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Apparently not, judging by the other thread.
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Oct 10, 2014 01:30
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Correct, I will be attempting to replace Hallie. MADNESS AT GARDMORE ABBEY needs a new striker! My intention is to just slipstream whoever gets picked directly into the current combat, as if they had been with the adventure all along. The particulars: - level 6 character - one free Expertise feat - free Improved Defenses feat - swordmages & battleminds can have their MBA feats (Intelligent Blademaster/Melee Training) - enable inherent bonuses - standard magic item allotment (level 5, 6, 7) plus standard gold (1000 gp), no rares - skill backgrounds are OK but should be related to your character - no themes - no setting-specific feats/items: this means no dragonmarks, no spellscars, no Eberron shards, etc. - no Badge of the Berserker (there’s a Lesser Badge that is OK to take) I value cool concepts and strong roleplaying far more than character optimization or burst-damage elite-murdering nova powerhouse-ness. I would like to find someone pretty quickly, so that we can get things back on track as soon as possible! So get your app in by the end of the weekend!
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Oct 10, 2014 06:15
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Nob Madmaw - Goblin Sorcerer "Ahehehehehehehe" you hear as Nob enters the fray. Then the crash of thunder. Then a burst of rain, followed by a small explosion of fire, quickly followed by ice on the back of your hand. So many elements, so much magic, all from one, tiny little Goblin. Its a wonder he's still alive. Nob comes from the Goblin Delve near the lake of Clearwater, far to the north of Gardmore. However he has ventured far to see what life outside his little lake is like. He doesn't really like it too much, so he just attacks it with magic instead. Realizing he wasn't the smartest of creatures, Nob attached himself to an adventuring party that traveled through Gardmore earlier, and has been following them ever since. Now's his time to shine. Description is not much, I'll add something later, maybe. If I have played this campaign its been many years, and I don't remember it. I hope Goblins are the end boss 
Mustache Ride fucked around with this message at 13:19 on Oct 10, 2014 |
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Oct 10, 2014 08:17
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 Figg Flynn, Halfling Pugilist "It ain't about strength, and it certainly ain't about size. It's about technique. Doesn't matter how strong you are if you can't land a blow!" Figg Flynn, used to be one of the premiere fighters in the Nentir Vale Pugilism Club. In fact, he was the very best. No matter how big and tough his opponents were, Figg Flynn always prevailed. The halfling would simply dance around his opponents, effortlessly avoiding their clumsy blows, getting a few hits in where he could while his opponents tired themselves out. And then, identifying a single chink in his opponent's defenses, Flynn would throw a single punch in the blink of an eye. His opponent would be sent flying backwards, down for the count, while Flynn basked in applause and admiration of the crowd. As it turns out, the other fighters in the Club didn't enjoy getting humiliated by a halfling in every single fight. They conspired together and bribed the ref ensuring that the halfling's next fight would be his last. It started out like every other matche. Flynn effortlessly ducked and weaved below and around his opponent's strikes, waiting for him to become tire out and drop his guard. Finally, after a particularly ponderous swing, Flynn's moment came. He hopped right onto the orc's fist, ran up his opponent's arm, and punched him right on the nose. His opponent went down, knocked out cold. To Flynn's surprise, rather than award him his victory, the referee ruled the fight null and void. He declared that, because Flynn's feet had come in contact with his opponent, he had broken the cardinal rule of the Pugilism Club: only fight with your fists. It was an absurd ruling. Flynn hadn't used his feet to strike his opponent! He was just putting on a show for the crowd. Nevertheless, the ref had no intention of backing down and missing out on his bribe money. Not only was the fight nulled, but Figg Flynn was to be banned from participating in any future Pugilism Club matches. Flynn was stunned. In just a few short minutes, Figg Flynn's world had come crashing down around him. He had gone from the top straight down to rock bottom. Fighting in the Pugilism Club had meant everything to Flynn. The matches were what he lived for! And now he was banned for life. A month later, Flynn finally began to sober up. Not out of choice, but necessity. Flynn had blew through his savings on a pipeweed-and-ale bender the likes of which the halfling world had never seen. After waking with a pounding headache, worse than any he'd given an opponent, Flynn took a long, hard look at himself in a mirror. He thought about what he could possibly do from here. And finally, he came to a decision. He might not be a card-carrying member of the Pugilism Club any longer, but Figg Flynn was still a Pugilist in his heart, dammit! If he couldn't satisfy his need to punch in the ring, then he'd do it out in the wilds as an adventurer, fighting bandits, monsters and who knows what else. Figg Flynn is a Halfling Monk. Mechanically he uses a staff, but I'm refluffing everything to just be punches, jabs, uppercuts, etc.
