The Seekers of Serenity
Also include a stat block, much like those found in the monster manual and similar entries.
This is a general idea of the NPC you will have as your healer, though he will obviously have some minor background revisions and class revisions, the general idea is the same. It also let's you see what I want from your stat blocks.
Name: Trekis di Tobor
Race/Gender: Old Male Aasimar
Class(es): Dragonfire Adept 6/Apostle of Peace 2/Eldritch Disciple 2/Saint 2 // Monk 2/Paladin 4/Argent Fist 3/Battle Dancer 1/Apostle of Peace 2
Description of character: The ultimate victory for Trekis is to avoid fighting and find a peaceful resolution, and while he will fight, he never fights to injure, just incapacitate.
HP: 66 (3d8 + 7d10 + 2d4)
AC: 57 (+10 Exalted, +4 Shield, -1 Dex, +6 Natural, +4 Defelction, +9 Wis, +9 Cha, +4, Int, +2 Monk) Touch: 37 Flat: 57
Base Attack/Grapple: +9/+7
Special: Pacifying Touch (No Save), Turn Undead, Dragontouched, Dragonkin, Calming Aura (DC 28), Weakening Breath (DC 19), Sickening Breath (DC 19), Daylight (1/day), Endure Elements, Sustenance, Greater Sustenance, Mind Shielding, DR 5/magic, Resistance 5 (Acid, Cold, Electricity)
Invocations: Beguiling Influence, Breath of the Night, Charm (DC 28), Walk Unseen
Saves: Fort:+17 Ref:+17 Will:+26
Abilities: Str: 6 (-2 Age, +1 Level) Dex: 8 (-2 Age, +1 Level) Con: 10 (-2 Age) Int: 18 (+2 Age) Wis: 28 (+2 Age, +2 Race, +2 VOP, +4 Item) Cha: 28 (+2 Age, +2 Race, +4 VoP)
Skills: Concentration +10, Diplomacy +30, Heal +22, Knowledge (arcana) +5, Knowledge (religion) +10, Knowledge (the planes) +10, Sense Motive +11, Spellcraft +6
Languages: Celestial, Common, Abyssal, Infernal, Aquan, Auran, Ignan, Terran, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Giant, Goblin, Halfling, Orc, Undercommon
Feats: Carmendine Monk, Sacred Vow, Vow of Poverty, Vow of Nonviolence, Vow of Peace, Augment Healing, Supernatural Transformation (Charm), Nymph's Kiss, Nimbus of Light, Touch of Healing, Holy Radiance
Equipment: Periapt of Wisdom +4, Ring of Protection +3, Ring of Force Shield
Personality: Trekis is a very pleasant man. He believes everyone can be saved and won't hesitate to heal his enemy. When people insist on performing evil acts, he will use his arcane abilities to disable them and then restrain them so there is time to convince them. When he travels with others, he does his best to convince those he travels with to disable and not kill people.
Trekis was born Aodhan and raised in a temple dedicated to Ilmater, called "The Sanctuary". He never knew who his parents were but he was raised by the entire community. Growing up he asked many questions and when he came of age to make his own choice, he chose to stay and continue learning the ways of Ilmater. For many years he studied and served, but he never showed the talents needed to become a full cleric. Yet he never wavered from his service and when questioned why he stayed if he couldn't advance he always answered the same, "The reward is in the service itself, Ilmater teaches that the greatest service is to endure what others can or will not." Aodhan spent his free time out in the city handing out food or helping people in their tasks. He was a generous soul and did all he could to help everyone. He delighted in ideology discussions, and would often visit other temples just to talk about the gods and their roles. He never asserted that Ilmater was the best, but would instead, present points of interest and focus between the gods, in the end he would conclude that they both had their merits, and worship was a matter of choice. These discussions were always good natured, until one traveling cleric changed that...
This cleric stopped at The Sanctuary specifically to talk theology with Aodhan. This cleric spent the whole time trying to draw Aodhan into an argument, and eventually he succeeded. The argument escalated into yelling, and finally devolved into, essentially, petty name calling. Aodhan had never felt so angry before in all his life. He felt his anger as a heat in the pit of his stomach, and that heat built the entire argument. But when the stranger began saying disgraceful things about Ilmater himself, he felt a snap in that growing heat, and when he opened his mouth to retort, an intense gout of fire erupted directly onto the stranger. Completely horrified, there was a moment when he was incapable of acting, but he quickly recovered from the shock and grabbed the still burning stranger and dragged him to the fountain. Dunking him in the fountain and then laying him on the floor, Trekis ran to get one of the healers.
The man was fine, with only a few minor burns. But Aodhan was horrified at what he had done. The clerics tried to reassure him that is was an accident and he would learn to control this wild talent, but Aodhan started crying and shook his head violently. He ran to his desk and began scribbling out a note. I appreciate your kind words, but I am too dangerous to be around others right now. I must not even speak for fear that it will happen again. So beginning today, I will live in isolation and speak to no one until I have learned to control this destructive force in me. Please inform the librarian that I will come by once a week to study and list out tomes for copy, I will of course pay for the copy service provided. Thank you for your kindness these years and please respect my wish for isolation. Placing the period on the last sentence, he signed the note Trekis, meaning "Breath", and grabbing his traveling pack he set up a camp at the far end of The Sanctuary's field.
Over the next 10 years, Trekis said not a word. True to his word, he spent one day a week in The Sanctuary's library, researching as much as he could about the abilities that had been unlocked within him. It two years of research to realize what he was, and three more to learn, however reluctantly, to control it. But still this wasn't enough for Trekis, he didn't accept that Ilmater would grant him such a destructive force, without a way to counterbalance it. So even after he had learned to control the power within, he continued to live in isolation and visit the library once a week to find a way to balance this terrible force within him. Since he no longer needed to practice with his power, he instead spent the time in prayer and contemplation. With his power under control, he also began to travel out once a week to perform a service for the community like he used to. Over the next 5 years, Trekis found his inner peace through service to others, and Ilmater rewarded his unwavering service. Although not formerly trained by The Sancutary, he found himself with some of the same powers of a cleric. But in line with with his peaceable nature, he found his scope of power limited compared to other clerics, and he was fine with this. He focused on healing and helping others and soon became well known as Irisvar ("Healer" in draconic). Eventually, he felt called to leave his home and travel.
Eventually his travels took him to Daggerdale. He gained renown as a healer and was of great service when the drow began raiding Daggerdale. At first the raids were small and Trekis was able to get to anyone that was injured during the raids, but they grew in number and size until he wore himself out and still missed some people. Those that saw his internal struggle tried to reassure him that he did all he could, but he knew there had to be more he could do. His crisis came to a head one night while tending to the many wounded left from the most recent raid. There were just too many for him..his grief welled up within him and a warmth began to spread through his body. At first, he feared this was his arcane power escaping his control again, but he quickly realized that, while similar and from the same source, this was a different power. He felt his tortured mind calm and saw a soft golden light begin to shine from his very body. Not fully understanding what he did, he opened his mouth and spoke his first word in 10 years..."Live!"...and at this word a golden fire erupted from his throat. This fire spread out through everyone gathered and healed their bodies and eased their minds. Thus did Trekis get dubbed "Trekis di Tobor" or "Breath of Life." It was tales of this great act that spread and earned Trekis di Tobor a summons from Randal Morn.
Last edited by Scimmy; 09-25-2011 at 03:40 PM.
Name: Narreth (Of Stalking Tiger, see Background)
Race: Catfolk (RoW pg 92)
Build:(LA Buy off at level 4; total XP 47,000) Monk 6/Enlightned Fist 4//Sorcerer 10
Traits: Quick & Polite
Flaws: Shaky(Does affect character; Ray spells, Magic Missile, etc.) & Meager Fortitude
Party Role: Blaster/Buffer
Narreth's fur color is that of a tiger; an orange base with small stripes of black scattered throughout his body. However, he seems to be even more lithe than most, if not almost anorexic, from his small frame though he doesn't seem to let it bother him as to how he presents himself; level-headed. His dress is that typical among most members of the Seekers of Serenity; monk robes adorned with colors and markings that would distinguish him as a member and multiple wrist-tokens on his hands varying from teeth to small wooden figures can be seen up close an he seems to constantly touch them with his hands, obviously they were important to the small Catfolk. The way he walked seemed uncomfortable, if not restricted, as though he wants to act hastily but calms himself as he continues with controlled movements; not typical of his kind. His hair is wavy an black as night and just touch his shoulders in length, which doesn't overlap his bright, round green eyes. He looked rather...cute than anything else really; like you just wanted to protect this small feline from anything that might harm him.
Narreth acts and behaves very nicely; always speaking in a calm, soothing voice, never assuming in nature, and has the best manners at all times even if they weren't necessary. However, he always seems to be in a hurry when he speaks to anyone at length, like he was anxious to get somewhere even if he had nothing to do but tried his best to kept his temperament in line, if not for the sake of others he was talking to. He also is a trust-worthy ally to have; never to leave a man behind, always lending a helping hand, and won't hesitate to defend his friends/allies in the heat of battle with great ardor. In battle, he is usually scampering about the field doing hit and run tactics on his foes thanks to his great speed. If the going gets tough, so does Narreth; he can be quite the ferocious fighter in combat if the situation would call for it, acting almost like a Tiger; hitting hard and fast.
HP: 53 (1st Level:8 + 9d8+1 per level:Con -1 per level:Quick)
AC: 32 (10 + 2 Armor + 7 Dex + 1 Natural + 8 Cha + 4 Monk) Touch: 29 Flat: 25
Base Attack/Grapple: +7.5/+2.5||+8/+3
Speed: 90 ft.
Special: Stunning Fist 12/day(Fort Save DC = 22),Familiar (Nera), Spells (0th, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th), Evasion, Fast Movement (+30 ft.), Monk AC Bonus, Still Mind, Ki Strike (Magic), Slow Fall (30 ft.), Purity of Body, Flurry of Blows (+3/+3), Fist of Energy, Arcane Fist.
Spells Per Day: 0th: 6, 1st: 6+2, 2nd: 6+2, 3rd: 6+2, 4th: 6+2, 5th: 6+1
Abilities: Str: 12 Dex: 24 (+4 Race, +2 Item, +1 4th Level) Con: 12 Int: 9 Wis: 22 (+1 Level 8) Cha: 26 (+2 Race +4 Item)
Skills: Balance: +7 Bluff: +8 Concentration: +10 Diplomacy: +13 Disguise: +8 Escape Artist: +8 Gather Information: +8 Heal: +8 Hide: +11 Intimidate: +6 Jump: +32 Knowledge (arcana): +4 Listen: +11 Ride: +7 Sense Motive: +6 Spellcraft: +4 Spot: +9 Survival: +6 Swim: +5 Use Rope: +6
Languages: Common, Feline
Feats: Expeditious Dodge, Stunning Fist, Combat Reflexes, Weapon Finesse, Combat Casting, Improved Disarm, Storm Bolt, Asectic Mage, Snap Kick.
Equipment: Cloak of Charisma +4, Vest of Resistance +2, Bracer's of Armor +2, Healing Belt, Necklace of Adaptation, Ring of Entropic Deflection, Boots of Striding and Springing, Ring of Chameleon Power, Gloves of Dexterity +2, Survival Pouch, Bag of Holding Type I.
Narreth didn't get to experience what life as a real Catfolk would have been like, thanks to a number of different events that happened throughout his life; the first being his clan was killed off in a Orc raid when he was very young, about six to even years of age, he doesn't really think that the 'age' part matters. His mother let him sleep in today but was woken up by some strange sounds that he was hearing outside his tent; it sounded like a bunch of roars and low chuckles and he couldn't understand what they were saying. He got his answer soon enough however, as a couple of big greenish-yellow creatures came in with blood-covered arms and armor, which obviously scared him to death as he quickly tried to escape from underneath the tent line but was caught and brought forth to their biggest and strongest looking Orc leader. He chuckled at the small size of Narreth but seeing as he was the only left of their clan, he inspected him thoroughly with no regard to personal space and decided that he would live or so he assumed since he wasn't dead yet. As they left, tied up little Narreth looked on with horror and great sadness of what used to be the clan of Stalking Tiger; his clan and whatever remained of it. Though, one Orc was left behind to do something and Narreth knew what once he saw him toss a torch on one of the demolished tents. He silently cried at the loss of his family; clinging to the small wooden charm his father had made him which looked like a small yet brave Catfolk. Something he would hold dear for the rest of his life.
He knew not what the Orc's were going to do with him and he was deathly curious to know and to not know at the same time but it would be revealed that he would not be with their kind for long; as good or bad as that was. They traveled for a few days on horseback at a rather quick pace, feeding him the scraps of some kind of animal, Narreth never even tried asking what it was but everyday he got sick from it, puking his guts out and getting a resounding laugh from the small raiding party. On the fourth day, or so he counted anyways, they made it to a small village of what seemed to be Orc's and other hairless an much less green residents. He was then tossed to one of the pale looking creatures, a female it seemed, as she caught him an set him down. There seemed to be words shared with them, though it must not have been a bad discussion since there wasn't any yelling or anything as she nodded and took him near one of the other houses that were big and connected to others and quickly shoved him inside. "Look here; you stay in line and you won't be hurt, got it?" She spoke to him in his own language which caught him off guard. "What are you going to do to me?" She didn't respond as she threw him a set of worn old clothes and hurried him on to change. He kept asking her questions but she ignored him an by the time he was dressed in his new clothes, without any privacy it seemed, she grabbed his hand and brought him through a couple of doors before coming into a big spacious room filled with other kids his age standing on a platform in front of several other pale-skinned creatures.
It turned out that it was a 'Auction House' for slaves! He didn't know what a slave was at that time, though, and was even more confused as things kept getting piled onto him; now he was to exhibit himself in front of these strangers with all these other creatures for some reason or another. He was more confused now than scared but the fear was still visible in his eyes but thankfully he didn't have to wait long for someone to pick him. "That one! It's so cute!" A female voice burst out from the table of other skinless creatures as she walked up to the platform. "How much for the little kitty?" She said motioning for one of her guards that were at the door to grab him amongst all the other ones. Narreth was surprised and his instinct's told him only one thing yet again; RUN! As the big creature tried to grab him he quickly bounded off the platform, rolling on the ground before scampering back to his feet an booking it to the other exit, kicking up dust as he left with great speed. "Don't let him get away!" The lady screamed as several others went to the doors to block his exit but he made a hurried stop an then quickly made a ninety-degree turn right to go up the steps to the back of the room as a couple of people jumped just a hair too slow to grab him. However, that was a dead-end and he was corned now as the one guard he ran away from first grabbed him by the nape of his neck. "You're a fast one, aren't you?" She said laughing as they met up back on the base floor of the room and she looked him over in closer inspection. "Yes, very cute. I'll take him!" She said handing the lady a sack of what sounded like a lot of gold as he was hand-cuffed on both his hands and legs to prevent him from running away again. "Oh don't worry, you'll love living with me than with anyone else; I'll take good care of you!" Narreth made an audible gulp as to what she meant but he had a feeling it wasn't any better than what he had already been though.
For the next several years of his life, he spent it in the service of Madam Serane Raven; she was a Noble of some standing in her city, though none knew of her little secret of Narreth, and others like him, save for a selected few within her circle of trust. In the next seven years she taught him many things; some good and some bad, though overall he felt he was a little better off than being eaten by the Orc's that took him or some of the other slavers, as they were called. For the first few years, she treated him like a human child; teaching him how to speak common, read, and write as well with some menial chores along with her other exotic slaves but he was kept separated from them when their tasks were done. At first he felt like she was trying to mother him but after two years, he made his first attempt at escaping and found out that was all just a charade; she quickly became violent, angry, and crazy by slapping him as a punishment an screaming many profanities about his race an how he was useless for anything except in her service an just to get her point across she branded him on his chest, with a strange mark that he later found out was her insignia. "Now everyone will know you're mine!" For days this punishment continued; being tortured and abused to her fancy and he had learned his lesson after about a week of it. It was quite a shock to see Madam Serane so livid and left a emotional scar on him as he forever then on was completely obedient to her whims, always speaking properly to her and any she showed him off to. After that, she was her happy and ditzy self but he knew the truth, as did the others and he never looked at her the same.
