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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Snapdragyn" data-source="post: 2495121" data-attributes="member: 12432">Since you started with 3, I'll continue the trend:3) T'lar, my bard. Actually, he only has one level of the 'bard' class, but his spirit is definitely that of a bard & he certainly identifies himself as such. He has one of my favorite character introduction write-ups:T’lar was born in rural Thorp – the real one, not one of those little imitations. Like most of the people in the area, his parents were simple farmers. Simple cabbage, simple lettuce, simple potatoes – none of that fancy ‘romaine’ or ‘endives’ or other big-city stuff like that, no sirree. Aware at an early age that the fates had played a cruel joke by placing someone of his obvious charm, grace, & wit in such a setting, T’lar vowed to leave at the first opportunity. This desire was somewhat tempered by the love of his family, however, for it was a loving clan even if T’lar was convinced that they all dressed like potatoes – & we won’t even get into the haircuts. *shudder*    His family went about their simple lives while T’lar struggled against his wanderlust to try & make his parents happy… or at least not quite too frustrated with him. The mismatch worked both ways, you see, for his family could never quite understand what led him to shirk his duties on the farm in order to make the odd coin cleaning stables at the local inn. Was the horse <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /> different there? Little did they realize that the work at the inn was merely an excuse to interact with passing travelers. In this manner, T’lar was able to learn a bit of swordplay from the pages of passing knights, as well as a bit of other ‘play’. *cough*    In the summer of his 17th year, T’lar’s parents proved true to form by succumbing to a simple disease. Never mind that the rare Sepia Fever was all the rage that year, no, they had to go & die to something positively mundane while the cleric who served the region was far away. T’lar’s brother took over the farm, & T’lar vowed to work harder & be more responsible in order to help; this dedication lasted a solid six weeks before a passing merchant with tales of the big city of Prompeldia once again ignited his lifelong desire to escape the backwater in favor of the obviously superior frontwater. Not wishing to argue about it (he & his brother had never gotten on too well, especially after that comment about his brother’s taste in shoes), T’lar packed a few simple things (with promises that soon he’d be packing fancy things) & left in the night.    By the time he reached Prompeldia, T’lar’s supplies were mostly gone. On the advice of a guard at the gate, he made his way to an office of the Watch to apply for work, but as fate would have it the office had closed for the evening. Fate had its reasons, though, for it had finally decided to start making up for that little ‘oops, wrong birthplace’ mishap. That very night T’lar found his way into a profession much more suited to him than sweating in dusty leather at a gate all day – sweating in well-oiled leather in a bed all night.    Yes, T’lar became a hustler. The money was decent, the work certainly enjoyable, & other than the occasional trip to the cleric it was pretty good. Despite the occasional scrap faced by any young man living day-to-day in a big city, T’lar might very well have been willing to follow this new path on into his old age (23 seemed perfect for retirement); but after a few months, fate, apparently still feeling a bit guilty, intervened again – T’lar fell in love.    His name was Kovell, & he was the most beautiful man T’lar had ever seen outside of a mirror. T’lar first spotted him performing at an inn, & when Kovell approached him after his performance T’lar thought it was simply going to be a more pleasurable night of work than most. Kovell wasn’t interesting in hiring him, though; instead, Kovell merely talked to him for a couple of hours, & then went up to his room. Alone. Without inviting T’lar. This rather surprised T’lar, in much the way that the sudden appearance of a dancing troop of red dragons clad entirely in gold lamme during the middle of the midsummer crop blessing rituals might ‘rather surprise’ the simple priest of his hometown of Thorp, where neither dancing troops nor red dragons had ever been seen in living memory & gold lamme was considered a mere fairytale creation.    Anyway…    The next night found T’lar back again at the same inn, listening to Kovell’s performance & chatting with him afterwards. This became a pattern for T’lar, which cut into his business somewhat. After a week or so, Kovell suggested that they meet for brunch, a divine creation of one of the gods of Interesting Places to which T’lar had quickly taken. With his evenings once more free for work, T’lar would spend his days with Kovell discussing the state of the world over croissants with marmalade, or pan de chocolate, or a nice fruit salad with spiced honey yoghurt to the side. While the bustle of the city passed by on the street outside the café, Kovell told T’lar many tales of adventure & taught him the basics of music (for which T’lar seemed to have some small bit of talent).    