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Oct 10, 2014 10:40
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Well, if you don't want my previous character, I'll make something new.
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Oct 10, 2014 16:00
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Warlock incoming
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Oct 10, 2014 16:58
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How would you feel about a berserker? There's a build that I've been thinking about playing for a while that basically revolves around completely losing your poo poo once bloodied, though it's still not really a pure striker per se.
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Oct 10, 2014 17:01
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Androc posted:How would you feel about a berserker? There's a build that I've been thinking about playing for a while that basically revolves around completely losing your poo poo once bloodied, though it's still not really a pure striker per se. Last time I ran a berserker in a Majuju game he did 100 damage in one turn at level 7, seems pretty striker-y. 
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Oct 10, 2014 17:38
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Thundarr posted:Last time I ran a berserker in a Majuju game he did 100 damage in one turn at level 7, seems pretty striker-y. I don't remember this at all but it probably happened???
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Oct 10, 2014 17:45
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How long is the long haul? How high level does this campaign supposedly go?
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Oct 10, 2014 17:50
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Majuju posted:I don't remember this at all but it probably happened??? I murdered your supercrab with Bearzerker and then the game died. Sorry. 
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Oct 10, 2014 17:55
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Remember this? Poison Mushroom posted:
girl dick energy fucked around with this message at 18:46 on Oct 10, 2014 |
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Oct 10, 2014 18:08
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Gharbad the Weak posted:How long is the long haul? How high level does this campaign supposedly go? Runs to ~10ish. We've gotten through around 10% of the encounters so far.
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Oct 10, 2014 18:15
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 Colm Gallagher, Warlock The youngest and most dangerous of three brothers trained by the dark mage Gamdar, Colm is reckless, bloodthirsty, and unflappably cheerful. He relishes the notion of being a hero as much as he enjoys tearing foes limb from limb with his dark arts. And he does it all with a smile on his face. Surely Gardmore Abbey will have fantastic arcane secrets to raid and plenty of bad people to obliterate! reskinned hobgoblin, I only took the race for the stat boosts
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Oct 10, 2014 18:37
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And Punch's new sheet is done. In the interest of making the mechanics of his fighting style as uncomplicated as the flavor, PUNCH is now a Slayer with a reskinned Maul as his punching. Shields are for wimps.
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Oct 10, 2014 18:45
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 Vaslev, Vryloka Cosmic Sorcerer Vampires. The most insidious of the undead. But for their weakness to the sun's golden rays they look the same as any other living man. Though perhaps twice as pale. They can travel in mortal circles and weave their ways of duplicity and control amongst the populace and rule unquestioned, either from the shadows through a figurehead or at the front of their cabal. Only the vagaries of their appearance gave them away to the untrained observer. But the Vampires in the gloomy township of Ravenstradt had an idea of how to get around that, if the taint of undeath marked them as different from the rest of the town, then clearly the town needed to change. At the age of 13 the youth of Ravenstradt undertook the Rite of the Sanguine, marking them with just a bit of Vampiric power. This also reinforced the control they held over the town, as those who drank of their blood became fawning sycophants, hoping that one day the Vampires would elevate them too into glorious undeath. Thus it continued for years, the Vampires ruling over their fawning herd. Occasionally elevating a particularly vile mortal soul just to keep up the charade. This was the town that Vaslev grew up in. His parents told him often of the glories of their vampire saviors, of the glorious undeath that awaited those that served them piously. But he saw the outsiders as they passed through town. They didn't live in fear of the Vampires, they didn't cower from the bright light of day. In them he saw a strength that his parents lacked. Even after he had partaken of the Sanguine he did not believe any of their lies. True the Vampires were powerful, but they were not gods, nor were they even divine. They lived in fear of the sun, and it was to the sun that Vaslev looked for guidance. Vaslev often wandered near the edges of town, praying to the sun and whatever gods would listen. It was there that the guards found him, and draged him back before his vampire masters to face their judgement. He was given a choice, swear fealty or die. Beneath the stark light of the moon, he realized something. If the moon can reflect the sun, why couldn't he? He reached up and tore the light down from the sky, hurling it at his attackers and fleeing while the brilliance burned their tainted flesh. Thus he remained, an outcast from his village though free from pursuit, the vampires were masters of Ravenstradt, but they were also prisoners within it's borders. Vaslev knew where they were and one day, once he was ready, he would return to burn them all away like rot from a wound.
