[Characters] The Passenger Manifest

[pureWasted]

Your ticket, please.

Character Creation Character information and links to sheets go here. Use Point-Buy 28 for stats. Standard gold for level 1. HD max for level 1, max-4+1d4 for levels 2+ (ie, Barbarian 2 will have 12+8+1d4)

Combined Skills Spot, Search, and Listen combined into Perception. Open Lock, Disable Device combined into Disable Device. Hide, Move Silently combined into Stealth. Ride, Handle Animal combined into Handle Animal. Balance, Escape Artist, Tumble combined into Acrobatics. Climb, Jump, Swim combined into Athletics.

[copatt]

Name: Fin

Race: Human

Class: Rogue

Sex: Female (sort of)

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Background: Fineas grew up on the streets of Haven. From an early age, he made his living as a pickpocket, earning the name Fineas Fingers-- mostly because he had never had a run in with the justice system that led to the loss of one of his hands. Fineas also developed a reputation among Haven's lower class ladies as a skilled and-- despite his smallish frame-- well-endowed lover. Come to think of it, this reputation might have contributed to his nickname as well.

Contrary to his philandering ways, Fineas recently pledged himself to a curly-haired lass by the name of Molly McGee. Fineas knew all too well Molly's profession (prostitute) and gently prodded her to leave off those endeavors and settle down with him. During one of these pillow talks, Molly's pimp and two of his enforcers burst in on the two lovers. Fineas tried to escape, but one of the two half-orc goons held him tight, while the other beat him senseless, and the pimp forced Molly to watch. The last thing Fineas remembered was the pimp pushing Molly aside and approaching him with an oddly fashionable belt.

When Fineas awoke, Molly was at his side. She had been beaten too, though not as badly and had nursed him back to health-- but Fineas was no longer a him. The belt, a girdle of masculinity/femininity had stolen Fineas's sword and family jewels, leaving him/her instead with an empty vault...and breasts. Fineas felt those breasts, checked between his/her legs, freaked out, and dashed away into the streets of Haven.

Fineas has only now started to reinvent him/herself as Fin, an up-and-coming, female rogue-for-hire from "out of town." Since her knowledge of the greater world is extremely limited, her lies about her past are fabulous, but not very accurate.

Appearance: Of middling height, Fin has a build that falls somewhere between thin and athletic. She has a farmer's tan; brown eyes; short, curly, dark brown hair; and a trickster's grin. Always barefoot (it's better for climbing), Fin dresses in a pair of baggy breeches, patched at the knees. Since she has developed breasts, she has taken to wearing a halter-style top as well.

Personality: Fin is-- at heart-- an incorrigible cad, always getting herself in one tight spot or another. She wants, very much, to put her roguish skills to use as a legitimate adventurer (and get rich), but her true nature always betrays her.

Fin doesn't like to talk much about her past. When forced to do so, she makes up tales about foreign (and sometimes) imaginary cities, work on merchant caravans (or pirate ships), capture by orcs (or pygmies, or demons).

Fin is incredibly sexually confused. After her transformation, she tried-- unsuccessfully-- to swear off sex entirely. She has found that on an emotional and mental level, she still favors the company of women. On a physical level, though, she just can't help herself around men.

[reivision]

Basic Information Name: Tianis Dwin'atear Sex: Female Race: Elf Class: Wizard

Appearance   Elfin. Female. Blond. Hazel eyes. Skimpy pink outfit. ...Is there anything more to say? No, I didn't think so. Moving on...