As he grew older, about twelve, he became even more cute in her eyes an she began to act a little more 'eccentric' he learned from one of the other slaves, as she began to take him everywhere with her that she could; on carriage rides through town, traveling to other cities to make public appearances, and other Noble duties that was required of her. "Now, this is what things could be like Narreth, if you stay quiet and behave." She said the last part with a twitch as her eyes changed back to the ones of his demented tormentor an he kept his head down as she then cuddled with him for the umpteenth time and left the cabin to go to a banquet that evening. However, that night he found out that not all in her employment were as fond of him as his Master was; Kelar Black, her right-hand guard and the one that had captured him the first day they met, took him somewhere else than the manor after she left and Narreth knew something was up. "Oh, don't worry your cute little head about it; you'll find out soon enough." After what seemed to be an hour or two they arrived in a part of town that Narreth had never been to; it was dark, damp, and people in rags skulked around every corner. The door opened and Kelar grabbed Narreth roughly as the feline hissed and kicked to get away from his grip as he was then thrown to the ground roughly. "You can't beat me! I'm stronger and bigger than you!" He said as he kicked the crumpled form of Narreth farther into the alleyway; none of the people stopped to help or even looked his way, it was then he knew he was in a bad spot and ran straight down the path, only to find it made a sharp turn into a dead end with no doors or anything. "Nowhere to run you little quick prick!" He shouted as he produced a dagger from his side and Narreth's heart skipped a beat as he made himself as small as possible in one of the corners and screamed for help. No one answered as his killer slowly approached him; he could see his life almost flash before his eyes as he threw up his hands and shouted "Nooo!" As he did, small particles of energy gathered as his hands with great speed and shot out a ball of acid right into Kelar's face. "Aghhh! It burns, dammit!" Narreth had no idea how he did that but he knew this was his one chance at escape an he took it; weaving past the tall man stumbling on his feet, he ran out of the alleyway and into the darkness of night like a wild animal, wishing he had died the day that those Orc's found him, tear-drops the only tracks he left in his wake.
He was lost for a good six months or so, he stopped keeping track after a while as he tried to understand his new powers and survive in the dumps. He remembered that his mother could do these sort of things back in his village and wondered if she had passed it on to him. Though one thing he found curious was why no one was looking for him; he hadn't even heard of rumors of a Catfolk escaping or looking to be found but he wasn't complaining really and hoped that was the last he saw of Madam Serane and Kelar. He had used these powers to help him cope a little by playing tricks on people to sneak away with some food for a while or escaping when he was caught. Though, he got sick here an there from bad food he got from people, so he just stuck to taking money instead. However, on a day he felt a little to ambitious in his stealing, he got caught red-handed by a wealthy and strong looking person he thought he could out-run. The person was part of the Seekers of Serenity an he figured that this person would have something good on him but was never able to find out. "My, what an interesting happening. What did you think would-" The man stopped mid-sentence as he saw the brand mark on Narreth's chest. "What's your name?" "N-Narreth...please don't kill me, I won't do it again!" "No no, I am not going to kill you; quite the contrary really. Narreth, I am going to free you." He said as he set him down and explained what he was thinking; apparently Slavery was not allowed in this city an the mark on his chest would give him the proof he needed to inspect Madam Serane's manor for Slaves, as it was a long standing suspicion that she housed some but didn't have enough evidence to do so. Narreth was unsure at first to rat out his former Master; she had taken care of him but he was more afraid of what she would do to him if the plan didn't work. "You mean you've been living on the streets this long, with no other home than Serane's huh? Well, how about this; you help me take down Serane and I will induct you into the Seekers of Serenity an free all the other slaves as well. How does that sound then?" Narreth was speechless for a moment; his life was about to make a complete turn-around, in a good way for once. He quickly agreed an that was his first job in the Seekers of Serenity; freeing Slaves just like him.
Thankfully, after a few weeks of planning and a court hearing later, they were able to conduct a search of Madam Serane's manor without her permission and found the slaves, just as Narreth had described to them an the following arrest from all the employed who knew and Madam Serane Raven herself went rather smoothly. Then he and the master who inducted him, went to the Seekers of Serenity School to properly introduce him to the others. Things were so much different here than anywhere else he had been before; the people were kind, nice, and willing to help him with anything he needed though they were also stern and just. This is where he met others like himself who could use magic, he found out that he was indeed capable of such arcane things an began to practice his powers with much enthusiasm. They also taught him how to fight, since being a Seeker of Serenity wasn't always so peaceful he would need to know how to defend himself. He was more at home with his hands than any other weapon they had available and learned hand-to-hand styles they taught there. This training and life changing place would be his home for the next twelve years an he would learn more than he ever though possible, as well as experience more revelations than he might have wanted to as well. An it was here that he would cast off Stalking Tiger from his name an just be known as Narreth for now and ever more.
He had excelled rather quickly in his work; after six years his forms were near peerless in fighting and his speed was near phenomenal compared to others of his class, however, he was still rather small for fighting his foes upfront. This is where his experience in the Arcane would help him more than just pure power could; he had learned how to control it better by using it to increase his own physical power beyond it's normal capabilities. And his little familiar, Nera, would always be by her master's side when Narreth trained. They were always together, you could tell they got along great, being both felines would be safe assumption. Though there was just one problem with his Arcane powers; every time he tried to cast a ranged spell to attack a dummy, he would miss the target about three out of five times. His teachers asked him what was wrong but only the Master that brought him here knew as they had a close relationship; when he would try to focus on the target, he would get extremely shaky as memories would flood his mind of the first time he ever used his powers, even though it was that one instance that revealed to him that he was indeed of Arcane blood. He would merely try to find ways around this hindrance at times but could never fully get rid of the sensation that would cloud his mind and unsteady his hand. Also, they had recently discovered that he had a weak constitution of some kind; he could only eat very bland and well-cooked meals less he would get very ill. He had a meager fortitude, some would call it and Narreth explained that he had gotten sick before from food in his times on the street an figured that it must have done a number on his small frame. Then on he only ate things like rice or soup; things that were easily digestible an they have had fewer problems from then on, both sides thankful since they wouldn't have to clean up the mess he left after getting sick anymore. Puke was bad enough already but add in globs of hair-balls in it an it was like really old meatballs noodle pasta, which could kill anyone's appetite. Though, even with his handicaps he continued to train and complete the tasks that were set before him; he had found a new goal to strive for in life and he was trying his hardest to make it come true, which was a truly serene world where all lived in peace. Of course, this was already the goal of the Seekers but he had a personal stake in it due to his history but not many knew of it. Only those that did would understand why Narreth was the way he was; polite in all instances and dealings he had with people, his weak stomach, and lastly his bad aim. It was this life he had wished that would never end an he would never take anything for granted anymore.
The good years kept flying by for Narreth; he had become adapt at using his advantages to their fullest and offsetting his handicaps so that not many could even tell they were there. He was still the same size as before but his charming personality, and cute looks combined with Nera, only grew to unfathomable heights. He had calmed down greatly since his first time here and grew much wiser in his outlook on the world; he was no longer jaded by those who slaved others or had done wrong deeds. He merely accepted them as the facts of life but would do what he could to either change the present for those to come or help those come to an understanding in how precious life is. He had recently gotten ordered to, what he saw as a great honor, guard the Orb of Serenity. He knew of the lore of Crisiant Whitely, as he held the man and being in the highest of regards. Crisiant Whitely would go to great lengths to make the enemy come to an understanding before the armies came. It was also said that his combat prowess was so great that he needn't even said army's numbers; he could do it all on his own and with few casualties as well! The exploits of the first one to achieve total enlightenment was Narreth's bread and butter so to speak; he tried his hardest to to memorize all he could of the histories that had Crisiant in them. He was his idol and jumped at the chance to be one of the five protectors of his shrine and did so with great conviction. "To honor all things and appreciate life for what it's worth; these are the first steps I must take in order to follow Crisiant Whitely, the Supreme Seeker."
Last edited by Inukotsu18; 09-25-2011 at 04:43 PM.
Alright all done. Let me know what you think.
Name: Edward Friten
Build: Swashbuckler 3/Fighter 2/Shadow Sun Ninja 5 - Unarmed Swordsage 10
Flaws: Vulnerable, Murky-Eyed
Party Role: Tons of damage.
HP: 69 (5d10 + 5d8)
Initiative: +13 (6 Dex, 3 Quick to Act, Imp. Init)
AC: 23 ( +6 Dex, +7 Wis, +1Monk, -1 Flaw) Touch: 23 Flat: 17
Base Attack/Grapple: +8.75/+10
Special: AC Bonus, Sense Magic, Grace + 1, Touch of the Shadow Sun, Flame of the Shadow Sun, Light within Darkness, Darkness within Light, Insightful Strikex2 (Wis from Swordsage, int from Swashbuckler), Evasion
Maneuvers: 1st - Counter Charge, Clinging Shadow Strike, Shadow Blade Technique 2nd - Baffling Defense, Drain Vitality, Cloak of Deception 3rd - Devastating Throw, Feigned Opening, Strength Draining Attack, Shadow Garrote 4th Comet Throw, Strike of the Broken Shield, Hand of Death, Obscuring Shadow Veil 5th Mirrored Pursuit, Bloodletting Strike, Soaring Throw
Stances: 1st Child of Shadow, Island of Blades 3rd Dance of the Spider 5th Shifting Defense, Step of the Dancing Moth
Saves: Fort:+9 Ref: +15 Will: + 15
Abilities: Str: 14 Dex:22 Con: 13 Int: 16 Wis: 24 Cha: 3
Skills: Climb +15, Concentration +14, Escape Artist +19, Hide +19, Jump +15, Listen +20, Move Silently +19, Sense Motive +20, Swim +15, Tumble +19
Languages: Common, Goblin, Orc, Aquan
Feats: Combat Expertise, Improved Trip, Shadow Blade, Improved Unarmed Strike, Superior Unarmed Strike, Improved Initiative, Deflect Arrow, Improved Natural Attack, Gloom Razor
Equipment: Monk's Belt, Periapt of Wisdom +6, Gloves of Dexterity +4, Bag of Holding 1, Ring of Sustenance
Life on the coast has been kind to Edward. His skin is tanned to perfection and a few freckles are spread across his face and body. His hair is a light blonde, almost white from the many hours under the sun. His eyes are a light green, which is odd for the people of the coast, who normally have eyes of blue or brown. Edward stands at 5'11, weighing about 170 pounds. He almost always wears the outfit taken from his father, which includes his ruffled purple vest, leather pants, wooden shoes and wide-brimmed hat. Although this outfit tends to stand out in a crowd, Edward never really minds. He wears it as a reminder of what his dark side is capable of when allowed to walk freely.
Edward is a reserved man, keeping most of his feelings to himself. He struggles with a dark past, and as such he often finds himself unwilling to discuss his past or his thoughts with most people. Edward often feels like he is the only one in the whole world who can truly see the darkness in good men. Even though he wages a constant battle with his own darker half, he finds it difficult to see past the failings of others. He often comes off as harsh or judgmental, but it is only because he wants to help others to control their dark sides and move closer to the light. Even in situations where others have allowed themselves to relax, Edward is always on guard, worried that if he were to allow himself time to relax, his darker side may seep to the surface. Even through his troubled past and struggle for control, Edward still helps all those who need it, hoping that they to will learn to control their dark halves, and go on to help others in turn.
Edward was raised in a small port city on the western coastlines. His father was a fisherman, and his mother was a seamstress. Even though the city was poor compared to some of the other port cities on the cost, Edward still had a very comfortable childhood. He was very well off for food and clothes, and even had a few toys, which was very rare for the child of a fisherman. In the early years of his childhood, Edwards mother told him many stories about the troubled times of the past and the great conquests that took place after. She told him of the Seekers, and of their mission to bring peace to all the lands. Even though Edward thought it sounded like a brilliant idea and loved the thought of getting to see their wonderful Order, his Father was very convinced that these so called Seekers were nothing more than another group seeking power over the world.
When Edward was old enough, his Father started to teach him how to fight. He learned how to maneuver a blade between the creases of someone’s armor, and his father even showed him a few dirty tricks that could turn the tide in a fight. Years and years of training with his father started to show, and Edward became a fine fledgling warrior. Although he was talented, his fighting style was very different from the other young men in the city. Although his skill with the blade was fair, Edward found that he was much more comfortable using his bare hands to fight rather than the slender rapier his father had given him. This revelation brought out the true warrior in Edward, and he decided that the only right thing to do would be to join the navy and punch pirates. In just a few short months, Edward became known as "The one man boarding party." He took to this title so well, that the captain of the ship had a special siege weapon commissioned that fired Edward at the enemy ship instead of bolts or rocks. It was on one such boarding mission that Edward first found the darkness in his heart. Always before, he would ensure to only knock his victims out, to ensure that they had their fair trial. But on this particular boarding mission, the first thing he noticed was the name of the ship. "The Catch." That was his father’s ship.
Rage overtook him. Pirates had stolen his father’s ship, and even now his body was probably sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Edward put everything he had into every punch, killing pirates left and right. Almost half the crew lay dead at his feet when he heard an all to familiar voice calling his name. When he turned to regard the speaker, he saw his father, standing just inside the captains quarters, wearing what could only be described as the most ridiculous outfit ever. A ruffled purple vest covered his shoulders and stomach, but opened to expose his chest. A pair of dark green leather pants covered his legs, and he also wore a strange pair of wooden shoes. To top it all off, he wore a wide brimmed purple hat, topped with a large feather. It took a moment for everything that was happening to register with Edward. Before he even realized, he had jumped the distance between himself and his father, and had his hand closed around his throat. Without a second thought, he snapped the neck of his own father and watched him slump to the ground. The other pirates stood, staring in shock, before dropping their weapons in surrender. Edward collected his father’s remains and possessions and returned to his vessel. He spent the trip home in quiet contemplation, thinking about what he had done, and how he would explain it to his mother.
Edward returned home shortly, but didn't stay long. He told his mother he had killed his father, and left her with enough gold to see her through the rest of her life. He also left most of his father’s possessions, save the ridiculous outfit he had been wearing. He left that night to find the Seekers of Serenity, hoping that they could show him the way to inner peace. He traveled for weeks before he stopped in another city, mainly making camps off of the roads. When Edward reached the city, the guards at the gate told him to turn back quickly, for Goblins would soon besiege the town. Never one to see innocents harmed, Edward volunteered to stay and help fend off the goblin invaders. Edward spent the day resting at a small inn just inside the northern wall of the city. The Goblins were not coming for another day, so Edward had plenty of time to rest and wash the dirt of the road from his body. The night passed uneventfully, and in the morning Edward met with the cities militia to prepare for the upcoming battle. All of them seemed so nervous, some even verging on fear and panic. Many ran short drill exercises, taking these few moments to test their equipment.
In just a few short moments, the city was filled with the sounds of ringing bells, signifying the Goblins first assault. The militia quickly grabbed their gear and ran to their posts, some with crossbows to fire from the walls, and others to the gates to try and hold them shut as best they could. Edward stood with the Militia Captain, watching as the goblins flung rocks and spears at the crossbowmen. Even though they had no strategy, and there weapons and armor were of the poorest quality, the Goblin numbers proved too great for the militia, and after only an hour, the Goblins managed to get the cities northern gates open. Hundreds and hundreds of goblins poured into the city, and were met with the charge of the brave militia. Now it was Edwards turn to fight. He dashed at full speed at the oncoming goblins hoard, and leapt into the air, over the heads of the militia, to land right in the center of the mass of goblins. Startled, but not unready, the Goblins nearest him tried to skewer him with their spears. But Edward wouldn’t be felled by such pitiful attacks, and deftly slapped aside the oncoming weapons. A few quick jabs and a well placed kick left the Goblins nearest to Edward lying on their backs at his feet.