Listening to Kovell’s stories, T’lar decided that his life deserved more adventure than could be found in even the richest noble’s pleasureroom, & he vowed that he would become a bard. He even had the perfect inspiration for his first great tragic composure, for as time passed it became clear that Kovell viewed T’lar as a beloved friend, & not as a beloved. The day came when he had taught T’lar all that he could of barding, & since it had become his custom to travel to a new city every few months, he made his departure with the advice that if T’lar truly wished to become a bard, he should seek out a group of companions with whom to adventure.    That very night, T’lar found himself at a familiar inn, drinking away his hearthache and chatting with a rather hodgepodge group when the proprietor approached them with an offer….2) Galorin, my barbarian/fighter. Galorin is the archetypal 'dumb brute' barbarian, but he knows it. He struggles to hide his 'uncivilized' ways & fit in, pretending to read (though he can't; illiteracy trait so the fighter levels didn't remove it) & trying to speak Draconic like the smart ones in the group (we usually do this by having a player who speaks another language say something in that; I then repeat it as best I can & whatever mangled results come out are what the character said <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f61b.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":p" title="Stick out tongue    :p"  data-smilie="7"data-shortname=":p" /> ). Not being so bright, he can be woefully oblivious to differences in the culture, though (like when he sunbathes nude on the deck of a ship, or that little misunderstanding with the Cormyrian guard about accepting monetary gifts for a night of 'entertainment').He also takes things rather literally, as a party member found out last night. A bit of a tussle broke out between our cleric & a new group member, & someone said to pull them apart & throw them down a dark well we'd just found to cool off in the water below. Galorin grabbed one of them, got him over to the shaft, then failed the check to toss him in. The dwarf's player roleplayed the check as 'hah, I grab onto you' rather than saying he'd dug in his heels at the edge as I expected, so... Galorin just stepped forward into the well with dwarf clinging uselessly to him.Hey, he'd been told to throw him in. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />1) Dranik. Ah, Dranik. *sigh*Dranik was my assassin (well, rogue/fighter/assassin). He wasn't evil (DM allowed N for the PrC), & in fact he was fighting for a good cause -- protecting humanity from 'the monsters' of the world. However, Dranik was a zealot, & as such was perfectly willing to accept the loss of a few innocents for the 'greater good' of his mission. Laws were to be obeyed only to avoid the inconvenience of having to break out of jail (assuming the guards got him that far); his personal mission was more important than any other goal or belief could ever be.Dranik was a rather troubled soul, however, because the secretive organization which had raised him & instilled him with this fanatacism had also led him to believe that he was sired by 'something' not human. His mother had been insane since (& supposedly because of) his birth, but in one seemingly sane moment years before had told him that in fact his father was not a demon. Strangely enough, the organization moved her to a new facility 'for her own protection' immediately after she told him this, & assured him that she must have been saying what she wanted to believe in her delusional state.So... sole reason for existance is to destroy the monsters, the possibility exists that he might be one (& I had plans to give him a level of warlock to further screw with his head on that note), & the people who raised him just might not be so great as they seemed. Dark, dark, at times teetering on the edge... that was Dranik.He was fun to play. He'd almost decided to kill another party member who appeared to be under the control of an evil weapon (I was restraining my roleplay in the interests of game fun there & hoping he could just get rid of the weapon if it came to it). At one point, we ran into a naga in the Temple of All Consumption; while everyone else is chatting away getting information from it, Dranik studies it for three rounds... Death Attack! It failed, he almost died, the party (characters) wasn't pleased, but IT WAS A MONSTER! <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />It all ended in a TPC (capture) with a half-fiendish aboleth. Sad thing is, he (& the rest of the party) is still alive, but now a mind-controlled NPC. I'm hoping that when our new party reaches that point they succeed in freeing the old guys & then maybe I can convince the DM to let me play him again.</blockquote>

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