Background   Tianis was a good little elf girl. She played around the Big Apple Tree like all the other good little elves and was even there when Isaaklas Newtonduilion was struck quite literally by an epiphany about the fundamental nature of the world. Not that she cared. She was too busy flirting with the other young elves: boy elves and girl elves. But that isn't unusual among those tree-hippies that sit around drinking hard cider all day and night (apparently they don't even stop drinking to sleep!) and singing terribly composed songs that often interrupted what promised to be epic tales of elves (and a few non-elves...like halflings...they're okay, I guess) fighting against an all-conquering darkness and One Ring to Rule Them All. The elves like this story. Stupid humans. They didn't listen to the elves when they had the chance...see where that got them. Pfft. Anyway, all was well for young Tianis of the prestigious house Dwin'atear. All was well, that is, until one fateful day when a funeral procession passed by the ash trees out in front. "What's that?" a wide-eyed Tianis asked her parents. She'd never seen a body before, or heard of elves dying of anything besides stupid, stupid mistakes (like fighting hand-to-hand against the forces of evil...honestly, these hero-types could be astoundingly dull). Elves were immortal, right? As long as Tianis was a careful little elf, she'd never die...right? Apparently she was wrong. Even the exceedingly kindly explanation from her concerned parents did little to soften the blow to the young Tianis' psyche. She would forever be a changed elf. What were the rest of her friends doing whiling away their days in the sweet-scented shade of the Big Apple Tree? Didn't they know that every second brought them closer to death, from where elves could never again drink the nectar of the gods nor engage in wild orgies of pleasure enlightening debates? But they all seemed oblivious. After several frustrated attempts to rouse up concern in her community, Tianis decided that she'd wasted enough of her own precious life trying to save others. She would set out on her own and find the path to immortality. Tianis isn't a stupid elf. She knows she will need others to assist her in her search. She's only one elf, after all, and she's got the whole world to scour for the secret to unending life. And she's already spent 100 years of her precious, precious life living in blind ignorance of the ugly truth. She will need the strongest, the ROFL, having visions of Mass Effect 2best of the best. That way she'll be able to take on any challenge that arises in her quest. And if her comrades -- let's be honest, here -- minions prove to be weak and inept...well, she'll just have to find new ones then, won't she? It's not like she has the time to waste on worthless servants who can't get the job done.

Personality   Erm...see Background for details.

Spellbook   TOTALS Total spells: 26 Spellbook pages used: 26 Writing costs: 0 gp LEVEL 0 (Cantrips)   0-level spells: 19 Spellbook pages used: 19 Writing costs: 0 gp Free starting spells: Wizard Level 1 Wizards begin with all 0-level spells in spellbook Resistance (Abjur) Acid Splash (Conj) Detect Poison (Div) Detect Magic (Div) Read Magic (Div) Daze (Ench) Dancing Lights (Evoc) Flare (Evoc) Light (Evoc) Ray of Frost (Evoc) Ghost Sounds (Illus) Disrupt Undead (Necro) Touch of Fatigue (Necro) Mage Hand (Trans) Mending (Trans) Message (Trans) Open/Close (Trans) Arcane Mark (Univ) Prestidigitation (Univ) LEVEL 1   1st-level spells: 7 Spellbook pages used: 7 Writing costs: 0 gp Free starting spells: Wizard Level 1 3+INT (7) 1st-level spells Shield (Abj) Mage Armor (Conj) Charm Person (Ench) Sleep (Ench) Enlarge Person (Trans) Expeditious Retreat (Trans) Nerveskitter (Trans) (Spell Compendium)   Transmutation Level: Sor/Wiz 1 Components: V, S Casting Time: 1 immediate action Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels) Target: One creature Duration: 1 round Saving Throw: None (harmless) Spell Resistance: Yes You suffuse your ally with a brief, blue glow. He jerks away from you, as if he can anticipate your next action. You cast this spell when you and your party roll for initiative. You enhance the subject’s reactions in combat, granting it a +5 bonus on its initiative check for the current encounter. If the subject does not make an initiative check within 1 round, this spell has no effect.

[Forsythia]

Name: Goodwin Goodheart
Sex: Manly
Race: Human
Class: Paladin
Appearance: Our brave fellow is of strong build and admirable posture. He is tall, but not too tall. Handsome, but not too handsome. He has a strong jaw and well-turned calves. He is blue-eyed, blond-headed, and he never has a bad hair day. Ever. He has pearly white teeth and a debonair smile. When he sits astride his trusty white steed, hearts swell and ladies swoon. Or, at least, he thinks that they will swoon... once he finally obtains a trusty white steed to sit upon. In the meantime, he has this reliable brown pony named Biscuit who tends to garner a lot of 'Awww, how adorable's.

