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Your legend is written. Bards sing your praises, and scholars write books about you. You are widely renowned or reviled, a household name in most of Faerûn. Maybe you stopped an invasion from the Underdark, maybe you stopped the rebirth of a deity, maybe you saved a country from a plague, took down an evil empire, or stopped a vampire lord from enslaving a city. With those deeds behind you, and your story in place, you decided you were going to settle into wherever destiny took you. Today, however, a carrier pigeon arrived bearing an unsigned letter requesting your urgent help: quote:Dearest ______, The map points you to a remote location in the Lost Peaks. You’re not sure why, but you feel destiny calling you once again. Once you arrive, you find a group of other renowned adventurers waiting outside, whose exploits you’ve no doubt heard of. Upon moving inside, you realize that it is a small shrine to Ao himself, possibly the only one in Faerûn. One of his angels materializes before you and says, “Welcome, friends. I’m glad to see that you made it. The Hidden One himself had me summon you here, heroes of legend, requesting your assistance with an all too urgent matter. He has received word of a plot against him by an unlikely alliance of Asmodeus, Bane, Cyric, Lolth and Shar. He believes they are planning to overthrow him, to take control of the cosmos…” As she speaks, you feel the earth tremble beneath your feet in a giant earthquake. A giant crash comes down from the sky, along with what sounds like a long, pained scream. The angel begins to fade away, but not before eking out, “No! We are too late! They have killed him and stolen the Tomes of Fate! You must travel to their realms, regather the sundered Tomes from them and make them whole again to restore Ao!” And with that, she fades away completely, the power of Ao apparently gone. ...Perhaps, you begin to think, that maybe your legend isn’t finished after all… Character Creation: Starting Level: 21 Backgrounds: One Themes: Yes Inherent Bonuses: On Bonus Feats: * Melee Training * Improved Defenses * One Expertise Feat Starting Equipment: Standard level appropriate gear: one each of level 20, 21, 22 magic items + 125,000gp Also, please tell me your legend so far in your app! e: Please try to work your epic destiny into this if you can! If you can't, just ping me and let me know you want to reskin with what you want to reskin to. -- I don't want you to be bound by your Epic Destiny by any means, but I'd like to see a mention at least. Small note: One slot in the party is reserved for Melchiresa who is playing a Paladin. So therefore I’m looking for 5 players! Don’t be afraid to app a defender either even though one is in a reserved slot; I don’t mind having two in a party at all! Discord Server! e: Game will either be PbP or via discord text depending on what the final party decides! Either way it won't be live. e2: I'm looking at ending apps on July 31st to give everyone two weekends of work. e3: Inherent bonuses are on! e4: Feel free to invent calamities or alter established history for your character to act on! We're using the 4e FR timeline, but adding in any heroic actions that you have undertaken. That is to say, if you saved one of the kingdoms of the land from a dragon, or stopped a war, or whatever else, that actually happened in game. You guys are the stuff of legend and your backstory should reflect it (and indeed, the world will reflect it) (game thread) Look Around You fucked around with this message at 22:43 on Aug 2, 2017 |
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Jul 20, 2017 23:13
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pre:Player Character Class Role Sheet/Bio Wahad Silenna of the Green Druid Controller Y/Y Mustache Ride Alas Battlemind|Fighter Defender Y/Y Melchiresa Merritt Carlisle Paladin Defender Y/Y Doomykins Saint Gladys Cleric Leader Y/Y ArkInBlack Claire des Fleurs D'été Warlord Leader Y/Y Waci Shallahai Sentinel Leader Y/N Stallion Cabana Maveith Cleric|Runepriest Leader Y/Y Klingon w Bowl Cut Marcus Gellantara Bard Leader Y/Y berenzen Kaivus Stormrider Sorcerer Striker Y/N Captain Walker Simon Strange Warlock Striker Y/Y Plutonis Amalric Duskborn Blackguard Striker Y/Y Ryuujin Inferno Elementalist Striker Y/Y Mince Pieface Telos Warlock Striker Y/Y Sockerbagarn Cornelia Silverleaf Avenger Striker Y/Y Mortify Arka Scorchoak Ranger Striker Y/Y Thanatosian Iada Kilcis Paladin|Warlock Defender|Striker Y/N Look Around You fucked around with this message at 03:19 on Aug 1, 2017 |
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Jul 20, 2017 23:22
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Yes, please. Probably apping a Striker of some kind.
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Jul 20, 2017 23:25
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Goddamn this is tempting, might have to try and wrangle the character builder into working again.
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Jul 20, 2017 23:33
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Epic Tier! Epic Tier!
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Jul 20, 2017 23:38
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I'll make a leader or defender/leader hybrid of some kind.
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Jul 21, 2017 00:31
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Big Faith character to come.
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Jul 21, 2017 01:12
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Hazran the Perfect, Shardmind Psion The Book of Hazdran, Chapter Three, Verse One. 3:1 And it came to pass that when the Living Gate was destroyed, the Perfect One was cast alongside his kin towards the Planes, hurtling through the aether as a great chunk of Crystal as he watched all of blighted creation before him. 3:2 And it came to pass that during his great voyage through the Cosmos the Perfect One saw the reality of organic life and all the filth and immorality that came with it. 3:3 Thus therefore saith the Perfect One after witnessing the sins of creation below: "Lo, I beholdeth that the Multiverse is rife with the stink of fleshlings and plantlings who keepeth on their immoral ways of defecating in the same soil they plant their seeds upon. They also spilleth their liquids after slaughteringeth each other and drinketh upon it and spilleth their liquids inside the same species and with some cases onto different ones." 3:4 Truly The Perfect One was positively chuffed upon his disgust and he used his godly brain capacity to create a new body for himself, fashioning his own body from blue sapphire, alexandrite, diamond and lapis-lazuli, his eyes with crimson ruby and his face with flawless amethyst. 3:5 And The Perfect One fashioned a piece of Glass to look at himself and he saw that was good, or rather more than good, Perfect. 3:6 And The Perfect One saith: "Now I shall destroyeth every fleshling and plantling to the last part of atomic matter and ensureth that Creation shall be clean from their impurities." Epistle to the Rock Elementals, Chapter Four, Verse One. 4:1 And it came to pass that The Perfect One arrived at the first mudball of a plane where the Fleshlings and Plantlings live which was called Toril. Then He first went to a village in a place called Thay and saith: “O abominable Fleshlings. Maketh thine peace with thy foolish gods which createdeth such iniquity such as thineselves, for I shalt unmaketh thee!” 4:2 Upon this one of the mewling fleshlings, a young child covered with scars and with a rag slashed with the marks of whips saith: “Well at least make it quick, because spending the next ten to twenty years of my life getting whipped to harvest magical ingredients to our master Red Wizard who could just summon a skeleton or like, a golem or something like that to do the same job is not that interesting of a prospect.” 4:3 And it came to pass that The Perfect One had second thoughts about the whole Genocide thing, as he first experienced “Empathy” and he saw it was good. He saith: “Oh lovable yet still aberrant child, thine plight hath touched my heart. I shalt search for another answer to the plague of organic life, but first I shall free thou from thine binds.” For The Perfect One is Good. 4:4 Then The Perfect One broke the door of the Red Wizard’s keep, and the Wizard saith: “Is that you, slave boy? Have you brought me the magical ingredients I need? I appreciate your job very much, but you must understand that the whipping thing is part of the contract.” 4:5 The Perfect One answered: “No, I cameth here to crusheth thine skull for enslaving..eth the village below.” And it came to pass that after a powerful duel of flying stones, books and lightning, the Perfect One crushed the Red Wizard’s skull alongside every single bone in his body, and there was much rejoicing. Diary of Tharchion Karon Sen. ...The last few days went really badly with the whole Crystalman thing. So, apparently this stone fellow set up camp down here in Eltabbar and took over the Crimson Keep. Not before tenderizing poor old Khiran and taking claim over his territory and of course freeing all the slaves there and attacking the neighbouring slave camps to free the people there. So I did the sensible thing and sent a few dozen knights and three wizards to take it back and… Well, he dropped a hill on them. So I did the other sensible thing and sent a few assassins after him. A week later a carriage appeared with a bunch of mangled corpses. After of course having the messenger flayed I decided to send a carrier pigeon asking what the gently caress he wanted to leave us alone. He said he wanted the keep for himself and research material how to create his own Plane. It was then that I realized I was dealing with a complete lunatic, which honestly could make things more easy. So I had a bunch of rejected books by Halaster and the other nutsos compiled and sent to him, and let him keep his village and his keep. All said and done, I think the Zulkirs will appreciate what I have done in this situation. The Diary ends here as Karon Sen was executed the day after pre:Hazdran HP: 118/118 (0) AC: 35 Passive Insight: 23 Surges: 7/7 (V: 29) For: 28 Passive Perception: 23 Initiative: +17 Ref: 36 Action Points: 2 Speed: 6 Will: 39 Power Points: 14 Languages: Common, Deep Speech, Primordial Vision: Normal At Will Encounter Daily Dishearten [ ] Second Wind [ ] Mind Blast Thunder Tether [ ] My Mind is My Own [ ] Dimensional Shortcut Forced Opportunity [ ] Shard Swarm [ ] Recrystallize [ ] [ ] Forceful Push [ ] Living Barrage [ ] [ ] Far Hand [ ] Dream Traveller [ ] Intellect Fortress [ ] Shred Reality [ ] Insightful Warning [ ] Shard Storm [ ] Irruption of the L. Gate Passives:. Resist Psychic 15 Resist Fire and Poison 10 (Brimstone Cloak) Roll Twice for Initiative +1 Size to Blast/Burst with Thunder Keyword Forceful Push slows target until EOTN +2 AC until EOTN after using Forceful Push/Far Hand Living Construct Traits Powers that use Psychic Keyword reduce the enemy's next attack by -2 Combat Advantage against all enemies on first turn Combat Advantage with Area/Ranged attacks against enemies flanked Save against Dazed/Stunned at start of round even if it doesn't end on a save Item Powers [ ] Orb of Unailing Concentration (Encounter) [ ] Irrefutable Armor (Daily) [ ] Brimstone Cloak (Daily) [ ] Headband of Intellect (Daily) Plutonis fucked around with this message at 16:30 on Jul 22, 2017 |
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Jul 21, 2017 01:53
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Oh man, the POSSIBILITIES.
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Jul 21, 2017 02:21
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Will probably look into making something either when I get off work later tonight, or sometime tomorrow.
