|
Note: This game is not actually recruiting, the players have already been picked Desolation. Gray earth trod beneath boots on the march; snapped trees waiting for the flames. And soon, the victorious emperor knew, there would be that fire. There always was. Often enough, he brought it, but even when he didn’t, it arose. After every battle, something burned — as if the universe followed some unwritten protocol that conflagration should be the epilogue to carnage. It was even more reliable than the crows. Castle Korstull was taken. The mighty emperor figured he’d lost, at worst, one man in twenty. He’d known it would be so. Tonight, he would sleep on the sheets of a fallen prince, and the only cost had been a week’s planning and the blood of men he did not know. If the victory had meant anything to him, he would’ve called it a bargain. When had conquest lost its luster? Was it just the ease, or was it something else? The glorious emperor stared into the flames of the torch he bore in his left hand, the famed artifact he had christened the Torch of the Burning Sky. Since the day he had acquired this strange token, born a century before in miracle and catastrophe, he had never lost a battle. It was as if he’d forgotten how. He feared his own restlessness, and was all the more frustrated to realize that it might be the only thing he feared. What would the ache for challenge drive him to? The inscrutable emperor had begun to calculate the betrayal of his oldest ally; whether it was out of strategy, ambition, or boredom, he could not tell. That ally, of course, planned to turn on him first. There had been no intelligence of such an act, but it went without saying. His ally went by the unlikely name of Shaaladel, and if the invincible emperor had forgotten how to lose, Shaaladel had forgotten how not to betray. The all-knowing emperor’s foresight fatigued him. He’d spent the final hours of many brave men’s lives hoping for some surprise — a sudden ambush, unexpected reinforcements, even a mere change in tactics — that might lend the least excitement to this clash of nations. But like the planets in their courses, his enemies plodded, unwavering, along the path he had laid out to their defeat. Fate’s arsenal had been emptied, it seemed, and no ordeals remained to try the blessed emperor. He had conquered Sindaire tonight, a nation that had already been his in all but name, for no better reason than that they had given him an excuse. Soon, he would test himself against his other neighbors — Ostalin, Dassen — but knew that they would fall just as quickly. He wondered what he’d done to anger the gods before his birth, that they should curse him by giving him only a single world to conquer. Perhaps, he mused, he should avenge himself on the heavens. He peered up through the gathering cloud-rack and contemplated this, until his view was obscured by a high-vaulted arch passing overhead. He trained his gaze forward now, as the warhorse he sat upon ambled through the yawning entryways of the castle. Built to resemble the maw of some great beast, the front gates of Castle Korstull had impressed the magnificent emperor when he’d first seen them, but he had raised palaces of his own in the decades since. Now they looked to him like nothing more than the hastily assembled sets of some Wayfarers’ comedy. He remembered what Leska had told him before he’d left, that some young bard in Ragos had penned a play about his life, probably in an attempt to earn his patronage. He’d laughed at the folly of that, yet he found himself wondering about it now, about how such a play might begin, about what soliloquies this crowing upstart had written into his mouth. Would there be a scene of his childhood, a half-orc raised among backwoods highlanders, tribesmen who wandered the mountains of the North, having no land to hold as their own? How many acts would it take him to carve out a nation for his kin, how many trumpets and alarums as he turned it into an empire? Which of his enemies would be judged worthy of their own death scenes, which allies would rhyme couplets after his dramatic exits? He was certain Shaaladel would be the handsome scene-stealer, declaiming regally on the nature of their fragile peace as they debated the rebellion in Gate Pass, with no hint of the craven schemer beneath the regal façade. And surely Leska