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#1
02-01-2011, 05:29 PM
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Biographies A-Z
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#2
02-07-2011, 06:10 AM
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Name: Dancer Weldig (Also linked to Username)
__________________Race/Gender: Wild Elf/Female Class: Dragon Shaman (Brass)(PHB2) Alignment: CG Last edited by Bio; 03-07-2011 at 01:04 AM.
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#3
02-07-2011, 06:47 AM
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Name: Gunther Rendik http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=19521
Race: Human Class: Fighter Alignment: Chaotic Good Appearance:Gunther is a well-built man, but not stocky. He has curly black hair and a thick beard with hints of red, hinting at a diverse ancestry. His hazel eyes roam a spectrum of blue to green, and his fair skin is tanned and weatherbeaten. He speaks in a baritone, and sings lower, though whether the latter is any good is a matter of opinion. He has various distinctive features of a sailor from a recent voyage; his hands are callused and scarred from handling rigging. Personality: Gunther is single-minded, stubborn, even a bit obsessive. Despite his self-degradations he isn't stupid, indeed he may well be one of the more intelligent fighting men there are. He enjoys entertainment, and if there's no bard around to provide some he will sometimes attempt to provide his own, with varying degrees of success. His ability to focus on an objective can be wearing, but he tends to acheive well when he does complete them. Background: The old archivist begins with a small journal, soaked by seaspray and salty. It is the captain's log of a small vessel; the date in the page he turns to is smudged out. It is a shame to see my small venture so quickly washed up; long days at sea have made my men long for home. We set out for riches, and have seen only hardships. I am willing to press on, but my crew is not. They have elected a new captain, and are threatening mutiny. I must heed their demands, but they have granted me a request; I shall be set adrift at the nearest shore. Now is a likely time to record my history, for any posterity who might like to know who I am. Even as the thought comes to me it sounds foolish. Who wants to read the failed voyage of a salty seaman, who is barely even that? I am from a land called Venturia, far across the sea from where we are now, as I reckon my directions. It is unlikely anyone reading this shall have ever heard of it, unless it somehow makes it's way back to my family. In that stagnant and dreary land I left behind a wife, two sons and a daughter. By now she has probably married some fat merchant, thinking me dead. I was a soldier in the guard of that land; a dread arm with the glaive I was. I still am, and it will be one of the few possessions alotted me upon my marooning. The ill-fated venture I began twenty months ago by the counting of the sun and moon was born of idiocy and pride. I am sure the laughing rouge has played a trick on me. Perhaps Kord... no, I should have strength in myself before I call upon gods. If this does return to my family someday, I want them to know that I was a fool, and I am sorry. It appears that the watcher in the Crows Nest is calling out land. And what is more, a town! I must go abovedecks and record this location. I do so hope that I may obtain a copy of the charts. - Captain Rendik, VKS Morrisanne The rest of the entry is a crude drawing of a sea map near Griffon's Bluff, with hastily scribbled notes with later dates appended. Last edited by Tsukos; 02-07-2011 at 07:52 AM.
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#4
02-07-2011, 12:57 PM
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Name: Alkese Mageblade
Race: Human Class: Warlock / Fighter Alignment: Chaotic Good Appearance, personality: Legend shapes the appearance of heroes over time; and heroic deeds themselves shape the countenance and motivations of those who commit them. However, the following excerpt was found recorded by one diligent note-taker who met Alkese right as her grand journey began. Background: Taken from the journal of Alkese Mageblade
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#5
02-07-2011, 05:28 PM
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Randolph Carter
Name: Randolph Carter http://rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=18808
__________________Race: Human Class: Wizard Alignment: True Neutral Appearance: Randolph is a human of twenty four, of medium height and build, with raven-black hair and glasses. He tends not to stand out much, unless you look him in the eyes. He has the eyes of a man who has seen much evil and knows the way the world really works. Of course, this is true, and he prefers not to make eye contact with too many strangers, lest he be questioned about his piercing blue eyes. Personality is in the spoiler Background is in this other spoiler
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#6
02-07-2011, 06:26 PM
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Name: Calahir Dorian
Race: Elf Class: Bard Alignment: Chaotic Good Appearance: Calahir is a white skinned man, standing at around 5 feet. He never worried much about muscles, and thus is quite thin. He has long, dark hair, with a braid that reaches right below his neck. His eyes shine of a deep blue, contrasting the red tatoos painted across his face, forming an elven rune of ancient meaning. Personality: Calahir is generally calm and patient. He tends to be very cool even when in dangerous situations. But, thanks to his bloody childhood, he is usually suspicious of all but his closest friends. But despite that, he usually reacts well in a crowd, and is very charismatic. Background: The old sage shows the young student a book shielded by a black cover, decorated only by a small circle colored by gold in the middle. He begins to read it out loud: "[...]Before I start writing what I've lived through in my dark journey, I will first detail my past, long before I became a mercenary. I was born in a small settlement called the Free Hills. Quite an ironic name, considering what happened there (and also the fact that mountains in the region were more prevalent than actual hills, but I guess it's hard to tell the difference). We were all ruled by a group of humans called The Cabal of Hextor. They believed that the humans were the only 'pure' race, and that all other races did not deserve the gifts of modern society. Families were kept in check by their opressive human overlords, who treated us like dirt. It was, by all means, wrong; but who would possibly care about a settlement in the middle of nowhere? But even with our cruel rulers, some of us still managed to live normal lives. I, for one, managed to find happiness in writing, and I wrote poems to spread them among the world. Well, our world, at last. Until came the day of my brother's wedding, the happiest day of his life. Weddings among our little city were rare, as I sure readers will understand, and many of our large elven lineages came to the wedding. Considering the size of the families and the settlement, it was reasonable to say that nearly all elves of the Free Hills were there. And that day would become a major point in our history. During the ceremony, Lord Calmert Gorunn, slaver of my family, 'crashed the party' and, seizing my brother with his soldiers, claimed possession of his wife, Lyra, and took her away. That was the last straw. My brother, as angry as anyone could be, every day after that one, met in secret with friends of his and organized a resistance. One day, he said "Enough!" and the whole town fought back against their rulers. Many were killed in the struggle, elves and humans, and we nearly won. Nearly. Truth is, the human nobles were many. It was none other than Lord Gorunn who burned the city down, and sealed us within the walls. There were few survivors. "Guard my words, Calmert. You will pay for this." I shouted at him as he walked away. He replied with a cruel laugh as he kicked my bleeding, fallen body. I escaped among the other survivors of the carnage, but I was thinking of only revenge. Did I get it? Maybe. But that is a story for the rest of the book. The point is, I became a wandering mercenary, training my combat skills and living a life of adventure, dreaming of the day I'd slice a sword through Calmert's chest. But, the truth is... that was only the start of it all." Last edited by TheUltimateHammer; 02-07-2011 at 08:11 PM.