 

Goodwin, attended by his reliable brown pony, Biscuit

 

Goodwin is Good. So Good it hurts. Oh, but it doesn't hurt Goodwin. Heavens, no! It hurts the Bad Guys, naturally. To all the nasty evildoers who would befoul the world with your nefarious machinations, I say: Beware! For Goodwin Goodheart is a righteous and mighty Paladin of the purest moral fibre! He has sworn an oath to protect the weak and punish the naughty. And he does both of these things with unrelenting relish and zeal. He loves Doing the Right Thing. He lives to Uphold the Law. He has solemnly vowed to stamp out Evil, wherever he may find it. And, believe me, he is no slouch when it comes to seeking, finding, and stamping out Evil.

Got a damsel in distress? Goodwin will rescue her! Has an evil wizard taken over your village and enslaved the populace? Goodwin will vanquish him! Got some pickpocket kids terrorizing town square shoppers? Goodwin will give them a spanking they won't soon forget! Why, just last week he saw a little old woman filch a copper out of the tithing plate at church. He finished up his prayers, then nabbed that old biddy and delivered her straight to the constable's office! She pleaded poverty and begged for mercy, of course. Thieves will say anything to avoid lawful punishment. But what kind of Paladin would Goodwin be if he showed lenience toward knaves and thieves? Not a good one.

 

Little Goodwin Goodheart was a conscientious lad. He always said 'please' and 'thank you,' and he always cleaned his plate. He helped with all the chores without ever being asked, and wiped his boots before stepping into the house. He learned these impeccable manners from his mother, Evelyn, a beautiful woman with long flaxen hair. Of his father, Edward Goodheart, Goodwin has no memory. The elder Goodheart left home when his son was but an infant, divinely called on an epic quest to slay an Evil Dragon. At least, that's how Goodwin's mother tells it.

Goodwin longs to meet his father one day. He knows that Edward Goodheart is still alive out there, fighting the good fight. He knows this because he can feel it in his heart, of course, but he also has clear evidence that it is true. You see, throughout Goodwin's young life, his mother took many secret meetings with men who were intimately familiar with the status of Edward Goodheart's quest. These meetings varied in frequency. Sometimes Evelyn received as little as one man per week, but it wasn't unheard of for two or three men to come calling in the span of a single day. Whenever these brave adventurers would knock at the Goodhearts' door, Evelyn would send young Goodwin out to play, with instructions to not return for at least one hour. Goodwin would happily oblige, knowing that once the secret meeting had concluded, his mother would share all the newly learned details about his father's quest. Inevitably, the men would leave behind a number of silver or gold pieces. Goodwin would count these coins proudly, excited at the thought that his hero father had held them before sending the funds on home to his family.

One fine day, in Goodwin's fifteenth year, a particularly robust knock was heard at the Goodhearts' door. Upon answering, Goodwin was greeted by a strong, handsome, regal looking fellow dressed in fine armor. The man seemed at first taken aback by the boy's beaming visage. He reddened visibly, but quickly collected himself and strode inside, shutting the door behind him. "Er.. is your mother home?" he inquired, looking about. Evelyn was indeed home and she quickly sent Goodwin off to play. When the lad returned exactly one hour later, his mother met him at the door, strangely out of breath, and instructed him to go busy himself for another two or three hours. When Goodwin finally came home again after a long game of hide-and-seek with some other local boys (Goodwin was always the best hider--he could hide for hours without anyone finding him) the man was gone but had left a generous pile of coin.