would be cheated of her rightful prominence, as misunderstood by a grasping playmaker as she was by all the rest of his subjects. They all looked at her and saw a frightful mask, unaware that the creature behind that grisly visage was far more human — and more terrifying — that they could have imagined. Leska should’ve been the subject of a play, he thought. She had all the makings of a tragedy, while he had none. His play would be boring, the legendary emperor decided. After all, he always won. As soon as he dismounted his horse, he was frightfully attended. Inquisitor bodyguards in their horrific masks and blood-splattered lieutenants with word from General Magdus fell in step behind him as he walked. Within a few moments, they had ascended to the throne room, where he took his dinner and dispatched orders. The throne room and the royal bedroom adjoining it were appropriately princely, festooned with tapestries, murals, and other palatial regalia. When the castle was built, these rooms had been prayed over by priests for three days. It was said no one could enter these rooms against the will of the one who sat upon the throne. The great emperor was unimpressed. He placed the Torch of the Burning Sky in a ruby-studded sconce, scraped his boot against the corner of the throne to remove a clump of gray mud, then sat down and called for the leaders of the force that had resisted him. Hoping their deaths would provide some distraction, he ordered their executions on the spot. He watched attentively, eating stew from a brass tureen, as his bodyguards went about their work. Inquisitors all, trained in the art of torture by Leska herself, the men of his personal guard sensed the dread emperor’s apathy, and stretched their imaginations to make each prisoner’s end more entertaining than the previous one. But the spectacle soon descended into farce and common vulgarity; he grew listless again. He called for wine from the castle cellars and sat in silence, drinking 50-year-old vintages straight from their bottles. Before long, he grew lethargic and announced that he would retire. All but a handful of his guards bowed deeply and left. The remaining three would stand outside his chamber as he slept. The immortal emperor extinguished the torch as he pulled it from its sconce and walked towards the bedroom, yet he stopped before the door, turned to one of his guards, and began to speak. He said, “I am more weary than I ever knew a mortal or immortal man could be. This world of half-men and vain posturing, this age of sheep who masquerade as lords, diminishes in my eyes by the day. I thought the gods would not long tolerate ambitions such as mine, but like a pack of beaten whores, they offer not defense but more accommodation. Everything that I once coveted turns stale. I grasp the fruits of conquest and each morsel tastes of ashes in my mouth. In seven months, my pennants could cast shadows over all the nations of the known lands, and yet this spent and whelping bitch they call the world cannot, for all my ravaging, yet birth a cur whose sharpest fangs don’t break against my skin. When I bid you to kill those men tonight, I found myself searching their eyes for signs that, in their fatal throes, their dying souls might glimpse another realm, a realm that better suited me. But I saw none. Did you see anything at all?” The inquisitor stared for a long time into those wild eyes, dumbstruck by this strange and sudden candor. In the end, shamed by his lack of a proper answer — or any answer at all — the bodyguard merely shook his head. Somehow disappointed, and knowing himself a fool for it, the doomed emperor walked away without a word and locked his bedroom door behind him. His name was Drakus Coaltongue, and his curse was to be the most powerful man in the world. Not two hours later he was dead. The Emperor of Ragesia had gone down without a fight, without even a sword in his hand. If he'd still been capable of such a thing he might have enjoyed the irony. He would certainly have reveled in the chaos that was to follow. ------ War of the Burning Sky is a Pathfinder Adventure Path game for six (predetermined) players moving through a world suddenly toppling to its knees. The entire Adventure Path covers levels 1-20 and even beyond, although I don't know if we'll get through most or even a minority of the path with