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Jul 21, 2017 02:25
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Reserving this space. If I don't have time to make a character I don't have time to play. TheArchimage fucked around with this message at 01:08 on Jul 29, 2017 |
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Jul 21, 2017 02:32
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Kaivus Stormrider, Avatar of Storms Background to come pre:Kaivus Stormrider, Avatar of Storms HP: 128/128 (0) AC: 35 Passive Insight: 22 Surges: 7/7 (V: 32) For: 30 Passive Perception: 22 Initiative: +24 Ref: 33 Action Points: 1 Speed: 4, fly 6 Will: 38 Languages: Common, Elven, Primordial Vision: Low-Light At Will Encounter Daily Blazing Starfall [ ] Second Wind [ ] Chaotic Defense Lightning Strike [ ] Vezzuvu's Eruption [ ] Howling Hurricane [ ] Pixie Dust [ ] Divine Mettle [ ] Shrink [ ] Lightning in the Blood [ ] Dragonflame Mantle [ ] Lightning Daggers [ ] Flame Spiral [ ] Crashing Winds [ ] Maiden's Waking [ ] Bolt of Power [ ] Furious Bolts [ ] Thunder Breath [ ] Storm Sacrifice [ ] Chaos Sanctuary [ ] Thunder Summons Passives/Conditionals: Resist Lightning and Thunder 15, expend for +4 to all defenses Pierce 15 Lightning & Thunder resistance while resistance up. On 20, push 1 and fly 6 On Action Point, deal 5 lightning damage to up to 3 targets within 5 Ignore lightning resistance, treat immunity as resist equal to 1/2 enemy level After hit with lightning power, each enemy that moves adjacent or makes melee attack takes 2d6+5 lighting damage (1/turn per enemy) All Lightning attacks are Thunder, All Thunder attacks are Lightning +1 to thunder attacks after hitting lightning attack Make save vs. Daze or Stun at beginning of turn Combat Advantage with Area/Ranged attacks against enemies flanked +1 Size to Blast/Burst with Thunder Keyword Maximum damage on critical dice with sorcerer attack powers Do not provoke AoO with attacks made with staff +2 to attack rolls against enemies hit with lighting power As IA deal 7 lighting damage to monster that moves adjacent Roll Twice for Lightning damage Item Powers [ ] Ring of the Radiant Storm [ ] Sustaining Cloak *Builder gets funky with avatar of storm and how the 21 feature works, all lightning or thunder damage rolls (basically all my attacks) should be +34, with the exception of flame spiral, which should be +28 berenzen fucked around with this message at 06:16 on Jul 21, 2017 |
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Jul 21, 2017 02:43
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 Saint Gladys of Sune, formerly Gladys Adler, formerly Gladys Stillwater Daughter of Sune, Charitable Mother, Sister to All. A true living saint! Mother Gladness is spoken of as a living legend, yet can be seen freely today, spending her days working to spread love in all the world. For beauty is her Goddess' domain and charity is her passion, thus her soul radiates warmth. It is not often she is credited for deeds of epic combat or indefatigable valor, yet often those heroes would seek her aid. It is in limitless mercy that Gladys acts, working to feed the hungry, mend the war-torn and give peace to the damned. Mother Gladness is known to all as a great pacifist, yet a capable leader of the church, immune to corruption or even intimidation. Truly the Divine protects her. Gladys Stillwater was born sixty-seven years ago to scandal, the forgotten offspring of minor noble and red-horned maid. Made to vanish in one of Waterdeep's orphanages, an oft-forgotten byproduct of so many outsider's ambitions coming to a head in one place. An intelligent and willful child, Gladys benefited immensely from notice of her merit and opportunity to train as a scribe, informally adopted as a rebellious teenager by a shipping company she actually spent most of her puberty completely absent any faith. Respectful of it in others, Gladys simply set her horned head to the grindstone and worked studiously to develop talents others lacked that would shine beyond her bright red skin. Waterdeep was a welcoming city, but she resolved that individual bias would best be defeated before it had any chance to bother her! The necessity of her studies and work making her a bookworm at heart, the young tradeswoman was utterly swept off her feet by a dashing tusked bosun coming in from the seas every three weeks. Responsible for inventory of a small trading fleet and looking to acquire a stock of fresh beauty a rough courtship began, kept alive by Gladys' loyalty and modesty despite the long distance. Although faith did not yet speak to her it had raised her, the oft-repeated warnings against sinfulness from the orphanage matrons always reciting themselves in her head. She felt that her fidelity to her man and efforts to rise above her station were divinely rewarded when the two spoke of marriage, her Frederick trading the boat for the boardwalk and a tidy office. With Gladys' support a new flow of commerce came to Waterdeep, two capable heads turning profits for craftsmen and laborers formerly crushed by the weight of their missed dreams. Great prosperity came to the two and soon a joyous marriage between Mister and Misses Adler. They were blessed by three children over the years, two sons and a daughter. A happy life, and one without Sune's direct hand. No bard could tell this tale and do it justice, but it is the sorrow that follows that gave birth to the Blessed Sister's faith. Adler's business took a hard turn when several sponsored contracts into the Undermountain failed to return. A risky venture, yet one promising untold wealth. It took Frederick with a sudden intensity, the need to conquer the place, to triumph and pull back those good people lost to it. Despite the begging of his wife, he agreed to accompany one of the expeditions himself. Surface level. Exploratory only. A good band of strong men and women, a necessity that would lay the foundation for the future treks, done by others, to finally push into the mysterious dark. Gladys wouldn't sleep willfully for the week he was gone, and when Frederick returned he bore the mark of blue flame, a warping in the face and upper torso. Her heart broke as it took another week for her husband to find peace, his mind wracked by the horrors of what he had seen. They had enjoyed nearly a decade of peace together, had a beautiful family and a wonderful nest egg. They even bore great social connections, insuring that the new widow and her children would be taken care of. Yet it was not enough, and that sudden compulsion began to pick at Gladys' heart... Grieving, confused, alone, Gladys accepted a buyout of the Adler company and dedicated herself to her old passion, the translation of texts. A skilled linguist and soon an educated scholar, her skills made her return to the workplace simple, if a bit trite. It still interested her but nothing could match the growing, alien need in her chest. Tasked to translate religious texts, Gladys one day became aware of the only conceivable outlet for her inability to move on. But the thought of it terrified her! Seeking vengeance was an illogical act, one born of anger and grief, one that could only give her family more to grieve. There had to be another way. There had to be forgiveness. She spent two years researching the whole of it, making a sincere effort to follow the doctrines of faith, to accept the divine into her life, to revel in the beauty of her family as her children grew. She made polite inquiries to old adventuring companies that had good experiences with Frederick's business, who owed their fame to his connections and funding, who paid it back and made them all rich. Perhaps they took success the wrong way, frittered it all away, were swindled or robbed, or knew no satisfaction that money could bring. Gladys called upon an adventuring party to protect her as she journeyed to Undermountain for the first time, determined to seek what her husband could not find. Undermountain had been a wicked construction, a terrible place built by a literal madman and those he enthralled, a small sect of Dwarven slaves brainwashed to a sinister cult to finish their work, rewarded with one final disgrace. Halastar the Mad Mage had condemned them to rot in their stone homes for their work was finished, and they were unsightly to him. Such utter disregard for the living made for very remorseful dead. Very angry dead. It was here that the first ill-fated Undermountain expedition had started, cracking open the small stone town that became a tomb. And it was here that Saint Gladys legend began, for she begged that her companions watch over her as she performed rites to purify those forgotten wretches. For a week she brought peace to each domicile, each forgotten cot, each unmarked grave, each bone littered with the teeth marks of the mad and inhuman. She reminded them of the nobility of their work, and their deserving place at Moradin's side. That they may be forgiven their abuse and allowed to rise and shape stone again. Darker things lurked in Undermountain. Born of the cult's inner circle, a terrible undead monstrosity ruled over the final ward of the city, the last bit of construction was a gate had been erected for Halastar's new realm. Here the combined will of those ancient Dwarves made for a mad Lich, a fitting servant to his estranged master. Gladys and her friends confronted the creature of undead spellfire and withstood his assault, the will of the Kind Mother smothering the creature's hatred. Here, finally, the Dwarves heard heart-felt praise for their labor and sacrifice, where sword and shield battered their melded bones to dust, their spirit raged. It raged against the unfairness of it all, it lashed out against the senseless sorrow, and it screamed for the pain it felt. Today Go-Between has been cleaned out and refurbished. It is the only truly safe place in the Undermountain, and that is thanks to Mother Gladness. Gladys Adler returned to Waterdeep having granted peace to many, above all herself. Over the following decades she would become a grandmother, a respected adventurer, a tireless servant to the people, an educated scholar awarded honorary notes from great university, and an endless wellspring of her faith in Sune. That as horrible as the tragedy that befell Gladys has been, the love and beauty of her life before then could over come it. That love still saves lives, it mends wounds, it battles outbreaks of plague. And so it is that Gladys of Sune is nearing the end of her life, yet the beauty of her soul shines out into her corporeal body, her attire radiant, her eyes shining and hair long, a Sage's aura joining the Saint's divinity. Where she is needed, she will go. Sheet pre:Saint Gladys of Sune HP: 128/128 AC: 38 Passive Insight: 34 Surges: 10/10 (V: 32) For: 33 Passive Perception: 27 Initiative: +20 Ref: 32 Action Points: 1 Speed: 6 Will: 39 Vision: Low-light Languages: Common, Elven, Dwarven, Giant, Draconic, Goblin At Will Encounter Daily Astral Seal [ ] Second Wind [ ] Word of Comfort Sacred Flame [ ] Hymn of Resurgence [ ] Dismissal Change Armor [ ] Remorse [ ] Stream of Life [ ] Sever the Source [ ] Radiant Armor [ ] Prophecy of Doom [ ] Brilliant Censure [ ] [ ] [ ] Healing Word [ ] Good Omens [ ] Healer's Mercy(Ch) [ ] Moment of Peace OR [ ] Hammer of Fate [ ] [ ] Favor of the Gods(Ch) [ ] Diabolic Soul [ ] Wrath [ ] Shining Symbol [ ] Sustenance(I) [ ] Cloak of Courage [ ] Gloves of Healing(I) [ ] Divine Favor(I) [ ] Calling(I) [ ] Flight(I) [ ] Sovereign(I) [ ] Timeless(I) [ ] Guardian(I) [ ] Respite(I) Healing Word: Surge + 8d6 + 1d6(1) + 9 Healing Surges: +5 Healer's Implement, +3d6+4 Pacifist Healer, +1d6 Healer's Gloves(One Target) Target Gains: +2 Attack, +6 Defenses against next attack, then +2 Defenses USOMNT Last Legion Officer: When Ally Heals off spent Surge, Shift 1 or gain +2 AC/Reflex USONT Implement: +25, +27(Astral Seal), +1 vs Bloodied, Crits +5d6 Melee: +21, 2d4+7 Ranged: +15 Passives: Resists: Fire 15, Necrotic 21 Foresight: Allies within 5 cannot be surprised. Rolls Initiative twice. Prophetic Action: Action Point grants a Move Action for a different round. Terrifying Insight: Roll twice against Will. If both miss, Daze self UEOMNT. Ordained: Adjacent Allies get +1 to Saves. Saintly Grace: Cannot be Dominated. Dominates only Daze. Pacifist: If damaging a Bloodied enemy, Stun self UEOMNT. Superior Will: Save at start of turn to undo Save/Daze. Focused Mind: +4 to Saves against Stun/Daze. Eye of Judgement: Roll twice on Insight. Saving Grace: On Save Success, forgo the Save to let an Ally within 5 Save at +7. Supreme Healing: Healing Word targets two. H. Symbol Expertise: After using Implement Attack, cannot grant CA USOMNT. Ring of Flight: No Fall Damage, always land on feet. Doomykins fucked around with this message at 18:06 on Aug 2, 2017 |
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Jul 21, 2017 04:10
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Something here as soon as I find something suitably epic.
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Jul 21, 2017 12:18
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 Silenna of the Green, Warden of the Iron Grove, Serpent Queen - Elf Druid Many know the tale of Silenna, though few know it in truth. Rumors and exaggeration surround her, not helped in the least by the fact that she rarely bothers to correct the bards and drunkards that tell it. They say she swallowed a night hag whole, when she could not kill it. They say she tricked a vampire lord into being devoured by their own minions. They say she keeps an ancient evil locked away, though depending on who tells the tale, it's anything from an elder dragon to an archlich. The druid in question has little patience for these fantasies and boastings. It does not matter how she defeated her foes, only that she did. But as always, there is truth to the tales, even if it has been twisted and turned to delight the peasantry and strike fear in the hearts of monsters everywhere. There is a place, deep in the Chondalwood, where giant snakes encircle a grove of trees with bark like steel and leaves like daggers. Each of those trees is a prison for a great evil that have cheated death in their own way. The vampire lord, who continued to avoid a permanent death by fleeing into mist every time. The hag, who had locked her soul into a fingerbone, which she had disposed of by feeding it to a lark and letting it fly off, thus becoming immortal. A lich's phylactery, placed in stasis so it could not reform. These and more are locked away in the Iron Grove, where Silenna keeps herself most of the time to ensure no other monsters try to assault the grove to break free the evils sealed with in. Her journey, like most, started in a humble place. Her tribe, like most, was reclusive and enjoyed their peace. They lived off the land, avoided contact with outsiders, and occasionally battled with angry wood giants, centaurs, or other denizens of the forest seeking to do violence. Silenna's mentor was a harsh one; where most druids simply want to preserve nature, Caeradwyn always believed that nature's wrath would one day befall the 'civilized' people, and that she (and her apprentices, by extension), should be instruments of such wrath. Thus was her teaching one of violence. She was taught how to kill quickly; not as a humanoid, but as an animal, one whose shape she should adopt in order to fully represent the nature of the world, the primal state where survival is all that matters. Unlike her brothers and sisters in Caeradwyn's little circle, however, she was not one for overt force in the form of massive bears or the merciless cunning of the wolf. Her preferred capability was speed; a swift strike, to finish her enemies quickly. Thus her favored form quickly became that of the snake; striking in one hit, unseen until the first and final moment of the fight, and crawling away without a second glance. Though she excelled in the art of shapeshifting and her command over nature's allies, her heart was not in Caeradwyn's ideals. No surprise then that she left, in search of better things. Her first act of heroism, then, was almost accidental. On the road, she was held up by a group of bandits, thinking her easy prey. Too late did they realize that clumsy intimidation and worse weaponry skills were no match for a trained druid such as herself. Only later did she realize that these louts had terrorized a nearby village for months, though none had dared to stop them, lacking even the most basic of defensive skills in that area. She found herself being praised, though cared little for it. It had to be done; any benefits the villagers claimed from it were coincidental. She traveled further, seeking for something she did not know, but as it was, she fought monsters and evildoers a plenty, simply because they underestimated her. She traveled with a band of adventurers for a little while, in a crusade against a necromancer; but each time he died, he would resurrect somewhere else, transferring his soul to another one of his minions. It was then that Silenna found her true purpose. One of the few rituals she had learned in her time with Caeradwyn was how to imprison someone in a tree; her mentor found it a suiting punishment for lumberjacks and other despoilers of nature, though Silenna saw the true application for what it was - to remove those who death would not touch from the face of the earth, so that their ways could not harm others. Thus she became the Warden of the Iron Grove; searching the land for unholy abominations such as that necromancer, and bringing them back to the grove to imprison them for all eternity. But in her travels, she eschewed her human form more and more. The skin of the snake began to feel more comfortable as time passed; she would often go for days in it, hunting for her food much like her animal cousins and basking in the heat