Over time, the regal-looking fellow (let's call him Albert) became a frequent caller. It seemed that he always had a lot of information to impart, for Goodwin would sometimes have to stay out for the better part of the day during his visits. Often, Albert would join the family for supper and in time he became somewhat of a fixture in the Goodheart home. Observing Goodwin's adventurous nature, the man decided to take the young lad under his wing. He trained the boy in the art of swordplay, and regaled him with stories of Heroic Battles Against Evil. Goodwin had always had a strong moral compass and, recognizing this, Albert suggested that it might not be a bad idea to send the boy off for formal knight's training so that he could serve a Greater Good. Evelyn was at first reluctant, but Albert's persuasiveness coupled with Goodwin's obvious eagerness to follow in his father's brave footsteps helped to seal the deal.

Albert helped to pack Goodwin's bags, and escorted him to the nearest large church. Being dropped off at the holy threshold, Goodwin made his way inside alone. He marched right into the sacristy and presented himself as an eager and willing Instrument of Good. His sincerity was undeniable, and he was accepted into the fold, eventually making his way through the ranks as altar boy, then squire. It soon became apparent to the church officials that Goodwin was destined for more than simple knighthood, however. He was Paladin material through and through. After sailing through his training with flying colors, Goodwin took his vows and set off into the world to strike fear and repentance into the hearts of Evildoers everywhere. And maybe also catch up with his dad.

It is thus that, several years after leaving his mother's home, we encounter our brave hero Goodwin in the fair hamlet of Haven. Earlier that day, he had saved a neighboring village from a pack of disgruntled goblins who'd threatened to taint the water supply unless given equal access to brothel services. After making quick work of both the goblins and the brothel, Goodwin had traveled on to Haven, and was very happy to find himself in a decidedly more wholesome setting. The night in Haven was pleasant, the locals were friendly, and the tavern looked warmly inviting.

After hitching Biscuit to the stable out back (far enough from the resident ass, he hoped, to avoid flea contamination) Goodwin strode into the establishment, flashing his handsome smile. He noticed a curious looking bearded fellow sitting alone. Always eager to introduce himself, Goodwin sat at the man's table. In short order, several other adventuring-types also sat down and the bearded man began to speak. At first, Goodwin was mildly confused by the man's opening question about the Great Railroad. Hasn't everyone heard of the Great Railroad? he thought. After all, it's been a part of the world for as long as anyone can remember, with legends of all sorts abound... And why skip over proper introductions? Was this man raised in an alley? But as the man continued, Goodwin's interest was piqued. What, ho? This sounds like a Quest! Goodwin quickly scooted his chair closer. "Good sir, it sounds like you are in need of my services. How lucky you are that I happened by at this very moment!"

[Fleetlord Atvar]

Basic Information Name: Vladimir Gimliovich Freesilver Sex: Male Race: Dwarf Class: Cleric Alignment: ~Chaotic Good

Appearance   Vladimir Gimliovich Freesilver is a dwarf. He’s about 146 years old, short, burly, and hairy (though he’s mostly bald up top) with piercing blue eyes. He tends to dress nicely and generally wears a full-length black coat.

Personality   Vladimir Gimliovich goes by Vladimir. He has been called Volodya by intimates – or rather, he would if he had ever had intimates – and you can call him that too, but he won’t like it very much. One could say Vladimir Gimliovich is a very intense dwarf. If one said that, however, one would undoubtedly not be giving him all the credit which he is due. Some people think the fervor with which he speaks betrays great conviction, intelligence, and dedication. Some people think it indicates that he should be put in a very small cell with soft cushioning on the walls so he can’t hurt himself. Vladimir Gimliovich might be described as a workaholic possessing messianic delusions, perhaps even suffering from something akin to a personality disorder. He might, that is, if there were a psychologist around to see him.