the fickle beast that is a play by post game. I think it's shockingly well-written for an Adventure Path, and while I'll be cribbing heavily from it I'll also be responsive to player input and interests. I'm going to quote part of the introduction, since I think it gives an interesting perspective both on the game world and the design of the AP itself: quote:From the beginning, though, I decided War of the Burning Sky would eschew cosmic conflicts and classic good-evil dichotomies in favor of a more postmodern perspective, where enemies all have reasons for their actions. My goal as a DM is to make this a fun experience for everyone, and to work with the players to make sure everyone is having a good time. If things aren't working, just let me know and I'll see what I can do to make it better for everyone. Character Creation, Simple Version First thing's first, there is a New Player's Guide for the Adventure Path available here that provides some basic background on the setting and other useful information. Allowed material: Any Paizo or Dreamscarred material on the pathfinder SRD. If there's something you want that's not on there, just ask; this includes 3.5 material, or any 3rd party thing you can find within reason. I'm more than happy to work with you on making what you want to play. Level: 1st Ability Scores: 25 point point buy Class: Any. There's some class fixes which I'll detail below, primarily focused around making TWF classes more mobile and thus more fun to play. Race: Any. The default setting includes an Elven empire, which gets some detail, and the old Emperor was a half-orc but the Empire was fairly cosmopolitan so anything can fit in somewhere. You can also move racial stat bonuses/penalties around as you see fit - pick the race that sounds like a fun thing to play, not the one that's mechanically optimal. Gear: Normal for your class. Alignment: I don't care for it much in general, but the campaign also takes a more Eberron-esque view of alignment. Good people do terrible things in the name of what they believe, and Evil people can be your only defense against enemies sometimes. Motivation and ideology count for much more than anything else. Extras: You can select two traits and we’ll be using hero points from the Advanced Player's Guide. You also get a bonus feat at level 1 from the selection of Gate Pass Feats (page 6 of the Player's Guide). Houserules Characters with the Two-Weapon Fighting Feat can make an attack with both weapons as a standard action, rather than a full attack. Rogues, Ninjas and Monks can also use DEX instead of STR for damage rolls as if they had the Deadly Agility feat. Racial stat bonuses can be reassigned at will. ------ So far, I think HiKaizer has expressed interest in playing a Paladin, evilsagan was making a Bloodrager, MormonStarWars was making a Ranger and Reene was looking at a Witch. Once you have an idea of what you want, please go ahead and post it even if it's not a full sheet so people can have some idea of what the party will look like.
|
#
?
Feb 8, 2015 02:21
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 28, 2024 10:57 |
|
|
Antillen Mox Level 1 Lawful Good Dragonborn Paladin  Backstory: The Mox have had a long history with wyverns, once being riders themselves long in the past and now being attendants to them. One of the oldest families to breed and raise wyverns, they know of the old tales spoken from long before Emperor Coaltongue was born. There are always stories of women dallying with wild beasts, giving rise to strange beastmen children. The Mox know what happens when you spend too long around dragons however, and Antillen is the result. His birth was unusual and from the start a plausible cover story was formed. A child with such a draconic visage must clearly be blessed by Bahamut, platinum dragon god of law and justice and such a blessing was considered favourable in an empire carved out by a powerful warlord with a gold dragon as his mount. In a strange quirk of fate, this was not his only marking of divine influence for he could conjure a blazing symbol of a white glowing torch on his palm and had been able to do so as long as he could remember. It was no surprise that Antillen himself became increasingly convinced of the truth of this story, surprising his family when he announced he had joined the church's militants