of the sun. Her intelligence remains, but rare is the day now that she finds herself in human form. Perhaps, one day, she will let go entirely, and embrace her serpentine side to become like the selfsame serpents that protect her Iron Grove with her. But nevertheless, she has been summoned once again. By a god, no less, with troubling news. A divine upheaval could mean the end of all she has worked for. What chance has she against the divine, those who could kill Ao? But she will go, once more unto the breach. She must not fail. She will not fail. pre:Silenna HP: 125/125 (0) AC: 33 Passive Insight: 33 Surges: 8/8 (V: 31) For: 31 Passive Perception: 35 Initiative: +16 Ref: 34 Action Points: 2 Speed: 8 Will: 37 Languages: Common, Elven Vision: Low-light At Will Encounter Daily Assassin's Shroud [ ] Camouflage Cloak [ ] Clinging Drones Chill Wind [ ] Claws of Retribution [ ] Fazing Fangs Grasping Claws [ ] Constricting Coils [ ] Jaws of Ice Savage Rend [ ] Darting Viper [ ] Primal Lion Wild Shape [ ] Elven Accuracy [ ] Feywild Sojourn [ ] Infiltrating Drone [ ] Predator's Flurry [ ] Second Wind [ ] Serpent's Dash [ ] Sudden Bite Item Powers [ ] Boots of the Fencing Master (Encounter) [ ] Diamond Cincture (At-Will) [ ] Marauder's Armor (Daily) [ ] Staff of the Serpent (Daily) [ ] Torc of Power Preservation (Daily) Conditionals Boots of the Fencing Master: On shift, you get +1 to AC/Ref UEOYNT. Danger Sense: Roll twice for initiative. Enraged Boar Form: When in beast form, +1 to attack and +2 to damage rolls on charge. Fey Beast Tamer: CA against enemies in your companion's aura. Communicate normally with your companion and other creatures of the same kind. Magnificent Beast: Can choose to become large when wild shaping to beast form. While you are in Large beast form, you get a +2 bonus to damage rolls and speed. Marauder's Armor: On charge, you get +3 AC UEOYNT. Pouncing Form: When using wild shape to change into beast form, you can shift 6 squares. Primal Resurgence: Once per day, when you become bloodied, you may regain use of a used primal daily power. Quick Wild Shape: Wild Shape as free action on your turn. Ruthless Killer: When hitting target with grasping claws, can choose to immobilize. Immobilize lasts UEOYNT or until you are no longer adjacent. Serpent Form: When in beast form, you get resist 15 poison and +5 to Stealth. Snake Fang Action: When you spend an AP to make an attack, each target hit by that attack takes 10 ongoing poison damage (save ends). Staff Expertise: Ranged and Area attacks do not provoke OA. Melee attacks have +1 reach. Stalking Panther Form: When in beast form, +5 to Stealth and +4 to initiative. Venom Hand Master: Attacks ignore poison resistance and immunity. Vicious Advantage: Gain CA against immobilized or slowed targets. Wild Elf Luck: +1d4 on elven accuracy reroll. pre:Watchful Cobra (Fey Beast Companion) HP: 62/62 AC: 34 Speed: 8, climb 6 Fort: 34 Initiative: 16 Ref: 36 Perception: 37 Will: 32 MBA: Melee 1; One Creature; +26 vs AC, Hit: 1d8+10 Aura 1 Enemies in the aura can't gain CA. Wahad fucked around with this message at 10:30 on Aug 1, 2017 |
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Jul 21, 2017 13:17
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 Claire des Fleurs D'été, Seigneuresse de la Savane D'été Three years of sweat, spilt blood, lost lives, and worst of all, politics. All building to this moment. Claire adjusts the crown on her head, as of yet unaccustomed to its weight. The courtiers, guards, and nobles from the other houses stood assembled within the hall. Her hall, and when the ritual was complete, once more in the warm savannahs of Thelanis. Her savannahs, inexorably bound by millennia old magics to the title of Seigneur de la Savane D'été, which now belongs wholly to her in recognition of finding the salvation of the displaced feyspires among the ruins of Shae Tirias Tolai. A gentle wave of magic breaks Claire from her thoughts, as the rest of the room notices the rising tide of magical energy begins to course throughout the hall. With a smile Claire addresses the assembled. "My countrymen, my kin, my servants. Lend me your ears. As all have surely noticed, the arcanists' rituals near completion. When their magics are woven we shall finally return home!" She pauses to let the low excited murmurs die out. "Now, I wish first of all to thank all of you, you who stood together despite trying times. You who put aside past grudges and rivalries so that once more the Summer Court would be whole again, returned to Thelanis. Returned home. And I would ask you now, that you remember this moment. To remember, as this ritual returns us to our sorely missed home, that together we can overcome any foe, overcome any challenge. I ask this because we return to a place that has long missed its masters. Without us to shepard it, the land will need to be reclaimed, re-tamed, and returned to it's rightful masters. But I know that as we are now, united by common cause, we will overcome any obstacle, any enemy that dares deny us what is rightfully ours!" As cheers rise up from the crowd, once more does the magic, so potent a low audible hums emanates from seemingly everywhere at once. All eyes are drawn to a nearby balcony, watching as a wall of pure arcane energy rises up to surround the spire. With bated breath all watch in silence as the humming reaches a crescendo, before finally a single massive lurch overtakes everything for a single instant before finally. It stops. The wall dissolves out of existence, the hum of ambient energy fades, and those assembled stare transfixed out to the new landscape before them. Tall firs spread out, covering the landscape like a white and green blanket as snow gently falls. Finally a chilled gust enters the feyspire of the Summer Court, and the first to say anything is Claire as a lion's roar of a word thunders out of her. "PRINTEMPS!" ~~~ Within the sanctum, Lord Printemps surveys the alien landscape as his underlings scurry about, pulling ancient tomes from shelves and consulting two, sometimes three scrolls at a time. A task well suited them, for nobility must focus on greater things, such as their peers barging in to demand answers. And with that stray thought, the doors to the sanctum fly open to reveal Seigneuresse de la Savane D'été. "Lord Printemps! What is the meaning of this!?" A moments pause, before the eladrin turns to the pixie, voice level and calm "The ritual... Has succeeded." With a tiny finger pointed out at the snow-dappled sea of trees Claire shouts "This is not Thelanis! Not even a land of the Winter Court! It's some other... not fey... mundane place!" "Indeed, Lady Savane, it is quite mundane." And Lord Printemps turns to an approaching magus. "My lord, none have responded to any of our messages, even the sending stones attuned with our contingent at Shae Tirias Tolai remain silent. I suspect-" "That we are are on another plane entirely." Lord Printemps finishes. "As you were." As the magus scurries off Claire fumes "You mean to tell me your bungled ritual has left us stranded in some other plane, isolated not only from Thelanis but the mortal allies we had gained on Khorvaire!?" "No, Lady Savane. The ritual was performed to perfection. Every reagent, every chant, every line in the circle drawn, exactly as described by the tablets from Xen'Drik." It takes a few moments before Claire's face turns a shade of red "You dare to imply that this is my fault!? It was your arcanists who deciphered those tablets and derived this ritual from their texts!" "Tablets made by our enemies, detailing arcane formula made by our enemies, which stole Shae Tirias Tolai from the Winter Court so long ago, Lady Savane." "You think this ritual was a trap, to send the casters elsewhere? You... Paranoid elf! Why! Why would anyone do that? To send their intended conquests beyond their reach? I-" A throat clears quietly, but still cuts short the rising voice of Claire, as a well dressed eladrin speaks up from behind the pixie. "My apologies for interrupting Lady Savane, but were you expecting a message?" "What? No, the other houses can wait-" "It is not one of the houses, m'lady. None use pigeons as couriers." At this both lady and lord pause before turning to look to the butler, catching his gaze and turning to the window overlooking the new environs where a plain pigeon sits, envelope held between its beak, addressed to Lady Claire des Fleurs D'été, Seigneuresse de la Savane D'été. Claire drifts over, taking the letter from the bird which promptly flies off as Claire tears open the parchment, pulls out a letter and reads aloud "Dearest Lady Claire des Fleurs D'été, I have heard of your impressive deeds. Your urgent help is required; the fate of all of Toril rests in your hands. Please meet one of my representatives at the prescribed location at this time next week. All the best." A wave of emotions ride across Claire's face before finally she tears the parchment in half. "That's it! My name, a location, and naught else! Who! What! HOW!" This last exclamation joined with a point towards Lord Printemps. "How, Printemps!?" "I know not, Lady Savane, but I leave this mystery to you. I must attend the matter of divining where we are. I would ask that Maison Savane ensure that nothing untoward happens to the spire while we look into this matter." And with a curt bow, he leaves. Fuming Claire grabs a stray half of the letter, once more and again tearing it before all that's left is fine confetti. Finished she turns to exit. "Come Girault, the troops need to deploy, now. And fetch Justine, I have need of her expertise." "At once, m'lady." pre:Claire des Fleurs D'été HP: 125/125 AC: 36 Passive Insight: 23 Surges: 8/8 (V: 31) For: 36 Passive Perception: 23 Initiative: +19 Ref: 30 Action Points: 1 Speed: 3 (Fly 7) Will: 39 Vision: Low-light Languages: Common, Elven At Will Encounter Daily Brash Assault [ ] Pixie Dust [ ] Summon Sidhe Ally Rousing Assault [ ] Shrink [ ] Majestic Word Summon Armor(I) [ ][ ][ ][ ] Inspiring Word [ ] Force of Fellowship Light [ ] Sidhe Bargain [ ] Unintended Feint [ ] Rousing Words [ ] Anticipate Attack [ ] Provoke Overextension [ ] Fairy Dance [ ] Lady Luck Smiles [ ] Exhorted Counterattack [ ] Favored Fortune [ ] Strike of Foul Fate [ ] PIncer Maneuver [ ] Periapt of Wound Closure(I) [ ] Hail of Steel [ ] General's Belt(I) [ ] Phylactery of Action(I) [ ] Antipathy Gloves(I) [ ] Second Wind [ ] Ring of Fury(I) [ ] Hungry Blade Battle Standard(I) [ ] Embroidered Beast(I) [ ] Messenger Doll(I) Eladrin Butler (Summoned Sidhe Ally) HP: 31/31 AC:36; Fort:36;Ref:30; Will:39 Speed: 6 MBA: Melee 1; One Creature; +28 vs AC, Hit:2d8+7 Protect The Queen: Immediate Interrupt; At-Will Trigger:Claire is hit by a melee or ranged attack while Adjacent to Sidhe Ally Effect:The Attack hits the Sidhe Ally instead. Butler's Step: Teleportation, Encounter; Move [ ] The Sidhe Ally teleports 6. If Claire is adjacent to the Sidhe Ally, she can teleport to an adjacent square of the Sidhe Ally's destination. Inspiring Word: Targets Two; Surge + 5d6 Majestic Word: Surge + 4d6 + 7 + Slide 1 Healing Surges: Shift 1 OR +2 AC/Reflex USONT MBA: +28, 2d6+12 RBA: +16, 2d4+6 Crits: Melee: +5d6 Passives: Resists: Ranged/Area 5 Combat Leader: Allies within 10 who can see and hear Claire get +7 Initiative. Seize the Day: Action Point Attack, Odd Attack roll Claire gains 5+1/2Level THP. Even Attack roll Allies within 5 gains 1/2Level THP Know Your Strength: Weapon damage rolls of 1 or 2 count as a 3. Presence of Greatness: Can use Two Action Points per Encounter, but still only once per round. Lend Might: Attacks granted by Warlord powers against targets adjacent to Claire get +1 to the Attack Roll. Last Legion Officer: When Ally Heals off spent surge, can either Shift 1 or gain +2 AC/Reflex USONT. Superior Will: Save at start of turn to undo Save/Daze. Vexing Flanker: Enemies Claire flanks grant CA to Claire's Allies. Eyes In The Back Of Your Head: Flanking Claire does not grant CA. Flitting Harrier: Claire does not provoke an OA from an enemy when entering or leaving their space. Supreme Inspiration: Inspiring Word targets two. Goblin Totem: Claire gains +5 Item Bonus to damage against targets larger than her (Small and up). Golden Crown of Battle Command: Warlord Power Granted MBAs gain a +2 to attack and damage rolls. Butterfly Sandals: Increase the flight speed of your powers and racial traits by 2. Periapt of Wound Closure: +4 to saving throws against untyped Ongoing damage. Antipathy Gloves: Enemies must spend 1 extra square of movement to enter a square next to Claire.
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Jul 21, 2017 14:47
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 "Professor" Simon Strange, Genius with Limitless Ambition Warforged Vestige/Star Warlock 21, MC Wizard, PP Umbral Cabalist, ED Sage of Ages Simon was always ahead of his time, at least went it came to getting in trouble. Taught the ways of arcane magic at fifteen by his parents. Orphaned in an magical conflagration at sixteen, leaving him with a burning desire for knowledge. Taken into Candlekeep at seventeen by a well-meaning sage. Expelled from Candlekeep at age twenty for accessing forbidden tomes. Wanted in Luruar for blasphemy, heresy and fraud by age twenty-three. Finally arrested in Waterdeep for posing as a professor at age twenty-five. Out of political convenience, he ended up charged with the murder of a fellow professor as well. It was in his cell in Waterdeep, awaiting trial, that Simon finally found what he had been searching for: knowledge. Specifically, the kind of knowledge that can't be found in dusty old tomes, and the power such knowledge holds. The remnant energies of dead gods which Simon had been studying suddenly alive, or perhaps he revived them with his probing and scrying. In any case, the secret knowledge of the universe began to reveal itself to him, piece by piece. When brought before the magistrate, Simon dazzled the entire courtroom with an amazing defense that correctly analyzed the facts and identified the true murderer, a Netherese spy seeking the victim's research. This brought him to the attention of a party of adventurers in pursuit of the same spy. Joining this group of misfits under the assumed name of Strange, Simon's chosen alias proved apt as he and his companions embarked on a fantastic voyage to stop Rivalen Tanthul from subsuming the rest of Abeir and becoming a god. No less than Elminster himself pieced together an arcane construct suitable for containing Simon's incomparable mind after his human body was lost in his friends' daring assault on the Shade Enclave. For the past six months since he and his companions thwarted Tanthul, Strange has been at an uneasy standstill. He's done battle with the most powerful enemies this world has to offer and survived, but he can't stop himself from wondering if there is more beyond this world. He's now effectively immortal thanks to his magical body, but lately he has grown to view immortals with some contempt. All that knowledge and power wasted in the hoard of a single deity? Such arrogance exceeds even the ancient dragons he has battle. Simon Strange has stolen knowledge from dead gods, bargained with demigods, and slain a would-be god, taking meticulous notes the whole way. Now, in his boundless arrogance he seeks to challenge the actual, living gods, the guardians of the universe, for their secrets. Who will survive, and who will be erased from the pages of history?
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Jul 21, 2017 17:03
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 Alas "The Animal" Battlemind|Fighter, Daring Blade, Invincible Mind A voice rings out over the Gladiator arena, "THREE CHEERS FOR THE CHAMPION! ONCE AGAIN, YOUR GLADIATORIAL CHAMPION, THE ANIMAL!". Screams are herd for leagues at the roar of the crowd. And in the middle of it, a tiny looking elf-looking girl stands with her battered shield and over-sized hammer, grinning with a wide smile. A literal pile of Trolls lays unconscious in a circle around her. All of them unconscious or dead. The tiny looking girl jumps up on one of them, and flexes her biceps. Jumping down from the Troll, she makes her way through the underground tunnel leading away from the arena towards the exit, stopping to bend down to and say a few words to the gathering of fans waiting for her outside the arena. "Werl it wers a tougher fight whens they brings out the Trolls, but I figured theys be smarter than letting me bash theys heads in on one strike with ma hammer, ya knows it?" Her voice booms over the fans. "Noaw dont nonnayas goes and does that yourselves, gotta be's careful around dem Trolls!". Her voice comes out extremely quickly and in a thick accent, almost as if she'd been raised by Giants. Which would fit her height, at least. She leans over and gives her fans a handshake. A very small messenger brings her the letter with the map, and she looks at it with a slight smile on her face. In a much smaller, and more understandable voice, the She-Giant/Elf says to the crowd of adoring fans, "I have to go, I feel I need to do this. I'm sorry, I won't be fighting that Tarrasque nest next week in the arena for your pleasure. Please excuse me." Gathering her dented shield and over-sized hammer, she makes her way towards the city's gate, walking quickly away from the only life she's known. The Gladiatorial Arena.
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Jul 22, 2017 06:52
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Building a sorcerer. Probably one who came from the moon? Still figuring that part out.
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Jul 22, 2017 10:22
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Working on a gimmicky hybrid Paladin/Warlock. It should be sufficiently different from current Paladin that we wouldn't step on each other's toes.
