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Winson_Paine posted:Oh man, I am rockin' the Warlock with a side of Wizard Multi into BLOOD MAGE LIKE DOKKEN HE IS ROKKEN http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dc65k52c_225tmhv4fc Unfinished as of this posting but IN PROGRESS
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 00:03 |
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# ? Mar 29, 2024 07:14 |
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Leomund's Secret Chest is awesome in so many ways. You can use it for exceedingly dangerous item removal too (just hope that your recall point is not in a populated area). The back and forth recall is not too feasible at early levels, but later on, 140gp a pop is a pittance. Since the ritual makes no mention of what you can and can't move with the chest, get a large enough chest with someone not claustrophobic and you could teleport them back.
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 00:33 |
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The Transhumanist posted:Leomund's Secret Chest is awesome in so many ways. You can use it for exceedingly dangerous item removal too (just hope that your recall point is not in a populated area). The back and forth recall is not too feasible at early levels, but later on, 140gp a pop is a pittance. Since the ritual makes no mention of what you can and can't move with the chest, get a large enough chest with someone not claustrophobic and you could teleport them back. Haha, you would not want to be the first volunteer for that particular abuse in something I was running. I mean, the ritual makes no mention of a lot of things after all.
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 01:24 |
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Fixed up my background because apparently I suck at reading comprehension. For some reason, I assumed that The Eclipse and The Great War were related
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 04:09 |
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WarpedLichen posted:what pantheon does this world use? What I've seen so far in terms of backgrounds looks pretty good for the most part. I like detailed backstories (note that 'detailed' does not have to equate 'wordy'); folks such as Dallan Invictus or LightWarden have the right idea. Transhumanist: a little more detail would be nice. I'm sure Annetta believes she's got the required skills, but I'd like to see some reasons for why others would hold her in enough renown, as well. Remember that there were no such thing as bulletin board posters all over Noremien reading "Carthaune Wants YOU"; he personally contacted a small number of individuals whom he believes capable for one reason or another. LightWarden: while I quite like the depth of her backstory, I feel that purloining the letter simply isn't a very good idea. How do you imagine this will play out? Even assuming she manages to meet Carthaune face-to-face – which, given that the Academy cannot afford to be lax on security these days, is not very likely to begin with –, how do you think he would react if he found out Chaedia essentially bluffed/lied her way in? (And between Discern Lies and Sending, it's trivial to confirm that the high priest has in fact sent her in his stead – or hasn't, as it were.) Considering that this is, after all, a confidential matter and one not just offered to anyone, what makes you think Carthaune would just go "oh, well, that's just fine" and send her on her merry way along with the rest? Again, I like the background as a whole, but I can't see the character actually getting to embark on this mission based on such a premise. On an unrelated note... LightWarden posted:Aggro,
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 04:30 |
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Updated with more detail as requested.
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 05:05 |
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My apologies, for some reason I thought that was a question to anyone that I was able to answer (though I cannot figure out where I got that idea). I didn't think I was too out of line, but I'll refrain from doing that in the future. Will fix the issue with the letter. Can you tell us a little about the process itself? Are the people he selected the most awesome exemplars of heroic power (that chose to show up), or were there any other influencing factors like availability? And what portion of the active heroes do the PCs compose? Are they the sole ones to take up the call put forth by Carthaune, or are there other nonplayer heroes who show up to make the assembly look more united? Basically, how important are we? If we're out doing hero things, who's back at home making sure the things from beyond don't eat all the peasants? LightWarden fucked around with this message at 05:36 on Aug 26, 2008 |
# ? Aug 26, 2008 05:06 |
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Ok, here he is: Alagand of Everleaf - Good aligned Elf Cleric of Tiamat/Rogue/Master Infiltrator. He's a good guy who uses evil powers like Profane Miasma (necrotic Sacred Flame) and Utterdark Shroud (necrotic Searing Light). Description: Height: 5'11", Weight: 165, Eyes: Green, Hair: Black The most distinctive feature of this elf's appearance are the prominent dragon tattoos on his face. The tattoos are done in greyscale, one on his forehead, one over each cheekbone, and one on the back of each hand. Anyone knowledgeable about dragons can tell that the one on his forehead is a green dragon, those on his cheekbones are white and black, and on his hands are red and blue. Alagand is tall (for an elf) and heavily built (for an elf) - he could almost pass as human, save for his angular face and narrow, predatory eyes. code:
"Indeed. I have been very busy, but the guardsman's description of your... unusual markings caught my interest. Please sit - what did you say your name was?" "Alagand of Everleaf." "Yes. Alagand of Everleaf. And what does a servant of Tiamat want with us? Not assassination, I hope." "I'm no longer a servant of Tiamat. Its about this task force that Master Carthaune is setting up, about the Eclipse research. I want in." "I'm sorry, but I believe that he has already personally invited all those whose participation he requires. But how did you know about this project? Carthaune told me he was being quite discreet." "Ah, but he did invite me. Twice." Tosses two letters on the desk between them There is a brief silence as Farstrom inspects the addresses. "Where did you get these? Do you mean to suggest that you are both the Grey Knife of Dorn, and Varak the Shadowstalker, from Mitback?" The elf smiles "Among several other fancifully named vigilantes who apparently did not rate your notice, yes." "So why not simply present an invitation at the Academy?" "You must understand that my tattoos, or 'unusual markings' as you called them... well, they kind of stand out, and at the Academy there are scholars everywhere who can figure out what they mean just as easily as you did. You are about to ask me for a rather detailed account of myself. I'm willing to tell my story to you, Master Farstrom, but I am not willing to give it to any self-important guardsman who thinks to become a hero by catching an evil infiltrator." "I see. How have you avoided this problem in the past?" "By wearing a mask, of course. And showing my face only in, er, sympathetic company." "You were quite right - I wish to hear your whole story, or as much of it as you believe will convince me of your good intentions." "Ok. I'm going to try the short version; you can ask me specific questions after I'm done, if you want. What do you know about the cults of Tiamat? Nevermind, I'll tell you what's important. A cult of Tiamat generally exists to hoard wealth, which it has taken from others either by force or guile. That means that they're generally bandit companies, or thieves' guilds. My father was a high priest of Tiamat, and ran a bandit ring in the northern Everleaf. They were quite notorious, the "Viridian Scourge" they called themselves. Anyway, when I was a boy, my father made a mistake - he betrayed me in a way I could never forgive. Understand, Tiamat is the goddess of vengeance, so when I freed the Scourge's prisoners and stole several valuable relics (and wished I could lay waste to the whole camp), I was still firmly her thrall (I had already been invested as her cleric by then, and already had these tattoos). I fled, determined to bring down Tiamat's cults wherever I found them (I was really pis- um, angry). Mostly, this led me to cities, where it was easy to find the cults working with the criminal organizations. I basically joined the organization as a young cleric of Tiamat, but at night, I put on a mask and tried to undermine as many of their activities as I could. I was really good at getting out of town before they figured out that it was me. Then I'd go to a new town and do the same thing. The funny thing was that I began hearing the stories that townsfolk would tell about the vigilante who fought evil in the streets at night. I realized that I kind of liked being a hero. Eventually, my burning rage against the wrong that Tiamat's followers had done me cooled, and I began to be angry about the wrongs they were doing to other people. This kind of went with the growing realization