to study as a Paladin. He had always been strange and different, and despite their love for Antillen's relationship with his family had always been distant. He found that the church was equally tied up with politics as it was aiding the wronged and meting out justice. Antillen learned to read people, use words carefully and how to turn the law as a blade when you needed something done. He emerged from his youth without innocence or naivete, having seen the worst and most petty of those who spoke and walked upright. Yet he did not lose his desire to do good and to see justice, for if one did not stand as a light in the darkness, how would anyone else see at all. Originally he had come to Gate Pass some time ago, around seven months, to investigate the city for signs of destabilising influences and to make sure it was safe. As Gate Pass was ostensibly a neutral city between Ragesia and Shahalesti, he had come in his capacity as a member of the church of Bahamut and not as a member of the Ragesian empire. Antillen was perhaps one of the first in Gate Pass to find out about the death of Coaltongue, for his mark began to glow a bloody red instead of its normal bright white. However when High Inquisitor Leska made her bid for power, outlawing all magic both arcane and divine and ordering that those who practised such arts be killed Antillen felt a cold anger. Such a path would lead to ruin, destabilise the empire and risk civil war and certainly inviting invasion from the surrounding forces who had only been held back by Coaltongue's seeming invincible strategic mind and power. And more than anything else, it was unjust to those who had done no wrong and were going to be murdered simply as a stepping stone for Leska's path to power. Personality: Slightly cynical, calm and watchful most of the time. Antillen is not openly passionate about many things, instead being determined and persistent about things. He has come to truly believe he is blessed by Bahamut, and if this was proven to be wrong would undermine a lot of his self-confidence. Sounds like: A baritone with a hint of dry harshness to it. Likes: Draconic creatures Justice Music Playing chess Spicy foods The colour orange Dislikes: Coldness Crimes Evil Gossip Lies Milk HiKaizer fucked around with this message at 01:20 on Feb 11, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 8, 2015 05:06
|
|
|
Hilal Briarstaff grew from a seed as a proud citizen of one of the elven kingdoms crushed by the heel of the Shahalesti. As a ranger, Briarstaff acted as an impartial counsel and occasional enforcer to the human and elven members of his community. They were like peas in a pod, and good will was in full bloom. Unfortunately, it was not to last. When relations between their ruling government and the Shahalesti turned hostile, the Shahalesti reaped them like wheat. Now crushed by the roots of a racist empire, many of the neighbors Briarstaff had come to love were treated like second class citizens, and the others were encouraged to deny their pasts and side with the kingdom they had fought against. Briarstaff knew it was time to pick up his roots and replant himself - both to prevent the new regime from having him assassinated, and to avoid the heartbreak of seeing his community torn apart. Six days later, with a new set of skills ready to support him in a less utopian occupation, Briarstaff reinvented himself as a bounty hunter. Still holding to a code of justice and compassion that he internalized in his former home, Briarstaff learned the dehiscent arts of non-lethal archery and made a name for himself as a discriminate individual who took few jobs, but brought his targets back alive. He never forgot where he came from, though, and honors his past by assisting the priests of the God of Compassion in Gate Pass with their annual celebration. pre:Hilal Briarstaff
Class: Ranger (Infiltrator/Skirmisher)
Alignment: Neutral-Good (Anti-Shahalesti Government)
Race: Ghoran
HP 10/10
STR: 14 (+2)
DEX: 18 (+4)
CON: 11 (+0)
INT: 12 (+1)
WIS: 14 (+2)
CHA: 13 (+1)
AC: 19 (4 AC + 3 Dex + 2 Natural Armor)
BAB: +1
Fort: +2
Ref: +6
Will: +2
Init: +4
Weapons:
Greatsword (1d20+3, 2d6+2)
Shortbow (1d20+6, 1d6+1) (+2 damage if non-lethal)
Skills:
Craft (Bow) 1 + (Wis) +3 =
+6
Handle Animal 1 + (Cha) +3 =
+5 (+9 With Companion)
Intimidate 1 + (Cha) +3 =
+5
Knowledge (Nature) 1 + (Int) +3 =