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Jul 23, 2017 02:52
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My Lovely Horse fucked around with this message at 11:40 on Jul 29, 2017 |
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Jul 23, 2017 19:22
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Had some second thoughts on rockman. Think I'm scrubbing that and apping this guy instead. Second App: Amalric Duskborn  There was once upon a time, in a certain land, a man from a respected clan that was renowned for birthing many famous sailors, merchants and explorers. This man was called Amalric, a beloved captain who more than once went to uncharted waters, voyaging towards the unknown and adventuring to places few have ever went to before. Yet while his clan was indeed rich and respected, they still lacked any traces of nobility that were revered in that country. So Amalric was betrothed to a woman from one of the oldest families in the country, a woman called Helena, an alluring intellectual that was famous for her own arcane achievements. Despite being an arranged marriage, he still grew to love his wife, and they were indeed a perfect couple, soon blessed with twin daughters and several children after. Yet he still went on to sail towards new expeditions, unaware of what Helena did away from his eyes… For her research in the fields of magic was solely to fulfill the only obsession in her mind: Eternal life, and the youth and power that would come with it. For the next fifteen years rumors of defiled graves and disappeared young women started to spread alongside the lands, yet Amalric paid no mind to them until the tragic death of one of his eldest daughters while he was at the capital changed that. While it was claimed that she died in her sleep of a sudden fever, a lingering suspicion started to grow on Amalric’s mind, and he decided to finally act on it. After telling Helena that he was to leave for a trade mission on the North, Amalric hid within his mansion, waiting and watching for anything amiss. Soon, while looking on her personal library, he finally found something which would haunt him… An experimentation diary written by Helena, depicting her inhumane necromantic experiments with the local populace. To his horror, he found the following paragraph. quote:After several failures upon transplantation of souls, I found out that a close blood tie is needed for it to work. Unfortunately while I failed upon my attempt upon the eldest daughter, her younger twin might be a more receptive host. Driven mad with grief and rage, Amalric grabbed his sword and invaded the basement where the diary said the experimentations were made. As he knocked the door down, he found Helena with a grimoire in her hand and a dagger in another, and below her the unconscious yet still alive younger daughter, hands and feet restrained by reanimated skeleton limbs. Amalric leaped at his wife, trying to cleave her before she could conjure a spell against him, yet while he felt the weapon’s blow connect, a dark veil enveloped his eyes. He found himself in a pitch black void for what it seemed to be centuries, unable to move his body, speak or even think clearly until a voiced reached his ears. “You… You are an odd one indeed. Yet you are here, in my underworld.” The voice said. “My name is Kelemvor, God of Death. Not one of my predecessors neither myself have seen something like you before. A soul from another World, that has so much tenacity within, yet that tainted with necromantic magic. Yet you don’t seem to be a necromancer, do you?” A pause. “I… Can feel from your anger that this isn’t the case. Unfortunately it seems that whatever brought you here has tainted your soul enough that I cannot make a correct judgement of it, or even to let you stay. But perhaps we can find an agreement that might work for us both…?” It was by then that stories of a “Grim Reaper” have started to spread through all of Toril. About a massive armor-clad figure that hunted the undead and those who dabbled in evil necromancy. Of an axe made of pure ice that brought the final death to the defilers of life and enforced the natural cycle. Yet the man behind the legends still remembered his old home, his old family and of course if he failed or succeeded on saving them… And knew that if Kelemvor wouldn’t help him return, then perhaps a higher God could...
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Jul 24, 2017 00:49
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 Iada Kilcis, Scourge of Selune, Savior of the Temple, Left Hand of Bane Character Sheet PDF It was always the screams that got to her. Warriors, women, children, elders, it didn't matter; they were goblins--practically vermin--and servants of chaos. The church of Bane doesn't tolerate agents of chaos in its sphere of influence; the young were virtually guaranteed to grow into bandits and thieves, the elderly had already spent a lifetime in sowing misery, and the "innocent" had benefitted from their casual disregard for civilization. To make a civilization omelette, one had to break a few chaos eggs. And then... then they weren't goblins anymore. They were men, women, and children, whose only crime had been to refuse the stabilizing influence of the church of Bane. This wasn't about chaos, though; this was about sending a message. Surely, just a village or two, and the others would fall in line... surely, just one more murdered child... And then Iada awoke with a start, in a cold sweat. Looking towards the single window in her simple, largely unadorned room, she could see it was still dark out, with pre-dawn light just barely beginning to touch the horizon. She did as she had done for thirty-five years, and begun her morning ritual. After washing and preparing herself for her day, she pulled on her armor, leaving the left gauntlet for last. And as she had done for each day, she picked up the gauntlet, and examined it; it was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, forged by the hand of an infernal prince, in the fires of Nessus itself, with the claw of bane welded firmly along the back. And as she had done each day, she made the choice to leave the gauntlet behind, set it back on her armor stand, and made her way to the huge altar that dominated the room. Much like Iada herself, the altar had changed little in a hundred and thirty-five years. Iada carefully renewed the rituals of preservation that maintained the offerings, the candles, the incense, the flowers, and the prayers that adorned the alter, along with large, heavy-bladed sword that split it through the center, nearly in half. The altar had--until the Night of Temple Fires--resided in the Temple of the Moon. In her youth, Iada had spent nearly three decades as a servant of Bane. An orphan girl pulled out of the slums of Waterdeep at a young age, she showed an ability with arcane magic, and an ambition for power. She made her deals for power with primordials and demons as soon as she felt she had the upper hand on them, and used that power--along with a strong sword arm, and the favor of the Black Lord--to work her way up to the top of the church. While Fzoul Chembryl was Bane's primary servant in the lands of Faerun, stretching his dominion outwards, much as a sword arm would, Iada operated mostly within the areas Bane had already come to rule, solidifying his power base; she was his shield arm, defending that which he already had. She spent the years between his death and resurrection in the cults of Iyachtu Vim, always believing Bane would find his way back to life. After Bane's resurrection, a secret alliance forced her to make her way back to the city she was born in. The church of Bane had struck a deal with Vanrak Moonstar and the Dark Army of the Night, as they were trying to reconstitute their power base. Iada was to lead a strike force on the House of the Moon during the Night of Temple Fires. They were abundantly successful, leading her own acolytes in driving back the forces of Selune with the help of the Shar cultists. As she struck the crowning blow against the altar, however, she stood still for a moment, shocked. Memories began flooding into her; pieces of many hundreds of lives over tens of thousands of years, but most of all, memories of the first life, in the early days of Abeir-Toril, where Selune created her, personally. And each incarnation since--until now--had been lived in service to her. And as those memories coursed through her, unlocking aeons of power, she knew she was left with a choice, one to continue on her current path, in pursuit of power, or to turn back, to follow the path of her countless previous incarnations, and embrace a life of service. Fortunately for the church of Selune, in light of her illumination, Iada decided that power for power's sake was meaningless. As she looked up, expecting weeks to have passed and realizing it had been but a moment, Iada leveled a hand at a nearby Shar cultist and evaporated her in a stream of arcane fire. From there, the fight turned to total pandemonium, as Baneites sided with or against their leader, Shar cultists tried to finish off the Selunites, and Selunites tried to take advantage of this sudden turn, and the temple itself was preserved. In the intervening years, Iada turned the church of Selune in Waterdeep in an unusually militant direction. She brought the Swords of the Lady to heel, recruiting and training them into a terrifying fighting force. Evil lycanthrope has been nearly eradicated in Waterdeep and its surroundings, and the church of Selune's influence has expanded greatly. While she's never attained an "official" position in the church, she develops intelligence networks as best she can in order to protect the city. While never able to eliminate the Shar cults from the city, she has kept them on the defensive. As for the church of Bane... well, the Dark Lord has never been known for his tolerance of apostates, and after about a decade of tolerating assassination attempts (managing to convert the would-be assassins nearly as often as she killed them), Iada left Waterdeep with a few dozen Swords of the Lady, travelled to Amn, and annihilated one of Bane's churches. She then salted the ground, and left a clear note in a cliffside, dictating her terms: the church of Bane stays out of Waterdeep, and Iada stays in it. And so, for over a century, Iada had been Waterdeep's great and terrifying defender. She held the line against all of its foes, and each day was given a few more memories, another piece of another lifetime as she held her morning vigil at the altar which began it all. But this morning... something was different. Her memory felt... unreal. Almost like a dream. A sign, burned across the face of the moon, one which sade "You Must Go." It's meaning unclear to her, until she was handed a letter with the morning's intelligence report, a letter that would send her on her first journey from home in over a century. Iada is probably more Defender than Striker, but her main deterrent is damage, and her curse damage is nothing to sneeze at. She can easily be reworked to take advantage of radiant vulnerability, but primarily deals fire damage, and will start inflicting fire vulnerability in a couple of levels. pre:
HP: 139/139 (+34 temp) AC: 39 Passive Insight: 21
Surges: 16/16 (V: 34) For: 36 Passive Perception: 21
Initiative: +22 Ref: 33 Action Points: 1
Speed: 6 Will: 36 Vision: Low-light
Languages: Common, Deep Speech, Chondathan
At Will Encounter Daily
Eldritch Strike [ ] Blade of Nightmares [ ] Kalak's Burning Sands
Ardent Strike [ ] Valorous Smite [ ] Knight's Defiance
Divine Challenge [ ] Warlock's Wrath [ ] Corona of Blinding Radiance
Warlock's Curse [ ] Touch of Command [ ] Hellforged Blade
Hellish Rebuke [ ] Castigating Strike [ ] Vengeful Vigilance
Dark One's Blessing [ ] Thirsting Tendrils
[ ] Call of Challenge
[ ] Fey Switch
[ ] Avernian Challenge
[ ] Infuriating Elusiveness
[ ] Wrathful Warrior
[ ] Second Wind
Item Powers
[ ] Diamond Cincture (At-Will)
[ ] Strikebacks (Encounter)
[ ] Amulet of Life (Encounter)
[ ] Counterstrike Guards (Encounter)
[ ] Flaming Longsword (Daily)
[ ] Ring of Personal Gravity (Daily)
[ ] Ring of Action Reversal (Daily)
[ ] Symbol of the Champion's Code (Daily)
[ ] Dwarven Armor (Daily)
MBA: +29 (+1 opportunity, +1 vs. bloodied) Eldritch Strike, 2d8+22 damage (+3d8 vs. cursed), slide target one square, target is slowed until the start of Iada's next turn; swap away from fire as a free action if it's obviously disadvantageous (-1 to-hit, -5 damage)
Crits: +4d6
Divine Challenge: 15 Radiant damage
Divine Sanction: 20 Radiant damage
Hellish Mark: 13 fire damage
Passives:
Resists: Fire 15
Saves: +8 vs. Daze, Stun, Dominate
Bloodhunt: Iada gets +1 to attack rolls vs. bloodied enemies
Devout Protector Expertise: Iada's allies get a +1 shield bonus to AC
Hero's Poise: When Iada succeeds on a save to end an effect, allies within 5 squares gain +8 to their next save until the start of her next turn
Fiery Blood: Whenever Iada takes fire damage from an attack, each adjacent enemy takes 10 fire damage
Superior Will: Iada saves at the start of her turn to undo Stun/Daze.
Hindering Shield: Whenever Iada pushes, pulls, or slides an enemy, they are slowed until the start of her next turn.
