[Characters] Characters

[Haelmaxan]

Post your finished character sheets here.

[lcg16]

FINISHED Sheet:

 

Name/Gender: Richelle Tamblyn (Female)

Race/Sub-type: Human

Age: 37

Classes: Cleric 3/Church Inquisitor 6/Ordained Champion 5/Divine Oracle 6

Alignment/Deity: Lawful Neutral (Red Knight)

Character Focus: Melee Support/Healer

Physical Appearance (can include photo): A dark haired, brown eyed woman of average height, she dresses in plate armour of reddish hue, over crimson clothes and gold trim. Her skin is pale, and her lips red as rubies. A cloak drapes over her slender athletic figure. All in all, a fairly attractive woman, if she wasn't so taken with her devout calling. She has a tendency to turn her hair the colour of blood red every now and then, to make her seem a little more intimidating, since...well, her average build wasn't going to do it for her...

Her bearing is stately and refined, and she seems solemn, except for that gentle smile. Still, though her might isn't obvious, one cannot help but judge her a warrior, cloaked in the symbol of the Lady of Strategy.

 

Mental State or Personality: Stern, stubborn, and unrelentingly uncompromising, the devout warrior priestess Richelle is seen as a bastion of unrelenting faith by the many churches of war, not only by acolytes of the Red Knight, but the greater churches of Torm, Tempus and Valkur as well...

Still, the youngest ordained champion ever noted in the Grandmistress' book, this battle maiden knows she isn't anywhere near the perfect paragon some envision her to be, and her bastardy birth always hangs over her head. Knowing the cause of her unexpected birth, when a noble paladin was magically compelled to have his way with her mother, Richelle is always fearful of being caught unprepared, and she seeks ways of becoming more versatile in her abilities as well as predicting exactly what troubles to expect, and to protect herself from corruptibility. This terror of being unready to defend her faith, and fear of being rendered helpless in a fight for her Lady is growing more intense, after such a troubling period amongst the divinities.

Coupled with the strain of being idolized and adored, a troublesome enough development already for someone who has made her name partly as a heretic hunter, Richelle these days seems to be grave and overly serious, her smiling countenance growing into a rarer sight. Personally, she prays repeatedly to her stoic patron that she does not crack under the pressure...

Personal Life: Proselytizing, preaching and rooting out infidels. But seriously, Richelle's duties had grown quite great once she was given a church of her own to tend. The Red Knight's flock never was quite large, but it was always attended by the more influential people of the land...Sages, generals, master tacticians and noble lords...And all of them visited her, seeking guidance when they were troubled.

While she performed these duties as ably as she could, drawing on her own myriad experiences as adventurers, any warrior priestess worth her salt would grow bored quite quickly of sitting around, tending to one's flock. To be honest, maybe this was why the Red Knight's following was so small in the first place. Combined with her dislike for being highly pressured with lots of questions and worries and concerns, as well as the vile taste in her mouth every time the matter of noble birth and baptismal ceremonies were discussed within her church's halls, being a bastard born of a paladin, still revered as a hero...

One day, Richelle decided she had had enough, and writing a hasty letter to her superior, she left the church in the hands of a deputy. She needed some fresh air, and maybe she'd go find out what the old band was up to these days. Such a stress reliever, these adventures are...

[RonarsCorruption]

<sheet completeness pending. still to do: misc equipment>

Name Samuel Tennyson
Race Human
Gender Male
Class Bard 10, Seeker of the song 10
Alignment Chaotic good with neutral tendancies
Age 52
Character Focus Buffs/Support/alternate skill monkey

 

Physical Description: Samuel is larger than life in everything but physical stature. Standing at a modest 5'5", his outfit is referred to politely as needlessly loud - but it draws the eye to him which is ultimately a success in his books. He wears a small green hat perched precariously atop his shoulder-length hair which he now uses magic to keep at a "much nicer shade of silver than it was turning naturally". The bottom layer of his outfit is a tight white shirt and brown breeches. Typically, only the color and ruffs around the sleeves are visible amid the further layers of bright red, green and blue coats and vests. At least a dozen thin belts are strapped about his waist barely visible, each one supporting the weight of a myriad of tools of his trade, flash powders, musical instruments, spell components, books of music and more. They usually clatter together as he moves, which only encourages the comments about the loudness of his outfit.

In addition to all that, a worn brown pack is slung over his back, from which Samuel has been known to produce the most amazing things. Only two of them does he ever show more than occasionally. The first is his beloved lute. Carved from petrified darkwood by the legendary Bengal of Trepsco, and inlaid with gold and ivory, the highly polished instrument is impressive of itself, even before Samuel begins to play. The other is a bow "carved from the fang of a sea-serpent" which Samuel uses only sparingly to win over particularly unfavorable audiences.

((Ideally, the bow will be enchanted to fire really really big arrows. I'll figure out the mechanics later, but I like the image.))

 

Personality: Samuel enjoys being the center of attention, even if it's not all positive. He dresses gaudy and speaks loudly nearly always hoping to catch just the slightest bit of extra attention from any passers-by. You could call him gregarious and you'd be right. When left alone, save when he has something important to do, his first instinct is to find any person or even beast that might listen to him talk or even just look at him.