+5
Perception 1 + (Wis) +3 =
+6
Stealth 1 + (Dex) +3 =
+8
Survival 1 + (Wis) +3 =
+6
Racial abilities:
+2 Natural AC
GHORAN SEED
Traits:
Armor Expert
Blade of Mercy (Applied to arrows, thanks RPZip!)
Feats:
Point-Blank Shot
Blessed by Dreams
Favored Enemy: Humanoid (Human)
Equipment:
Armored Coat (+4 AC, +3 dex, -1 ArmC)
Shortbow (1d6, x3)
Greatsword (2d6, 19-20/x2)
20 Blunt Arrows
35 Thistle Arrows (Bleed for 1d6 rounds)
5 Bars of Soap
Fishing Net
Manacles
Ranger's Kit
Backpack
Bedroll
Belt Pouch
Flint and Steel
Iron Pot
Mess Kit
Rope
Torches (10)
Trail Rations (5 Days)
Waterskin
Outfit (Explorer's)
Mormon Star Wars fucked around with this message at 01:33 on Feb 11, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 10, 2015 01:42
|
|
|
 Khamag Duva Half-Orc Bloodrager It was Belgunot the Lesser, first of Khamag's bloodline, that consorted with demons and doomed his tribe to the demonic taint. It was Belgunot the Greater, sixteenth of Khamag's bloodline, that mastered the meditative art that allowed the Belgunotai to resist the corruption that dwells within their bodies and channel its arcane power with discipline. Every Belgunot child, on their 13th birthday, would begin their training; they would hone mind, body, and soul to become effective warriors to defend their tribes from evil both within and without. And thus the Belgunotai prospered for generations. Until Khamag's 12th year, when Ragesia's unstoppable expansion reached his tribe. The Belgunotai aren't even a footnote in the history of Coaltongue's crusade. One day they were barbarians, threatening all that Ragesia holds dear. The next, they ceased to exist, trampled like insects beneath Ragesia's heel. Khamag was the only survivor of his people's meaningless destruction. With nothing left but an unwritten heritage and an uncertain destiny, Khamag fought daily to survive. His struggles took him to Gate Pass, a city where he was free to resent Ragesia for the total massacre of his family, his culture, and his history. With no education and only the barest experience in the world, Khamag was forced to fight and steal to survive. He eventually found a gang that was happy to spare some scraps for a child to push around. But when he grew to be a man, no one pushed Khamag Duva, the half-orc whose anger was pronounced by demonic red eyes and an unearthly howl, ever again. Knowing only the streets, Khamag continued to earn his keep with thuggery and theft. He became well-known muscle in Gate Pass's underworld, and thrived as a free agent. He never spoke of his people, the Belgunotai. Not even the enemies of Ragesia knew or cared about the forgotten victims of his childhood. But he carries the name of Belgunot in his heart. He will never forsake the anger that burns within. And without the benefit of the training that was his birthright, it will never forsake him. pre:Khamag Duva
Class: Bloodrager (Abyssal Bloodline)
Alignment: Neutral
Race: Half-Orc
HP: 13/13
STR: 18 (+4)
DEX: 14 (+2)
CON: 14 (+2)
INT: 10 (+0)
WIS: 10 (+0)
CHA: 14 (+2)
AC: 17 (5 AC + 2 Dex)
BAB: +1
Fort: +4
Ref: +3
Will: +0
Init: +4
Weapons:
Greataxe (1d20+5, 1d12+4)
Skills:
Intimidate 1 + (Cha) +2 + (racial bonus) +2 + (class skill) +3 =
+8
Swim 1 + (Str) +4 + (class skill) +3 =
+8
Bluff 1 + (Cha) +2 + (class skill) +3 =
+6
Climb 1 + (Str) +4 + (class skill) +3 =
+8
Racial abilities:
Intimidating: +2 racial bonus on Intimidate checks.
Orc Ferocity: Once per day, can fight for 1 more round as if disabled when brought below 0 hit points.
Darkvision
Bloodline Powers:
Claws
Traits:
Deft Dodger
Reactionary
Feats
Weapon Focus (Greataxe)
Thieves' Guild Sympathizer
Equipment:
Greataxe (1d12, x3)
Scale mail (+5 AC, +3 Dex, -4ArmC)
Bloodrager's Kit
Backpack
Blanket
Belt Pouch
Flint and Steel
Iron pot
Soap
Torches (10)
Trail rations (5 days)
Waterskin
Average Loaded Dice
Pickpocket's Outfit
16 GP
100 degrees Calcium fucked around with this message at 02:44 on Feb 23, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 13, 2015 05:26
|
|
|