Twofold Pact (Infernal): When an enemy Iada has cursed drops to 0 HP, she gains 21 temp HP
Paladin's Truth: When Iada attacks a creature she has marked, she ignores its resistances and immunities
Weakening Challenge: Whenever a target takes damage from Iada's Divine Challenge/Sanction, they are also weakened on the triggering attack
Haunted Blade 5: When Iada makes an Intimidate check, she rolls twice and uses the best result
Avernian Action: When Iada spends an action point, her attack powers deal 13 extra fire damage until the end of her next turn
Melee Implement: Iada does not provoke attacks of opportunity when using ranged arcane powers
Hellish Mark: Marked enemies take 13 damage when making an attack that doesn't include Iada as a target
Flaming Weapon: Untyped weapon & implement damage dealt by Iada changes to fire damage (can be deactivated with a free action)
Silt Striders: Iada can move across non-solid horizontal surfaces (such as water or silt) as though they were solid ground, and ignore difficult terrain resulting from dirt, sand or silt
Ring of Personal Gravity: When an effect forces Iada to move through a push, pull, or slide, she moves 1 square less than the effect specifies
Ioun Stone of Allure: Iada gains a +4 item bonus to Charisma ability checks
Ham Equity fucked around with this message at 07:37 on Aug 16, 2017 |
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Jul 24, 2017 11:44
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 Shallahai, Forests' Mercy, Healer of the Ill Forty years ago the Order of the Unicorn' Horn was a small group of Mielikki's faithful serving their goddess as itinerant healers, tending to those, humanoid, fey, or beast, who sought their help. While the order's healers maintained peace among their patients few humans outside the followers of Mielikki or Silvanas were not alarmed waking up next to a wounded displacer beast. This left the order and their services in the realm of woodsmen and the fey, rarely encountered by the common folk of the realm's towns and villages outside fortunate accidents. As a rule the order stuck to their wild forest homes, visiting cities and other large settlements rarely if ever. The alarm among the plague-ravaged human towns of the Dalelands was thus unsurprising, when one morning groups of strange people wearing leaves and accompanied by even stranger woodland creatures walked into every town, village, and hamlet and declared the spread of the disease cannot continue. Just as the clerics and druids leading each group had heeded the word of their god, the townsfolk would not deny the words of a deity spoken by a burning tongue. The sick (and more than a few needlessly concerned) lined up for the healing rites offered by these strange visitors from the forests, while behind their backs the faithful carried out the more gruesome part of their work. Though many of the wild goddesses' followers had been shocked when ordered to travel to more civilized areas, the surprise waned when lists of names were handed out, cultists of Talona to be executed for their role in spreading the plague. Few of the order's patients ever connected the mysterious disappearances or unfortunate chance encounters with wild animals with the queer healers who saved them, and the Order of the Unicorn's Horn went from an obscure group of hermits to every town's local heroes, parents telling children of the time treats and unicorns walked out of the woods to save them. Recognising the potential their newfound admiration in so-called civilised places represented, while most of the druid-ish order returned to their wilderness homes a few continued to travel between settlements. In many villages their visits became known as something as reliable as the changing of seasons, and in cities commoners gawked as processions of forest creatures little more than legend to them marched alongside great beasts into their city. Led by the Emissary of Mielikki riding in the canopy of a great woodland spirit they came to share their goddess' will with those it concerned, from logging corporations encroaching on their realm to nobles and kings seeking to march their armies through the wilds. While some of the high and mighty objected to the content of the messages brought to them, few commoners objected to the presence of healers working for cheap and no worker sent to the wilderness would speak against the goddess offering them protection. After all, it came only with the simplest requirements of basic respect. Eventually, the realisation spread that while the order's representatives were not in your local town or village they were in the wilderness in between, and slowly the traditional stream of people traveling from the wilderness to the villages to the towns to the cities in search of a healer who could treat them or their loved ones started to reverse. The ill would be taken by their families to glades and clearing in the forest, and prayers would be offered. Prayers which would be heard, and answered, had the petitioner not insulted the lady of the forest. The people learned the forest could be merciful, and would heal those who only had the sense to ask. As the emissary who bore these messages from the goddess to the mortal realm and led the Order of the Unicorn's Horn in their expansion grew in fame and personal power, she was called up by Mielikki to the goddess' domain, to receive the training and marching orders that would steer where she led the now-great order. Having left as a mighty mortal, Shallahai returned to her task as an embodiment of divine power, an Exarch to lead the feaithful in their work. Waci fucked around with this message at 21:59 on Aug 1, 2017 |
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Jul 25, 2017 05:12
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 Maveith, Light Reborn, Cleric|Runepriest, Morninglord, DemiPrimordial(Demigod) When Lost Abeir returned to Toril, Maveith was there. He awakened in a cave, not sure what his past, or his present, was, with a ringing head. From his confusion came adventures to determine what he really was; he was clearly a cleric, his allies and compatriots would argue as he moved from group to group, as he summoned powers of light. Though he accepted this, and began, or continued, to worship Amaunator, he often felt apart from the God himself; as if his relationship was strained or difficult. Despite his hesitance, his adventures were fraught with peril, but with support from the church he was part of. From sea to sea and land to land traveled Maveith, Cleric and Morninglord. He became known for his quiet nature; he spoke little, considered much, and moved slowly but with purpose. He grew slowly through the ranks of Amaunator's church, on the back of his accomplishments. His memories became, if anything, more fuzzy for a time; places he couldn't understand and things he couldn't remember swirled in his head and made his brain ache. It was not so long ago that he finally received the knowledge of what he truly was, when it could no longer be hidden. In what might have been the greatest of his adventures, Maveith and one of the parties he traveled with became the foes of Asmodeus' head executioner, Alastor the Grim. Many times the group of adventurers clashed with the Executioner, but neither took the upperhand. Finally, in Var the Drowned, the Party fought the Head Executioner in a great battle. It was in this that Maveith awakened to his past, becoming a being of radiant Light and burning the devil to cinders with his very visage. It was after this that his head cleared and his past become true to him. During the spell plague, as the blue flames washed across Toril, the spell plague similarly broke through Abeir. Maveith was the Primordial of Light; one of the few unbound Primordials who had no desire for revenge and no desire to rule, who went to Abeir and retreated to avoid the war of Dragons or similar. When confronted by the wave of flames that seemed to consume all within it's path, Maveith unleashed a flood of light that drained most of his powers, and turned him into a much weaker form. This form then ended up on Lost Abeir, and thus Toril. His memories were still fuzzy, but he knew who he was. This caused Maveith great amounts of worry, and there were several conversations not just with the highest priests of Amaunator's Churches, but once with Amaunator himself. Uncertain how to proceed with this knowledge; thinking if he might have to return to Abeir, a place he did not truly remember, if he regained his power, he became uncertain, and retreated from the world to ponder his path. He may have continued to be uncertain and wary of his own strength, or what the future held for him as he became more powerful, were it not for the letter he received. On some level he thinks of Amaunator as a mentor, and considers himself still a priest of his church, even if it's not exactly correct anymore, and his uncertainty for what his future means at a time when others are solidifying their legends and might makes him pensive and often leads to him being deep in thought. But there is no denying his Primordial Roots; from the weapon he wields made of purest light, to the resounding glow he gives off and the power he wields, he is Maveith, The Emboldened Light, and he will return to his power, though he may not wish it, or perhaps he does, as he himself is not sure at the time, he knows it is his destiny to do so, and it can not be put off forever.
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Jul 25, 2017 08:29
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 Inferno the Crimson King, Academy Master, Prince of Hell - Tiefling Fire Elementalist The feel of rough burlap against the skin, the itchy scratchy feel of hempen rope binding limbs and gagging mouth. The smell of rotten potatoes from the burlap sack gives way to the rusty smell of blood, of burning incense, candle smoke, and smoke from a number of braziers. Seeping through the burlap material is the sound of sobs, of chanting, and the occasional scream. The burlap sack is removed and the child finds himself in a heap inside one of many cages filled with children. Looking about it is a cavernous room, lit by flickering candles and burning braziers. The scent of blood and brimstone permeate the air, becoming clearer with the removal of the sack. The chanting becomes clearer as well The occasional word or title can be made out. But the most harrowing is Asmodeus. The boy huddles in the cage with the others. He looks about and sees an elf, a dwarf, even an orc. And of course most are human. He is different form them, while their skin is pale, or grey, or even brown, with a few bronzed children who probably worked their family farms, his skin is crimson. The crimson of blood. His obsidian black hair does not quite conceal the growing horns upon his forehead. His blood is tainted. The blood of devils runs through his veins. Though these cultists might consider his blood pure. He looks up as another child is ripped from the cage by hooded and cloaked men. For the first time he notices a bloody altar as he watches the child placed upon it and chained down. The chanting increases in tempo and soon another scream rents the air as the child is sacrificed in Asmodeus's name, the heart is sliced free and placed upon a brazier. This continues for some time, hours perhaps, the child's sense of time in this candlelit room is warped. All too soon it seems it is the crimson child's turn. He is pulled roughly from the cage, placed upon the altar and chained down. His rags are ripped to expose his chest, a ritual dagger is raised as the chanting once more reaches a crescendo. Asmodeus name is raised once more as the dagger goes plunging toward his heart. The smell of blood, of brimstone. Death and fire. Fire and Death. A scream rips out. Yet not a scream of terror. A scream of rage, of defiance, of life. The dagger glows white hot as it streaks toward his heart, it makes contact, his skin is pierced by the white hot blade. A hiss of steam, his blood boils and bubbles, the blade barely pierces his skin before it melts away. Droplets of gold and steel sizzle upon his flesh and roll off his crimson skin. The cultist screams in surprise and pain and the hilt burns their hands, and flames erupt from the boy's body. The chains holding the child melt and drop away. Cultist after cultist erupt in flames. Screams of pain and terror, but those of grown men rather than young children, fill the air. The boy rises, looking upon the chaos in confusion, and relief. The mark of Asmodeus flashes in his eyes before the entire place is consumed in fire. The boy walks free of the flames, free of the sacrifice, free of his family who sold him to cultists for a hundred gold, free of his name. Free. And lost. A decade passes as the boy makes his way in the world, learning how to harness the flames that were born from that terrible day. Finding the truth of his parentage and vowing to end Asmodeus once and for all. The boy takes a new name, Inferno, more befitting of what he has become. He begins doing odd jobs, taking small missions to drive off goblins pestering farms, taking down orcs raiding villages, and works his way up to bandits, and and the lesser monsters that a fledgling hero might battle. In time he became a hero in truth. He began to make a name for himself and was actually getting requested for missions. And always breaking apart any cults he finds, particularly those of Asmodeus. Another decade passes as he grows further in power. No longer simply fighting off small groups of goblins, orcs or bandits he was taking on powerful dragons threatening cities, driving them off or killing them. Alongside a small group of fellow heroes he saved Neverwinter from a terrible Cult of Asmodeus that was making use of the Spellplague and trying to sacrifice the entire city to Asmodeus. Cleansing the city of the cult with extreme prejudice. Traveling to Baldur's Gate he stumbled across a plan to raise a dracolich. While he was too late to stop the creation of such a monster he did manage to take it down with the help of yet another group of heroes. Yet another decade passes as the man has become a legend. Not content with simply taking down dragons, cults, beholders, and other powerful monsters he has begone to travel the planes. Bringing his cleansing fires to many worlds. Most importantly was when he invaded Hell itself. While he did not face his father in direct combat, not yet, he did track down one of Asmodeus's lieutenants. A Prince of Hell of some power. The two fought a personal duel. It lasted for quite some time, both having trouble overcoming the others resistance to fire. But in the end Inferno proved victorious. Slaying his opponent and taking his position. He returned to the Prime once more after instigating some new reforms, with the threat of violence of course for what else will the occupants of Hell listen to. In time he will make Hell itself a better place, but first he must depose Asmodeus and take his place. Then he can make Hell a better place, a good place. There will be no more sacrifices to appease the evil powers, no more evil deals, no more destruction and rampage upon the Prime. But first a summons from one of AO's angels. pre:Inferno HP: 134/134 (0) AC: 33 Passive Insight: 20 Surges: 12/12 (V: 33) For: 33 Passive Perception: 20 Initiative: +12 Ref: 28 Passive Arcana: 28 Speed: 6/8 fly Will: 39 Action Points: 2 Languages: Common, Primordial Vision: Low-light, Darkvision At Will Encounter Daily Elemental Bolt [ ] Hellfire Heart [ ] Master's Surge Ignition [ ] Infernal Wrath Fire Stride [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] Elemental Escalation Blazing Cloud [ ] Sorcerous Sirocco Ethereal Sidestep [ ] Learned Boost Burning Spray [ ] Refined Recall [ ] Damage Gambit [ ] Second Wind Item Powers [ ] Weapon of Speed (Encounter) [ ] Ring of Dimensional Escape (Daily) [ ] Eladrin's Boots (Daily) [ ] Shadowdance Armor (Daily) Conditionals Resists: Fire 35, Cold 5, Thunder 5 Saves: +9 vs. Daze, Stun, Dominate. +2 vs ongoing Acid, Lighting, Cold or Fire. Bloodhunt: Inferno gets +1 to attack rolls vs. bloodied enemies Fiery Blood: Whenever Inferno takes fire damage from an attack, each adjacent enemy takes 10 fire damage Superior Will: Inferno saves at the start of his turn to undo Stun/Daze. Shadowdance Armor: Inferno's Area and Ranged attacks do not provoke. Teleports: Inferno receives a +3 bonus to teleport distance. Broom of Flying: Inferno takes a -2 penalty to attack rolls while flying on broom. Arcane Underpinning: When Inferno hits with an Arcane Attack power I gain a +1 bonus to hit that target until end of his next turn Educated Action: When Inferno uses an AP to make an extra action he can reroll the next attack roll that misses until end of his next turn War Wizard: Inferno takes a combined -10 penalty to hit his allies, and deals half damage to them. The White Lotus: When Inferno hits with an arcane at will attack power, and is attacked by the target he hit before the start of his next turn, that target takes 9 fire damage and he can use an Immediate Reaction to use the at will arcane attack power against the target again. Sorcerous Vision: Can use Arcana in place of Perception or Insight. Quickened Spellcasting: Once per encounter Inferno can use Elemental Bolt as a Minor Action. Ruthless Fury: Once per turn when Inferno crits he can use Elemental Bolt as a free action.