that I didn't particularly care for gold and finally I didn't worship Tiamat even in my private heart. Around this point, there were also two things that made it easier for me to divert attention from myself when I messed with the cults, which was good, because I was moving into larger and larger cities, where the criminals were smarter and more dangerous. First, I knew enough about how these thieves' guilds operated that I didn't need to actually join them to predict their actions. Second, I started getting help from temples of Avandra (mostly outside the cities). The Avandrites (is that the right term?) are an open-minded lot, and I guess they saw me as a force of change for the better. The Avandrites would impersonate me when I travelled so that I could be in multiple places at the same time - as far as the thieves' guilds knew, I was just more active at certain times. They (the Avandrites, not the thieves' guilds) also liked making up names for my vigilante alter-egos. Anyway, my father had been trying to track me the whole time, and eventually, despite my precautions, he worked out what I was doing and cornered me by the northern base of the Shielding Mountains, with a sizable force. I think he had some kind of ritual that would undo my investiture, so he wanted to capture me, rather than kill me in battle. This was good - it allowed me to evade him a little longer. By the time I was finally facing him inside a ring of his men, it was noon, well what should have been noon, except that the Eclipse hit. My father's powers began escaping his control, and hurt him more than me. But mine were still working fine. I killed him easily, and slaughtered his men. My problem right now, is that he's spread the word among the faithful, and just about all of the cults are on to me. There are some pretty powerful followers of Tiamat around who would be very happy to crush me. At this point, I've learned that the best way to be safe is to have powerful friends, so I figured if I accept your mission, I'll be surrounded by some of the most highly skilled men and women in Noremien. Plus, if we succeed in bringing magic back, while there will be a bunch of powerful Tiamat clerics who'll get there powers back, so will you, and you'll be on my side. Don't get me wrong - I want to help with this, its just if it were entirely up to me, I'd rather still be sticking it to those who prey on the weak." "Hmm." There is a brief silence "I can hear the hatred in your voice when you speak of Tiamat's followers - that's difficult to feign, even for a man of your skill. Still... what was it that earned them so much of your enmity in the first place, that would make you so sanguine about having killed your own father." The elf sighs "I figured you'd ask me that. My mother was also one of the Viridian Scourge. I wasn't really sure what happened at the time, I only know that she was accused of stealing from the Scourge's horde, but now I think that she must have developed a gambling habit of some kind and was too ashamed of losing money to admit it. Anyway, they used me as bait for a trap for her, left me to get eaten by a forest troll, knowing she'd come for me when she heard. They caught her. Then they made me watch them torture her to death." "My sympathies. A mistake, you said?" "Sorry?" "In your 'short version,' you said your father had made a mistake." "Ah. Yes. Well, it eventually led to his death at my hands, didn't it? I kind of doubt that was the effect he'd intended the whole thing to have on me. So... a mistake." "Well, Alagand of Everleaf, I will let Carthaune know that you've come, and explain your... circumstances. I must say though, I was quite sure that the Grey Knife of Dorn was a halfling..." Nimlach fucked around with this message at 01:13 on Sep 3, 2008 |
# ? Aug 26, 2008 05:28 |
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Albrot remembers nothing of how he became an orphan, or his time at the orphanage where he spent the first few years of his life before he was adopted by The Barristers, an affluent human family who took him in as one of their own. His father, Raymont Barrister was a wealthy landowner and politician, and though Albrot had little interest in his father's work, he took a staunch interest in his father's favorite hobby, hunting. Raymont would take Albrot into the woods where they would track and hunt various types of game, and Albrot became exceptional at it. His father took note and when he came of age, got him a spot as a military scout for the Genvegrian army. He excelled on his first campaign, aiding in his army's victory and learning other military trades as well. Though in the beginning he was mocked for his stature and being an orphan, his prowess, both at tracking, and with the blade earned him eventual acceptance from his comrades. He came home, happy to return to his family, but found only an empty estate. His mother and father, and all of his siblings gone without a trace. Bewildered, he fell back on his talents, finding clues and tracking his family. It became apparent that his family had not left of their own accord, and he picked up on the trail of whoever abducted them. He tracked them for 3 days into the nearby foothills, stumbling upon a small group of orcs, but it was too late, by the time he got there they were already digging graves. Albrot was ready to move in and kill his opponents before he realized the inconsistency, a band of orcs would not swoop in, take hostages, march them days away from their home, and then bury them, it was too calculated. Instead of dispatching the orcs, he simply waited and watched for who had really destroyed his family. He missed his appointment to move out again with the army, but he didn't care. Eventually, his waiting paid off, as a man Albrot recognized came to the orc camp, a rival politician, vying for his father's position, Geryan Anstock, came to the camp, paying off his instruments. That night the orc's usefulness ended, so there lives did too, and Albrot returned to Dorn with their blood still wet on their blades. Albrot did not bother to camouflage Geryan's assassination. He did not hire it out. He just carried it out with a lethal efficiency, and then spent the gold he took from the orcs on drinks. He knew he would have to leave Dorn, that he did not hide his tracks as well as he should have and that it would only be a matter of time if he stayed, but little motivated him. The only way to take his mind off of his loss was to put his skills to use, so that's what he did. He wandered from town to town finding work as a tracker, bounty hunter, scout and sometimes assassin. He charged just enough to keep him in the drink when he wasn't working, and he gained quite the reputation for being able to find, investigate, and eliminate whatever problems one had. Once a happy go lucky halfling, bright eyed at the wonders of the world, Albrot lives life without the optimism he once had. Sarx fucked around with this message at 02:30 on Sep 1, 2008 |
# ? Aug 26, 2008 06:04 |
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The Halls are networks of ancient tunnels that stretch deep into the earth. They were built hundreds of years ago during the reign of Karzud. The exact nature and purpose of the Halls is unclear. All that is known is that Karzud carved deeper into the mountain than was advisable and somehow this cost Karzud and a large quantity of other dwarves to be killed. The passages leading to these halls were sealed to prevent the spread of whatever foul forces lurked there. It was declared that the Halls would be unsealed and repopulated; the kingdom was expanding and there was nowhere to go but down. Orgaur and his cronies basically threw themselves into the tunnels. Whats the worst they would find? Hordes of goblins? Some mind flayers? Child's play! Down and down they went. They found nothing of note. The halls wound around and around. The design was illogical and confusing. Orgaur did not have the capacity to understand the significance of it all until after its effect had run its course. Karzud was sick. He despised his kingdom and his people. He would be the harbinger of their doom. His halls were an elaborate assemblage of arcane reagents and symbols designed to sink the entire mountain into the Abyss. Fortunately, Karzud's understanding of the practical physics of the large scale portal he built was inaccurate. Unfortunately for Orgaur and his troop, the line between the worlds was blurred and the Hall of Karzud's Folly had become inhabited with unseen forces of evil. The dread and misery they were forced to endure was mind shattering. All color left the world. Hopelessness washed over them. They fled, believing they were being pursued by their doom. They fought phantoms and fought one another. They cursed and blasphemed and moaned. Lost. Those that remained returned to civilization thirteen days later. Tordek had cut out his eyes and tongue. Harbek had dropped half his weight and would fall into a coma not three days after their return. Orgaur had lost his color and his happiness, forever cursed. Gin Soaked Ape fucked around with this message at 06:30 on Aug 28, 2008 |
# ? Aug 26, 2008 07:04 |
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I heard a RUMOR Piell might be pulling back due to time issues. If that is the case I will roll on my elf, otherwise I will finish the background for Angstman McWarlock.