The battle raged on, Edward always in the middle of the fight. No matter which way he turned there was always an opponent, spear poised to strike. As the battle calmed, and most of the remaining Goblins had fled, Edward sat amidst the goblin corpses. He sat and thought about all the times he had claimed that killing was wrong, and that all creatures deserved their fair trial. And in this moment of contemplation, sitting beside the corpses of the goblins he had just killed, Edward realized he had been a fool. These goblins would have killed every man women and child here. There would have been no trial, no mercy. How could this city have jailed all these monsters? What Edward had done was right, even if lives were taken. That night, Edward gathered what little belongings he had and left the small city. He decided he would find the Seekers of Serenity, and see where their teachings would take him.
Years later, after much traveling and training, Edward finally arrived at the Central Monastery. As soon as Edward arrived, he made his way to the Orb of Serenity, and knelt before it in quiet contemplation. He thought about his life until this point, and all of his deeds, good and bad. He thought about his father and mother, that small city he had defended all those years ago, and all the people he had helped and harmed since that day. Even though at the time he had thought the killings to be necessary, the weight of that decision still hung over him. For days and days Edward knelt before the Orb. Each day he would refuse food and water, and he would sleep only when the doors to the Orb were closed to him. It was during one of these times, when the doors were closed to the public that one of the Seekers of Serenity came to him. He had seen Edward kneeling before the Orb, and had came to try and help Edward with the problems that ailed him.
Edward explained his story to the seeker, from beginning to end, and when he was finished, the Seeker simply smiled. He told Edward that although he could not help him with his moral dilemma, he could show him the way to decide for himself. He explained that he was a part of a sect of the Seekers known as the Shadow Sun Ninjas. The Ninjas trained themselves to walk the fine line between light and dark to reach pure Serenity. He told Edward that he had the skills, and the mentality, of one who would make a fine Ninja. Edward accepted, and became a member of the Seekers of Serenity, training with the Shadow Sun Ninjas. He was first taught all of the basic principles of the Seekers of Serenity, and after his Seeker training was complete, he began to train with the Shadow Sun Ninjas, learning to walk the fine line of light and dark.
Last edited by Scimmy; 01-07-2012 at 10:02 AM. Reason: Out Of game
Name: Her parents allowed her Godparents (both of whom are dead) to name her and she has no idea what tribe her parents belonged to before their exile.Kelann (Formerly of the Bloody Daggers mercenary group)__________________
Build: Sleeping Tiger Fighting Style VariantMonk(10)//Ninja(7)/Uncanny Trickster(3)
Traits: Slippery and Plucky
Flaws: She simply dislikes combat and feels/knows there are usually other ways to solve one's problems/conflicts.Noncombatant and Shaky
Party Role: The Recon Expert/Decoy/Jack
Kelann's fur is a smooth blend of a warm sandy color (though some have called it more of a dry grass color) on her back to nearly snow white on her chest and stomach with black spots over most of her body. Her face is marked a little bit differently. The spots that appear on her forehead and cheeks are smaller and more of a deep, storm cloud gray, while twin, black stripes run from the inner corners of her almond shaped, deep golden eyes nearly to the tips of her mouth. Her teeth are mostly like those of a human, except for her (for lack of better term) canines which are a touch longer than humans. Not wanting to go against the custom of her people's women, Kelann keeps her dark brown hair cut to a length between roughly one and two inches. Her hair is usually messy as Kelann sees no point in keeping it straight and untangled without male catfolk around. Despite normally being messy, one can see a bone bead, a brightly colored feather and a few other odd keepsakes bound to her short locks. This also aids her in her choice of profession by keeping it far from her eyes and allows her slightly pointed and black rimmed ears to remain uncovered by anything.
Like many of her people, Kelann is roughly five feet three inches tall, about the same height as human women. At approximately one hundred twenty-one pounds, she does not weigh much more than a young, athletic human male. Her build is athletic and sleek. The muscles in her arms and legs, though usually covered, barely show as she focuses far more agility than strength, making her much more agile than the average human or dwarf. Despite being of approximately the same build as some of her human counterparts, she is faster then them. Kelann's nails are thick and almost claw-like. Much to her disappointment, though, she cannot use them as a cat would use its. That being the case, she tends to keep them trimmed fairly short, no longer than the tips of her fingers. She keeps the nails on her feet a touch longer so that she has better traction while sprinting or climbing.
When Kelann is not on a job, mission, or whatever else one chooses to call it, she can be found wearing comfortable but durable clothing. She prefers a loose, sky blue cotton shirt with sleeves loose enough to conceal the smaller daggers she conceals there and a pair of deep, navy blue pants that are fairly fitted from waist to knee and looser (no bigger than the biggest part of her thigh) to her black leather foot wrappings. About her waist is a belt, on which hangs a shortsword. During these times her sai are strapped to her calves as she is not fond of boots and her shuriken and extra couple of daggers are tucked into her pack.
However, when she is on a mission, Kelann wears black clothing. Her shirt and pants, though fitted, are still loose enough that she has complete freedom of movement. She wears a close fitting, black cotton hood over her head so her eyebrows are barely covered and a black scarf wrapped about the lower half of her face and her neck. The combined effect of these two articles of clothing means that the only bit of her face that is visible is a small strip of flesh with her eyes and part of the bridge of her nose. Her feet are mostly wrapped in long strips of sturdy, black cloth. Attached to her thighs, within easy reach of her hands are small, black pouches filled with her shuriken and daggers (which include the ones strapped to her wrists when she is in plain clothes). Her sai are tucked into the sash she wears at her waist. The rest of her gear remains tucked away safely wherever she chooses to spend the night.
Kelann is horribly energetic. No matter what she's seen doing, she appears to be bounding with energy. She strongly dislikes direct combat. Even firing a bow at someone is something she dislikes. This means that she can often be seen darting about the battlefield distracting the enemy and acting as a decoy for attacks that her teammates might not be able to avoid. If Kelann has to attack someone, she does so only when it comes down to her life, her companion's life or her enemy's.
Kelann is not afraid of risking her own skin. She enjoys risking her neck for her friends to a degree. Even as she risks her butt, she is calm in her own manner and her energy always shines through as being She was once seen bumping into a burly guard and falling flat on her butt. "Hi! Don't mind me. I'll be going now," she was heard saying as she stood. Kelann then disappeared and ran off.bubbly.
She rarely speaks unless she feels that her comment or observation would be of use. This means that her words tend to be taken with a bit of weight, especially when she comes back from a recon mission. Kelann uses the knowledge she gains from her snooping to help form a plan of Even if she dislikes combat, she doesn't want to see her friends die if she can help it.attack.
Besides being a bit of a at least when it comes to recon, infiltrating buildings, and saving her friendsdaredevil, Kelann enjoys practicing her skills and random tricks. She loves picking up new tricks. Her favorite hobbies though, are reading, running and pulling random pranks on people.
Her extreme dislike of combat has lead her to rarely spar against people. About the only training she does to keep her fighting skills sharp are pattern dances.
In case you didn't pick up on it, Kelann's neutral good.
Kelann's parents were exiled from their respective tribes many years before her birth. They met up and decided to form a mercenary group. It took them a little while, but they eventually formed the Bloody Daggers. Around that same time they got married.
Being part of the Bloody Daggers from her birth, Kelann can easily be considered a military brat. Her childhood was fairly standard for the first few years of her life. She was well loved by her parents. When she was about three, Kelann's parents began her training. She took to the training slowly at first. Once she began to enjoy it, however, Kel truly began to excel at the skills that her parents wanted her to learn. Kel's favorite lessons involved her agility and dexterity. She quickly learned to climb trees and over walls using her agility. Her parents also began insisting that she began running more and more. Other than lessons involving agility, Kel was taught about poisons, opening locks, and filching coins, papers, and other unique items without getting not that she didn't mess up from time to time.caught.
The first time she used a poison recklessly was as part of a prank of revenge when she was five. One of the soldiers had called her a wild kitten, which she kind of was in all honesty, and she did not like it. So to get even, she decided that it would be fitting to make him ill for a few days. Kelann hadn't meant for anything bad to happen, but she messed up the amount of Dark Reaver Powder she poured into his soup and accidentally over-dosed the man. He died within a few short minutes of being poisoned. Deeply disappointed in her, her parents issued her a punishment worthy of any military group. The first part of her punishment was that she had to clean all of the armor, clean and sharpen all of the weapons and help the cooks with meals for two months. Kelann truly disliked the second part of her punishment because it meant that she wasn't allowed to go near poisons for about three months.
A couple years after the accidental poisoning, Kelann, now seven, was out hunting with a few of the mercenaries' wives/husbands who were rangers and/or scouts. Her friends and family were attacked by rival mercenaries while they were gone. The fight was long and bloody and the resulting deaths were numerous on both sides. When she and the others returned, they were horrified with what had happened. Her remaining companions wanted blood, but not wanting to lose anyone elseKel somehow managed to talk them out of it. After they buried their dead, Kelann was offered leadership of the remaining Bloody Daggers because of her cool head, but she turned them down. She had seen enough blood throughout her short life to last most anyone a lifetime. Having declined leadership, and no longer wanting a position among the mercenary group that her parents had created, Kelann left the only family she knew at the first large town they came across.
Her life took a turn for the worse soon after what remained of her 'tribe' left. She turned into little more than a gutter-rat, resorting to stealing, the odd job and her few tricks to survive. Kel knew that her parents would disapprove of the way she was living, but she little choice because she did not want to return to the life that had led to their deaths. Everything went well enough for little more than a year. Kelann survived by stealing roughly what she needed to survive. She knew that her parents would be extremely disappointed with her for using the skills that they had taught her until their death for her current way of life, but she did not have much of a choice. To help make up for the displeasure that she was sure her parents were facing in their afterlives, Kel gave what little she could spare to other street-rats.
Although she was spotted by the people she was stealing from as she was getting away and chased by them and/or the city guards more times than she dared to count, she narrowly managed to get away every time. Kelann's luck, and life, changed drastically one day about fifteen months after arriving in the city. She had snuck up behind a comfortably dressed man, intent on stealing the purse attached to his belt. Her target caught her wrist when she was trying to take his purse. Surprisingly, he praised her for her instead of turning her over to the city guardstealth and offered her a challenge. The man said that if Kel was able to escape his pursuit without going into areas too small for him to enter, he would allow her to go on her merry way and not mention the incident to the local law enforcement. However, if he caught her or she gave up, she had to join the Seekers of Serenity as his pupil. Kelann quickly agreed because she rarely refused a challenge.
Smirking, Kel turned and darted away as soon as the man let go of her wrist. She led him on a wild chase through the city. Kelann even ran over rooftops and into dead ends, using tricks she'd learned over her short life to escape the man. Her efforts at evading the man were in vain, though, since he easily kept pace with her. Yes, he couldn't quite copy a few of her trickier movements, but they didn't delay his pursuit for long. After several hours, Kelann was absolutely exhausted and forced to forfeit. The man had won fair and square. She would abide by her word and join the Seekers as his student.
Kelann gathered her few possessions and followed the man to the nearest Seekers monastery. There, she was welcomed warmly despite the fact that she had tried to steal from one of their own. She was given a room to share with one of the other new recruits and some new, and better fitting, clothes. Her new 'Master' gave her a couple of days to settle in and learn her way around the monastery before he began teaching her. As with her parents, she quickly took to his lessons. Kel dedicated herself to his lessons so that she could redeem a little of the honor she'd lost after her parent's deaths. She learned all that he had to teach her within four years.
She was forced to remain within monastery walls for another year before the Seekers began sending her on basic recon missions. During the recon missions, she would slip into an area where there was trouble, learn what she could about the trouble and return with the information she'd gathered. Rarely would the Seekers ask her to join them in their raids and battles with those who tried to break the peace that they had established.
When Kelann turned seventeen, her master died. The Seekers, knowing that she was one of his last students, placed her in charge of training any new recruit who shows any talent in rogue-like arts. She has been training recruits between the missions they still send her on for the last eighteen months. Currently, Kel is at her home monastery training a couple of new members.
HP: 83 (10d8+CON MOD)
AC: (+8 dex mod, +1 natural, +7 wis mod, +2 ring of protection, +2 monk)30, TOUCH: 29, FLAT-FOOTED: 22
BASE ATTACK/GRAPPLE: 7.5/7
SPECIAL: AC Bonus, Ki Power (15/day), Sudden Strike (+5d6), Trapfinding, Ghost Step (invisible), Poison Use, Great Leap, Acrobatics (+2), Ki Dodge, Speed Climb, Ghost Strike, Improved Poison Use, Bonus Feat (x3), Flurry of Blows (+7/+7/+2), Unarmed Strike (2d8), Evasion, Still Mind, Ki Strike (magic), Slow Fall (50ft), Purity of Body, Wholeness of Body, Improved Evasion, Ki Strike (lawful), Bonus Trick x3, Favorite Trick x3, Tricky Defense, +2 lvls existing class features
SKILL TRICKS: leaping climber, wall jumper, extreme leap, walk the walls, favorite trickback on your feet, favorite tricknimble charge, corner perch, favorite trickacrobatic backstab, speedy ascent
SAVES: FORT:10 REFLEX:17 WILL:14
ABILITIES: STR:10 DEX:26 CON:16 INT:16 WIS:24 CHA:10
LANGUAGES: common, feline, elven, dragonic, sylvan
SKILLS: please refer to character sheet
FEATS: weapon finesse, two-weapon fighting, agile athlete, quick draw, improved init., jack of all trades, improved sunder, freerunner, ascetic stalker, improved unarmed strike
EQUIPMENT: merciful sai x2; merciful dagger x2; merciful shortsword x2; seeking distance compound shortbow x2; ring of protection (+2); periapt of wisdom (+2); gloves of dexterity (+2); healing belt; heward's handy haversack; ring of sustenance; cloak and boots of elvenkind; horseshoes of speed x2; everlasting feedbags x2; for all some of which can be found in the 'other notes' sectionnon-magical possessions, please refer to my character sheet.
Races of the Wild
Magic Item Compendium
Last edited by Cristal08Darkmoon; 09-25-2011 at 11:25 AM.
Pieces of Peace Application
Name: Duvon "just Duvon," Ex-Enforcer of the Zhentarim
Race: see below for detailsHeroic Human (Jotunbrud) [RoF] (LA Bought Off)
Class: Barbarian 1 / Fighter 9 // Ninja 3 / Monk 2 / Avenging Executioner 5
Every now and again, the Gods of the divine realms seek to influence the mortal realms. While there are many ways to do this, favoring subtlety and discretion, the gods may bless an unborn child with divine power, so that he may better carry out their will. Such children grow into men and women who are stronger and tougher than their peers, and who view the world without fear. While the source of their power may be unknown to them, or attributed to heredity or the acts of mortal men, these men and women almost always play a larger role in the grand scheme of the universe than would be expected of those who lived under similar circumstances: be they warriors, priests, kings, or the assassins who slay them.
Party Role: Melee Bruiser/Debuffer (Fear Lockdown)/Battlefield Controller (Bullrush), secondary Stealth
Duvon is built off of a series of combinations, all of which stack together.The first combination is Fear Lockdown.
Shaken: -2 penalty on attacks/saves/skills/ability checks
Frightened: Same as Shaken, except the creature must flee if possible.