Fortunately for his old, and recently new again traveling companions, Samuel knows the benefit of a well-timed silence, or quiet conversation. With some simple charms, his coats fade to a much more serious brown, and he can (usually) restrain himself from drawing attention when there are other important things going on.

the notable exception is when the group was attempting to sneak into a fortified lizardman stronghold, and Samuel heard a group of them oohing and [/i]aahhing[/i] over something. If he hadn't had to listen to it for nearly five minutes as they crept around the courtyard through a ditch he might not have had to jump out to see what was going on. Unfortunately, it was a wrestling match between the two largest lizardmen in the castle, and if not for the help and timely reattaching of his leg offered by his companions, he probably wouldn't have survived that bout with curiosity. Still, the urge hits him to be the center of attention of anything that seems to be paying attention to anything else.

 

Personal Life: When the group ultimately decided to settle down, Samuel was the first to get up and leave again. Barely two months of settled life and Samuel's wanderlust, and the urge to have people actually listen to him again got the better of him, and he up and went travelling again, although of a much different kind. He had always been a performer, and his enchanted music had helped the group through countless scrapes in the past, but he had very rarely the chance to actually travel and tell the world of how great they were - particularly himself.

So, he traveled, and sung, and told tales of daring exploits. He became almost a household name, for in his wanderings he rarely stayed more than a few days in any place, though he did return every few years or months depending on how interesting the place was and how much demand there was for his talent. He always made time to return and talk with his friends, because as much as he loved the attention the masses gave him, he had travelled with his friends for nearly twenty years, and there was none whose attention he desired more than theirs. When he returned from one of his trips to find that the mischievous Barrin had bitten off more than he could chew, he immediately penned an epic tale of his tragic end and spread it to the winds, everyone eager to hear of the last exploit of one of the characters whose adventures they had come to know and love.

As for family, Samuel had never had the urge to settle down with any one woman. His charms (though not magical ones - that would be unethical) and his talents were more than enough to earn him the bed of many a woman, and there was little doubt he had perhaps a dozen children across the continent. None whose names or faces he knew, though.

[Mason]

Name: Fitz
Gender: Male
Race: Chaos Gnome
Age: 67
Classes: Swashbuckler/Sorcerer/Eldritch Knight/Abjurant Champion
Alignment: CG
Character Focus: Arcane Caster (18th lvl), Ranged Support (Rays), Backup Healer (Wands)

Physical Appearance:
He stands just a touch over three feet in height and has a lean build, more from activity than exercise though. His fiery red hair has accents of blonde running through and his kept fairly short. And it always looks like he uses an electric spell to style it. He is constantly changing the color of the clothes he wears, usually to suit his moods. As of late, he is fond of rich blues with yellow trim. To most, his fashion sense seems to clash, and it’s a good thing that he cares little for what others think. The one thing he detests more than anything else is his kin’s fondness for curly toed shoes. At times he wonders if the entire gnomes population had been but under some kind of spell that he alone was immune to.

Mental State or Personality:
Fitz has a love of life and all things new and undiscovered. In this, he is very child-like. He finds joy in the simplest of things, dew glistening of a rose in the early hours, tapping a keg of master-brewed and aged dwarven ale, casting a Daylight spell in the face of a drow priestess. If something held his interest, it held his attention. If it didn’t, he simply moved on until he found something else that did.


Personal Life:
Fitz used a good portion of the gold that he had accumulated over the years to open his dream establishment. A kind of place that he had always sought out in every new town he came to, but never finding anything that lived up to his wants. So he decided to make one himself. It had gaming tables of every sort. It hosted various bards, some of well renowned, but all good. It provided rooms for the weary traveler. It’s tavern was well-stocked for even the most eclectic taste. In short, if you had the gold, it would provide the vice.

He chose the name ‘Fool’s Gambit’ because his knew what he wanted, but he had really no idea how to run a business. It turned out that he really didn’t need to know that much. It seemed that he had created a place that others had been wanting too. After the first year, the place was able to run without any more coin being put into it. At the four year mark, he had made back what he had put into it. And now, he had more than what he knew what to do with.

With the challenge of getting his establishment going now a thing of the past, Fitz is finding life rather boring. Even magic, his first true love, brings him little joy. Studying a new spell from the mage academy pales in comparison to finding a lost tome in a defeated dragon’s horde. All of his life, excitement and the thrill of adventure has pushed him onward. Until this moment, he has never known true fear.

Example of Writing Skill:
Fitz banged his head on his desk for the seventeenth time since he was handed the news. The pit boss that had given him the news stood in calm silence before him, hardly surprised by his actions. One of his card dealers had been caught skimming off the top and now it was given over to him to decide what to do. With a redder than usual forehead, Fitz finally looks up. ”OK, first off, I’m docking your pay for the next week. Maybe that will teach you to get a little more angry and solve these problems yourself. Go ahead and choose which church your pay will be going to”.