 Oh yeah, life in the trees was great. Hunting, playing with my cousins, life was sweet. Eating Truffala fruit, and those glorious trees. Amazing things, tufts as soft as silk. Our home. Then they came, came with axe and sword and poison. Came to despoil the land and harvest the trees. We were so stupid. Should have fought then. Should have stopped them. No, they said. Even the ghost walkers, the soulcaught? They said move back. Soon there wasn't enough food to go around. Then some of us went hunting. Hunted men, hunted their underlings. Shed of our old skins, the brown suits, we were something else. They hired others, hit back. Scattered us. The land was bare of truffala, the sky black with smog. I moved on. The others went somewhere. I hope they found a place to live, found food. I found the city. Hunted, killed, adapted. There was work for me. There is always work for those who have my talents. Drank a lot, learned the pleasures only civilization could offer. It was a bad time, a dark time. Then I met Briarstaff. That one? Convinced me things might change. Long story there. Unless folk like him care a whole awful lot, things aren't going to get better. They're not. So we hunt together, and sometimes things are all right. Sometimes they aren't. It is what it is. I can't ask for much more. pre:Abdul Neutral Grippli Stalker 1 Str 8 Dex 18 Con 14 Int 10 Wis 18 Cha 10 Fort +2 Ref +4 Will +6 HP: 10/10 AC: 15 Init +4 Ki: 5/5 CMB -1 CMD 12 Traits Orphaned - Survival is a class skill, +1 Survival Bestial Wrath - +2 to confirm crits Feats CLV1: Weapon Finesse StA1: Two Weapon Fighting Acrobatics 1 Disable Device 1 Stealth 1 Perception 1 Sense Motive 1 Heal 1 Survival 1 Grippli Abilities - Small: +1 size bonus to their AC, a +1 size bonus on attack rolls, a –1 penalty to their CMB and CMD, and a +4 size bonus on Stealth - Climber: base speed of 30 feet and a climb speed of 20 feet - Jumper: always considered to have a running start when making Acrobatics checks to jump - Glider: a falling grippli to treat the distance fallen as half the actual distance Stalker Abilities - spend 1 point of ki to grant himself a +4 insight bonus to a single Perception or Sense Motive check as an immediate action - deadly strike +1d6 - Stalker Art: Combat Training (Two Weapon Fighting) Stances Outer Sphere Stance - When wielding two weapons, disciple inflicts an additional 1d6 points of damage per attack, -2 to AC Manevers (6 known, 4 may be readied) Inner Sense - (Counter) Spiritual senses grant a +2 insight bonus to a saving throw Offensive Roll - (Strike) Move by an opponent and make a Acrobatics check against target's AC, if successful, the target is flat-footed and the strike inflicts +1d6 points of damage. Leaping Dragon - (Boost) Make an Acrobatics check to jump as a swift action with a +10 bonus Hunting Serpent Blow- (Strike) Disciple makes a Heal check, chance to make target flat-footed and inflict an additional 1d6 points of damage. Swift Claws - (Strike) Attack a single target with two wielded weapons. Solar Sting - (Strike) Turn a piece of ammunition or a ranged weapon into a field of caltrops. Kukri x2 (+5 to hit; 1d3-1 Damage (18-20/x2 Critical) Daggers x3 Chain Shirt Monk's Kit (backpack, a belt pouch, a blanket, rope, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin) 1gp pre:Fort +2 Ref +4 Will +6 HP: 10/10 Ki: 5/5 Init +4 AC: 19 (17) CMB -1 CMD 12 Stance: Outer Sphere Stance Maneuvers: Inner Sense, Swift Claws, Solar Sting, Leaping Dragon Kukri TWF (+3 to hit; 1d3-1+1d6 Damage (18-20/x2 Critical) Winson_Paine fucked around with this message at 15:31 on Feb 18, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 16, 2015 23:29
|
|
|
 Radaya has lived in Gate Pass all her life. She saw the occupation happen, the rise of the resistance, and Coaltongue's withdrawal. A lifelong devotee of the Stormseeker Eagle, Radaya has seen the unease of Gate Pass' citizens, the families torn apart by the Inquisitors and the famine that spread during the occupation. The shaman works tirelessly to minister to Gate Pass' weakened and unlucky, healing the sick and aiding the poor. Freedom for them has never come, and it will not again under the thumb of a new army. Even during Gate Pass' quiet and supposed peace, the Council and the Resistance fought on against each other, and the people suffered. As Radaya worked with the temples to continue peace, it frayed at the edges, missives from beyond the valley warnings of doom. She sadly knows that Gate Pass will be besieged again, but she must do what she can to protect its people, no matter the cost. Radaya Venadril NG Medium outsider (native) Sylph shaman (witch doctor) 1 Str 10 (0) 0 Dex 16 (+3) 5 Con 