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 14:42 |
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Xeremiel, a Primordial word meaning "chosen by fire", is the name he chose for himself, obscuring his given name and attacking those who know or utter it, verbally at first, but physically if necessary. His very normal human parents were understandably taken aback when their son was one of the Tainted, and while their peers gave them untold grief over their son's cursed heritage, they tried to raise him as best they knew how. He stayed indoors, learning from the few books his parents could afford, since they dare not let him play with the other children, lest the worst should happen. The worst did of course happen, but not to any neighborhood children or their parents. When he was still young, perhaps three or four years old, he caught a terrible affliction that caused children to cough horribly, sometimes spitting up blood, and waste away to nothingness. Torn between horror and relief, Xeremiel's parents settled on the former when the affliction seemed to be strengthening the young boy, even as he coughed and coughed... and when the stage of the affliction came that he should begin to cough his own lifeblood out, so he did -- and it set fire to his family's tiny home. None have been since able to explain it, for Tainted are rare and those who are cared for and observed rarer still, but the blood he coughed up was very nearly liquid fire, and when it struck the planks of their simple wooden house it sparked a fire that destroyed all their meager possessions. His mother and father loved him, but they knew they could not care for him, not without risking their lives and the lives of their neighbors. So they did what they thought was best, they took him to the Academy of the Lake, giving him to the wizards there, to see if they might know what to do with him. Of course, the wizards were very interested, not particularly in the boy's welfare, but in his curse and his fiery blood. The wizards of the Academy were not cruel in their experimentation, he did not spend his childhood strapped to a table being drained of his incendiary vital fluids. But he was not loved, not treated like a normal, intelligent being. He was a specimen. When he came of age, the instructors at the Academy, noticing his natural intellect and feeling remorse for his treatment at their hands and the hands of his kin, apprenticed him, and taught him their Art. It was certainly no surprise to any to see his natural talent for fire magic, and over the years he has risen through the ranks. He has spent most of his arcane career accumulating power like most of his chosen profession, but to the aim of studying his heritage and its origins, and the special properties of his blood. Not long after he left his apprenticeship did he rename himself, not hating his parents, but wishing to leave them and their memory behind. When he travels outdoors or even within the tower, he draws his crimson hood up, so it is difficult to discern his features. He is only now beginning to unlock the secrets that burn in his blood, but with further experimentation, who can say what the possibilities are? code:
Zarick fucked around with this message at 16:07 on Aug 29, 2008 |
# ? Aug 26, 2008 17:29 |
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Warrior, thief, slayer, soldier. All of these and more have been known to Roland. A professional soldier by trade and a hunter by heart he has roamed the land for decades as a big game hunter, a soldier of fortune, a guide, an explorer, and so on. Many are the hats he has worn and many are the paths he has crossed. Using the bow as an extension of his will, this cheerful soul is always up to the task, ever looking to the next horizon or for the next big challenge. His stories of his own exploits seem to go on and on, building a reputation based as much on talk as it is on deeds. Beholden to neither man nor god, Roland would have it no other way. Adventure punctuated with women, wine, and song is the order of the day for this one. Wealth passes through his hands like water through a falls. When it runs dry, the warrior moves on in search of the next great peril. He was brought up by a mountain clan of elves. Hard living, spartan creatures they eked an existence in the high wilderlands. It was a brutal life, but it taught Roland much. A body must be quick to survive in such a place, and clever. Still, tales of warmth and wine and glory filtered to the north on the tongues of merchants who came to trade with his people for the finely wrought mithrilwork they could produce. It is said that he took these in like warm drink, and they filled him with a fire. A keen archer already, he began to sell his services as a scout to the merchants, trading on his ability to guide them through the passes and crags for gold and wine and tales. On one such trip, he claims that he was released from his bonds of kin by his father, who said it was written in the stars and bones of the earth that one day Roland would surpass all mortal men in glory. He could not be contained to a mountain. Of course, this is the story Roland tells of himself to the bards. Actual truth may vary. Attempts to find this clan today end in failure, the dejected would be biographers returning disappointed and chilled to the bones or more often not returning at all. A few things are known to be true. He is hated by the mad Prince Abasst for his role in the theft of the sacred diadem of the Dead Goddess from his very own bedchamber, in conjunction with the barbarian Mathasar. Indeed, Roland and his savage companion are known well enough. The heir to the Ketchian throne did not rescue herself from the dire snake cult, nor did the marauding black dragon Philax slay himself. No, it was Mathasar and Roland who completed these deeds. It is not known to many why they no longer travel together. Some say the death of his lover Ariel broke Mathasar of the urge to slay and hunt, others say it was another woman that came between the two companions. Regardless of the reason, Mathasar has gone west, far west, and is rumored to be founding his own kingdom of men. Perhaps that is it. The mortal man must settle, establish his legacy, sire his whelps before he passes from this life. Roland the immortal elf has no such restriction. To this day he still wanders, selling his bow for what it will pay. He is a creature of pleasures, not greed. For those who can not pay, services could be rendered gratis. For those who needed to be made to pay, tyrants, despots, and beasts who would havoc the land, Roland had a different gift. Such was the name of a hero forged. In deeds and blood, in wine and song. Roland is the master of these as he is of his bow. http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dc65k52c_12czv9wfdt
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# ? Aug 26, 2008 21:08 |
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Also Astral Fire rocks compared to the Tiefling Hellfire Blood feat for serious.