He gets up and tries to looks serious as he walks around. He fails as a big grin crosses his face. ”I think our dealer needs to be taught a lesson and used as an example to the others. I pay them more than a fair wage for what they do around here, even more for having to deal with me as a boss. They don’t need to be stealing even more. Have him report to Giles in the tavern. For the next two weeks he’ll be serving drinks. Make certain that he’s given one of the girl’s’ outfits with the extra short skirts. And make him pad his bustier even more than they do. He might be able to take it in stride for the first week, but it’s the second that he’ll learn his lesson. We’re going to be hosting the dwarven contingent of the Blacksmith’s Guild. They should be able to dole out punishment that we couldn’t even begin to comprehend. If he refuses, tell him that it’s either that or the local law”. With a grin that stretches even wider, Fitz begins to imagine what things will befall his new ‘waitress’.

[Ithamar]

Name: Zarpuk Tugglemyrth (Sheet still in progress)
Race: Dragonborn Mongrelfolk
Gender: Male
Class: Dragonfire Adept 20
Alignment: Neutral Good
Deity: Bahamut
Age: 36

 

Certainly not the most handsome or attractive fellow you’ll ever meet, Zarpuk is not bad looking when compared to other mongrelfolk. But he is far taller than most of the mutts you’ll meet down in the alleys, and he has a barrel chest and booming voice to match. His entire upperbody is covered in thick platinum scales. Zarpuk typically dresses in dark colors (grey and black), but is decked out in fine jewelry, mostly platinum with green or blue stones. He always wears a pair of lenses glasses tinted green for undisclosed reasons. (When asked, he’ll simply state that he prefers the way the world looks when everything is green.)

 

Easy-going and friendly, Zarpuk loves meeting new people and has a knack for remembering faces and names. He likes to tell jokes, dance like no one is watching, and loves to eat very long and expensive meals. A bit greedy or covetous at times perhaps, but this is mainly due to growing up in absolute poverty and having the mentality that you need to fight for what's yours. He usually prefers to talk out a situtation, but has no problems applying a well directed blast of flame to help speed along a problem’s resolution.

 

Zarpuk grew up in the alleys and gutters of a [Generic Large City]. His mom abandoned him when he was only seven, and so he spent the next decade learning to fend for himself, which usually included mugging any unsuspecting passer-by that happened to wander into his turf.
One day a kind old kobold was passing through the town on business and ended up getting lost in the bad part of town. Zarpuk tried to run off with the man’s coin purse, but was quickly stopped in his tracks when the kobold simply commanded him to halt. Finding himself unable to move a muscle, the poor youth was subjected to a two hour long sermon on the pitfalls of thievery and was threatened with eternal damnation if he did not change his ways. When the spell wore off, the kobold told young Zarpuk that he was a cleric of the blessed Bahamut, and should he so choose, the kobold would take him in as a ward and train him in the ways of the dragongod. Zarpuk had little reason not to accept the offer, and thus began his training.
Twelve years later, and Zarpuk was drafted into a special mobile artillery division for the war. He, and a group of others that were highly mobile and blessed with various short range, yet highly deadly, breath weapons. The collection of half-dragons, dragon shaman, and other dragonfire adepts were dubbed the “Last Breath”, as they were typically deployed at the end of a battle to sweep through and charbroil any stragglers or wounded enemy soldiers.
After about five or six years of a successful military career, Zarpuk retired and went on a series of brief, but lucrative adventures where he was able to put his military skills to good use. Returning home, he donated more than half of his accrued wealth to the temple of Bahamut, but he retained enough to ensure that he would be able to live his remaining years rather comfortably.
But boredom quickly set in, and now Zarpuk finds himself on the edge of a new continent, vast wealth and adventures waiting to be had…

[CH82]

If anyone would like a glance. She is unfinished though.

http://www.rpgcrossing.com/view.php?id=78762


Name: Still thinking about it (not her name)
Gender: Female
Race: Sun Elf
Age: 100
Classes: Wizard/Incantrix
Alignment: LN
Character Focus: Arcane Caster / Caster metamagic support

[Byrac]

Name: Vran Keldor
Race: Goliath
Gender: Male
Age: 160ish
Class: Barbarian 6/ Fighter 4/ Living Disaster of Vanua 10
Alignment: Neutral good
Role: Tank/Bulldozer

Physical Description: Vran stands just over 16 feet tall and weighs close to 1 ton. He Has pale white skin with blotches of gray scattered about and fiery red eyes. His body is covered in scars rom the many adventures he went on.

Personality: Vran tends to be a go with the flow kinda guy. He let's nature take it's course, though he does tend to step in when civilization starts to effect things to much he is more than willing to stop it. He is very passionate about conserving nature and can easily be goaded into a rage about it.

Retired Life: After the group disbanded Vran returned to his clan and took up a role as defender and the leader of the followers of Vanua. During his time as an adventurer his species natural wanderlust was amplified and staying in his clan home territory was starting to grow dull. When he received the letter asking the group to get back together he appointed others to fill his positions and left to meet the others without a second thought.