Panicked: Additional -2 penalty on saves/skills/ability checks (total -2 attack, -4 saves/skills/ability checks). Drops anything held. Flees from source of fear, as well as any other dangers, along a random path at top speed. If cornered, automatically shifts to Cowering.
Cowering: Cannot take actions. Considered panicked (drops items held, -2 attack, -4 saves/skills/ability checks). Takes Additional -2 penalty to AC and loses Dexterity Bonus to AC.
Fear Statuses escalate from Shaken to Frightened to Panicked in the case of multiple fear effects. Example: A creature that is Shaken that is subject to a second effect that makes them Shaken is instead Frightened. A third effect that makes them Shaken brings them up to the final state of Panicking.
-Every round, as a swift action, Duvon can attempt to demoralize his opponent. If he succeeds, the enemy Cowers in fear for one round, losing all actions, dropping what he is holding, and taking a host of temporary fear penalties. After the round of Cowering, the opponent is still shaken for one round. This comes from the Zhentarim Fighter variant and the Imperious Command feat.
-Three times per day, Duvon may enter a Whirling Frenzy as a free action. When he does this, he gets a free demoralize attempt against one opponent. If he succeeds, the enemy Cowers in fear for one round, losing all actions, dropping what he is holding, and taking a host of temporary fear penalties. After the one round of Cowering, the opponent is still shaken until Duvon's rage ends. This comes from the Intimidating Rage feat and the Imperious Command feat.
-Once per combat, Duvon may elect to demoralize all opponents within 10 ft. instead of one opponent when making a demoralize attempt. This comes from the Never Outnumbered skill trick.
-Every time Duvon makes a full attack or charges, every enemy within 20 ft. must succeed on a will save or be Shaken for 1 minute, via Frightful Presence. Any creature exposed to this effect (succeed or fail) is immune to the effect afterwards for 24 hours. This comes from the Dreadful Wrath feat.
-Every time Duvon deals Sudden Strike damage in melee, the target and all opponents within 30 ft must make a will save or be Shaken for 5 rounds. This comes from the Bloody Blade class feature.
-Every time Duvon drops or kills a creature, all opponents within 30 ft must make a will save or be frightened for one round. Those who succeed are still shaken. This comes from the Bloody Murder class feature.
-Duvon treats all shaken, frightened, or panicked creatures as flat-footed for the purpose of dealing Sudden Strike damage, which means he does an additional +5d6 Damage on every attack against those targets. This comes from the Dread Blade class feature.
-Finally, any creature struck by Duvon in melee that takes Sudden Strike damage is staggered for one round, and may thus only take a single standard action or move action, unless it succeeds on a fortitude save (DC = Damage Dealt). This comes from the Staggering Strike feat.
The second combination is Bull Rushing.
-Duvon may make a Bull Rush attempt without provoking an opportunity. With a standard action or an attack action, he may move into his opponent's square and make an opposed strength check to push them backwards. This comes from the Improved Bull Rush feat.
-Any time Duvon makes a successful melee attack while using the Power Attack feat, he can make a free Bull Rush attempt against his target. This comes from the Knockback feat.
-Any time Duvon makes a successful Bull Rush attempt as part of a charge, he may push his target one square to the left or right for each square pushed backward. This comes from the Shock Trooper feat.
-Any time Duvon successfully Bull Rushes a target into another foe, he gets a free trip attempt against both opponents, and neither gets a chance to trip him. This comes from the Shock Trooper feat.
-Finally, any time Duvon successfully Bull Rushes a target and the opponent is stopped by a wall, they take 8d6 +3x(Str Mod) damage. This comes from the Dungeon Crasher variant class feature.
The third combination is Melee Bruiser.
-Duvon has Full BAB.
-Duvon may make a full attack on the end of a charge. This comes from the Pounce ability granted by the Lion Totem variant class feature.
-When Duvon makes a full attack while in a Whirling Frenzy, Duvon may make an additional attack per round at his highest base attack bonus. This comes from the Whirling Frenzy variant class feature.
-When Duvon makes a full attack, he makes two extra attacks per round with an off hand weapon. This comes from the Two Weapon Fighting and Improved Two Weapon Fighting feats.
Duvon, Male True Neutral Heroic Human Barbarian 1/Fighter 9//Ninja 1/Monk 2/Ninja +2 /Avenging Executioner 5
Planned Progression: Barbarian 1/Fighter 9/Dreadfang 10 // Ninja 1/Monk 2/Ninja +2 /Avenging Executioner 5/Arcane Swordsage 1/Battledancer 1/Ninja +4 /Unseen Seer 4
Str: 34 [24 +6 Racial +4 Enh (Belt)]
Dex: 20 [19 +1 Levels]
Con: 18 [12 +6 Racial]
Cha: 26 [21 +1 Levels +4 Enh (Cloak)]
Dice * Roll:
Stats: 24 (8, 8, 8), 21 (7, 7, 7), 19 (7, 7, 5), 16 (7, 5, 4), 12 (4, 4, 4), 10 (4, 3, 3)
Hit Points: 96 [12 +54 (Levels) +40 (Con) -10 (Flaw)]
Armor Class: 20 [10 +6 Armor +5 Dex -1 Flaw], +4 vs. Traps
Touch AC: 14
Flat-Footed AC: 15
Initiative: +7 [+5 Dex +2 Competence (Bracers)]
Speed: 30 ft.
Base Attack Bonus: +10/+5
Fortitude: +12 [+7 Base +4 Con +1 Resistance]
Reflex: +13 [+7 Base +5 Dex +1 Resistance], Evasion
Will: +9 [+6 Base +2 Ki Power +1 Resistance], Mindarmor 3/day
+4 Vs. Traps
+1 Sudden Stunning Adamantine Greatsword: +23 [+10 BAB +12 Str +1 Enh], 2d6+19 [+18 Str +1 Enh]
Unarmed Strike (Mw Greaves): +23 [+10 BAB +12 Str +1 Enh], 1d6+12
Melee Full Attack (TWF):
+1 Sudden Stunning Adamantine Greatsword: +21/+16 [+10 BAB +12 Str +1 Enh -2 TWF], 2d6+19 [+18 Str +1 Enh]
Unarmed Strike (Mw Greaves): +21/+16 [+10 BAB +12 Str +1 Enh -2 TWF], 1d6+6
Melee Full Attack (TWF, Whirling Frenzy):
+1 Sudden Stunning Adamantine Greatsword: +21/+21/+16 [+10 BAB +14 Str +1 Enh -2 TWF -2 Frenzy], 2d6+22 [+21 Str +1 Enh]
Unarmed Strike (Mw Greaves): +21/+16 [+10 BAB +14 Str +1 Enh -2 TWF -2 Frenzy], 1d6+7
Shuriken: +15 [+10 BAB +5 Dex], 1d2+12
Longbow: +15 [+10 BAB +5 Dex], 1d8
Ranged Full Attack (TWF):
Shuriken: +13/+8 [+10 BAB +5 Dex -2 TWF], 1d2+12
Shuriken: +13/+8 [+10 BAB +5 Dex -2 TWF], 1d2+6
- +6d6 Sudden Strike; flat-footed, denied dex, shaken, frightened, or panicked
- Bloody Blade: Will DC 25; Whenever you deal Sudden Strike damage in melee, target + all enemies within 30 ft. save vs. shaken for 5 rounds. If HD > 10, unaffected.
- Staggering Strike: Fort DC = Damage Dealt; Whenever you deal Sudden Strike damage in melee, target must save vs. staggered.
- Bloody Murder: Will DC 25; Whenever you drop a creature in melee, all enemies within 30 ft. save vs frightened for 1 round, shaken on success. If HD > 10, unaffected.
- Dreadful Wrath: Will DC 25; Whenever you charge/full-attack cast a damaging spell, all enemies within 20 ft. save vs. shaken for 10 rounds. Target then immune for 24 hours.
- Sudden Stunning: Ref DC 23, 8/day; Swift action after successful hit, save vs. stun for 1d4+1 rounds.
- Knockback: Whenever you hit with a melee attack while using Power Attack, you may make a free Bull Rush attempt and apply your Power Attack bonus to the check.
- Bull Rush Strength Check: +20 [+4 Size +12 Str +4 Feat]
- Dungeon Crasher: Whenever you Bull Rush a target into a wall, the opponent takes 8d6+36 Damage.
Languages Known: Common, Military Hand-Signs, Orc, Elven
Weapon Proficiencies: All Simple, All Martial, Kama, Nunchaku, Sai, Shuriken, Siangham
Armor Proficiencies: Light and Medium Armors; Shields, Tower Shields
Whirling Frenzy 3/day [Replaces Rage, UA]
Lion Totem [Replaces Fast Movement, CChamp]
Zhentarim Soldier Fighter [CoV]:
Skilled City Dweller [CS]
Armored Mage (Sorcerer) [CChamp]
Dungeon Crasher [Replaces 2nd, 6th Bonus Feats, DS]
Skill Focus: Intimidate
Ki Power 
Sudden Strike +6d6 [2d6 (Ninja) +3d6 (Avenging Executioner) +1d6 (Bracers)]
Flurry of Blows
Overwhelming Attack Fighting Style [UA]
Improved Bull Rush
Sudden Strike (Included Above)
Base Speed 30 ft.
+1 Skill Point/Level
+4 Hide/Move Silently
1st: Dreadful Wrath [PGtF]
Bonus (Human): Jotunbrud [RoF]
Bonus (Flaw): Extra Rage
Bonus (Flaw): SLAs 3/day: Detect Evil, Detect Magic, Detect Poison, Detect Undead, Read Magic; CL = levelGodsight [LEoF]
Bonus (Fighter 1): Two-Weapon Fighting
Bonus (Monk 1): Improved Unarmed Strike
Bonus (Monk 1): Power Attack
Bonus (Monk 2): Improved Bullrush
3rd: Intimidating Rage [CW]
Bonus (Fighter 2): Dungeon Crasher [DS]
Bonus (Fighter 3): Skill Focus (Intimidate)
Bonus (Fighter 4): Knockback [RoS]
6th: Imperious Command [DotU]
Bonus (Fighter 6): Dungeon Crasher 2 [DS]
9th: Staggering Strike [CAdv]
Bonus (Fighter 8): Shock Trooper [CW]
Bonus (Gloves): Improved Two Weapon Fighting
Barbarian/Ninja: 10 [6+3 Int +1 Racial] x4 (1st level) = 40
Fighter/Monk: 8 [4 +3 Int +1 Racial] x2 (2nd-3rd level) = 16
Fighter/Ninja: 10 [6 +3 Int +1 Racial] x2 (4th-5th level) = 20
Fighter/Avenging Executioner: 10 [6 +3 Int +1 Racial] x5 (6th-10th level) = 50
Total Skill Points: 126
Armor Check Penalty: -0
Balance: +12 [5 Ranks +5 Dex +2 Tumble Synergy]
Bluff: +17 [10 Ranks +8 Cha -1 Trait]
Climb: +12 [+12 Str]
Craft (Armorsmithing): +10 [5 Ranks +3 Int +2 MW Tools]
Craft (Weaponsmithing): +10 [5 Ranks +3 Int +2 MW Tools]
Diplomacy: +9 [+8 Cha +2 Bluff Synergy +2 Sense Motive Synergy -1 Trait -2 Trait]
Handle Animal: +6 [+8 Cha -2 Trait]
Hide: +29 [13 Ranks +5 Dex +4 Racial +5 Competence (Bracers) +2 MW Tools]
Intimidate: +37 [13 Ranks +8 Cha +2 Monk +3 Skill Focus +4 Size +2 MW Tools +2 Bluff Synergy +1 Trait +2 Trait]
Jump: +14 [+12 Str +2 Tumble Synergy]
Listen: +13 [13 Ranks]
Move Silently: +29 [13 Ranks +5 Dex +4 Racial +5 Competence (Boots) +2 MW Tools]
Sense Motive: +18 [13 Ranks +5 Competence (Third Eye)]
Spot: +15 [13 Ranks +2 Competence (Headband)]
Tumble: +18 [13 Ranks +5 Dex]
Back on Your Feet 
Clarity of Vision 
Never Outnumbered 
Spot the Weak Point 
Twisted Charge 
70,000 starting gp
Darkened Clothing [Masterwork Hide Tools] (50 gp)
Soft-Soled Shoes [Masterwork Move Silently Tools] (50 gp)
Blood-Soaked Headband [Masterwork Intimidate Tools] (50 gp)
Sudden Stunning [DMG2] Adamantine Greatsword [+1] (Self-Crafted, Took 10: 1,016 gp +2,000 +2,000)
-Crystal of Return, Least [MIC] (300 gp)
Shuriken  (5 gp)
Longbow (75 gp)
-Arrows  (1 gp)
Masterwork Greaves [Shin "Gauntlets"] (Self Crafted: Took 10, 100 gp)
Mithral Chain-Shirt (Self-Crafted, Took 10: 366 gp)
Masterwork Dastana [OA] (Self-Crafted, Took 10: 40 gp)
Masterwork Chahar-Aina [OA] (Self-Crafted, Took 10: 58 gp)
Torso: Vest of Resistance [+1] (1,000 gp)
Ring 1: Ring of the Darkhidden [MIC] (2,000 gp)
Hands: Gloves of the Balanced Hand [MIC] (8,000 gp)
Arms: Bracers of the Hunter [SoX] (8,500 gp)
Shoulders: Vanisher Cloak [MIC] of Charisma [+4] (2,500 gp +16,000)
Face: Third Eye Expose [MIC] (2,500 gp)
Head: Scout's Headband [MIC] (3,400 gp)
Waist: Belt of Healing [MIC] and Giant Strength [+4] (750 gp +16,000)
Feet: Boots of Elvenkind (2,500 gp)
Everlasting Rations [MIC] (350 gp)
Belt Pouch (1 gp)
-Grey Ioun Stone (25 gp)
---Continual Flame Spell (110 gp)
Backpack (2 gp)
Masterwork Armorsmithing Tools (50 gp)
Masterwork Weaponsmithing Tools (50 gp)
Silk Rope [50 ft] (10 gp)
Grappling Hook (1 gp)
Tanglefoot Bag x2 (100 gp)
GP Spent: 69,960
The first thing noticeable about Duvon is the sheer size of him, standing nearly seven feet tall with hands like trash can lids. What can be seen of his body is criss-crossed with dark, jagged scars, covering nearly everything except his face. His skin is deeply tanned like that of a day laborer, and likewise covers an extremely fit and muscular body; one used to harsh punishment and hard work. His face is set in a semi permanent expression of determination, willfully pushing himself forward, though when he relaxes a great pain can be seen behind his eyes, as if the witness of some horrible tragedy. His facial hair changes from day to day, occasionally growing into a full, dirty blond beard but mostly remaining clean shaven, and light blond hair cascades freely down his back.
Despite his enormity, Duvon moves gracefully, and the sound of his footsteps is like that of a man half his size. He stands tall but not rigidly, without pride or arrogance, just simple confidence. His head sways side to side as he walks, and his eyes dart around constantly, always on the lookout for an ambush- a habit burned into him over years of life-or-death combat. When he speaks, his voice is low, a heavy bass, and carries despite its softness, with a grit that one would assume is not well suited to love or laughter.
Duvon is not overly fond of conversation, and tends to avoid any subject which may bring up his past. As such, he has few friends, and seems relatively content with seeking his own serenity in solitude, though he does not disdain company. When he does speak, it is often for practical reasons rather than pleasure, and tends to take on a commanding tone. Some more individualistic persons take offense to this, but Duvon does not dance around them or attempt to spare their feelings- and likewise, he accepts those who speak similarly bluntly without complaint. He is a shrewd thinker and a tactical thinker, and does not think very often in terms of politics.