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 02:07 |
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Winson_Paine posted:Also Astral Fire rocks compared to the Tiefling Hellfire Blood feat for serious. Maybe at epic, but right now it's +1 damage vs. +1 attack. Hellfire Blood doesn't require Dex, either. (Plus Hellfire Blood fits so well with the concept.)
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 02:27 |
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More information added to post. http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=2939108&pagenumber=1#post348199554
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 04:47 |
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Background edited into my first post.
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 07:11 |
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Zarick posted:Maybe at epic, but right now it's +1 damage vs. +1 attack. Hellfire Blood doesn't require Dex, either. I didn't even realize it applied to your guy! I was just saying it about my scrambled warlock.
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 13:38 |
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Winson_Paine posted:I didn't even realize it applied to your guy! I was just saying it about my scrambled warlock. Fair enough, but my point still applies. (A warlock probably shouldn't have Dex either.)
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 20:10 |
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Chenged up the build and background of my entry a bit, changes here http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?postid=348187302#post348187057 I was tempted to create an infernal warlock for this as well, but it looks like we've got that covered.
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# ? Aug 27, 2008 20:19 |
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Mechanically, it should be good to go. Let me know if you want any more detail, e.g., on his attacks. Sheet layout shamelessly stolen from Essobie. Background forthcoming. code:
Petra is an uncommon adventurer and an unlikely warrior. He has little interest in power, glory, or wealth, strongly prefers the power of words to the power of a sword, and truly views combat as a last resort. His armor, his body, and even his sword are little more than a shield to be wielded in defense. He was born in the small elven village of Elthinniel, at the far northern edge of the Everleaf, to Maele M’orderial, an old cleric of Melora, a powerful warrior, and a veteran of the Great War. Petra neither met nor heard much about his human father. Maele’s tales of the war helped shape Petra’s intense hatred for combat and suffering. When Petra asked how she could both hate war and yet consider herself a warrior, she explained that it was sometimes necessary to spill the blood of an evil man if it would prevent him from spilling the blood of a good man later. This philosophy helped shape Petra’s worldview, and these words would later help Petra overcome his aversion to bloodshed in combat. When Maele, who was one of Elthinniel’s greatest warriors, passed away from an illness, Petra knew that someone had to pick up the burden of defending his loved ones—and it might as well be him. In the Sacred Grove of Tal’nassan just outside of Elthinniel, he took the oath of paladinhood, vowing to become the sword and shield of Melora, to defend her sacred lands against those who would defile it, and to oppose forces which might lead to the devastation of her wilds and seas. Luckily, Petra discovered quickly that a sword’s blade did not always provide the best solution to a problem. A natural, skilled diplomat with a forceful personality, Petra distinguished himself more out of combat than in combat, brokering deals with marauding kobold tribes and convincing bandit leaders to pass quietly by. But this only held out for so long and Petra found himself and his fellow warriors being dragged into combat in defense of their village—until one day ten years ago when Petra established himself as a legend. With the help of a few friends, Petra was able to trace most bandit activity around Elthinniel to a group run by Mauzreaf Alus Pelthanar, a greedy warrior and a reject of Winzen’s Royal Military Academy. Petra arranged a meeting; when their negotiations broke down and Petra realized he could not possibly stop Mauzreaf by peaceful means, he issued a challenge for single combat, which Mauzreaf accepted, eager to crush the weak paladin beneath his heel. Much to Mauzreaf’s surprise, Petra smote him with a single, powerful blow from his sword, causing him to drop to his knees in agony. He looked up at the young paladin, expecting a finishing blow to come at any second. Instead, Petra did something far more memorable; he extended a hand to Mauzreaf in brotherhood, laying his other hand on his shoulder and healing him. This display of strength and mercy left most of the bandits watching in shock, but a few of them were inspired that day and left with a renewed sense of honor and a desire to right some of their past wrongs. Mauzreaf soon became a good friend of Petra, adventuring with him throughout the northern Everleaf for many weeks and later returning to Winzen to make amends. Tales spread quickly of Petra’s triumph, and it was during this time that people began to refer to him as “M’orderial the Merciful.” Petra embarked on a personal crusade, knowing that people in other parts of the Everleaf needed protecting from unscrupulous men and from abominations of nature. Additionally, he figured that a true warrior of Melora should at least appreciate the wilds he was sworn to defend. Petra has mostly let his reputation as a warrior and peacemaker speak for him. He worked with many adventuring parties during his five-year journey through the Everleaf and to Mitback. He takes kindly to like-minded individuals and forms deep friendships with them quickly, but he strongly dislikes glory-seekers and those who thirst for blood. These are people to whom he reacts with grudging acceptance. Almost all of Petra’s quests have been missions of defense and aid; only on a very small number of occasions has he ever sought out an individual, and he has not even had to kill very many of them. Most notably, he has had the chance to kill Gourgatz, Lord of the Myriarchy, probably the most powerful kobold warlock in all of the Everleaf, and a blighter and creator of abominations. Rather than skewer the kobold’s heart on the tip of his sword as most adventurers would have done, Petra put his silver tongue to work, attempting to convince Gourgatz that murdering innocents is wrong; after all, were it not for the grace of the gods, Gourgatz could just as easily be an elf, eladrin, or human victim of kobold cruelty rather than a mighty kobold chieftain. Petra accepted Gourgatz’ word that he would reform his people and cease his ongoing campaign of terror; since then, monster reports in that region fell significantly. Despite his ten-year adventuring career, Petra has killed very few intelligent creatures—the figure is still in the double-digits. He is proud of this fact but regrets that it is a nonzero number, and the name and face of every single individual whose life he has taken are burned into his memory. Unsurprisingly, the path of the hospitaler has always seemed a perfect fit for Petra’s combat methods. Five years ago, Petra left Utinmar and embarked across the Wretched Sea for the southern continent, offering to become the guardian of one of the few temples of Melora there. When he arrived in Saaran by ship, he was surprised to see that his reputation preceded him. The Duke Miscva of Nephalia, a duchy of Saaran, arranged a special reception in his honor. Petra has mostly devoted himself to the political health of the region and spends most of his time near Westpoint and Syno. This has drawn the ire of a few of Melora’s higher priests who feel that Petra should devote more of his energy to protecting the wilds and serving directly at the temples in the southern Saaranese