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#7
02-07-2011, 09:40 PM
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Name: Ganch Hollowson
Race: Human Class: Cleric Alignment: Neutral Good Personality: Ganch is a defender first and foremost, and won't turn down a reasonable (or even slightly unreasonable) request for aid. He's a little bit of a sucker for sob stories, but is no stranger to deceit. Nothing angers his soul more than the sight of the weak being taken advantage of or neglected by the rich, and he strives to improve the lot of those who cannot improve their own. Fighting disease and the creatures who spread it is a special joy for Ganch. His social personality is amiable, laced with a tendency towards slipping into occasional brooding spells. Ganch is the least likely member of a typical party to endorse acts outside the law; however he is by no means unreasonable. Ganch has a noticeable personality quirk; he tends to become very stern and teacher-like around children or anything perceived as childlike. He actually is quite fond of them, but generally feels the best way to raise a child is to raise them tough, so they can overcome challenges in their lives. Background: Ganch Hollowson was born to a family of fishermen in Broken Surf, a peninsular village known for making terrific sails for ships. The village was quite neatly divided between those who had become rich making sails, and those who fished or crafted for a living. Poverty of resource was a common thing, but Ganch was educated in the meaning of true riches. It was fully expected that he would follow in his father's trade, sailing out with his nets and traps each morning and returning with the bounty of the sea each evening to provide food and fatherhood for a family of his own. What was not expected was the drying up of the coastal fishbeds, the sudden disease that all but annihilated the special silkworms that were used for making the village's sails, or the near-total abandonment of the village that followed. As his family moved north in search of more profitable waters, his mother was taken in a seasonal fever, and his elder sister soon followed from consumption. With his father still hale and able to fish for himself, Ganch heard his calling in the tragedy that struck his family. His close experience with death and disease gave way to deeper consideration, and after several months of wandering, Ganch chose to don the garb of a holy man in the service of a deity that fights death and suffering, especially among the meager. Now proudly brandishing the symbol of Pelor, Ganch seeks to fight the slow encroachment of decay in the world, and gladly gives of his powers to the meek and poor. He has gained a mild reputation among those he has helped for never taking more than his due, and often taking far less in payment. Appearance: Lean and ropey, Ganch has a fisherman's build and features, with knuckles long-calloused from hard work at sea, and a thick, jagged scar down his leg from a boating accident as a teenager. He speaks with a deep, rumbling voice, the product of years of out-shouting gales. One of his ears is pierced with a simple fishhook, and his hair is slightly wild and unmanageable, as though sea water still clung to it when dry. Journal: Books and writing were scarce among the meager in Broken Surf, and became one of Ganch's first true loves when he started his new life. He always tries to carry reading material with him, and is enamored of both books of poetry and books of random, insignificant minutiae. One book he has never let go of is a thin, twenty- or thirty-page document detailing the three most common methods of preparing a funeral pyre in the modern world. Having obtained a basic binding and inkstone, Ganch is fond of whiling away the hours with a pen in hand, writing about his experiences and working on his own amateur poetry. He is slowly trying to chronicle the various types of fish and aquatic creatures that exist in the world, purely out of his own personal love of the sea.
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Physical: Dancer disdains overuse of clothing for herself. This is not at all to say that she is an exhibitionist, or immodest about her 'womanly charms,' but she loves, loves, Loves showing off her draconic heritage. Dancer's cheekbones, shoulders, outsides of hips, knees, tops of feet, forearms and backs of her hands exhibit tiny scales that can catch stray rays of light and shine. More notably still though are the wing stubs that sprout from her back. Since she is most proud of these, she has had to have her chain shirt specially designed with a large portion of the back missing, and she always wears her hair in a thick black braid that rests between the winglets. Over the past century, the wing nubs have grown in length to several inches, and she has managed some control over them, now being able to wave them, flex the spines that support webbing further down and now the growing wings lend expression to her moods. Standing straight up in alarm or surprise, lowering when disappointed and wrapping about her ribs when she's feeling protective or threatened are the most noticeable expressions. 