Duvon has a relatively short temper, especially for those who do not see (or refuse to see) what he considers to be obvious. However, his time spent within the Order has cooled him somewhat, he himself quite literally "seeking serenity," and as such at least attempts to keep his anger in check, especially with those who lack the life experience he has had. To him, his past, while a burden to him, has made him strong, and one cannot expect a man who carries no burdens to have strength. The weight of sin is an especially heavy one, and he views those attempting to redeem themselves with an empathy that is rarely seen from him in other situations.
Flaws and Traits:
Abrasive: Duvon does not often take the effort to maneuver social etiquette, and is often aggressive in conversation.
Unnatural Aura: Despite his efforts to hide his past, Duvon's history of murder and terror are present in his stance and body language, and many find his presence threatening or at the very least unsettling.
Vulnerable (Flaw): In combat, Duvon tends to be overly reckless, caring little for his own safety in favor of brutalizing his enemies.
Frail (Flaw): Despite his enormous size and skill, Duvon's frequent dance with death has exacted a harsh toll on him. His body is covered in scars, and old wounds still pain him.
Background Summary: Duvon's parents were killed, and Duvon was raised by his parents' killers within organized crime, doing oddjobs. As he aged, he became one of the guild's most loyal members, acting as an enforcer and debt collector. After he learned of his parents' death at their hands, the guild turned on him, and he was left barely alive. He took it upon himself to hunt down every guild member he could find as revenge, and after years of brutal murder, personally eliminated all guild presence in his hometown. Filled with remorse and having nothing left to live for, he attempted to take his own life, but was stopped by a member of the Seekers of Serenity, who offered him atonement though service. Duvon devoted himself to their cause, and was eventually tasked with guarding their most sacred relic, the Orb of Serenity.
Much of Duvon's childhood is beyond his memory. Occasionally he gets a rare figment of a smiling woman, of a feeling of warmth; but nearly everything else is inaccessible to him. His own quests for knowledge of his past and of his true blood family have been unsuccessful aside from the words of one man, though he and anyone who could have told him the rest of the truth died long ago- but this does not mean that the truth does not exist.
Duvon was born to the name of Peter, by a man and woman who lived a relatively quiet life in the lower slums. His father was a huge man, and spent his days working hard labor at the city docks, while his mother was a seamstress. Life was hard for them, and they were by no means perfect, but while food was scarce it was available if one worked for it, and they were happy. The birth of their child brought a new hope to their lives, and they promised themselves that he would live a better life than they had.
The costs of their child, however, were far greater than they expected. Peter's mother was unable to work, and even with his father working far longer hours they simply couldn't make ends meet. What started out as a simple loan to cover food for the week began growing larger and more common, until the family was swamped in debt. Then, Peter's father, already working sun up to sun down and barely eating himself, collapsed on the job, and was permanently crippled. In desperation, Peter's mother tried to work while his father stayed home and watched him, but no jobs available for a woman paid even close to what they needed- all but one.
Peter's mother became a prostitute, which for a brief time, managed to keep the loan sharks off of their back. But still the debt piled up, and the family had to take loans from some of the darker powers of the slums; a mysterious group known as the Zhentarim. And when the bills finally came, there was still not enough for Peter's family to pay them. The Zhentarim were not so kind about about their money being lost, and as an example to others, Peter's mother and father were brutally tortured and murdered. The Zhentarim took Peter as their final payment- and from then on that name was forgotten.
The stolen infant was raised among the Zhentarim, and given the name Duvon. Comparatively, his life actually became far more stable: the constant inflow of gold from the guild's dealings meant food was never an issue, and there were always multiple guildsmen around at all times. Of course, watching over a toddler was never their first priority, but they kept him from impaling himself on the weapons scattered around the guildhouse and a few even took a liking to the small child. He never had a single guardian; the whole of the guild watched over him, trading him off until he was old enough to act on his own.
By the time Duvon was five years old, he was delivering messages around the guildhouse, and by the time he was seven, he was well established as a package runner. As a child, his movements were rarely questioned, and he moved all a manner of things from safehouse to safehouse, carrying knives, drugs, and poisons in his small satchel to waiting guildmembers. Of course, he had little idea of what was really happening at that point, but he enjoyed himself immensely, navigating the crowded streets with ease and feeling like a highly important part of the team.
There was never a distinct point in his life when he realized that much of what he was doing directly aiding in the taking of lives; it was all part of the game. Likewise he never really considered that what he was doing was in any way wrong, and every successfully delivered package brought him praise and reward. He didn't associate much with people who weren't in the guild, and never really spent much time with people his own age- they were "inferiors," unworthy of his time, and "he would be wise to follow the example of his family."
As he entered his teenage years, Duvon was fiercely loyal; he would have gladly died before betraying anything about the Zhentarim. Everyone else was weak, beneath him. Still, he found himself disgustingly similar to the masses. He yearned to move up in the guild, to be more than just a package boy; to get into the real business of the Zhentarim. Whenever he was outside, he would frequently get in fights, most of which he started or provoked, simultaneously training himself and establishing his dominance over them. His large size won his first few fights, but his skill and his reputation began winning them after.
The Zhentarim, however, were not well pleased with him. He was attracting far too much attention, and while the guards did not actively pursue teenage bullies, they still watched out for them. The sight of children fleeing, after all, tended to be rather conspicuous, which was not a useful trait for a package boy carrying "sensitive" goods. When Duvon was confronted about this fact, he took it as his chance to air his grievances- and to demand a higher position in the guild.
Duvon was still young, even though he was already taller and broader than most older men. The Zhentarim recognized this, and listened to his request with great care- it was a moment that they had been waiting for for some time, ever since they had brought him in as an infant. But to become a Zhent meant one had the necessary skills; that one was trained in their ways- and now it was time for Duvon to begin that training.
Duvon was soon after taken along to observe how their true business worked. His first night out with them, when he made his first kill, became a memory burned into his mind forever: the merchant, sobbing through his gag, having long since given up trying to escape the bonds that held him in place. The rickety chair he was bound to creaking as he struggled when he saw Duvon come through the door, a long knife held tightly in his fist. The look of fear in the man's eyes. That was what Duvon remembered the clearest, the expression of absolute terror, the garbled sounds as he attempted to plead for his life, and the overwhelming sense of empowerment Duvon felt as he stared down at him, knife raised high. Duvon had wanted to make his first killing of one of "the inferiors" special, to be slow, to let him enjoy the feeling as long as he could, but it was over in an instant. Duvon brought down the knife, and within seconds, the man was silent, and the blood flowing from him slowed to a trickle.
And so Duvon became one of the Zhentarim. He worked wherever there was a need for muscle, sometimes killing when an example needed to be made, or sometimes just reducing someone to a bloody pulp if they only needed to learn a hard lesson or two. Each time it became easier and easier, until killing almost became routine. He learned how to take his time when he could, savoring the rush. His favorite part was not even the kill, it was the time before, when his victims would all take on that same look of abject horror, cowering before him in fear.
Duvon himself was never afraid. He didn't understand it, how a man's mind could utterly collapse as he neared his own death. Duvon had been there himself- he learned a few lessons of his own about carelessness when a few of his victims managed to escape their bonds, and almost turned the tables on him. But still, even with a knife sticking out of his gut, Duvon fought on with nothing but ferocity, laughing almost manically at his own wounds.
Years past, and Duvon still lived, rising through the ranks of the Zhentarim and furthering his reputation with every kill. But one night changed everything. It was a routine job; Duvon was supposed to track down and kill a dock master. He didn't really know why, but he didn't really care either. Everything started out normally, Duvon knocked him unconscious, brought him back to his favorite kill spot, tied him up, and waited for him to wake back up. But when he awoke, staring into Duvon's eyes, there was no fear on his face; only surprise- and for an alarming moment to Duvon, joy.
Duvon was thrown off by his target's unexpected reaction, and found himself caught in a very strange conversation with his victim. The dock master mistook Duvon for another man, who worked with him on the docks almost two decades ago, but whom he hadn't seen since then- he had heard that the man and his family fell into debt, and that the Zhentarim killed them all. But he also knew that his friend had had a son, that he gave up everything for, and worked to provide for so hard that he nearly killed himself in the process: and that while he and his wife were found later as bloody carcasses, their child was never seen again.
The two men talked for hours, as Duvon probed him over and over again for information about his friend's family- about Duvon's family. About the horrible fate they met at the hands of the Zhentarim. Duvon was overcome with disgust, with shame, with horror at himself and what he had become; the family he could have had and what he could have been if he was still with them. That everything his "brethren" had told him about his past was a lie; he was a mere tool for them, one they had stolen away and crafted into a trained killer, just like the ones who had killed his parents. That had he been raised differently he would have been just like the inferiors he was so quick to murder without thought.
As dawn approached, Duvon cut away the dock master's bonds, and the man lived to see the first rays of sunlight come up over the horizon once again. They promised to meet each other later, and each departed their own separate ways. Duvon readied himself to return to the guild- he wasn't sure what would happen, but he had to confront them. He didn't make it there though. A guildsman stopped him on the way, betrayal in his eyes. In his hand he held the dockmaster's head, and he demanded an answer for Duvon's failure. How Duvon could have allowed him to leave after they knew he had found him, bound him.
Duvon answered him with his own questions, demanding to know about how he came into the guild; who his parents were and what happened to them. That he had had enough, that he needed to know his past and who he was- and then Duvon discovered a dagger sticking out of his chest. He collapsed, and watched from the ground as his guild brother stood over him, preparing for the final strike, when shouting broke out all around him and an arrow slammed into his guild brother's shoulder. His guild brother fled, leaving Duvon to bleed to death instead of finishing him, and Duvon watched as he ran before everything faded to blackness.
Duvon awoke in a place he had never been before, surrounded by people he had never seen. There was a silver chandelier hanging above his head. A temple? He listened as they talked above him, they were talking about him, what they should do with him. One of them called him a Zhentarim. Something about a threat to the Order. A tool? Someone was casting a spell. Duvon closed his eyes and fell back into unconsciousness.
When he awoke again he was on the outskirts of the city, alone. His wound was almost fully healed, but there was a vicious scar, and it throbbed painfully- but he was alive. And he knew what he had to do. He slowly made his way back into the city; he had some hideouts that even the guild didn't know about, that he could recover in. The next few days he lived carefully, going out only in disguise and only to buy food, waiting for the wound in his chest to heal. Whoever had left him alive had put a few gold pieces in his pocket, enough for him to survive for a little while. But he had business to attend to.
He moved around the city like a shadow, watching and waiting. The Zhentarim had trained him well, and he knew their hideouts, their movements, their signals. It was not long before the guild brother who had stabbed him came under his surveillance, and Duvon tracked him until he knew the man was preparing for a kill- when the knew the man would be alone.
As soon as the guild brother knocked out his target, and started dragging him away, Duvon was upon him. The Zhent had only the chance to look up at Duvon with horror in his eyes before Duvon ran him through with his sword, piercing the guildsman's breastplate like paper. Ripping out his blade, Duvon swung once more, decapitating his former friend, etching his expression of terror on his face forever. Picking up the head and carrying it to the Zhentarim guildhouse, Duvon felt an emotion he had never before experienced: Righteousness.
The next few days Duvon spent in hiding, watching the Zhentarim scurry like ants to figure out who had killed their brother, waiting patiently. He waited until one was sent on an assassination job, and then followed him, leaping out of the darkness the moment the guildsman had incapacitated his target. Thrust, Rip, Chop; and another head and another terrified face rolled into the Zhentarim halls. Righteousness, Duvon repeated. This was Righteousness.
Duvon was picking them off one by one, but he knew they would begin to anticipate him- and so he would anticipate them in turn. He shifted his patterns, killing one whenever he managed to find one alone: Thrust, Rip, Chop, Roll. The guild grew so paranoid that they began traveling in pairs, until two heads at a time were found on spikes inside their inner sanctum, always with the same look of absolute horror. The guild turned on itself, unable to determine who was slaughtering their ranks; they knew it was an insider, who knew their ways. Duvon watched and waited and laughed from the shadows. Righteousness.
Within a few months the entirety of the guild presence had fallen from nearly fifty to less than a half-dozen members in the whole city. Duvon walked straight into the guild hall, where he cut them down, one by one, until he found himself face to face with the guildmaster himself, ending him after a brutal and drawn out fight with a final decapitating blow. It was finished, he thought. His parents were avenged, and the Zhentarim of the city were no more. Finished.
Duvon slept long and deeply that night. When he awoke, late in the morning, he smiled at the new day, and laughed. And the laughter echoed off the empty walls right back at him. He picked up his sword and his cloak, and started out of his hideout to begin his routine hunt, and then caught himself- the Zhentarim were all dead and gone, by his hand. They were finished, he was finished, there was no one left. He stood in the doorway, holding the hilt of his sword, for a long time, staring off into space- and then turned around and went back inside.
The next few days were absolute hell for Duvon. Though the rest of the Zhentarim in the city were dead, he was still alive, and while he had kept entirely to the shadows for the past few months, there were still many who knew of him from before that time. When he was still one of them. He still didn't know who exactly had gotten him out of the city, who had nursed him back to health, but there were those in the city watch who had probably suspected that he was a part of the guild. As much as the Zhentarim focused on secrecy, there were those among them whose faces at least were known- those who made the deals, and those who enforced them. Duvon had lost count of how many people he had beaten into submission long ago, but they would remember him. He had made sure of it. And without the guild enforcers around to remind them off their debts, they would talk.
Duvon wandered the city in the shadows listlessly. Before, his fury, his devotion to death, had kept loneliness at bay- now there was nothing left. He still could not be seen in the light of day, could not sit down at a bar, could not spend an evening with his friends and brothers- he had killed them all. So he watched people go by, living out their lives, from the darkness of the alleys. He envied them. Free to move about as they wished, talk to whoever they wished, without fear. Perhaps he had made their lives better by removing the Zhentarim. Perhaps not.
One night, as Duvon was sitting alone on a rooftop, he looked down and saw two people below him. One had a knife to the other's neck. Duvon silently crept down the wall and towards them, listening intently: the man with the knife was demanding the other's money pouch. Duvon scowled, hatred rising up in him, and drew his sword. Leaping forward, he roared in fury, chopping the mugger's hand off with one clean blow. The mugger screamed, grasping the stump of his arm, and fled, leaving a dripping trail of blood behind him. Duvon smiled in triumph, and turned back to other man, who was cowering on the ground. He looked up at Duvon with terror in his eyes: the same look Duvon had learned to inspire as a killer.
Duvon stepped back, breathing harder than he should have been. He swallowed. And then he turned and ran.
A few moments later Duvon was back on the rooftop, struggling to keep his composure. But he steeled himself. He would find the mugger. From the rooftops he followed the trail of blood spots on the ground, as they grew further and further apart- and Duvon found himself in the slums. Moving quietly, he came to a small shanty-house where the trail ended- and there were people talking inside. He moved closed, listening. It was a man and a women- and a child?
The three were crying. Apparently the man would live, but he would never work again… and they had no more money. The man was mugging strangers to feed his family. Now they could only beg. Duvon felt his chest tightening- he had done this. He hadn't killed all of the Zhentarim in the city; there was still one left: Him.
Duvon stared into space for a long time back at his hideout. Every now and again his eyes would shift to the rafters, to the single wooden stool, to the rope coiled in the corner. There was still one Zhentarim left. Slowly he got up, picked up the rope, and began tying it into a familiar knot, one that he had used every now and again back as an enforcer. He threw one end over top of the rafter, tied it off, and stepped up on to the stool, which creaked under his weight. Then he put the noose around his neck, and kicked out the stool.
There was a massive crash, and Duvon fell to the floor, feeling something very heavy hit his back. The walls around him groaned, and he looked around in confusion- a beam of wood was on his back, with a rope tied around it. The rafter. He laughed morbidly, and then the entire house fell down on top of him. Then there was only blackness.