forests. Petra has countered this by arguing that if war breaks out between Vaere and Saaran, there may not be any more wilds to protect, citing the Great War’s effects on the Everleaf as evidence. This argument is apparently convincing to most of Melora’s worshippers as well as Melora herself, as Petra has yet to receive any sign indicating otherwise. One legend says that Petra, upon his first arrival in Westpoint, stormed into the castle, full of righteous fury, and demanded that the King immediately scale down his arms buildup at the border with Vaere. Such an action probably would have gotten him killed on sight, and the truth is much less impressive. Nonetheless, Petra has been able to carve out a political niche for himself in both Saaran and Vaere, has met with the kings of both nations on more than one occasion, has high-ranking friends of both nationalities, and has had some small successes in staving off the seemingly inevitable war there. The coming of the Great Eclipse has left Petra pensive and fearful, and he has mostly disappeared from his political life to slay the increasing number of monsters and pray at temples throughout the Saaranese forest, hoping that he might hear the voice of Melora again—and with it, guidance. This catastrophe is a much greater calling to Petra than the mere prevention of war on a continent. Carthaune’s letter comes as no surprise to him, as Petra was already in Mitback on his way to the Academy of the Lake to offer his services when the letter reached him. He makes the rest of his journey with the blessing of some of Melora’s highest priests and the respect of many men, but also with strong unease. Will he, too, lose his powers—and with them, his ability to defend people? Appearance: Befitting his mostly soft and gentle personality, Petra is a fair-skinned half-elf with blond hair, slightly unkempt, and mild green eyes. He has no rough or chiseled features; his face invites warmth and comfort, and his body is lanky, though powerful. Petra is usually seen wearing a suit of black and green scale armor. His light shield is emblazoned with the sacred shell of Melora, and tattoos of leaves and vines cover most of his body. They are visible on his hands and up to his neck, so he usually wears gloves and a high collar during formal functions. Aschlafly fucked around with this message at 02:19 on Sep 3, 2008 |
# ? Aug 28, 2008 05:18 |
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I have basically statted up my char, but I have a question for MMAgCh: I'd like a divine feat for my god; what should I use? It would be cool if you want to come up with one, but if you don't feel like it, this is what I was thinkingcode:
Nimlach fucked around with this message at 18:24 on Aug 28, 2008 |
# ? Aug 28, 2008 05:32 |
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I edited in the background to my original post
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# ? Aug 28, 2008 05:52 |
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quote:Can you tell us a little about the process itself? Are the people he selected the most awesome exemplars of heroic power (that chose to show up), or were there any other influencing factors like availability? And what portion of the active heroes do the PCs compose? Are they the sole ones to take up the call put forth by Carthaune, or are there other nonplayer heroes who show up to make the assembly look more united? One could certainly construe this as being somewhat assuming on his part, but given that he and his fellow wizards have so far failed to make any headway whatsoever, it's somewhat understandable, perhaps, that Carthaune would expect his chosen to jump at the opportunity to make a difference, either out of duty or for other reasons. The player characters will be the only ones to show up at the Academy. It may be assumed there are others who were invited but did not come for one reason or another; however, the group that meets Carthaune that evening already consists of those to whom the Academy's task will be assigned; at that point, he has long since decided whom to pick. Speaking of which, just so everyone's on the same page: the game will begin with the characters having arrived at the academy over the course of the day, soon to be ushered into the White Room, the Academy's great meeting chamber. I really ought to have mentioned this right in the first post; it is my fault. quote:Basically, how important are we? If we're out doing hero things, who's back at home making sure the things from beyond don't eat all the peasants? Transhumanist: much better now. Nimlach: looking good as well. Because I failed to lay out the initial scene of the game itself, the post itself doesn't quite mesh with how things are going to play out; the concept as such is absolutely sound, though. (I wonder though: how did Alagand get to meet Carthaune, if not by way of an invitation?) The feat looks fine; in fact, bumping it up to 3 ongoing damage would be OK too. Alternatively, the following is what I came up with; feel free to use whichever. code:
Of the three major realms in Noremien, Genvegr is the youngest. While Utinmar and Vaere both were founded in times immemorial, the first recorded settlement in Genvegr was built about 500 years ago, a small village by the name of Lastrevik on its eastern coast, close to the Two Isles. Before long its founders, Utinmarans fleeing from the Radiant Purge that was then sweeping through their native lands, sent back reports of lush grasslands, gently rolling hills and a great forest in the western part of the continent, touching off an immigration wave that lasted for the better part of a century. Many of their fellow Utinmarans were among those looking to begin a new life in this unknown part of the world, including the Lightbranch elven clan, eager to explore the great forests they'd heard of; a number of dragonborn from the distant Isle of Moros, too, were among those looking to settle down in Genvegr, perhaps intrigued by the notion of becoming a part of a land yet untouched by the busy hand of civilization, and yet far less hostile than the far isle they called home. Even though the Radiant Purge was brought to an end soon after the foundation of Lastrevik, the high priest of Pelor, Lorrhan the Resplendent having been slain by crusaders of Bahamut and the diabolical undermining of his mind revealed, not many of the Utinmaran refugees chose to return, already feeling a deep connection with their new home. Genvegr – its name being a bastardized Dwarven term, meaning in Common something to the effect of "the path to which we cleave" – did eventually, contrary to what the first settlers believed, turn out to have native inhabitants. Their first meeting with one of the two peoples was brief and bloody, however, their tall, lupine aggressors apparently caring little for trade or peaceful co-existence. Gnolls had never been seen in Noremien up to that point, but they soon became infamous, even beyond the borders of Genvegr, for their cruel cunning and tendency to loot and pillage any villages they came across. The unearthing of ancient ruins of other settlements, determined to be human-built, revealed that the Utinmaran refugees had not in fact been the first to attempt to colonize Genvegr; they were, however, the first to successfully strike back at the gnolls, and the fierce dragonborn particularly distinguished themselves in this respect, who were as alien to the gnolls as the gnolls were to the settlers. As the population increased, they were able to build up strong militias as well, whose ranks were bolstered by professional soldiers and mercenaries from Utinmar and Vaere. Though the gnoll threat has never been altogether stamped out, the northern grasslands of Genvegr became relatively safe, and the city of Dorn, named after the human captain who defeated the gnoll chieftain Karaanegh at the decisive Battle of Reddew Fields, eventually became the nation's capital, although Lastrevik remained one of the most important ports in Genvegr, linking the realm to Kyrania, in