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Oct 10, 2014 19:23
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Gen, Seeker of Iram(Githzerai Ranger) Sorry for the ginormous wallpaper. Deep in the Elemental Chaos lies the hidden fortress-monastery of Iram, home to the Keepers of Anathema. The eternal mission of these seers and sages is to watch over the mortal world from afar, protecting it from "that which is too perilous to know." When signs arise of any knowledge, new or old, that poses a threat to mortal civilization, Iram mobilizes its elite soldiers--the Seekers. Such is Gen. A loyal disciple of the Keepers, Gen has been trained from birth in the arts of battle and secrecy, equally adept at assassinating power-hungry mages from afar or stealing fell artifacts for safe-keeping in Iram's impenetrable vaults. The Keepers' latest command to him was a mere two words: "seek Covarian." The Keepers impart as much knowledge to their servants as they safely can, and normally such a terse directive would indicate something incredibly dangerous, a mission for many Seekers. Yet Gen was dispatched to the mortal world alone. The incongruity is cause for concern, but the wisdom of the Keepers is deep and their ancient plan is not to be questioned by the ignorant. Perhaps it is simply a test, an evaluation of Gen's worthiness for induction into the higher ranks. And so, Gen seeks Covarian. The search has been arduous, for Gen dares not ask after Covarian directly and risk the inadvertent spreading of that which is too perilous to know. He still knows nothing of its nature, but he is confident of its location: the vicinity of Gardmore Abbey. In the absence of further support from Iram, he has followed his training and fallen in with a band of worthy mortal adventurers who know nothing of his mission. Covarian will be found, and Gen has faith that when it is, he will know exactly what to do. Hwurmp fucked around with this message at 04:15 on Oct 11, 2014 |
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Oct 11, 2014 00:45
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Hey look, another sorcerer app. Nine, Kobold Sorcerer  Nine was born in a swamp. Most kobolds, she learned as a wyrmling, lived in the mountains, or underground. There was no living underground in the marsh, because the ground was too wet and fluid to dig a proper burrow. Her tribe, the Svergith, had been enslaved generations ago by the green dragon Korthoth and moved into his lowlands domain from their mountain home. The swamp stank of rot, and there were mosquitoes everywhere, and it rained nigh-constantly. Nine had never been into the mountains, but was pretty sure that stone caverns didn't stink and have biting insects and certainly didn't have any rain. But even in her miserable muddy home in the mangrove roots, Nine was afforded a few small luxuries. She had sorcerous magic flowing in her veins, putting her in as high a caste as kobold society afforded. She spent her youth apprenticed to the tribe shaman, a wise medicine woman whose name, in Common, translated to Eight -- because that's how many shamans the tribe had had since Korthoth instituted the stupid naming scheme. The kobolds did as Korthoth demanded -- raiding and pillaging to grow their mighty god-protector's horde, mostly. The shamans were exempted from combat, but as the liason to Korthoth they were the ones who presented the tribute. Korthoth would sniff at anything brought to him, maybe roll in it a little, while Eight gave an account of the battle and the tribe's current events. Nine accompanied her to one such meeting, and listened to Eight's testimony of the battle with a nearby troop of goblins. And while Eight gave the account, Korthoth... snored. The ball of fire was already in Nine's hand, raised to fling at Korthoth's sleeping body, when Eight stopped her. "No need to throw your life away, child", she reprimanded, and let Nine out. Nine stomped and squelched around her muddy tent of animal hides for most of the night. Those were people, people who had fought and died for that stupid lizard to have a few more measly coins to roll around on! Ugh! And his name actually meant "Dangerous fangs" in the trade-tongue of mammals! Stupid! Who did that overgrown serpent think he was, anyway? The answer, of course, was a massive cunning spell-slinging semi-aquatic wyrm with terrible rending claws and, yes, dangerous fangs and breath that reeked of deadly toxins. Well! Well... Erm. Nine packed her few belongings and simply left. She never found out if Korthoth ever noticed she was gone, or even was in his service in the first place. She had a pack of food and gear, a magic robe that produced nearly anything else she needed, and magic sandals so that she didn't have to actually swim out of the river delta. Oh, and phenomenal magical powers to bend the laws of the universe to her whim. A mere kobold couldn't defeat a dragon, but... another dragon certainly could, right? Then that was Nine's goal: to ascend to a pinnacle of power that she transformed into one of the great beasts herself. Then she'd be back, and take back her tribe, and lead them to the glory they deserved. --- - Hey what's this a shrine to the dragon-god Bahamut let's have a look around shall we? - I don't know if the prepublished adventure offers much wiggle room for backstory antagonists, but hey, here's one. - Between a Sorcerer's low overhead and a Robe of Useful Items, Nine travels pretty light. But that means her wealth can stay in coin form -- if she happens to be bedding down in a particularly secure spot, she'll dump out her money into a pile and sleep on it. It's what dragons do, after all... and the cool metal does feel pretty nice on her scales. - Her Sorcerer spells don't reflect it very well because there just aren't very many typed spells, but her Dragon Soul is poison-type, like green dragons themselves. Make anything of that you will. - A kukri is basically a hatchet, which is a lot more useful than a dinky little dagger in an overgrown marsh, so sure let's go with that.