Duvon awoke in a strange place. He was lying on his back, in a bed- a silver chandelier hung above him. He wiggled his fingers and toes, then tried to move- and groaned. He looked down at his body; he was covered in bruises and bandages. An oddly familiar voice called out to him, and he turned, to see an oddly familiar face. He looked back up at the silver chandelier. Had he been here before?
The voice called out to him again, asking how he was feeling. For some reason the question seemed strange. Looking over again, he saw an old man, wearing silver and blue robes. Again, it was familiar, but he didn't know how. The man introduced himself- he was a member of the Order, a Seeker of Serenity. And he had seen Duvon before. He asked why Duvon tried to kill himself, and Duvon shrugged- he had to kill all of the members of the Zhentarim. The man chuckled quietly- sometimes Duvon was earlier subjected to a Geas/Quest spell without his knowledge. This fact was never revealed to him.magic worked too well, he said.
Duvon was told that he was within a temple of the Seekers of Serenity; that this was the same temple that he had been taken to many months before- they were the ones who healed him after the Zhentarim betrayed him. They had been watching him for a long time, and for the time being, he was their honored guest, and he could stay as long as he wished with their hospitality. They knew of his dark past, but would keep his secret: it was up to him to tell others if he wished.
Duvon spent the next few days wandering the temple and the gardens surrounding it. He spoke very little, and moved slowly, and over time his wounds began to heal. But still he felt listless. One day, however, he came to a room in the temple that he had never been to before; he had seen people constantly flowing in and out of it but had never entered himself: The Hall of the Orb of Serenity. Entering, he looked around with mild curiosity, heavy feeling of sadness still weighing on him- Until he saw it. Duvon's eyes widened as he approached it, seeming to walk without his own will, and fell to his knees before it. Words sprang unbidden into his mind, from elsewhere, from the Orb itself, and he gasped, raw emotions flowing through him like a tidal wave. Stories of legend, no, memories came to him- "Crisiant Whitley," the voices said; that was who he had seen, who he must follow to the path beyond. Where all sins would be absolved.
Duvon's vision changed him, and he devoted himself to the Order, so that he might atone for his past crimes. The other members of the Order congratulated him, and welcomed him with open arms- some of them too had dark pasts. But after his induction, all was forgotten, and Duvon's life as a member of the Zhentarim was never spoken of again, at least officially. Occasionally whispers would pass back and forth in taverns, but Duvon was able to ignore them- that part of his life was over.
Months passed, and Duvon's place within the monastery solidified, and it became a common sight to see the giant man wandering its halls. Eventually, he was given the honor of guarding the Orb of Serenity itself, watching over it and those who sought the same extraordinary vision that Duvon himself had- as well as those with more nefarious motives.
Last edited by tiluvias99; 10-02-2011 at 04:49 PM.
Name: Libram the Balanced__________________
Build: Fighter 10 // Monk 10 (Hand & Foot Variant from UA)
HP: 94 (10d10 +30)
AC: 23 (+3 Monk, +3 Wisdom, +3 Dexterity, +1 Deflection, +2Armor, +1 Natural); Touch: 20; Flat: 20
Special: Flurry of Blows, Hand & Foot Style, Improved Evasion, Ki Strike (lawful, magic), Purity of Body, Slow-fall 50ft, Still Mind, Wholeness of Body (20hp/day)
Saves: Fort:+12 Ref:+12 Will:+12 (+14 v. enchantments)
Abilities: Str: 21, Dex: 16, Con: 16, Int: 10, Wis: 16, Cha: 10
Skills: Balance +17, Diplomacy +7, Jump +29, Listen +13, Sense Motive +13, Spot +13, Tumble +15
Feats: Blind-Fight, Combat Defense, Combat Focus, Combat Stability, Combat Vigor, Deflect Arrows, Dodge, Elusive Target, Greater Weapon Focus (unarmed), Improved Trip, Improved Unarmed Strike, Mobility, Stunning Fist, Weapon Focus (unarmed), Weapon Specialization (unarmed)
Dice * Roll:
Party Role: Melee Warrior/Diplomat
Due to his training, Libram is an incredibly skilled warrior and works best as a front line combatant. Thanks to his subdued emotions, he can be depended on to keep his cool in otherwise stressful situations and detect when someone is lying to him. His cool mind has also led to several insights in battle:
Combat Stability (PHB2)/Hand & Foot (UA): While maintaining his combat focus, Libram gains a +2 bonus on attacks of opportunity made against an opponent attempting to bull rush or trip him, a +8 bonus on checks or rolls to resist disarm, grapple, and overrun attempts, and a +12 bonus on Dexterity or Strength checks to avoid being tripped or bull rushed.
Combat Defense (PHB2)/Elusive Target (CW): While maintaining his combat focus, Libram gains an additional +1 dodge bonus to AC against the target of his Dodge feat and can change the target of his Dodge feat as an immediate action. If the target uses the Power Attack feat against him, the foe gains no bonus on the damage roll but still takes the corresponding penalty on the attack roll.
Combat Defense (PHB2)/Elusive Target (CW): While maintaining his combat focus, Libram gains an additional +1 dodge bonus to AC against the target of his Dodge feat and can change the target of his Dodge feat as an immediate action. If the target is flanking Libram, the first attack of the round from that designated attacker automatically misses him and may strike the other flanking foe instead; the attacking creature makes an attack roll normally, and its ally is considered flat-footed. If the designated attacker is making a full attack against Libram, its second and subsequent attacks function normally.
Elusive Target (CW)/Improved Trip: Libram must provoke an attack of opportunity from a foe by moving out of a threatened square. If the foe misses him, he can make a free trip attempt (with a +4 bonus) against the foe, and the foe does not get a chance to trip him if his attempt fails.
Combat Vigor (PHB2)/Wholeness of Body: While maintaining his combat focus, Libram gains fast healing 4. In addition, he can heal a number of hit points of damage equal to twice his current monk level each day, and can spread this healing out among several uses.
Appearance: Libram enjoys wearing fine clothing and maintaining a well kept appearance. He stands 5'10" tall, weighs 180lbs, and has short blond hair and hazel eyes. He walks with perfect posture and prefers a leisurely pace over hustling to get something done.
Libram takes everything is stride and is very hard to excite. He can get upset, but never angry; content, but never happy; disappointed, but never sad. While some are unnerved by Libram's ability to control his emotions, most see him as an excellent listener whom they can depend on to keep their secrets and give sound advice. Libram is perfectly content (but never happy) to listen, because he feels he can make a positive impact on people's lives. He always looks at things from a logical perspective, encouraging people to set aside their emotions in order to solve their own problems.
Libram is a staunch believer of Crisiant's teachings and tries to show respect and compassion to all living things. He sometimes finds this hard, since compassion requires a greater amount of emotion than he would prefer to invest, but he also sees compassion as the one thing worth investing his emotions in. Unlike his role-model, however, Libram finds balance and harmony through combat. He focuses on the chaotic flailing of his adversaries and tries to become all that they are not. He enters a meditative state while in combat, which allows him to focus his efforts and not waste a single bit of his energy on pointless movements. His motions are so fluid and intentional, his fighting style has been described as more of a dance than anything else. The more violent and furious the opponent, the more pathetic they look when compared to Libram's grace.
Libram has always been a lawful soul. Unlike most of the short-lived human race, he started life with an inherent view of the long term. He was never concerned with the here and now, rather looking forward to the there and then. He was a peculiar child because of this, but it allowed him to adapt well to changes in his life. Such changes included the death of both of his parents to illness and his adoption by the Seekers of Serenity.
The monk who came for Libram found the young boy sitting alone, tears streaming down his face. Filled with compassion, the monk approached and dried Libram's eyes. "It is alright child," he assured. Libram looked up and sniffled. "I tried not to cry," he explained, "Why can't I stop? I don't like being sad." The monk smiled, "You cry because you loved your parents. In order to love, you must accept both the joy and sadness that comes with love." Libram thought for a moment, then looked to the monk with coldness. "Then I will not love. It's not worth this pain." The monk shook his head, "Think back on your parents, child. Do you truly believe love isn't worth it?" The young boy stared at the monk as he ruminated on his memories. Tears again formed in his eyes and he slowly nodded his head, "It is worth it, isn't it?" Before the monk could respond, Libram embraced him and began bawling.
In the Seekers of Serenity, Libram learned to keep everything in perspective. He sought balance, trying to embrace his emotions but never getting too absorbed in tragedy, conflict, or curiosity. As the years went on, Libram began to understand both the value and dangers of emotions. His wisdom quickly eclipsed the other children he trained with and set him apart from them. Even before he reached adulthood, he already had an old soul. He never felt comfortable around people his own age and preferred the company of his masters. They appreciated this fact and saw in Libram a man who could do great things. They tried to imbue the teachings of Crisiant into Libram, hoping the young man would take after The Vision and be another shining light for the world.
Unfortunately, initiative always seemed to be lacking in Libram. When presented with a task, he performed admirably and often found new and innovative ways of solving problems. However, he never took the time to identify and solve issues preemptively. Those who had high hopes for him eventually gave up encouraging him and settled with using him for his talents. In truth, Libram's personal quest to understand and master his emotions has kept him focused more on himself than the world around him. For now he is content (but never happy) guarding the Orb of Serenity, one of few things with which he has mild interest in. He appreciates the object's significance in Crisiant's enlightenment and hopes he can glean some insight from it while he performs his duties.
Last edited by Yogge Mothi; 09-26-2011 at 08:57 PM.
Name: Alighieri Amastacia
Race: Grey Elf
Build: Monk 3 / Wizard 1 / Psycic Warrior (EXP) 1 / Abjurant chanmpion (CM) 2 / Fist of Zoukon (EXP) 2 / Crusader (ToB) 1 / // Swashbuckler (CW) 3 / Crusader 1 / Warblade (ToB) 2 / Duelist 4 /
Traits: Cautious & Absent Minded
Flaws: Frail (has a high AC but no one can avoid everything) & Unreactive (changed from Inattentive).
Party Role: Tank. Doesn’t bring much damage but is hard to put down and hinders opponents in attacking allies.
Alighieri is tall, lean, and slight of build. He wears the golden hair of his people long and flowing. His face is sharp but not unfriendly. He can often be found with a faraway look on his face staring into the middle distance. He dresses well, a little too well, standing out amongst the others of the monastery in tailored clothes and fashionable accompaniments.
Alighieri is known for a laid back, care free attitude. A noted reveller and thrill seeker, many consider him a reckless daredevil. Outwardly this is true but what these nay sayers do not realise is Alighieri never enters a situation he doesn’t feel in complete control of. Having trained hard to hone his skills he enjoys showing them off. In many ways this reveals much of Alighieri’s nature. He adores spectacle, especially when that spectacle is he. Falling flat on ones face would not make for an impressive show. The other great influence in his life is knowledge. He can easily become absorbed in a book or listening to a winding tale, taking in the words imparted as if they were heavenly succour. Combined this makes Alighieri an implacable, though slow to act foe. More then willing to hold an opponent at bay while he learns their style, slowly whittling them down till a final strike is inevitable. As a student he is enthusiastic and attentive, though once he feels the subject has been exhausted he will be eager to move on, often to the point of being a distraction to others. As a friend he is reliable and a good confident and adviser, though that advice will often involve some foolhardy act, difficult to accomplish but rewarding when completed.
Growing up Alighieri managed to annoy every tutor he ever had. Naturally intelligent and a precocious talent he proved overbearing and obstinate. When it came to martial training he ignored everything he was taught announcing it was wrong and that he had his own way. In the study of magic he was easily bored. Eventually he declared wizardry to be pointless, magic he told his teachers came from the heart and should be treated as such. This over reliance on books and ancient traditions would do them no good in the long run. As soon as Alighieri came of age he left, quiet a few people were happy to see his outspoken, but strongly held views go with him. With no destination in mind the elf wondered freely. As he travelled he began to perfect the fighting style he had developed. Dedicated to an unparalleled defence Alighieri relied on exploiting an opponents gradual mistakes and fatigue. He would challenge any swordsman he met to a friendly duel, not caring about victory but relishing the challenge of seeing how long he could hold them at bay, and the chance to observe a new style or technique. Eventually superior skill would defeat him or he would see an opportunity and finish the combat with an unexpected flourish. His dedication to his art was undeniable. Where ever he went Alighieri would seek out opponents to challenge. He would even frequent the roughest dives his current local could provide, his frivolous and delicate appearance making him a quick target. These escapades of unadulterated fighting were some of his most enjoyable times providing a thrill nothing had before had matched. However he often got in over his head, drawing more attention then he could handle or pushing the wrong crowd too far. After a close call with a sledgehammer, the closest of several in a short bout of time, Alighieri toned down his indulgences of reckless adventure. It was now he turned back to the studies that had been left behind in favour of perfecting his “Evasive Blade” style and seeking the excitement of close combat. Alighieri’s tutors had always told him if he was just to apply himself he could be the master of any field he choose. His refusal to take on others experiences and determination to pursue his own ideas left the teachers of his home exacerbated, but most of all deeply saddened that the world may lose one of it’s greatest thinkers of the time. To see the ardour Aligieri now took for learning of all kinds would have filled his former tutors with joy. While he still obsessed over swordplay, taking in every book he could find on theory and procedure, his interests now widened exponentially. He returned to the working of magic, something he had kept the merest acquaintance with. While his study was narrow it was impossible to deny this was another discipline he was natural too. However his new devotion to book learning was not secluded to arcane lore and practise. Alighiri would devour any book on any subject he could find. His intake was prodigious and all consuming for he had found a love that not only matched the of the heat of battle but surpassed it. Alighieri now found interest in every fact, idea, and expression of thought he came across. Now far from dismissing the views of other Alighieri cherished them, adding these ideas and ruminations to his own ever expanding catalogue of knowledge and thought. Everything he learnt Alighieri found fed into what he already knew, opening up new avenues of thought and turning old information into new vistas of inspiration. Now his wandering took on a new purpose, to seek out the lost and hidden lore of the world. Where once he had eyes only for brawlers and duellists now Alighieri sought out the sages, wise men, and academics he had once ignored. During his travels from school to school he would hire out his sword, both to keep honing his skill and as a means to earn a living. To fight for coin rather then joy or advancement of skill rankled his soul, but some needs had to be met.
After years of travelling Alighieri grew weary of his lifestyle. Confident in his skill with the sword and knowledge of the world, he decided a new challenge was needed. The Seekers of Serenity were known though out the world. Alighieri had never given the monastic order much consideration but now he turned his attention to their teachings. In his quest to perfect his style Alighieri had bought together a great many ideas. His wizardry was now integral to the Evasive Blade, techniques of countless opponents had been studied and absorbed, intuition honed to an art, and force of will turned into a weapon to be used. Suddenly applying this approach to the entirety of his life appealed. He would learn every facet of the world and unite them within himself. With his body, mind, and soul in perfect harmony nothing could be beyond his ability to understand. With his goal set Alighieri approached the Seekers of Serenity, determined to master all they could teach, and impart a little knowledge of his own. As were all he was welcomed into the monastic order. He was an avid pupil eager to be taught, but to Alighieri’s annoyance the old masters insisted his first lesson was patience. For two months the elf stayed in the monastery, reading, talking with the other monks and making what study he could, but he was still refused formal tuition by the order. Eventually without even realising it had begun Alighieri’s first lesson was over, he had found an inner calm his life had been missing and come to accept the pace others might live at. With this important fundamental change of mindset Alighieri was permitted to join his fellow monks in formal training. While the martial techniques were roughly similar to those he had developed himself, their philosophy on peace and calm were like nothing Aligheri had before encountered. The elf struggled to grasp the ideas presented to him, but was persistent in his trying, this he was convinced was the right path for him. After two years with the Seekers of Serenity Alighieri has certainly progressed. While he still has a great love of the thrill combat provides he now longer actively seeks out, content with an intense training regime and proving his mettle in the monasteries contests and tournaments. His love of knowledge is still as intense and disparate as before, a continued pursuit he is happy will never end. The most marked change, and the one both he and his teachers are proudest of, is his greater acceptance of responsibility and willingness to help others. He still has a long journey ahead of himself on this spiritual path but Aligheri’s recognition of this is itself a major step.
