A next battle in which she might be suprised, ravaged, unwarned by the Whisper or it's Adepts He tried to ban the thoughts from his mind, knowing the doubt and anger wouldn't let him heal this woman, but he couldn't let go of them. Child, child the Snow kept saying, but he knew he hadn't been wrong, he knew what he had heard, and he knew what had happened...
As the shadows around him seemd to move he looked up, resigned to face his foes, but only saw Laurin, the old druid who'd taught him. "We've won Udrial, but at what cost? Too few of us survive to man the inner fortress even..." The old man sat down to cure the warrior, his face the resigned calm Udrial had come to know himself, blue lights flowing from his fingers to the injured body, the body closing its wounds. As the woman gasped for more air and opened her eyes he spoke: "Why didn't the Whisper warn us? Have the Legates found some way to confuse it, taint it even?"
Udrial never answered, only ran and ran, focussing all his anger on being away from here, from this, and the forest welcomed him. The spirits of anger and despair, recognizing their kin, offered him a path without a trace, a there that the here could never find...