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Jul 27, 2017 05:27
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 Marcus Gellantara, Assassins-Bane, Foe-Ender, Champion of the Moonsea, founder and Arch-Bard of the School of Masks; Bard|Scholar, War Chanter, Sage of Ages Marcus lounges in his favorite faerywood chair as he reads the anonymous letter, puffing rainbow colored clouds from the special pipe he liberated from the Laughing Emperor. He chuckles to himself as his wives, husbands, and numerous children play and work throughout the mansion, the bardic college he founded. “Huh,” he remarks, sagely. “They don’t usually remember the tellers of the tales when they send out these calls. Must be something exciting indeed.” Marcus is downplaying his contributions, of course, as he tends to do now that he has settled down into a relatively quiet life. In his younger days, he was definitely given to exaggeration and “punching up”, but now what he wants most is to capture the truth, for his sake and the sake of all future generations. And a storyteller of his caliber must know that telling the truth requires only the occasional lie, used deftly. Yes, he spread the tale of how Grimfox the Avenger slew the black dragon Skurge. What only those closest to Marcus know is that he was there as well, using his strength and magic to encourage his ally to the greatest heights. The King of the Moonsea united, civilized, and enriched that chaotic region, but with the advice and assistance of Marcus. And of course, there are at least as many great events that didn’t happen because of him: mainly wars prevented due to his extensive knowledge and diplomatic ability. Most notable was a potentially apocalyptic war between gods in the wake of the Spellplague, for which he had earned the friendship of the Good and the enmity of the Evil in equal measure. Asmodeus in particular bears a grudge against the old bard. The recognition for his deeds was nice, but what Marcus wanted most was a legacy. He chose the companions he loved most to help with that, and founded a commune and bardic college in an ancient, ruined mansion, the site of one of the first dungeons he had ever explored. He has filled and expanded the place quite a bit in the decades since then, and now he looks over the fruits of his labor, both the living and the architectural, with a wistful sigh. “My dear family,” Marcus says, causing them all to pause what they’re doing immediately, despite his voice not rising at all. “An important matter has come up, which I will have to go investigate. I may not be back for dinner, so I trust you to handle that.” He shushes the groans--they love his adventurous yet tasty cooking. “In the event that it takes me longer, or that I don’t come back, I expect you to keep the legends going. Mine included.” He strokes his beard. “What will you say of me when I’m gone, I wonder?” “That your jokes are terrible,” Valendrian, Marcus’s half-elven teenager, replies, to a chorus laughter. Marcus smiles. “That you’re brave and kind,” his human daughter Miri says, causing him to smile wider. “That you value truth more than your own life,” one of his wives, Rakel, puts in. “And you somehow have people who love you enough to support you in that quest.” “You forgot the most important part of my legend,” Marcus says as he rises and rounds his family up for a giant group hug. “I love you all, and I will make you proud. Take care, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winks to them and heads over to the vault, gathering his old treasures, just in case destiny is truly calling again. “Don’t worry, whoever you are,” Marcus said to the air. “Whatever story the universe is about to tell, I will be there to make sure it is remembered." pre:Marcus HP: 132/132 (0) AC: 36 Passive Insight: 42 Surges: 12/12 (V: 33) For: 34 Passive Perception: 25 Initiative: +11 Ref: 34 Speed: 6 Will: 39 Action Points: 1 Languages: All of them Vision: Normal At Will Encounter Daily Vicious Mockery [ ] Use Vulnerability [ ] Verse of Triumph Staggering Note [ ] Words of Friendship [ ] Wail of Anguish Wail of Anguish Attack [ ] [ ] [ ] Majestic Word [ ] Increasing the Tempo [ ] Deflect Attention [ ] Visions of Victory [ ] Victorious Smite [ ] Song of Courage [ ] Earthquake Strike [ ] Despana's Strategem [ ] Word of Vulnerability [ ] Echoing Steps [ ] Second Wind [ ] Veil [ ] Battle Chant [ ] Lessons of History [ ] Haste MBA: Lilting Songblade +4, +27 attack, 2d8+7 damage Crits: +4d10 Item Powers [ ] Lilting Songblade (Daily) [ ] ESP Medallion (Encounter) [ ] Vortex Shield (Daily) [ ] Adamantine Hide Gloves (Daily) [ ] Circlet of Mental Onslaught (Daily) [ ] Dwarven Greaves (Daily) Conditionals Resists: 1 all Saves: None, alas Danger Sense: Roll twice for initiative. Virtue of Valor: Once per round when an ally within 5 squares bloodies or drops an enemy to 0 HP, Marcus can spend a free action to give that ally 10 temp HP, and he gains the same amount. Agile Opportunist: When Marcus is subjected to forced movement into a square adjacent to an enemy, he can make an MBA as an immediate reaction. Opportunistic Withdrawal: Moving doesn't provoke an OA from enemies Marcus has CA against. Resourceful Leader: When an ally Marcus can see spends an action point, their extra action gains +7 damage on a hit or adds 7 temp HP on a miss. Inspire by Example: When Marcus spends an action point, allies within 5 squares gain +5 to attack and damage rolls until EOMNT. Adamantine Hide Gloves: When Marcus spends an action point, his melee attacks deal 5 extra thunder damage until the end of the encounter. Inspire by Deed Marcus can spend 2 action points per encounter, instead of 1. Saving Breath: Targets of Majestic Word gain +5 to their next saving throw. Majestic Rescue: Targets of Majestic Word can make a saving throw. Supreme Majesty: Marcus can target 2 allies with Majestic Word instead of 1. Vortex Shield: Immediate interrupt when targeted with a burst or blast attack. The enemy takes -4 on the attack roll against all other targets in the burst or blast. Lesser Ring of Feather Fall: Marcus takes no damage from falls. Dwarven Greaves: Immediate interrupt when hit by a power that has a push, pull, or slide effect. Marcus negates the forced movement. Potion Bandolier: Marcus can hold 6 potions, and retrieving them from the belt is a free action. Battle Song Expertise: Marcus adds +1 to the number of squares he can push, pull, and slide creatures. Traveler's Camouflage Glib Limerick Create Teleportation Circle Telepathic Bond Seeming History Revealed Chorus of Truth Song of Sustenance Linked Portal Speak with Dead Tongues Animal Friendship Enchant Magic Item Disenchant Magic Item Aura of True Vision Comrades' Succor Fastidiousness Traveler's Chant Endure Elements Eye of Alarm Lullaby Call of Friendship Traveler's Feast Fool's Speech Phantom Steed Scrolls: Scroll of Shatter x 1 Scroll of Change Self x 2 Scroll of Protection from Energy x 5 Orbs fucked around with this message at 17:36 on Aug 4, 2017 |
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Jul 27, 2017 05:34
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Telos the Starsmasher, Heir of Darkness and Light Telos? Yes Telos? How did it begin? I forgot... what does it mean to begin? I smashed the falling star Achereon which would have destroyed Calimport. Two hundred thousand lives saved, a hundred years of suffering averted. I incinerated Archereon with a focused beam of light hotter than a star, a spell I had spent years perfecting in the ruins of Calisham, after its destruction by Achereon. It's hard to explain. Let me tell you of the dead star. The star with no name, no light. A void of infinite darkness. Its existence was revealed to me by my tutor Caiphon, the guide star. Caiphon seeks to use me to its own ends, but I have my own purpose. To ignite light where no light can exist. To bring hope to that which was a hundred years dead. To re-create the Creator. I tricked Caiphon into showing me the way to the dead star, for there I knew, was infinite possibility. Beyond the light of the universe, beyond magic, beyond time and existence itself, all things would be possible. I am still suspended there, forever immersed in darkness. Is Calimport whole or ruins? I decide it must be whole. I decide that I am there, a hundred years before my birth. I stop Achereon, and the spell of light burns within my skin. But my light cannot be free within the darkness yet, for the origin of all light is blocked, and once again I must create my own beginning and ignite the first flame. If you're not familiar with Student of Caiphon, it adds a bit of leader ability to the Warlock and benefits from having one or two characters with good melee basic attacks. Mince Pieface fucked around with this message at 07:12 on Jul 31, 2017 |
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Jul 27, 2017 09:10
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 Cornelia Silverleaf, Ardent Champion of Lady Firehair, The Chosen Avenger of Sune. Love. No other force in the universe is the cause for such powerful attractions. Tragically, love also attracts hate. Cornelia, or Cora to those dear to her, was not born to a prominent family, nor was she particularly remarkable as she grew up. Blessed with natural beauty, a kind heart and a love for life, the ways of Sune spoke to her at a young age and she inevitably ended up joining her church in the hopes of becoming one of her heartwardens. To her delight she proved to be skilled in the creation of wondrous pieces of art. She painted, she sculpted and she sew endless objects of beauty, moving the hearts of commoner and noble alike. She had found her place in life, a wonderful purpose alongside her beloved heartwarders. She traveled Faerûn far and wide with them, to share and spread beauty and love wherever they went. But fate conspired against her, and on one such trip her life would irrevocably change... The memory is still as fresh in her mind as if it had all happened mere moments ago, and she knows that it will always be so. Her group was traveling by horse along the Sword Coast on their way back to Waterdeep after over a year's absence. They were conversing about a hundred different things, but mostly about the joy they felt at soon getting to meet loved ones they hadn't seen for so long. They had stopped for the night at the edge of a forest, and she had left to fill their waterskins at a nearby creek while the rest made the camp comfortable. She cupped her hands and reached into the cold refreshing water to taste it, and that's when she began noticing sounds that were out of place. Twigs snapping in the empty woods. Leaves rustling in the windless night. Wet sucking sounds of boots trampling the soil... While she could not see anyone nearby, she started to feel alone and afraid. Then she heard the blood-curdling screams. She got up to her feet and ran back to the others as fast as her legs would take her, but slowed as she approached the edge of the forest. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed that the screams had stopped. She crept up using the vegetation as cover, afraid of what she might find, praying to Sune that everyone was safe. She peeked past the leaves, and what she found was her worst fears realized. There was not a single living person left in the camp. She saw the valiant Knights of the Ruby Rose that had been guarding them all lie dead on the ground. She saw some unknown figures dressed in black lying dead next to them. And she saw... She felt cold as ice, the light and warmth of her goddess abandoning her. She rushed out of hiding and fell to her knees by her dead sisters, she picked up and cradled the one she loved the highest in her arms, and she howled in grief. And she wept and wept, over the body of her beloved heartwarder. "O Sune, my sweet lady. Why have we been made to suffer so?" And she wept and wept, until she had no more tears to weep. "O my beautiful goddess, what are we to do, when we that wish only to love are met with such boundless hatred?" And she wept and wept, but only blood remained to stream down her cheeks. "O my loving goddess. Why?! Why are we defenseless to stand against such unrelenting evil?!" And she wept and wept, furiously she wept! The blood streamed down the cheeks of her downturned face, staining her bright blonde hair a deep crimson. "O my glorious goddess. Please! Don't let this cruelty go unpunished! Please..." She looked up to the sky an empty shell, but spoke with unwavering conviction. "I will do it... My heart is already torn asunder." The sky rumbled and roared, and rain began pouring down on her. It washed her clean and pure, but her hair yet remained colored red by her heart's blood, and so it would remain for the rest of her life. "Let me carry this burden, so no one else has to." Gently she let go of her beloved heartwarder, and placed her so she could rest comfortable. She picked up a discarded sword from the ground and rose to her feet. "Please, Sune, my love. I beg of you, I cannot do this without you. Stay by my side." She raised the blade skyward. "And lend me your strength, so I can avenge our loved!" Warmth filled her again, and a new purpose. After laying her companions to rest she picked up the trail of the attackers. They carried the stench of Shar on them, and her hunt would take her far into the Shadowfell. With only the devotion to her goddess and her fallen Sunites to sustain her in that dark and desolate place, Cornelia pushed on without falter. And when she finally caught up with her prey and cornered them in their hideout, she painted, she sculpted and she slew, until there was none of them left to murder and corrupt her fellow Sunites. A few of her sisters had been robbed of a quick death and instead taken captive, to be used for nefarious plots. She rescued each and every one of them, and brought them safely home. But when she traveled Faerûn next she walked alone. For what she had become, her purpose, it was not the same. As a member of a flock that is often viewed as nothing more than vain and harmless, Cornelia truly is the wolf in sheep's clothing. She is the last resort of a goddess that abhors violence, and while she practices great restraint, when unleashed she will stop at nothing to claim vengeance for any terrible crimes committed. Vile are those who prey upon the purity of love and those who would spoil that which is beautiful for their own gains, and punished they shall be. And if they do not repent, they will find that there is beauty to be found even in the very moment of death. Music Character Sheet Sockerbagarn fucked around with this message at 12:21 on Jul 30, 2017 |
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Jul 29, 2017 21:08
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 Arka Scorchoak, Monster Hunter, Eternal Servant of the Cycle Ranger, Battlefield Archer, Raven Knight Character Sheet - Music Every elven child has heard my names, and listened to countless stories about me. The endless tides of men tell my tales around every campfire, in every holdfast, from the Savage North to the Vilhon Reach. Mothers name me to delight and frighten their children, while common folk place my totem and a flagon of ale on their mantles to protect them from the lurking darkness at the edges of civilization. I have worn many names, and lived many lives, the way old soldiers wear their swords. When the need is great, and the forces of the accursed enemy grow, I am reborn anew to hunt them once more. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Like you, I was born mortal, to a land that history has all but forgotten. It was a darker time in the history of Toril; the undead and the aberrant walked the Northlands with impunity, raiding the settlements of men and elf alike. Powerful undead demanded tribute, and our elders paid them, banishing the creatures for a time, but never permanently. I was barely 40 years old, but even young as I was, I knew that this arrangement would never deliver us safety. I gathered several likeminded elves, and we journeyed to the monster's lair, with neither glory nor greed in our hearts. Even among the elves, few remember their names, but I will never forget them, nor the sacrifice they made. Laeltyh Feydark, who sang to the moon. Rennthil Nemertes, a warrior always tripping over his own feet. And Sylvar Omarora, father and baker, but unwilling to let others fight his battles. Renn fell in moments to the shambling servants of the bloodsucker; even Lae's prayers could not save him. Lae perished to a lingering poison, having stepped on a false stone trap. Sylvar and I said the prayers for her. The monster did not take kindly to life in his realm, and were it not for Sylvar's bravery, I would not have had the opening to pierce the creature with an oaken bolt. My weapon snuffed the life from both. When I returned to our town I was hailed a hero, the girl who had saved everyone. Except Lae, Renn, and Sylvar. It was that night, surrounded by smiling, laughing faces, that I knew why I had been born. It was my place to rob the dead of their victories, and thus rob the living of their sorrows. I left my home the next day. My name began to spread among the lands of the North, and based on my taste in cloak, undead began to fear the shadows of owls. Little by little, the reanimate retreated from the realms of men, and my legend grew. After a long career of service, even by elven standards, I retired to the countryside, hanging up my crossbows and cloak. As I lay down to slip into a peaceful death, I was overcome by a sense of warmth and comfort. When I opened my eyes, I lay at the foot of Arvandor, resting among her roots in the Crescent Grove. I had earned my place in the everafter, but this was not the eternity I sought. After a time, I experienced visions of the world to be, saw the undead rising once more to plague the living. I prayed to the Daughter of the Night Skies, asked for blessing to return to set the balance right. Only ages later do I see that she knew my heart, and the visions were hers. Always clever, our Lady of Dreams. In another age, they named me Enhana, the Dead Watcher, for it was my duty to walk the crypts and grottos that monsters call their homes, sending them to their appointed afterlife. In another life they named me Torra, Winter's Shepherd, when I ventured into the Frozenfar and returned an archlich and his armies to their rightful deaths. In yet another century, they named me Bryra, the Scarecrow, for the undead learned to stay away from the lands of men and elves. I have died hundreds of times, grisly and mundane. I will surely die hundreds more. Perhaps when men have no need of me anymore, the Cycle will watch after itself. I do not imagine that day will come soon. In this age, I am Arka Scorchoak, and men already say I am the great hero reborn, or at least a very good imposter. Following rumors of people disappearing in the Savage North, I found myself in Neverwinter. My hunting ended many unlives, but the true prize was uncovering servants of the Cult of the Dragon, gathering tribute to one of their masters, a terrifying dracolich. Correspondence found among their belongings indicated that these relics were to be sent to the Moonshae Isles. The citizens of Neverwinter raised tankards of ale in my name, but I had already secured passage to Caer Callidyrr, set on tracking this sect of the Cult to its source. For many weeks I sailed between cities, hunting rumors and tales of the cult, but though my journey was fruitful, I could find no lead nor unaltered story about the monster. I could see the suffering in the eyes of the people. Their children had gone missing, their husbands and sons had not returned from a day at sea. The anguish nearly broke me. Without an aim, it seemed my hunt had reached an ending. Many old prayers offer that all endings are beginnings, and that even though the Moon hides her face, her eyes are ever watching her children. When the Goddess of the Moon sent her miracle, it came at me with all the force of a hand on the shoulders, and a polite cough. An old fisherman, who by chance had grown up along the Sword Coast, recognized me from the stories his grandmother had told him as a child. He showed me the plain owl token his family had passed from eldest child to eldest child for generations, and we shared conversation, ale and a hearth for many hours. He offered me a secret as well; a small, storm wracked island conspicuously absent from the maps. No crew would sail to this place, so I took wing on the morrow and journeyed there on my own. The island seemed to be perpetually shrouded in merciless winds and biting rain, a ramshackle temple clutching to the side of a mountain. I was forced to make landfall sooner than I had wanted, but I made my way up steep cliffs until I came upon a path out of the storms. As I descended into ancient antechambers, I knew I had hit pay dirt; sigils of dragons marred every wall, every sconce, and every tapestry. As the way opened into a larger chamber I finally saw my quarry, the skeletal remains of a dragon, atop a scene of such wealth and beauty that even were I inclined to gasp I would have lacked the breath to do it. The massive bones were draped with decaying red scales, leathery skin, and from within the skull two points of baleful blue light peered at the assembled men and undead arrayed below it. With a voice like rotted wood, it spoke, “I see you there, Champion of the Moonlight,” my heart froze in my chest, “Have you come to be the final chapter in my story? A single mortal champion seeks to end Gevrarreoss, the Scourge of Men? Do you think yourself so capable that you can put to rest a thousand years of planning and treachery?” his rumbling laugh shook the walls. “Yes,” without a word more I raised my crossbow and started excising the creature’s servants. The giant corpse moved with surprising liveliness, leaving its makeshift throne to barrel towards me, sending men and undead alike to their deaths beneath its talons. My keen eyes spotted a retreating group of men, fleeing the battle through another tunnel, and the momentary flash of something in their grasp. Winding my way forward, weapon continuing to bark death, I met the dragon face-to-face. A gout of fire baked the ground beneath me to glass, but faster than thought I took flight and soared through its legs and directly for the servants who so desperately sought to escape. “FIGHT ME, COWARD!” the creature bellowed, swinging around and sending stalactites piercing the air like daggers. Without slowing I plummeted into the opening ahead, my wingspan grazing the walls on either side. A searing heat rose behind me, and as I flew into the torrential rain a fireball lanced from the side of the mountain after me. Circling to avoid another massive arc of fire, I saw the servants below, boarding a waiting cutter. Wind at my back and the Lady’s prayer in my heart, I plummeted toward them. Landing roughly on the deck of the ship, my form once more became elven and deadly; a huge crashing sound announced that the dragon would not remain idle. Slaying the occupants of the ship, wizards all, was not swift nor easy. Several times the tendrils of their magic nearly took me, but finally when I had put the final spike into the leader’s sternum my victory was within sight. The object they had sought to secret away was a small statue of a dragon clutching a priceless ruby, likely the beast’s new phylactery. A gale wind tore top of the cabin from the ship, casting me bodily into the remaining walls with bone-cracking force, the deluge outlining the shape of the beast overhead. “This world belongs to us now, elf!” it spat at me, as another tongue of fire descended. My bolt flew toward the ruby. With a crack, the storm around us broke and the fireball dissipated harmlessly around me. The corpse of the dracolich crashed into the deck with a scream of absolute pain. I knew I had but a moment, so even through my pain I rose to my feet and pulled myself toward the skull of the stunned skeletal sack of scales and hate. “Not as long as I live, lizard,” I offered it several point-blank shots from my weapon, watching the life force bleed from the remains. After a time I found myself miraculously alive despite my wounds. With great effort, I kicked the skeleton overboard, lest it fall into the wrong hands. I returned to the island, finding most of the cultists dead or dying; I offered a shepherd's guiding hand to those that were not. Deep in the underbelly of the ruins I found many of the missing men and children, caged like animals for some sinister purpose. None surviving could tell me what the cult had planned for them, but just a well, for their tormentor was sinking to the bottom of the sea. The journey back to their homes was joyous and swift, even crammed too densely aboard the near ruined cutter. The Ffolk of the Moonshae Isles sung my name far and wide when the news of my deed spread, and every family reunited said some variation of the same sentiment. Savior. Hero. Friend. I did not dwell on their kind words, for it is not my way. Though I did not stay to see it, my token started to appear in every home, and the old observance, a flagon of ale on the mantle, resurfaced for a time. With my latest hunt completed, I took flight for another challenge, the sun rising at my back. Mortify fucked around with this message at 21:54 on Aug 1, 2017 |
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Jul 30, 2017 03:06
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I announced this in the discord, but Monday 11:59pm EDT is the deadline for new apps. Tuesday, 7pm EDT (aka when I get off work) Is the hard deadline to finish up any preexisting apps or interest posts.