turn the main hub for intercontinental trade. The south of Genvegr, however, beyond the Twin Rivers, remained rather firmly in the hands of the gnolls for a long time; it took over a hundred years before contact with the dwarves beneath Mount Kipnash, as they called it, was established. With Genveger forces creating a reasonably safe corridor towards the northern part of the continent, many of them chose to leave their subterranean kingdom behind, their clans having been confined to its halls of stone for as long as anyone could remember. Hargyng was founded in these days, first as a military outpost, and abandoned and reclaimed many times as the Genvegers clashed with the gnolls; as the years passed and the gnolls were largely driven back into the forests and their cunningly concealed subterranean lairs, however, it grew into a city in its own right, less splendid than Dorn, but more resilient and the spirits of its occupants more indomitable. Today, Hargyng is an autonomous city-state that prides itself on its neutrality, which is fairly in keeping with the mentality of Genvegr as a whole. An unusually high percentage of its population consists of dwarves, the descendants of the clans that once lived beneath Mount Kipnash; when a great host of gnolls, seemingly coming out of nowhere, laid siege to and eventually razed their kingdom, they were forced to flee, escaping only by means of secret corridors and paths delved into the mountain to emerge on its southern side, where the gnolls' forces were distracted long enough by a division of the Dorn military for the dwarves to make for Hargyng. In no small part thanks to their stonecrafting skills, the city soon began to resemble a fortress in many ways, its formidable walls more awe-inspiring than even those of Genvegr's capital; this is just as well, for the lands outside still are subject to gnoll raids, and though they haven't mustered an army large enough to threaten Hargyng ever since the dwarves' kingdom fell, no one is willing to discount that possibility altogether. As a nation, Genvegr is almost fiercely independent, and while it is nominally ruled by a king (the throne currently being held by Merkred III), its cities and villages largely govern their own affairs. While it all who will honour its laws are welcome, Genvegr is politically neutral and does not usually become involved in the affairs of other realms. The only exception in recent memory was the fleet sent to assist Utinmar during the final days of the Great War, which is generally recognised by historians as the deciding factor in the final defeat of the Vaerian fleet. Genvegr, and Hargyng in particular, prides itself on being neutral ground, where affiliation with any one race or kingdom is irrelevant as long as the peace is not disturbed, a policy with both upsides and downsides: cultures usually mingle a good deal more here than in other realms, but those who have wrought too much evil elsewhere often flee to Genvegr, where they rarely continue to be hunted and can bide their time in relative safety.
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 01:48 |
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Ok, thanks for the information, editing background appropriately. What's the deal with rituals and those who have been deprived of power? Since even Martial characters can pick up training to use them, I'm not sure if the magic is in the user, or in the ritual itself, but for clerics and wizards who might be skilled at performing rituals, can they still use them when not powered?
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 02:36 |
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LightWarden posted:What's the deal with rituals and those who have been deprived of power? Since even Martial characters can pick up training to use them, I'm not sure if the magic is in the user, or in the ritual itself, but for clerics and wizards who might be skilled at performing rituals, can they still use them when not powered?
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 05:27 |
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MMAgCh posted:Nimlach: looking good as well. Because I failed to lay out the initial scene of the game itself, the post itself doesn't quite mesh with how things are going to play out; the concept as such is absolutely sound, though. (I wonder though: how did Alagand get to meet Carthaune, if not by way of an invitation?) I see your point. I can make this a minor edit if Alagand can have met with some assistant who's in on Carthaune's plan. Is that ok? Want to give me a name for such a person? MMAgCh posted:The feat looks fine; in fact, bumping it up to 3 ongoing damage would be OK too. Alternatively, the following is what I came up with; feel free to use whichever. cool, I'll take yours. Thanks.
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 05:57 |
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Fixed a whack of errors on my sheet I noticed. Also, did a skill swap: History in place of Intimidate, as it fits the character better.
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 11:04 |
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So when are you going to select MEN
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 13:16 |
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Nimlach posted:I see your point. I can make this a minor edit if Alagand can have met with some assistant who's in on Carthaune's plan. Is that ok? Want to give me a name for such a person? Will this work for you? Winson_Paine posted:So when are you going to select MEN
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 22:35 |
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OK, background edits done, hopefully they are sufficient, and character sheet posted. http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=2939108&pagenumber=2#post348252266
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# ? Aug 29, 2008 23:31 |
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The background looks OK. You still call Farstrom 'Master Carthaune' at one point, though. As for the sheet: clerics get +2 to Will, not +1 to Fort and Will each. You're also short one healing surge (clerics get 7 + CON modifier surges). Finally, since mundane gear is free, you should have 60gp left over, not 39gp. It would help if you were on IRC, incidentally. Easier to talk about things like these in chat.
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# ? Aug 30, 2008 00:22 |
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You should rename the channel like #mmagame or something
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# ? Aug 30, 2008 01:19 |
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Winson_Paine posted:You should rename the channel like #mmagame or something
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# ? Aug 30, 2008 02:44 |
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MMAgCh posted:The background looks OK. You still call Farstrom 'Master Carthaune' at one point, though. Problems fixed. I'm working on getting an IRC client, but its proving a little more difficult that I was expecting...
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# ? Aug 30, 2008 02:51 |
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http://www.synirc.org/
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# ? Aug 30, 2008 03:11 |
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Background is up. I hope it doesn't suffer from too much . I tried to fit the scale of the world somewhat and make the character reasonably complex, though it's my first serious DnD character in a while. Also: if anyone's was in the Everleaf between 10 and 5 years ago, there's a good chance you've worked with Petra. Aschlafly fucked around with this message at 18:02 on Aug 30, 2008 |
# ? Aug 30, 2008 09:26 |
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I have just determined that recruitment will close Monday evening at, like, 8pm CET or something like that! Picks to follow on Tuesday or Wednesday! Aren't you happy!