10 (0) 2 Int 13 (+1) 3 Wis 18 (+4) 10 Cha 14 (+2) 5 Speed 25 ft Init +3 Senses low-light vision hp 12 (1d8+1+3) AC 18 (+3 Dex, +5 scale mail); flat-footed 15; touch 13 Fort +0, Ref +3, Will +6 Spear +0 (1d8/x3) Light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20) BAB +0; CMB +0; CMD 13 Space 5 ft; Reach 5 ft Special Abilities channel positive energy (3/day; 1d6; DC 15), reroll self or ally saving throw as immediate action (1/day) Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st) 1/day - feather fall Shaman Spells Prepared (CL 1st; save DC 14 + spell level) 0 - detect magic, light, stabilize; 1 - bless, obscuring mist Spirit Magic Known (CL 1st; save DC 14 + spell level; 1) 1-detect undead Hero Points 1 Special Qualities air affinity, spirit (life) Feats Blessed By Dreams (B), Toughness Skills Heal +8, Knowledge (nature, religion) +5, Spellcraft +5, Survival +8 Traits Sacred Conduit, Starchild Languages Common, Auran Other Gear scale mail, 3 spears, light crossbow, 20 bolts, shaman's kit, 4 gp Vasaam the Thrush (speaks Auran) N Diminutive outsider (native) Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +9 AC 17 (+1 natural armour, +2 Dex, +4 size); touch 16; flat-footed 15 hp 6 (1 HD); fast healing 1 Fort +0, Ref +4, Will +2; improved evasion Speed 10 ft; fly 40 ft (average) Melee bite -1 (1d2-5) Space 1 ft; Reach 0 ft Str 1, Dex 15, Con 6, Int 6, Wis 15, Cha 6 Base Atk +0; CMB -2; CMD 3 Feats Skill Focus (Perception) Skills Fly +12; Perception +9 Languages Auran Arivia fucked around with this message at 11:47 on Mar 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 17, 2015 02:37
|
|
|
  Velaka was a powerful magical creature: a kitsune, blessed with immortality and immense power over light and shadow, able to tug at the hearts and minds of mortals with barely a thought. Was. Then members of the Inquisition, through an embarrassing series of events, acquired her most precious possession: a teardrop-shaped pearl containing her life force and, hence, her immortality and strength. While she retains access to much of her magic through the forces that empowered her to begin with, she is nonetheless greatly weakened and, troublingly, very mortal. For several years now Velaka has been tracking the Inquisitors responsible for the theft and nearly two years ago now her searching brought her to Gate Pass, where the trail has since grown frustratingly cold. Attempting to navigate the petty political and social struggles of mortals she has never cared for has lead her to mingle with all manner of people disreputable and otherwise. Given the ascent of the Inquisitors to power, she grows hopeful once again that she may at last discover the thief and regain her power and immortality. Though her true form is that of a pure white fox with black points, she keeps herself disguised as a humble scholar and soothsayer with unnaturally pale skin, long black hair, and brilliant sapphire blue eyes, clothed in fine silks woven by the spider from her garden that acts as her familiar. pre:Class: Witch (Patron: Shadow) Alignment: Neutral Race: Kitsune STR: 8 (-1) DEX: 13 (1) CON: 10 (0) INT: 20 (5) WIS: 10 (1) CHA: 16 (3) HP: 6 AC: 11 Touch: 14 Flat-footed: 13 BAB: 0 Fort: 0 Ref: 1 Will: 3 Init: 1 Weapons: Dagger Items: Masterwork backpack Flour Chalk x5 Silk rope (50ft.) Mirror Skills: Spellcraft 6 Sleight of Hand 3 Intimidate 4 Disguise 5 Bluff 5 Knowledge (Arcana) 6 Knowledge (History) 6 (other bonuses: +3 climb) Racial Abilities: Low-Light Vision Naturalized Change Shape Kitsune Magic Nine-Tailed Inheritor Traits: Keeper of the Veil (+1 bluff, disguise; disguise class skill) Tattooed Wanderer (+1 sleight of hand; sleight of hand class skill) Feats: Thieves' Guild Sympathizer (Bluff class skill, allies receive 2nd listen/spot check to avoid surprise) Extra Hex Magic Tail (disguise self) Realistic Likeness (mimic someone encountered) Abilities: Patron: Shadow Hex: Evil Eye Hex: Skullbound Shapechanger Familiar: Joro Spider (+3 climb) Languages: Common, Sylvan, Elven, Dwarven, Draconic, Celestial, Aklo Gold: 48 Reene fucked around with this message at 00:30 on Feb 26, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 18, 2015 13:08
|
|
|
Game thread is up!
|
|
#
?
Feb 22, 2015 03:19
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 28, 2024 10:57 |
|
|
Hooray!
|
|
#
?
Feb 24, 2015 15:17
|
|