Link to original stat rolls.
Last edited by Scimmy; 01-07-2012 at 10:00 AM. Reason: Out of game
Link to stat rolls__________________
Name: Catarina Dunsidane
Build: Cobra Strike VariantMonk 6/ Fighter 2/ Dervish 2 // Warblade 10
Traits: Quick & Skinny
Poor Reflexes - Despite all of Catarina's training, Catarina has never liked surprises and can be caught slightly flat-footed sometimes. See RP sample for example
Shaky -This flaw grows out of the first (see RP for cause)
Party Role: Front-Liner, Distractor, Voice of Reason
HP:105 (Warblade10d12+Con Modifier40-Trait (Quick)10)
Intiative: +12 (+8 Dex, +4 Improved Int.)
AC: 28 (+5 Armor, +3 Shield, +8 Dex, +1 Deflection, +1 Dervish AC Bonus) [+2 Dodge vs. one opponent] Touch:25 Flat: 28
Base Attack/Grapple: +10/+13
Special: Battle Clarity (Reflex Saves), Weapon Aptitude, Improved Uncanny Dodge, Battle Ardor (Critical Confirmation), Battle Cunning (Damage), Evasion, Still Mind, Ki Strike (Magic), Slow Fall (30ft), Purity of Body, Dervish Dance 1/day, Movement Mastery, Slashing Blades, Fast Movement (+5ft)
Saves: Fort +11 // Reflex +12 // Will +6
Abilities: Str: 16 Dex: 26 (+1 level, G.o.D +4) Con: 18 Int: 12 (+1 level) Wis: 10 Cha: 14
Skills: Balance +23, Concentration +22, Diplomacy +20, Escape Artist +23, Hide +8, Jump +10, Knowledge (History) +2, Knowledge (Local) +2, Move Silently +8, Perform (Dance) +19, Perform (Sing) +19, Ride +9, Tumble +20
Languages: Common, Elven
Feats: Human FeatExotic Weapon Prof. (Katana), Level 1 FeatExotic Armor Prof. (G.T.C), Level 3Combat Expertise, Level 6Weapon Focus (Katana), Level 9Versatile Performer, Monk 1Dodge, Monk 2Mobility, Warblade 5Improved Initiative, Monk 6Spring Attack, Fighter 1Weapon Specialization (Katana), Fighter 2Improved Disarm, Warblade 9Unnerving Calm, Flaw (Poor Reflexes)Skill Focus (Concentration), Flaw (Shaky)Improved Combat Expertise
Equipment: +2 Defending Katana, Quarterstaff, +4 Gnome Twist Cloth, +2 Buckler of Arrow Deflection, Circlet of Persuasion, Mithral Bells, Gloves of Dexterity +4, Shiftweave, Healing Belt, [Sandals] of Agile Leaping, Ring of Sustenance, Ring of Protection +1, Heward's Handy Haversack, Potion of Cure Serious Wounds (x4), Potion of Jump (x2), and several mundane items
Catarina stands a tallish 5'9" and has the physique of a belly dancer. Many men have often lost themselves in Catarina's slender but muscular legs, belly button pierced with a small emerald orb that moves gently to the seductive sway of her hips, her tight abdomen, and her soft looking skin; often to the chagrin of wives, girlfriends, and mistresses. When men finally raise their eyes to her face, they are often caught staring into Catarina's deep sea blue eyes and notice that they have enough depth and serenity to match the color. Catarina's raven black hair is pulled into a loose ponytail that still falls to the small of her back.
Catarina can be usually seen wearing long skirts and her twist cloth. They seem somewhat worn but well-kept. On her forearms are long lengths of cloth which cover up the scars and molted skin beneath. She never takes the arm cloth off in public and rarely in private. Upon her waist lays a katana, Catarina's weapon of choice. The scabbard and the hilt of the katana are a deep shade of maroon. The blade is always kept razor sharp.
Catarina is a quiet, level-headed woman. Catarina almost never resorts to violence or intimidation. Instead, she prefers listens before she reacts to any situation. When she does speak, Catarina is honest and polite, telling people exactly what needs to be said, like her father. Catarina loves helping other people, claiming it is her job to help those in need. She never reacts harshly or violently to any situation. She prefers to sit quietly and listen to what is happening and react upon conclusions she draws. Even then, Catarina doesn't like resorting to violence. She often gives opponents a chance to walk away or surrender. When pushed into battle, Catarina uses her katana with deadly efficiency. She does not gloat nor does she mock her opponents. Catarina prefers honorable combat, often sacrificing tactical advantages (i.e. Flanking, opponent caught Flat-Footed, etc.) for an honorable blow. Catarina honors any offer of surrender, even if she knows her enemy has betrayal in mind, claiming that an opponent who surrenders has a chance at redemption.
A Beginning with Love Lost and Love Gained
"You remind me of your mother. Strong-willed, smart, and stubborn as a mule"
- Damien Dunsidane
Catarina Dunsidane was born in the feudal kingdom of K'haval to Damien, a blacksmith, and Juliana, a seamstress. The night that Catarina was born, a raging blizzard stormed outside. As the wind and snow made the house, which is little more than a shack, creek and moan with strain, Juliana struggled through child birth. Seeing that something was going wrong, DMien kneeled next to his laboring wife and began to praying to the gods, begging them to help his wife deliver the child and if someone was to die that night, let it be him. But apparently the gods had other plans.
A few minutes later, Juliana lets out a cry of pain, exultation, and ecstasy as Catarina was finally born. Damien was overjoyed at the birth of his first child but the joy was soon tempered by loss. Exhausted from childbirth, Juliana slowly slipped away. Juliana lived for two more nights, Damien never leaving her side, until she finally slipped into the afterlife. When the weather lessened, Damien buried his beloved wife and, with tears pouring from his eyes and sorrow weighing heavy on his heart, vowed to raise their newborn daughter to be a great person, just like her mother.
The Silent Dance of Love
"Your mind is your strongest trait. A well spoken word or a beautifully woven dance can turn aside even the sharpest of blades"
The early years of life were a blur for Catarina. Because her father was often busy working from sun up to sun down to make a life for him and Catarina, Catarina was watched and tended to by Serena, Juliana's best friend and, eventually, Damien's second wife. Serena was a kind woman with the sing voice of an angel. With her voice, she could quiet any crying baby with her soothing voice. Some of Catarina's earliest memories are of Serena singing to help her drift off to sleep.
When Catarina finally learned how to walk and talk, she showed an insatiable curiosity. Catarina particularly loved watching her father working at his forge, despite the constant, if half-hearted, reprimands to stay out of the forge so she won't get hurt. But whenever Damien found Catarina in the forge, he would often laugh, scoop her up into his arms, and spend time with her until Serena came to find Catarina.
As Catrina continued to grow up, Catarina found her love for dancing. From the time she was four, Catarina would always dance whenever she heard music and even sometimes when there was none. Those who saw Catarina dance often claimed that her gift for dancing was something special. By the time Catarina was twelve, people claimed that her dancing was so beautiful, that someday people would come from far and wide to see Catarina dance. Whenever there was a festival, the townspeople would often ask Damien to allow Catarina to participate in the festival dances. But to Catarina, there was more to dancing than the movements involved. To Catarina, dancing was her ultimate form of expressing herself and helped her to insulate herself from the world. Even though she was young, Catarina knew that the outside world wasn't as simple as her father tried to make it seem. So whenever Catarina danced, she knew her father swelled with pride and seemed to be happy for a while. So Catarina danced for her father, her symbol of love and protection
Dark Clouds on the Horizon
"She has the gait of an angel. When she dances, you feel as though you will never see anything so elegant again. But you still walk away, knowing you've seen something special"
- Unnamed spectator
Time went on peacefully for Catarina. Her father tutored her at home since girls weren't allowed to go to school an her father claimed that "No child of mine is allowed to be dumb." Catarina's father taught her reading, writing, arithmetic, and philosophy, among other subjects. But the most important lessons that Catarina learned was concentration and self-discipline. Damien constantly preached these two lessons to Catarina and she quickly took it to heart. Catarina used these two lessons to better her dancing as well as to learn swordsmanship that her father taught her, which was also illegal.
By the time that Catarina was seventeen, she had grown into a beautiful, intelligent woman. Men and women, rich and poor, serf and noble alike, came from all around K'haval to see the beautiful, young dancer who entranced and captivated audiences into silent awe. Soon enough, you couldn't find anyone in the kingdom who hadn't seen, much less heard of, Catarina. Catarina had many gentlemen suitors who asked for her hand in marriage, but all of them were turned away. Dejected, many of them wouldn't ask again. One suitor, however, just wouldn't take no for an answer. The suitor's name was Zanthal Qualor.
Zanthal Qualor was the youngest son of the feudal lord of K'haval. Zanthal was a young, pudgy man of twenty-three years and, like his father, had cruel demeanor that was only matched by his appetite for food and women. Zanthal had a self-centered demeanor, taking what he wanted because he was a prince. When Zanthal first laid his cruel, hallow eyes upon Catarina, true to his spoiled self-centered demeanor, immediately wanted Catarina for a mistress. Zanthal approached Catarina, full of ego and the assumption that Catarina would practically throw herself at him because he was prince. But to Zanthal's surprise, and anger, Catarina didn't give herself to him; in fact, Zanthal thought she had barely noticed him. Fueled by this perceived slight, Zanthal decided to talk to Damien, assuming that he'd have "better sense" an give Catarina to him.
Long and Lonely Days
"All I remember were those walls. Immaculate, white, and they easily caged me, body and soul, away from everything and everyone. Those were some of the worse days of my life.""
It was three months shy of Catarina's birthday when her life changed forever. Catarina was walking back from one of her late summer evening walks when she spotted a trio of horses outside her father's home. Not knowing what the horses implied, she went past the horses and into the house. When Catarina walked into the main room, she saw Damien and Serena sitting across from a short, pudgy young man, Zanthal, and two heavily armored men. Everyone fell silent when Catarina walked in and for a few moments nobody spoke. Finally, the silence was broken by Damien and the conversation continued.
Apparently they had been talking for sometime and Zanthal had been trying to convince Damien to give Catarina to him in exchange for a tithe, but Damien was refusing. Zanthal steadily became more belligerent, claiming that Damein had no right to say no to him. The conversation steadily devolved into an argument, Zanthal bellowing that he would throw Damien in prison for denying him what he wanted. Damien, who wanted nothing more than to slap Zanthal, steadfastly refused to give Catarina to the boy. Zanthal became enraged and ordered his guards to take Damien and Serena into custody and forcefully took Catarina with him back to the capital city of K'haval, the royal city of Halas.
The first days in the capital were a nightmare for Catarina. Forcibly separated from her family, Catarina would often cry for hours, wondering what had happened to her family. The only contact with the outside world that Catarina had was Zanthal, a chambermaid who seemed to be mute, and an crony old matron who seemed to disapprove of Catarina. Catarina felt alone, abandoned, and imprisoned within the luxurious bedchamber that she was occupying. Whenever Catarina wasn't crying, she would either pace around the room or attempt to meditate. But try as she might to clear her head, her thoughts would almost inevitably drift back to her family and what Zanthal had possibly done with them. Whenever Zanthal visited Catarina, he would try to seduce her and she would ignore the prince until the young man would get angry and storm out of the room.
This petty game between Catarina and Zanthal went on for little over a fortnight and Zanthal was beginning to think that Catarina was incorrigible until a thought finally got through to the thick-witted Zanthal. That night when he went to see Catarina, he started by playing the game they had always played. But about half way through the game, Zanthal began to hint at Catarina's family. Although she didn't show it, Catarina was extremely worried about her family. After a few minutes of feigned disinterest, Catarina finally relented and talked to the prince.
For nearly a week, the prince claimed that Catarina's family was not under array but in fact they had been released mere hours they had gotten back to Halas and her father had finally relented and accepted Zanthal's tithe in exchange for Catarina. Catarina was relieved at the notion that her family was safe but she was heartbroken when she was td that she had been given to Zanthal. Believing his story to be true, Catarina resigned herself to the life of a mistress.
A Light in the Darkness
"Never forget the faces of your family. They are the source of your strength and will." - Vimak
Catarina had been in the city of Halas for nearly a year before Catarina's life changed again. Until that point, Catarina's life had been one of loneliness and misery, dancing day in and day out for the wretched prince and his minions, listening to and ignoring their hoots and catcalls, and occasionally having to sexually please the disgusting prince. Life was not being kind to Catarina and it began to show in her dancing. Her dancing began to lose the passion and sensuality that Catarina had been known for and Catarina herself didn't feel the same passion that she had only a year ago. Life began to slowly crush Catarina's spirit beneath a torrent of misery, loneliness, and resignation, bending and twisting Catarina slowly into someone she wasn't. But then one day, during one of Catarina's lonely walk through the imperial gardens, she met the man of her life a the savior of her soul.
The man's name was Vimak Pallium. He and his fathers before him had served the feudal lord for nearly three hundred years, serving only the throne and not just the family who currently held the crown. Vimak was a bastard half-elf who had slowly risen through the ranks to take his father's place as the protector of the king. Vimak was nearing a century of age but he still had excellent features. Vimak's pale gold hair was pulled back into a long braid and his deep green eyes sparkled with life. His physique was one of a fencer, all lean muscle and whip-like reflexes. But what made him interesting was his personality. Where the prince was cruel and petty, Vimak was kind and helpful. Vimak was all that the prince wasn't and more.
The night that Catarina met Vimak, Catarina saw him meditating under a lotus tree. At first Catarina was hesitant to approach the lovely and mysterious man until he opened his almond shaped eyes and spotted Catarina and waved her over to sit with him. at first, Catarina was too shy and ashamed to approach the mysterious man but before she could decide to walk away, Vimak walked over to Catarina and introduced himself. Catarina and Vimak talked into the wee hours of the night until Catarina had to go to the prince. From that day, Catarina and Vimak would often meet in the gardens and talk for hours at a time, often well into the night. They soon realized thT they were meant for each other but status and station kept them from truly being together.
Time passed slowly for Catarina and Vimak and their secret love. Whenever Catarina and Vimak were together, it seemed as of time didnt matter to themparting only when circumstances forced them away from each other. During the time they shared, Catarina and Vimak shared everything, both material and spiritual. Catarina and Vimak wanted to do nothing more than to run from Halas and take up living elsewhere under different names and new lives. They had even began planning their flight from the city until fate intervened once again.
Life is Pain
It had been nearly two years since Catarina and Vimak had first met and the world around the city of Halas was changing. Rumors circulated amongst the commoners (and a few of the noble circles) of discontent and angry people, spurned and persecuted by the feudal lords, rising up against crown to bring about a new era to the lands. Stories of protests being violently put down by soldiers and other atrocities being committed. Tired of the oppressive rule of the ruling class, the whispers and rumors quickly spread and gained momentum among the common people and the people began to organize into larger resistance that slowly began to undermine the king.
Unfortunately, the fuedal king reacted in the typical fashion of a tyrant, he laid down a heavy hand. He ordered that his military put down any protests with force and to execute anyone who tried to incite protests, believing that the people would be pummeled into submission. Over the course of several weeks, the military killed a couple score of peoe and arrested several times more than that. But instead of quelling the movement, it only made it clearer to the people that they had to rise up. Even amongst the military, doubt and second thoughts were common. Desertion wasn't uncommon and some of the soldiers secretly helped the movement, including Vimak. Even though Vimak's ancestral position's loyalty is to the crown, Vimal's heart and soul was behind the people. Vimak secretly helped organize several protests, help move several famies, and even organized raids on military supplies to equip the protesters.