Background   Vladimir Gimliovich Freesilver, son of Gimli Gloinovich Freesilver, was born to a respectable, merchant class dwarven family in one of the more prosperous provinces of a productive dwarven trade kingdom that he has very much tried to forget ever since it exiled him in shame and disgrace. When he was still an adolescent, his brother became caught up in some very bad anti-monarchical groups at the regional university and was executed. This left Vladimir understandably upset, and has rather tainted his view of aristocracies, monarchies, feudal overlords, and other elements of the “bourgeoisie” (his word) – all “parasites” which Vladimir believes are “consigned to the ash heap of history.” After participating in anti-war and anti-monarchy demonstrations (“demonstrations” is how Vladimir refers to them, but the word actually implies somewhat more planning and organization than may have been the case; the crown referred to them as “hunger riots” and “peasant revolts”), Vladimir survived the ensuing massacre by the city guard, was put to a mock execution which was stayed at the last minute by order of the king, and was subsequently banished on pain of death. In his exile, Vladimir found his way into a mystery religion. Now fully initiated, Vladimir has gained access to such revelations of truth as all but a handful of the chosen (they of the Vanguard) shall ever be permitted to know. The name of the deity he now serves is ambiguous and shrouded in secrecy; it may perhaps only be known to the followers of the mysteries who practice its arcane rites, but it is referred to variously as the “Historical Dialectic,” the “Materialist Conception of History,” and the “Revolution.” The coming of the Revolution will usher in an era characterized as the “dictatorship of the proletariat,” as related by the prophet Marx, peace be upon him. It is Vladimir’s job as a cleric of the mysteries to prepare the ground for its arrival and to ensure that the conditions are ripe for the end of history. Vladimir has been denied haven in most civilized areas, being booted out of one place after another on charges of rabble-rousing, disturbing the peace, inciting insurrection, agitating the masses, literal iconoclasm, and more than one count of redistributing the sheep of the realm.

[Arucard]

Character Sheet

Name Way down in Western Island close to Chester Street Way up on Pinewood Lane by the County Seat There stood a cheap cabin made of earth and stone Where lived a city bard named Rani Capone.

Sex Lord I was born a singin' man, trying to make a living and runnin' the best I can. When it's time for fighting I hope you understand, that I was born a singin' man.

Race I like humans and I cannot lie, you other gamers can't deny, when a fighter walks in with a normal face and a standard core book race you get sprung.

Class Sing us a song, you're the local bard, sing us a song tonight; 'cause we're all in the mood for a melody, and we guess that you'll do alright.

Appearance If it hadn't been for Rani Capone, I'd been married 'long time ago. Where did you come from where did you go, where did you come from Rani Capone. His eyes was his tools and his smile was his sword, but all he had come for was to play a C chord.   Rani stands a statuesque 6'1 with blond hair and a winning smile. His chainmail is constantly polished to a sheen, and his multi-colored fluffy necklace is a definite attention grabber. Oh, didn't I mention that before? In actuality, Rani has several uniforms and appearances to accentuate his performances ranging from a simple brown jacket to a heavy eyeshadow and leather armor ensemble. When not given time to prepare for the stage however, Rani is rather plain looking - he isn't unattractive by any means whatsoever, but most would consider him simply "above average." No, his major point is his personality. A rapier wit and a jovial laugh punctuate his presence, and lend to the otherwise "Pretty hot" bard an air of "OH, EM.. GEE!" with the lady-folk.

Personality All I can say is that my life is pretty plain, I like watching the pubs gather strays. And all I can do is just pour some ale for two, and hear your point of view if it's not sane. I just want someone to say to me I've got a tale for you to tell. Ya know I'd like to sing your story any day So stay with me and I'll have it made. And I don't understand why I scare folks away, when I start to complain that they're too sane. And all I can do is ask a madman for a clue, the sane ones never knew if the tales were true.   Rani is one of the most likable people you may ever yet meet, yet only partially because he's extremely charismatic. No, also involved in this winning combo is the fact that he has such a lowly developed intellect that he's unlikely to ever seriously challenge anyone's opinions, and thus avoids the common pitfalls of one-upsmanship. He's not quite an idiot, but he's definitely no wizard, if you catch what I'm saying here. Rani virtually always is "in the zone" of performance; smiling, associating, speaking confidently and attempting to sway people. It's uncommon to see him upset, except for those who know how to read the very subtle changes in his features; and few know the wandering minstrel well enough for such detailed insights. While some might consider him a phony, Rani has found that phoniness pays the piper, while playing it plain pushes people's patience. Oh, sorry... didn't mean to get spit on you there. Anyhoo, Rani is out trying to make it big as a singer, which doesn't mean just cleverly arranged lyrics and a nice beat; no, you have to have an inspiring story. Unfortunately, all the good leads are taken by more well-known bards, so Rani has taken to investigating the rumors of what some might call "crazy people" or "wandering hobos." The less likely the story seems, the less likely others are to check into it; and so when it proves right, Rani hopes to find not only the scoop of the century, but to form from it one of the best, most successful - most lucrative - songs ever.