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Oct 11, 2014 02:31
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Resubmitting my dude as a striker.Izzy posted:
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Oct 11, 2014 06:08
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 Balasar Shedinn, Dragonborn Blackguard The Shedinn clan was not always a name only uttered in whispers amongst the Dragonborn. Once, they were a powerful, devoted family; Bahamut first, family second was their creed. They served, from the day they hatched until the day they died. There was a quaint sort of tranquility they found in battle, destroying those Bahamut commanded. A funny sort of peace they relished, content with their place amongst their race. That is, until Za'ahn Shedinn, the patriarch and leader of their devoted order, did the unthinkable. Smashing one of his own eggs, saying that Bahamut commanded him to purge the weak and the pitiable of his future lineage, to remove weakness from his bloodline before it could be shown to the world. A killer of children, a merciless man, one who couldn't show justice and fairness; this he was declared, and his clan exiled from Arkosia. Balasar was one of the many paladins of Bahamut who felt rage and indignation in equal measure. He turned his fury outward, leaving the order and wandering the world, vowing not to return to Arkosia nor to his clan, his family, until he could prove that he was greater than his family tree, that he could rise above a man who would stoop low enough to harm his future children. Bahamut was merficul in letting Balasar keep his divine power, and, in time, Balasar found the eye of the storm of anger he had created. He walks a fine line between Bahamut's justice and the anger of a lifetime of training to kill or be killed, honed by the injustice done to him and to those he loved most. He fights for those who cannot fight for themselves. He fights for his own glory, for the honor of clan Shedinn, and for his race, of whom he still holds in regard; someday, he knows they will accept him back into their ranks. He fights because his god wills it, and because he has no other choice. PurplieNurplie fucked around with this message at 21:45 on Oct 11, 2014 |
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Oct 11, 2014 06:45
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Thistle, Shifter Berserker Thistle's name comes from the flowering plant whose seeds are borne aloft on the wind. It was given to him by the man he called father, a hermit who maintained the last shrine of an obscure god. Like his namesake, Thistle was carried to the shrine by the winds of chance and given into the hermit's care by parents he would forget with the passing seasons. His childhood was a good one, in his reckoning. Thistle assisted the hermit in his various rituals and sacrifices and helped to maintain the shrine. They had frequent visitors in the form of farmers and woodsmen who still respected the old ways, and it was their generosity which allowed Thistle and the hermit to survive. In time, the hermit entrusted Thistle to make trips for supplies to the village nearby. Though other children occasionally whispered about “the strange animal boy from the shrine,” he paid them no mind. Time passed, and the hermit grew old. In the course of an unusually fierce winter, he fell ill and died. Thistle mourned his father in solitude, and returned his body to the earth beneath the roots of a spreading willow. For two more winters he maintained the shrine alone, repeating the rituals and sacrifices as he had been taught. But the world was changing and visitors came less and less and eventually not at all. The water-voice was a spirit of nature, but it was also a spirit of cycles, beginnings and endings. By the standards of gods, it marshaled little resistance to its own. Its last commandment was spoken into Thistle's heart in a voice of autumn rain: [Go.] Thistle has not heard it since, but he maintains his rituals and oblations no matter where his travels lead. Thistle is a man of few words, and deals with the less straightforward aspects of the modern world with a sort of good-natured resignation. Though he is slow to anger and gentle with those weaker than himself, Thistle's morality is firmly rooted in the old ways. When he has accepted its necessity, he is capable of terrible violence without hesitation or remorse. Lacking any better purpose since leaving home, he has decided to attempt to locate his birth parents. Recently, a promising rumor has led him to Gardmore Abbey. Androc fucked around with this message at 07:37 on Oct 12, 2014 |
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Oct 11, 2014 20:34
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 06:48 |
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OK I HAVE MADE A CHOICE! IT'S IZZY'S CHARACTER, LEVI, SHEPHERD OF THE DEAD. Thank you for the frankly overwhelming pile of speedy applications! Izzy I have made you a token:  Feel free to pop in and take a combat turn immediately if not sooner! Anias this applies to you too!!! Majuju fucked around with this message at 06:15 on Oct 13, 2014 |
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Oct 13, 2014 05:48
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