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# ? Aug 31, 2008 03:08 |
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code:
As Coreladdabar waited patiently at the Academy of the Lake, he took some time to recall his past. Much like one would relish eating flavorful chocolate from a gift box, he savored each memory with glee. Born to his esteemed parents, Coreladdabar of Lockhaven III and Mistress Eleanor von Trantenstein some twenty seven years ago, his creation was an unexpected surprise. Having other obligations in the Elven realms, Coreladdabar III left only his name and a respectable pile of riches with his son. Despite his father’s almost immediate absence, Coreladdabar IV spent his early childhood well looked after, frolicking with the other children in his mother’s court. She herself was from but a minor noble bloodline, but it granted her enough sway in the courts of Mitback to allow a lifestyle free of uncouth labor. The nurturing environment was good to her son, and he flourished among the court children. Well liked by all due to his exotic nature, and later, his arcane gifts, Coreladdabar fared well through his youth. As it is prone to do, wanderlust soon struck the young half-elf and he set off to forge his own destiny at the age of 15. No longer did he need the sheltered seclusion of the Mitbackian courts. Of course, he wasn’t entirely alone, that would be foolish. Travelling along with him were three men at arms and a servant, paid for by the treasure horde his father had so graciously left behind. Coreladdabar had always been a well behaved child, and this sense of law came with him on his journey. Always conscious of the community around him, the young half-elf knew he had a duty to the kingdom of Utinmar. Word had reached Mitback that Orcish raids upon the trade routes had begun having an impact on commerce in Mitback. Coreladdabar knew this could not be tolerated, and thus he joined the call to arms of the citizens of Utinmar in defense of his homeland and all that was right and just. Shortly thereafter, Coreladdabar had his first encounter with death. He and his three men were grouped with a number of other concerned citizens, intent on discovering the Orcish lair. Following a skilled tracker, they happened upon a number of disgusting Orcish hovels. Though Coreladdabar would have been happy to capture and try these beasts in the high courts of Mitback, he understood that the practicality of such an action was zero, especially in his present company. The bloodthirsty men of Mitback quickly began laying waste to the settlement. The Orcs, caught unawares, were barely able to fight back. At first the young half-elf was shocked by the devastation being wrought around him. He saw horrors that day he could never have imagined. As his childish innocence left him, he took the first steps down the path to manhood. Defended by his men at arms, Coreladdabar cast devastating spells upon the hapless beasts, felling what seemed at the time to be dozens. As the thatch huts went up in flames and the screams of the dying filtered through the haze of smoke, Coreladdabar allowed himself a moment of meditation. Yes, this was it. This was his new world. Staring at the corpses of Orcs lying in the ruins of their former dwellings, he knew in his heart that this was justice. This was the way things should be. Punishment had been dealt to these evildoers and Good and prevailed once again. Returning to Mitback, Coreladdabar and the other men received recognition and awards for a job well done. Knowing that the whole of Mitback was in debt to him, now that was something to be proud of. Over the next few years, the half-elf chased that feeling. Nothing was better than basking in the adulation of those around him. His men at arms grew rich and experienced in his service, and he recruited additional men to help him on his crusade against evil. Coreladdabar traveled all of Utinmar, seeking out those evil hordes that threatened the trade and prosperity of the region. He never had to ask for payment; he was content in letting it come to him. And that it did. Nobles, town councils, and merchants all contributed to his coffers. Soon he was known to many as Coreladdabar, Defender of Justice. But as is the way of the half-elf, Coreladdabar could not be content with such an existence. No, he knew that the development of his magical powers had been neglected in his wanton pursuit of glory. One early July morning, he sent by messenger his application to the Academy of the Lake. No more than a week later did he receive a reply. He was accepted. Coreladdabar promptly handed over control of his forces of justice to his right hand man, one of the original three that had accompanied him since his youth, and left for the Academy of the Lake. And thus a new chapter of his life began. Coreladdabar’s reputation had preceded him. Wielders of arcane power throughout the Academy knew him by name, and recognized his exploits. Though he was entering the academy a little later than was tradition, he was quick to adapt to his new environment. While his arcane education was doing well, Coreladdabar secretly yearned for the open road and adventure. But the skills and spells he was learning here at the Academy, he knew, would ultimately benefit him when the time came once again to banish evil and bring justice to the land. After five long years at the Academy, Coreladdabar was finished. He knew he had learned everything that they could possibly offer to him. Everything his intellect and powers could grasp was within his means. He bid farewell to his mentors and once again set foot in the real world. Now in his mid-twenties, Coreladdabar possessed a solid set of magical powers, and the experience necessary to wield them in the name of good and justice. But he was a believer in progress, not stagnation. Why go back to his old ways of riding with a well equipped group of men? Surely his powers were strong enough to serve him without the need of aid from mere men. And Utinmar? Hah, a small place, why stay here when boundless opportunity no doubt awaited him in other lands. Coreladdabar set off across The Wretched Sea to the lands of Vaere and Saaran, where he sought adventure in the name of all that was Good. Finishing his tour of the continent, he then traveled to Genvegr where he drew much blood and crushed a variety of local evil denizens. Returning to Utinmar as a more worldly individual, Coreladdabar had satisfied his wanderlust for some time. Blinking back to reality, Coreladdabar took stock of his surroundings and prepared himself mentally for the meeting with Carthaune ... Stormtrooper fucked around with this message at 05:08 on Aug 31, 2008 |
# ? Aug 31, 2008 04:18 |
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# ? Mar 29, 2024 07:14 |
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Rh'jamiz Zauvir When looking into his past, it would not be fair to call Rh'jamiz an evil man. He had only been an innocent child of 14 years. Raised in a small settlement some miles from Mitback, Rh'jamiz did not live a life of plenty. His only family had been his mother, what with his father running off after learning of his mother's pregnancy. She did the best she could as a seamstress, attempting to provide her son an opportunity for a better life than the one they had, while Rh'jamiz would do odd-jobs around the village as a means to put food on the table with some regularity. With what little gold she made, she bought him books about magic, insisting that her son do as much studying as possible, so that he could grow up to be a wizard, rich and powerful. And as smart as he was, and as much as he loved his mother, Rh'jamiz found himself too impatient for the proper study of magic. He went too fast, advanced too early, and made several mistakes. If it weren't for the fact that Rh'jamiz practiced on a hill overlooking the village, he would have burned down his own home several times over. It was on one such night atop that hill, at that tender age of 14 years, that the course of Rh'jamiz's life changed drastically. He had been searching for something to impress his mother with, to show her how much he had learned, when he stumbled upon an unnamed ritual, with no description and no listed components. The symbols were complicated, the incantation complex. He was curious, and he was certain the result would be impressive. Sure, it was above his level of knowledge. But he tried his hardest, mispronouncing words and drawing crudely. Despite the horrific mistakes that should of doomed the ritual to failure, some twist of fate intervened. Either fortunately or tragically, Rh'jamiz found himself standing in total, penetrating blackness, surrounded by a feeling of nothingness. He could not feel the wind or the ground beneath his feet, and he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. Out