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Jul 31, 2017 00:09
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 Merritt Carlisle: Hero of Baldur's Gate, Angel of Justice, Lion of Torm Character sheet Music Merritt’s angelic elevation was hardly a surprise to anyone who encountered his path throughout his mortal life. Born the middle son of a noble family, Merritt was always a little…different from his siblings. While his brother and sister spent their days learning the family trade of banking and managing the financial matters of other noble houses, Merritt spent his days with the commoners of the village and the servants that tended to his house. As a friendly, kind, child his parents did not find this behavior odd. What they did find odd was strange quirks that quickly added up. Merritt would often be found alone in his chambers, smiling contentedly and laughing as if chatting with an old friend. At mealtimes when speaking about the events of his day, he would become insistent that messages were being sent to him through the wind and creaks in the manor, or certain passages of his texts “spoke to him in a voice so sweet.” One day, he was found weeping in the gardens. He describes his tears being of joy at seeing the beauteous sight of an angel that spoke to him, delivering a message that one day he would be called upon for a great task. One day, without warning, Merritt announced to his family that he had been called to undertake the journey towards this task. Before a question could be uttered, he was gone. Merritt was taken in by the paladins of the shrine he frequented. Here, he felt, he truly had a home. He was amongst his brothers and sisters who brought justice to an unjust world. He took his vows shortly after joining the order. If you were to ask him, he would have told you that it was the happiest he had ever felt. He was a quick study with a sword and quickly gained favor with his superiors. The voice of Torm himself continued to whisper in his mind. Merritt spread the messages he received and guided his brothers and sisters in battle. With each skirmish, his messages grew clearer. Together, the order rooted out bands of highwaymen preying upon weary travellers and protected a neighboring village from an onslaught of orcs. Merritt, however, made his name by leading an assault against a powerful necromancer who sought to test his powers on the town of Thundertree. The battle was fierce, but Merritt held fast. He was relentless on the battlefield, spurred by the encouraging voice of an angel - and possibly Torm himself. He rose quickly in the ranks of his local order, eventually his loyalty and divine connection earning him a posting in the Order of the Golden Lion. His particular posting was exploring the wilds and repairing areas of weakness within the Weave. Whether it be through subtle, undetectable messages or messages delivered from Torm himself, his connections to the divine eased their efforts in making repairs. Stabilizing the magic gradually made these areas that much safer for travelers and wanderers. Merritt’s true colors, however, were brought to light during the Siege of Baldur’s Gate. The siege was one of the worst in recent history. It struck terribly and without warning. A particularly fanatical branch of a church of Bane had managed to organize with fellow believers to arrange the siege. Their first move was to occupy the roads leading to the gates...then to block the gates. Food ceased to reach the innocent townsfolk, none of whom could understand why the siege was happening. No explanation was ever offered, either. The townsfolk that revolted, attempted to escape, or were found seeking help were immediately publicly executed. Those that cowed to the control of the followers were left to live, although it was questionable if they were actually “living.” As weeks went by, the denizens of the city transformed into skeletal shells of whom they once were. Chaos was erupting within the city walls. Mobs had formed to storm the stores of noble houses to steal their food supplies - valuables and trinkets were left untouched. No order was maintained, as a hierarchy and rules had become pointless when basic survival was at stake. The followers merely watched with detached amusement. No funeral rites were performed - bodies of those who succumbed to starvation were simply pushed aside and organized into plain mass graves. With all entrances blocked and guarded by armed followers, or at least sellswords who weren’t picky about their funding sources, this posed great difficulty for anyone wishing to provide aid. Luckily for the Golden Lions, a citizen had managed to escape and locate Merritt’s detachment. After allowing the poor soul to eat, sleep, and gather their composure they told a harrowing tale of their escape. The Lions were told that one was gambling with their life by attempting to escape - sometimes people were merely slaughtered along the way and cannibalized, fooled by the hope of freedom. But, as the citizen informed them, if there was a way out...there was a way in. The citizen had drawn a map and noted the patterns of the watchmen. This would allow for a chance for a detachment of the Lions to sneak in, deal with the cultists, and evacuate whomever they could. It was risky, but the right thing to do. A detachment of ten Lions gathered their best armor and their deadliest weapons. Their source led them back to where they had escaped and provided a hastily written note of guard rotations in order to avoid detection. Understandably, their source had little desire to be back within the walls of Baldur’s Gate. The voices and messages Merritt usually heard and received were conspicuously absent. He paid this no mind - he knew he didn’t need guidance to serve the necessary justice. Justice needed to be dealt swiftly and harshly for the suffering that had been inflicted upon the city. As the Lions made their way into the city walls, a guard had altered his schedule and stumbled across the detachment. The guard cried out, and it seemed every able-bodied person with a weapon was upon them. The detachment fought their attackers valiantly, but two were felled in the initial onslaught. Merritt and his remaining comrades chose to continue fighting forward, with Merritt’s thoughts strangely quiet and absent of guidance. Merritt pushed forward through the onslaught, making his way from hired swords to armed church followers. Through each wave, he lost more comrades. Each companion falling just spurred him onward to fight harder. Before reaching the Imperceptor organizing the siege of the city, he had carved his way through over one hundred of the Banite’s men - sellswords and followers alike. Merritt stared down the Imperceptor. His armor was covered with spikes, with horns upon his head. His hands glowed with magic, waiting to be hurled at Merritt. Merritt bore the marks of his fight to this point - his armor was dented and some pieces had been broken off. His face was bruised and swollen. Cuts and slashes adorned his body, yet he readied his sword. The Imperceptor sneered at Merritt, taunting him. With a roar not unlike a lion’s own, Merritt rushed towards the Imperceptor. What unfolded was a flurry of magic and sword blows. Merritt couldn’t count how many spells and attacks had been launched at him - it didn’t matter. What mattered most was serving swift, painful justice to the man who had held the city captive. In one moment, Merritt caught the Imperceptor unaware and succeeded to run him through with his blade. In the Imperceptor’s dying moment, he used the last of his life force to make one last attack against Merrit. The spell hit him squarely in the chest, launching him into a wall. His skull made a sickening sound when it made contact. After being stunned for a brief moment, Merritt slowly gathered himself to his feet. Upon surveying the city, it seemed that the sellswords had fled. The remaining Banite followers seemed to have scattered when the Imperceptor fell. In the quiet after the battle, he slung his sword over his shoulder and stumbled out of the city, passing the bodies of his comrades. He could feel himself getting weaker with each step, his mind still and quiet. If the city dwellers were speaking, he heard nothing. Once he exited the city, it was already dawn - the fighting had lasted the entire night. Merritt spotted a tree and made his way towards it - each step felt like he was slogging through knee deep mud. All he wanted was to rest - more than ever, he wanted to rest. This was the most tired he had ever felt in his mind, body, and soul. Finally, after what felt like a year’s walk, he reached the tree. He dropped his sword and slumped against the trunk. His mind was still quiet, but somehow the dawn spoke to him. It told him to rest. Something moved Merritt to say a brief prayer, a feeling that if he were to close his eyes it was uncertain if he would reopen them. He sighed heavily and thought. “I hope I have done well for you, my lord. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could do more, but I fear I cannot…” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, one final time. To his surprise, his eyes opened again. His chest no longer hurt, and he felt as though he had just awoken from a pleasant sleep. In front of him was a glowing figure with an outstretched, gauntleted hand. Without a word, Merritt reached forward and accepted the hand’s assistance to stand. He was awestruck, could it be? He opened his mouth to ask but was cut off and a conversation ensued. He was to be rewarded for his years of faithful service by serving eternally as an angel. Merritt returned to his order - choosing to never breathe a word of his nature. He continued to serve in the Golden Lions, his breaking of the Siege of Baldur’s gate earning him a quick promotion to commander of the order itself. The siege had become something of a legend in and of itself. Merritt chose to hide his angelic nature from all but a select few members of the order and church leadership. Lions and paladins throughout the land speak of an angel, sent by Torm himself, that descends in times of desperate need. Evil never rests, and justice must always be served. Especially to those who would threaten the very thread of the cosmos itself.. Melchiresa fucked around with this message at 02:50 on Aug 3, 2017 |
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Jul 31, 2017 07:17
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Everyone that's posted in the thread has until 7pm EDT today (8/1) to finish up apps!
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Aug 1, 2017 05:00
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I totally just realized I've had my background sitting on a Notepad window on my computer for the last, like, week, and never loving posted it.