Background I've been lookin' for the railroad all the livelong day. I've been lookin' for the railroad just to follow what they say. Ain't you heard the gossip flowing, Saying its been found? Ain't you heard that I'll be knowing, Tracking like a hound?   Rani began his career as a stand-up comedian. Unfortunately, stand-up comedians find little to work with when every other day people's parents are being punched into paste by.. oh, sorry, did it again. What I meant was, when every other day there's orc raids that make orphans of literally 80% of the population, and 98% of adventurers, it's difficult to get chuckles. Rani found he was more successful applying that toned wit to songwriting, and has enjoyed some moderate local success since. But Rani is looking for a more widespread form of success than merely local. Rani wants to be famous. Currently, this desire has taken him from town to town, inn to inn, seeking tales of wonder and intrigue. Performing as he goes - and occasionally making deals for a 50/50 split with a local pickpocket working the crowd meanwhile - Rani ever seeks new information and leads on a great story and adventure. This hasn't always lead to the greatest successes. Brave Sir Rani often ventured forth only to find he narrowly missed glory; he nearly fought the dragon of Angor, finding it slain when he arrived. He nearly stood up to the vicious chicken of Bristol, when a sorcerer turned it into a complete crispy meal as he was drawing his blade. After being outdone so many times, he took to the less credible sources for information. This, also, has lead to some misadventures. The first three "great and terrible dragon"s that needed to be slain turned out to be merely the speaker's mother-in-laws. Seven times for terrorizing ogres, as well. Had Rani the might to pull it off, he might make quite a living slaying mother-in-laws. Unfortunately that would not make quite the heroic song, now would it? When Rani heard of the railroad being spoken of again, it caught his attention. It was an old story, one he had heard of as a little baby bard on his mother's knee, which seemed to lend it just the right level of credibility - people had heard of it, but would consider it too much an old wives tale to look into it seriously. If he found it, he'd have a tale for the ages.

[kingmonkey]

Name: Ravenblack Grymblade
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Class: Ranger

Appearance: Ravenblack has dark brown black hair. His eyes are also dark brown black. His expression is grimy and dark. His hooded cape, also grimy and dark. He wears his black bow on his black back. His sword hangs at his side in an elaborate sheath. Ravenblack is a man so dour, he has been scowling since he first hit puberty making it his permanent expression now. He stands just below average height until he puts on his boots, which have lifts to make him tower at 6'2". He is lean and strong, and hardy. And dark. Very dark. And grim.

Personality: Ravenblack is every bit as dour and unpleasant to be around as his appearance suggests. He works so hard at being the laconic loner that it is pretty obvious to most who have the poor fortune to be teamed with him. He speaks as few words as possible-- which sometimes makes it difficult for others to understand him. He has a penchant for melodramatic, and often inappropriate darkness of attitude. He is a sinkhole of personality, a destroyer of conversation, a rainy black cloud over an otherwise sun-kissed parade.

Background: No one knows where the man called Ravenblack Grymblade came from. Some say, he just appeared on the horizon one gloomy day, sauntering into town on foot. It is said, he imagines, that he is the last survivor of a doomed caravan of pioneers. He also imagines that people talk about him being a mystic warrior or secret agent for the king, here on a shadowy assignment that he may not speak of. Ravenblack also imagines that he is secretly feared by the citizens who regard him as figure of mythic proportion.

Most people don't really give him a second thought, though.