of the emptiness, a Presence came. He could not hear it move, or see its shape, or even smell its breath, but he felt it nonetheless. A coldness. A darkness, blacker than the emptiness that surrounded him. And then it; no, they spoke to him, into him. Into his mind, heart, and soul. They read his thoughts and desires, and offered him everything he had wanted. Power. Respect. Wealth. And in return, they asked for two things. Service, and a sacrifice. To seal their pact, the unnamed asked Rh'jamiz to sacrifice the thing he loved most in the mortal world; his mother. He had until the New Moon to decide. That was about the point when the fear, the cold, and the utter blackness overtook the poor child, and he passed out. He awoke the next morning to find himself in his own bed, drenched in a cold sweat. The events of the previous night were fuzzy, as if only a dream. But he could feel it in his mind, with a dreaded certainty. He knew, somehow, the way in which his mother would have to die in order to gain the powers he so desperately wished for. Understandably, the next three days were the longest in all of Rh'jamiz's life. He did not leave his room save to eat and drink and relieve himself, simply staring at a dark corner of the wall, rocking back and forth in contemplation. Finally, on the night of the Third Day, Rh'jamiz made his decision. With tears streaming down his face, the boy walked into his mother's bedroom, and to her terror and confusion, overpowered her and clubbed her over the head. Rh'jamiz then dragged her out into the kitchen and tied her arms and legs down on the family table. Unfortunately, she was awake when he started cutting. Her screams were muffled by the dishrag, and the last thing she saw was her son's face, a bloody kitchen knife clutched in his hands. Upon making the final incision, Rh'jamiz once more found himself standing in the Void. The Unnamed were pleased with his sacrifice, and the pact was sealed. The boy would have the powers he so desired, and in return, he would complete any task the Unnamed demanded of him. He would not know when or where a task would be handed down. He was to obey, or fall into disfavor. Before he could even respond, the cold overtook him, and he passed out. When he awakened, he did not find himself in his bed, but instead lying on the ground in a small wooded area a mile outside of the village. Filled with grief and anger, not wishing to return and face the questioning of the other members of the village, Rh'jamiz fled toward Mitback, seeking to start a new life there. Unfortunately, even with his new-found power, Rh'jamiz was just a kid. He had no trade skills, and no practical knowledge. As frustrated and angry as he was, he did what any kid would do; he lashed out. He started off ambushing citizens in dark alleyways, knocking them unconscious and running off with their purse. He would sometimes be forced to compete with other cutpurses and thugs, fighting off their blades with spells and curses. Twice during his years as a thug, the Unnamed called upon him to preform some unsavory task, often without his understanding. Each task was seemingly random, but the Unnamed were incredibly specific. The first task was to murder a specific merchant as he was returning to the city. The second was to burn down a small house on the outskirts. The boy completed each task willingly, not wishing to lose favor with his patrons. Rh'jamiz lived on the fringe of society like this for several years, and became quite adept at lying his way out of trouble should the need ever arise, as it so often did. It wasn't until Rh'jamiz was 18 years old that he developed enough patience to actually sit down and begin studying again. It was also about this time that he decided to try to get some legitimate work, as opposed to ambushing merchants for their gold. Posing as an amateur wizard, Rh'jamiz began taking jobs that were looked upon by some wizards as "beneath them". These generally consisted of using magic as brute force, either as protection or to take care of some problem. The gold they earned was meager, but it was legitimately earned. He spent what money he made on room and board, and he spent what time he had to himself either pouring over whatever material regarding the arcane or religious rites the library of Mitback had, or staring up at the stars, trying desperately to find out more about the situation he was in, and the type of being he served. Unfortunately, the only information he could find after searching for so long was a small amount of information on warlocks who studied the stars and that which lies beyond. This lack of information infuriated Rh'jamiz. Deciding that nothing more could be learned in Mitback, he fled the city, stealing a horse and travel-pack from an unfortunate traveler who was on his way to Niemund. Rh'jamiz spent the next fourteen years traveling all across Noremien, scouring the continents for whatever occult and obscure secrets he could find. Whether those secrets were deep inside some forgotten ruin, or locked away in a village temple, Rh'jamiz aimed to take them. To fund his research, he was forced to hire himself out as an adventurer of sorts. Small stuff at first. Solving a local mystery, helping defend a town from bandits, recovering stolen goods, or hiring himself out as a Navigator for sea-going vessels. The usual things. It wasn't long before his name began to spread from town to town, passed along primarily by the merchant caravans that criss-crossed the world. They spoke of an unusual, eccentric wizard. A problem-solver. Rh'jamiz quickly discovered these sorts of jobs payed very well, and when combined with certain objects of value he recovered from various ruins, he had amassed a tidy fortune, which was promptly spent on what magical gear he could afford. Rh'jamiz also learned that there were some things he could not tackle alone, and set about gathering together a small group of mercenaries. While the group did what work they could find amongst the numerous border towns, their primary purposes was to act as bodyguards for Rh'jamiz during expeditions into tombs or ruined temples. And while the work was exceedingly dangerous, and more than once they lost a member of the group to some reanimated horror or insidious trap, the pay was exceptional. During his travels, Rh'jamiz and his company's reputations grew, and not only because of their heroic exploits, success in raiding ancient ruins, and Rh'jamiz's impressive, growing collection of secrets and lore. The services he was forced to preform for the Unnamed also followed his winding path, though he took no pleasure in them. Entire villages killed in their sleep. Crops withering to dust. Forests scorched to cinders. While nothing was ever traced back to the Company, rumors were abound that misfortune followed in Rh'jamiz's wake. The only consolation was the irregularity and infrequency of such cursed events. No one was sure if they would be the next to suffer, but everyone was certain it wouldn't be for a long while yet, if at all. The best course of action was to give the eccentric wizard what he wanted, get what you needed in return, and send him on his way. The last two and a half months have been odd for Rh'jamiz. First, there was this Eclipse business, with the majority of the land losing their arcane and divine abilities. All except him. He had no doubt he had the Unnamed to thank for that small favor. Assuming he was still linked with them. Granted, he had not received any directives from them for some time, but such was not unusual. Only time would tell. The Eclipse had caused a sharp increase in demand for his services, of which he was all too willing to take advantage of for the time being. Secondly, there was this letter from Ravic Carthaune, the headmaster of the Academy and a Councilmember, to boot. It asked that he come to the Academy. It promised a reward. And it declared the matter as urgent. Rh'jamiz wasn't one to pass up the opportunity to pry into the Academy's libraries, let alone turn down an invitation from the Academy Headmaster. Who knows what information they had locked up in there. So he had chartered a boat as quickly as he could, traveling all the way from Vaere, forced to leave his company behind in Syno. It was this that brought him here, to the Academy of the Lake, on the last of the Month. Striding confidently down the halls to where-ever it is Carthaune has designated as the meeting place, Rh'jamiz simply ignores the glances or stares of those around him. Either they knew him or they didn't. It mattered little to the Warlock. Either way, it was time to find out just what he was summoned here for... Click here for the full 504x848 image. Totally not edited. Definitely human. quote:Rh'jamiz Zauvir Rhjamiz fucked around with this message at 04:00 on Sep 2, 2008 |
# ? Aug 31, 2008 08:41 |