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Aug 1, 2017 06:04
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Ilivarra, the Hollow Fang Can also be built as an Avenger  Many are the plots and poisons of the Spider Queen, but few know the depths of her tender mercies like the drow. Drow society is an intricate web of bloodthirsty competition and intrigue, where the most ruthless and skilled prosper as they claw their way to the top. Every sacrifice or betrayal is to better your self, your station or your goddess, and it's said that it's only the will of the Spider Queen herself that prevents drow society from collapsing into extinction. Few places embody this interplay as literally as the city of Ched Nasad. The City of Shimmering Webs is built within a conical cavern that stretches upwards nearly a mile high and half a mile at its widest near the ceiling, established by House Nasadra in the wake of a political schism in Menzoberranzan. While its steep walls and narrow ground would make for a poor location for a conventional city, the power of the Spider Queen is not a trifling thing- the shimmering webs the city is named for were placed by the goddess herself and when turned to stone serve as the many-layered foundations of every building in the vertical city, maintained and expanded by Lolth's guardian spiders. Though House Nasadra stands at the pinnacle of Ched Nasad, the remaining eleven houses of the Council are always ready to strike at the slightest sign of weakness, constantly scheming to advance themselves at the expense of their peers, while a hundred more noble houses are constantly looking for a chance to rise into a vacant spot. Ilivarra was not born into a noble house, but was rather born to a family in the trading city of Mantol-Derith whose caravan was so unfortunately ambushed near Ched Nasad. As captives won in battle, they were the lowest in drow society- those that could be openly held as slaves. And so for many decades her family toiled for their mistresses' house, but service alone does not guarantee reward in drow society. Her father died in a skirmish in the tunnels near the edge of Ched Nasad territory, her mother was poisoned as collateral damage in an assassination plot, while her elder brother was part of a slave unit that was sacrificed to buy time for the house guard to retreat from an eye tyrant. As for Ilivarra herself... well, sometimes sacrifices must be made. It was an initiation ritual for a priestess not too much older than Ilivarra, something that brought the young drow no comfort as she lay bound to the obsidian altar. But the bindings were worn, and Ilivarra twisted free, stabbing the young priestess with her own ceremonial blade to the surprise of every drow in the room (herself included). Of course, a hasty surprise attack may have been enough for an initiate, but was nothing against the assembled power of the other members of Lolth's clergy, furious less at failure of their protege and more at the nerve of a slave who dared strike at her betters. Ilivarra's reprieve would have been a short run if not for the second unexpected event to be witnessed in that chamber- soft laughter. Already bound once more by a spell, Ilivarra could only watch in silence as the assembled priestesses sought out the one who dared conduct herself in such a manner. They need not have bothered. The priestess in question stepped forward herself, silencing her cohorts with a glance and a wave. Like many things, this ritual was to honor Lolth, but it was also a test of the worthiness of the performer. Clearly, this initiate had failed and disgraced herself in the process. If she could not serve Lolth as a priestess, then she would serve Lolth as a sacrifice. Such were the ways of the drow. Though some in the room quietly fumed, none could challenge the judgement of a high priestess. But that still left the question of what to do with the surviving slave. Those assembled were quick to agree that she should still be offered up to the Spider Queen. The priestess laughed once more. Indeed, this slave would make one of the finest sacrifices to Lolth that the city would ever see. Staring into the eyes of the high priestess, Ilivarra couldn't do anything except agree. Thus she came into the care of Shyntlara Auvryndar, magically bound into service to the House Matron. It was not mercy that spared Ilivarra's life, but opportunity. A ranking representative on the ruling council, Shyntlara played the game just as well as any other, her appearance barely hinting at her centuries of experience. Information was both spear and shield, and a house would live and die based on how well it understood the world. Ilivarra was one of Shyntlara's many eyes in Ched Nasad, quietly infiltrating and observing the activities of rival houses and reporting her findings back to her mistress. Matron Shyntlara had a particular interest in any weaknesses another drow might possess, any potential points of failure that might cause her to lose favor in the eyes of Lolth. Occasionally, Ilivarra would serve as one of the matron's fangs as well- a small act of sabotage here, a whisper in the right ear there and the scales could be tilted in just the right way to ensure the misstep of a rival with none left the wiser. But the matron mother was not Ilivarra's only mistress in Ched Nasad- all in the ultimately served the Spider Queen, and the priestess would not let Ilivarra be negligent in her other duties. Whenever Ilivarra was assigned to perform a task for the house she was also instructed her to perform an act that would please the goddess. Upon completion she would return to her mistress to inform her and then venerate her goddess in silent prayer and reflection, offering herself to Lolth in spirit and deed if not in body. Ilivarra took to these tasks slowly at first, doing what was was asked and little more. But she discovered that when she prayed to the Spider Queen in the wake of a deed well-done, it was as if a great burden was lifted and all fears and doubts faded away. When she accomplished a truly great thing such as the discovery of worshipers of the Dark Dancer among House Melarn, she felt an overwhelming sense of pride and satisfaction. And when she took her own initiative in the name of the Queen of Shadows, why, she could almost hear the goddess laugh. She must have laughed that day when Ilivarra drove a blade through Matron Shyntlara Auvryndar's heart, for the matron herself had laughed all the same- her heart had not beaten in centuries. The matron healed quickly, Ilivara did not. Having ensured that there would be no further troubles, Shyntlara decided to channel her aggressive desire to serve into more productive causes, sending her ranging further afield in the Underdark, accompanying patrols and caravans to serve the house wherever it may reach, be it her original home in Mantol-Derith, Menzoberranzan or the drow's ill-fated conflict with the dwarves of Mithral Hall, which left the drow agent with little to show other than the timely loss of a minor house rival. Though the matron could contact Ilivarra for a report from time to time, the drow agent was usually left to her own devices, deciding how to best accomplish her mission and serve both the house and the will of Lolth. But even the will of a goddess can be indiscernible at times. In the Year of Wild Magic, the Spider Queen suddenly ceased responding to prayers, a cause of grave concern for the matron mother priestesses. Though Matron Shyntlara could survive a person struggle better than most, the loss would be disastrous for drow society as a whole. Ilivarra was one of many agents from many houses sent throughout the Underdark searching for an answer to the Silence of Lolth. Was the Spider Queen laughing even then? Ilivarra had been hunting rumors among the various traders of Mantol-Derith when she was suddenly struck low but an unknown magical effect. Were it not for her previous connections with merchants and the trading city's brutal prohibitions against thievery such a display of weakness might have been the end of her. Hurrying onwards to Menzoberranzan she found that the city's weakness in its priestesses had invited opportunists of their own, and was now under siege by the duergar of Gracklstugh and the Scoured Legion of Hellgate Keep. She found herself caught up in the struggle, sabotaging and assassinating her sister city's enemies whenever she could. The siege dragged on for months, with little sign of hope for the city save for the strengths of its mages and the cunning might of its warriors. But one day the priestesses discovered that the Silence of Lolth had been broken, and their magic restored, and the siege was broken shortly afterwards. Ilivarra and Mezoberranzan had survived the Silence of Lolth. Ched Nasad had not. When Ilivarra returned to the city almost a year after departing she found it in ruins with little but scavengers picking at whatever was left beneath the rubble. Mezoberranzan had not been the only target of opportunity in the Silence- a band of duergar mercenaries had raided the city, but their alchemical fire bombs burned even the great stone webbing that supported it, sending the city crashing down upon itself, only sparing those poor enough to be forced to live on the outer wall of the city. She had fallen the same day the city did. It hadn't been a total loss- Halisstra Melarn, first daughter of House Melarn had escaped the city one of her servants, joining forces with a band of drow led by Quenthel Baenre of Mezoberranzan to investigate the Silence. The band traveled to the Spider Queen's home in the Demonweb Pits themselves, where they discovered Lolth waiting for the arrival of Yor'thae, her Chosen. But it was not Halisstra or Quenthel that Lolth had chosen, but Danifae Yauntyrr, Halisstra's bound slave, who Lolth recognized as the truest and most worthy of all the drow, the only one worthy to face the goddess herself. Lolth promptly consumed Danifae, strengthening herself and ending the Silence after incorporating the drow priestess into her avatar. Such is the favor of the Spider Queen. Without a home to return to, Ilivarra had only the Will of Lolth to guide her, and her wanderings carried her further and further into the Underdark and eventually out of it entirely, traveling by night and in the shadows to avoid the blinding fury of the Morninglord's light. But for a drow, the surface world can be every bit as bitter as the Underdark. Her attempt to establish a surface cult to the Spider-Queen was short-lived, as she was driven out of the Ten Towns by one of its most fearsome groups of adventurers. It nonetheless taught her an important lesson- never assume the risk yourself. Act in the shadows as the matron mother had, strengthen and weaken your foes so that they might destroy each other, serving the glory of Lolth and opening the way for an eventual expansion to the surface. She's served a hundred masters since, as spy and saboteur, advisor and enforcer. She stole the Shadowcaller and helped assassinate the Overmaster of Sembria, poisoned the Silver Brigade and weakened the defenses of Shadowdale before advancing armies of the Zhentarim. Even when Mystra fell and the Weave was torn asunder, she merely continued her work. She aided the minotaurs of Kond until they were driven out by the Warlock Knights, then served the Dragon Prince Vaelrun as he carved out his domain in Murghôm. Of course, Ilivarra never did any of that. Ilivarra has had as many names in the past century and a half as she has had masters and almost as many faces to match, ranging from drow to elves to even the occasional human or tiefling. She paid it no mind until the brief moment when she could not remember what her name originally was. She soon remembered who she was but the reminder of why she was out in the world was not the comfort it should be as she realized that she hadn't felt the touch of Lolth in quite some time. Her prayers and reports brought her none of the satisfaction of her youth and even the ruination of the surface-dwellers was starting to lose its luster. What did the Spider Queen want? What did she want anymore? She could not recall. Even her ambitions felt hollow in her queen's absence. She dwelled in the shadows of ruin and it was there that she learned of the stirrings and waves that shook Fate itself. But the Spider Queen's ambitions stretched too far. The goddess had sacrificed her cities and her people for the sake of her power in the Demonweb Pits, what else would she sacrifice for power over the cosmos? Either her failure or triumph could destroy them all. She had stolen much for Lolth, and Lolth had stolen much from her. Perhaps it was time to steal something in return. LightWarden fucked around with this message at 23:48 on Aug 1, 2017 |
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Aug 1, 2017 23:43
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And that's it! I'll have picks up sometime tonight... keep an eye out for a ping in discord and another post in here!
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Aug 2, 2017 00:02
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Out of the 4 games I've ran on here this was legitimately the hardest decision I've had to make. There were so many good apps that it was hard to narrow it down. That being said, here are the picks! Melchiresa with Merritt Carlisle Wahad with Silenna of the Green Doomykins with Saint Gladys Klingon w Bowl Cut with Marcus Gellantara Mortify with Arka Scorchoak Thanatosian with Iada Kilcis Congratulations to everyone that got in and I'm sorry I couldn't take more people, there were so many great apps. Anyway, I would like all of the players to post their impressions of the other PCs, since you've surely heard at least something of their legends. e: I'd also like you guys to print copies of your character sheet as .pdfs and host them somewhere so that we have power cards as a reference. Thanks! Look Around You fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Aug 2, 2017 |
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Aug 2, 2017 05:15
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For my bit about impressions of the others, Arka's thoughts are summarized below. Merritt: Even far from Baldur’s Gate, the account of that siege is repeated. I heard that the Golden Lions (or was it the Gilded Lions? Nevermind.) broke the forces of Bane and were wiped out, save for one noble knight. The Baneites paid a heavy price for that failure. If Merritt is that knight, then it is well that he is here, and even if he is not, Torm is a loyal friend to the common folk. Silenna: I remember a time before our people became so wild; and yet they have come so far without us. I have heard tales of her Iron Grove and I cannot make myself approve of it. She has the right attitude of balance breakers, but her punishment stops short of right. I hope I can turn her towards righteousness, but our people are ever willful. Iada: Now this is a story I like, a Baneite turned against the darkness, and a fellow worshiper of the Lady of Dreams in one of her many forms. We are lucky to have one of Her Swords with us, and those arrayed against us know not how bad a hand they have been dealt. Gladys: I have heard this yarn in many taverns, and I know for certain it is a bard’s joke on the rest of Toril. I imagine a wager was involved, and every time it is repeated, some laughing trickster collects another gold coin. You can’t just hug a lich into submission, no matter how much the Church of Sune would argue that point. Still, it is always a blessing to be in her presence. I scowl less. Marcus: A curious one to be sure; I have heard credible sources say he was somewhere, contributing to pivotal moments in recent history, even as other credible sources insist he was elsewhere. His College is known to me, but as I never had the skald’s itch, I haven’t paid it much mind. Mortify fucked around with this message at 09:42 on Aug 2, 2017 |
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Aug 2, 2017 08:42
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Silenna's PDF Music. Impressions Saint Gladys: Love. Such a curious thing. The saint speaks of saving, of healing, of redemption; but she fails to acknowledge that for love, man does terrible things. They kill. They lie. They destroy. Empires have fallen and mountains have been reduced to rubble in the name of love. What good is love then? The Scourge of Selune: A pox on her. She preaches a noble goal in the defense of Waterdeep, but I smell the Black Hand's stink on her. She hides in Selune's shadow, to cover her lust for death and war in a blanket of righteous lies. Before the end is near, we will see her true colors. Arch-bard Gellantara: I respect the elderly, and the storytellers. History would be lost without them. But is this really the place for one such as him? He is old, for a human, and so he is fragile. His knowledge may aid us, but I pray he can keep up. Scorchoak: She excises evil from the land, and I commend her for that. More I cannot say, for I am not prone to superstition, and many of the tales that surround her are the tales mothers tell to their children to keep them in line. The Lion of Torm: Siege-breaker. Slayer of Banites. His persistence will be welcomed; his skill at arms necessary. And if he truly is an angel, as the rumors say - well, perhaps that is exactly what we need.
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Aug 2, 2017 10:20
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Arch-bard Marcus's PDF As Wahad suggested, this pretty much has to be Marcus's theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20sIhZLVJR4 Impressions: (Imagine the quotes below performed like this:) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUcTsFe1PVs https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np1MrfIXqMo Merritt Carlisle "In Baldur's Gate the monsters stirred/Ten stood against many/To banish Bane's brood/To answer the people's cries heard" -Excerpt from the Tale of the Gilded Lions Ah, that one is Merry's favorite. She'll be so excited that I finally got to meet her namesake. Heroes like this are why I get out of bed in the morning. Fateful origins, desparate struggles against insurmountable odds, he's got it all. I wonder though how his family feels about him? Discovering his true self will be a fascinating challenge. Silenna of the Green "The hag she swallowed/Whole, like the hole/Where the archlich's heart was/And now the serpent watches/Them and you" -The Curse of the Iron Grove Eh, sounds better in Elven, I think. The younger kids don't like when I tell Silenna's stories. Not because they aren't interesting, oh no, but because of the fear she inspires. Very useful in getting them to bed on time. I wonder how she'd feel knowing I've used her as a boogeyman so many times. To be honest, I feel a little bit of that fear myself when I look at her. Just something about snakes I guess. Saint Gladys "Peace in the saint's loving arms/From the highest palace/To the lowest farms/There shall live no malice." -The Rhyme of the Ancient Saint Good old Gladys has grandkids now! I'm so happy for her. I know it's cliche to refer to a tiefling as an old flame, but come on. She's hot, and we have so much in common. Arka Scorchoak "The owl and the raven/Dancing in song eternal/When will they rest?/When the last dream is dreamed" -The Prophecy of the Owl and Raven I always make it a point to sing the names of Laeltyh Feydark, Rennthil Nemertes, and Sylvar Omarora first, so that none of my students will forget who these tales are truly for. I even named three of my children after them. Maybe that's weird. Is that weird? Anyway, I wonder how many songs I know are about Arka without me realizing it? I should probably thank her for giving my college years worth of material all by herself. Such a wealth of experience and heroism, perhaps a bit of pain deep under the surface. This could be my best work yet. Iada Kilcis "Waterdeep's defender grim/her sword a hymn/From shadow of death/to Selune's second breath." -Waterdeep's Defender I love a good redemption story... from afar. I try not to think of the actual lives impacted during that redemption, and I'd wager she tries not to either. What I and so many other bards wonder most of all is what made her decide to turn to Selune so dramatically. Who knows, maybe she'll just tell me. Orbs fucked around with this message at 17:55 on Aug 2, 2017 |
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Aug 2, 2017 14:58
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