The fighting continued for several months, both sides scoring minor victories with no real clear cut winner to the fighting. The feudal lord grew steadily more and more unstable, believing there to be assassins in every dark corner and dissenters among his military leaders. He would execute anyone he believed to be in connection with the protesters with no trial and swift brutality. The dark clouds of doom were squarely over K'haval with no signs of leaving. The blood of protesters, soldiers, and civilians flowed in the streets, turning rivers into crimson mockeries. Catarina watched as the land steadily fell into chaos from a detached distance that being held in Halas could only provide. But then one day, all of that changed.
Catarina and Vimak were on one of their many night time walks when soldiers approached them and ordered Vimak and Catarina to follow them. Vimak, the soldier that he was, obliged and followed them with Catarina following behind Vimak and the soldiers. The soldiers led the way to the royal chambers, where the feudal lord and his sons were waiting for them. The soldiers led Vimak to stand in front of the feudal lord while telling Catarina that she had to stay off to the side. Just as Catarina was about to say something, Vimak cut her off and asked her to do what they say. At that, Catarina shut up and stood off to the side.
It turns out that the feudal lord had found out through several protesters turned informants that Vimak had been secretly helping the resistance since the beginning of the fighting and was in fact one of the major leaders of the fighting. Outraged at this notion, the feudal lord wanted to make an example of Vimak to all of the people of K'haval. Vimak was taken into custody where he was bound, tortured, and malnourished for nearly a fortnight in an attempt to make Vimak reveal the plans of the resistance. Vimak only laughed and gave witty retorts until he started screaming again from the torture. Finally, when the feudal lord realized that Vimak wouldn't give up anything, he pubically executed Vimak in spectacular and horrific fashion.
Of course all of this devastated Catarina. She had been ripped away from her love by the same people who ripped her from her family, the people who destroyed families and towns at the whim of a mad king, the people who had no remorse for their actions and would gladly bathe in the blood of the innocence. The lowest point of all of this was when Vimak was finally executed. Catarina was there when Vimak had been tarred and feathered, lashed, before finally being hanged, drawn and quartered. Tears flowed freely from Catarina's eyes for days before she finally got a hold of herself and escaped from Halas.
Catarina traveled for several days with grief and heartache weighing heavily on her heart and mind. Her days were spent walking as if in a daze and her nights crying herself to sleep mourning Vimak's death. No matter how hard Catarina tried to ease the pain, the mental wounds were always fresh, cutting her deeply. Days dragged into weeks, with each day being even more unbearable than the last. The heartache and grief were swallowing Catarina's psyche little by little until one day, Catarina had had enough and wished to die.
Catarina was encamped slightly away from the path that she had been walking for nearly a fortnight. The morning had dawned with a heavy grey overcast, threatening rain. Catarina had just finished eating what seemed to her was her last meal when she knelled down in the small clearing she had made for her encampment, her katana in her hands and Vimak on her mind. After a few moments of hesitation and sadness, Catarina drew her blade and pressed the edge of the blade to her stomach in preparation to kill herself when her life changed once again.
Just as Catarina's eyes closed in preparation for death, Catarina's mind wandered back to Vimak once again. But instead of seeing Vimak as he was in death, Catarina's mind saw Vimak standing before her in a silk robe of pure white and a soft, warm smile on his face. Catarina's hand hesitates just before she draws the blade across her skin and Vimak's smile got a little wider. He took a step towards her and gently placed his hands on Catarina's shoulders. Catarna was quite surprised when she felt Vimak's strong, gentle hands on her shoulders but she dared not to open her eyes, for fear that it was all a dream and opening her eyes would cause Vimak to disappear.
For several long moments, Catarina just stared "stared" at Vimak, unable to move or speak. Vimak kneeled down in front of her and leaned in for a kiss. But Catarina turned away and Vimak nodded his head in understanding as he wrapped Catarina up in a loving embrace. Cataina could feel Vimak's warm engulf her and she silently began to weep. Vimak gently sushed her as he wiped away her tears. After what seemed to be an eternity, Vinak finally broke the embrace, standing up slowly with a touch of sadness touching his face. Vimak turns to walk away and pauses for a moment before turning back to Catarina to say "I love you. I shall wait for you. Even if it's until the end of time." Then Vimak and fades into sunlight.
Catarina didn't move for several long minutes, her mind a whirl of thoughts. In a flash of insight, Catarina realized that Vimak didn't want her to mourn his death, but instead to honor his memories, his ideals, his life. When Catarina finally opened her eyes, they were free of mournful tears and had gained a new spark of life. Catarina sheathed her katana, packed up her few possessions , and set out to honor Vimak's memory.
For the next several months, Catarina's life was consumed by war. Day in and day out, Catarina was busy plotting attacks, training recruits, fighting against the military, and running when necessary. Catarina had her fair share of victories as well a fair share of defeats. Whenever Catarina had to fight, she fought with beautiful and deadly grace, fluidity, and passion.
The End of a War
The civil war in K'haval had spread throughout The land like a wildfire, sweeping up people and destroying towns, livelihoods, and everything caught in the middle. People died by the scores, both sides dedending their beliefs and striking out at those who would speak out against them. Both sides had their shares of victories, defeats, and stand-stills. After nearly two years, neither side had any idea if they were winning but both sides knew something had to change or this war would never end.
Just as the second winter of the war was beginning to set in, the rebels hatched a plan they believed would change the tide of the war in their favor. They began plotting a siege of the major trade city of Dumas. They planned on disrupting the trade caravans that traveled into and out of the city in an attempt to slowly choke the life out of Dumas until the city surrendered and gave the rebels a major advantage in the war. Catarina was one of the major planners of the siege, laying out where to set up ambush points, encampment spots, and a multitude of other subtle details. When the leaders finished laying out the plan, they were all confident that it would work.
But alas, real life greatly differed from the plans. Shortly after the rebels began their siege of Dumas, the council of Dumas began to fight back. They sent out caravans that were loaded not with supplies but with explosive materials that would be set off by the drivers, killing or maiming the rebels that had seized the caravan. This tactic, coupled with changes in tactics by the rebels and the council of Dumas, caused the siege to drag on for nearly the whole winter. Finally one day, the rebels changed their tactics and attacked the city of Dumas. It was nearly a week before the rebels breached the city walls and when they finally did, they believed victory to be at hand. Unfortunately, the breach was a trap and many rebels were killed and Catarina was severely wounded (See RP sample). The attack was beaten back, leaving the rebel movement crippled and Catarina out of the fight with severe injuries.
After the failed siege of Dumas, the civil war changed very quickly. The military of K'haval quickly pressed the advantage against the rebels by attacking and eradicating many rebel strongholds, fracturing the rebel leadership and destroying the rebel movement. Shortly after the rebel movement was destroyed, the leaders of K'haval put out orders to capture any remaining rebels and throw them in jail for questioning and execution. Catarina, despite her grievous wounds, fled with other rebels to escape persecution and left K'haval swiftly in the early spring.
**Bonus RP Sample** Writing Sample: **Warning** Contains mild content (sensual [not sexual] references ; slightly bloody images)
Catarina slowly rises from her cot, rubbing sleep and tiny ice crystals from her hair and eyebrows. Catarina runs a finger over the choker that she always wears, quietly thanking her old friend Arianna for giving it to her. Despite the fact it is bone-chilling cold in the region, Catarina rarely notices the cold. She rises from her cot, her beautiful nude body stretching her body to loosen up the kinks and knots that she has acquired in the recent fighting and weather. She goes over to her small chest at the base of her cot, opening it up with a click of a buckle.
Inside of the chest are her battle wraps and a couple skirts in the base, and her katana strapped to the underside of the top. The skirts and wraps are slightly torn in some places and have been restitched in other places. The edges of her clothing are frayed from brutal and unnatural use of combat. By contrast, Catarina's katana seems to be in pristine condition. It seems freshly polished and well tended to.
Catarina pulls out the battle wraps first. She places the beginning of the wrap on the left side of her ribs and begins wrapping it around herself. She makes sure it is almost completely form fitting to her body, showing off the curve of her breasts, sloping down to her toned naval and down to her hips. Catarina then pulls the black skirt from the trunk and wraps it high on her hips. She pulls her belt on, tightening it so the skirt and the wrap won't come undone. Catarina unlatches the katana from the underside of the trunk and buckles it to the belt.
Couple hours later...
Sounds and scents fill the air. Where there had been the smell of cooking food that morning, it has been replaced by the burning smell of flesh. The coppery smell and taste of blood tinge the air around Catarina. Screams of wounded and dying soldiers rang out over the battlefield. Death fills the air, reaching out and touching every living creature on the battlefield, driving some mad, some scared, some excited. Catarina felt none of those; she is lost in the flow of battle.
Catarina seems to carve a swath through the enemy line. Crimson blood stains the bright, sharp edge of her katana. Spatters of blood and new tears have appeared on her battle wraps. Catarina noticed none of it. No pain, no fear, no regret, Catarina only knew the flow of battle. Her katana flashes and dips from side to side, parrying enemy attacks and taking hands, throats, stomaches and even a leg. The blood of the defeated enemies seeps into the snow covered tundra, tinging the white snow pink. Catarina steadily moves forward, her fellow soldiers following close behind her. They had fractured the enemy line. Catarina and her allies push forward into the city that the enemy had held.
"Slow it down," Catarina says as they approach the outskirts. "Regroup and prepare for close-quarters combat. Watch out for archers." Catarina flicks her katana to the side. The blood that was on the blade flew off and splattered to snow covered road into the town. Catarina quickly inspects the katana for any defections on the blade but, not surprisingly, there were none. "Everyone ready?" Catarina asks, looking around at her fellow soldiers. They all nod. "Lets go. Fan out."
Catarina walks with her katana gripped in her hands, ready for an attack. For a few minutes, it seems that the enemy had fled. However, the hairs on the back of Catarina's neck begin to stand on end. Something's not right... some part of Catarina's mind warns her. Catarina's eyes flick around the street, looking into the broken and crumbling buildings for anything. She doesn't spot anything. But something continues to nag at her.
Catarina's eyes turn to a set of small barrels standing outside what might have been a general store at one time. The building was pock-marked with bullet holes. The windows had been shattered, giving the building a ghostly look. Cataraina slowly approaches the building, wary of a surprise attack. She looks into the building and saw nothing. Catarina turns away from the window, when her internal danger alarm starts screaming in her ears. She turns to a building across the street, looking for what is setting off the internal alarm. Just then, a archer pops out from nowhere and fires a flaming arrow, right at the barrels in front of her. A flash of insight hits Catarina and she throws her arms up to cover her head.
Fire explodes from the barrels; the barrels had apparently held a explosive liquid. The shock-wave of the explosion sent Catarina, who was a mere foot away, flying back a couple feet. Catarina lands in a sprawl, face up and seemingly broken. Catarina had managed to hold onto her katana in one of her hands. Catarina's ears rang with a single, high-pitched buzz that seemingly blocked out all noise. Catarina's equilibrium had been thrown all to hell.
Catarina tries to move her arms to she could at least sit up. Her arms don't respond. Astonished at that, Catarina twists her head to look at her arms. They were a mangle of fresh blood, burns. Fractured bones, and pieces of wooden shrapnel peak out from her skin. Catarina stares at the wounds That's wierd.... It doesn't even hurt Catarina looks down at her upper body. Blood had began to flow from several shrapnel wounds and her arms are deeply burned and mangled Catarina just can't understand any of it.
Catarina's allies were in chaos. The enemy had surrounded them on three sides and began pressing them back. Many bodies littered the street, all dead or dying. Many of Catarina's allies had thrown their weapons down and began fleeing. Suddenly, Catarina felt something reach underneath her arms and began to drag her away. Catarina can't see who is dragging her. Her vision began to blacken around the edges. The initial shock of the explosion began to wear off, which causes pain to begin trickling in. Catarina begins to black out. "I feel..." Catarina whispers through the pain. Her body was beginning to feel the pain and agony. But Catarina only notices one thing. "I feel.... cold." And Catarina blacks out.
Last edited by Cloudpiroth; 05-09-2012 at 01:40 AM.
Name: Kelandra Tingit
Race: Half-Celestial Human
Build: Ardent || LA 4/ Unarmed Swordsage
Traits: Focused and Quick
Party Role: Psionic Gish
Kelandra stands out from those around her, with a set of immaculate speckled grey feathered wings. She is also quite beautiful in a full body jumpsuit built for combat. Her dark brown hair and piercing green eyes only help this effect. With a confident look ever-present on her face, she stands tall against any who would think to harm her or the Seekers. By her side is a grey furred cat, with dark streaks and aquamarine eyes that seem to look into your very soul.
Kelandra’s celestial background makes it hard for her to be anything but the nice, calm and collected person she is now. Her knowledge and experience of the forces of the universe have given her an inner balance unlike any other. She is quite truthful and honorable the vast majority of the time, but every individual has exceptions. For her, it is injustice. She will go out of her way to bring down those who do evil things, even if she has to go against entire empires, which has happened before.
Now for the hard part. You’ve created the hero’s body, the hero’s demeanor, now you must craft the hero. How did you character grow up? How did your character train? What led you to a life in the monastery? This is what really counts, so wow me. As a side note, you need to have been a member of the Seekers of Serenity for at least two years.
Dice * Roll:
Last edited by Scimmy; 01-07-2012 at 09:59 AM. Reason: Out of game
Name: Galahad Lightbringer
Race: Human Saint
Build: Monk5/Fist of the forest 3/Shiba Protector 1/Pious templar 1// Paladin 6/Pious templar 2
Traits: Aggressive, Quick
Flaws: Pathetic (Con), Meager Fortitude
Party Role: Front line fighter trying to overcome his lack of fortitude and weak stomach. Also a scout or guardian.
Cohort/Mount- Redeemed Wyvern
AC bonus- add con mod to ac (FotF)
Mettle- as evasion but with will and fort saves (PT)
Weapon Specialization (Unarmed)(PT)
No thought- Add wis mod to attack and damage (SP)
Galahad stands at just under six and a half feet tall (6’5’’) and weights about two hundred and fifty pounds (245). His skin is more bronze in color then tan due to his love of nature and the outdoors, the sun has that effect when your in it almost all the time. Galahad’s eyes are an emerald green and are filled with a fierce compassion but only a few people can hold his gaze for long. His hair is silver in color, always kept short and very messy. He carries several tattoos, on his right shoulder he has his gods holy symbol (An open book with a smiting hammer in its center covered in runes of power), On his back is an elaborate phoenix with its feathers going over his shoulders and splaying down at the bottom of his back. Around both of his wrists he had intricate tribal markings and finally etching his stomach muscles and pecks are a lattés work of leaves and fox glove flowers.
He wears a set of silver and white robes with silver and white runes embroidered on the opposite color (Silver is on white and white on silver). It is made from silk and the embroidery is of an unknown source. Across the back is an embroidered holy symbol of his god in light blue, white, and black. His robe seems to be very resistant to wrinkles and dirt and always looks like it is in new pristine condition. He wears a set of soft leather boots, dyed white with no ornateness to them. His hands are usually wrapped in hand wraps that are light blue and grey in color but are splotched with blood, his own and enemies, in some places across his knuckles. His ears are pierced and small sapphire studs with silver inlay adorn them.
Galahad is a kind soul who has forgiveness for any that seek it and know in there hearts that its true. He will not suffer betrayal more then once without retribution. He believes that all things have both good and evil contained inside them and that under the right circumstances the light within a soul can shine brighter then the darkness. Despite his kind nature he is no stranger to fighting, he knows that good will triumph over evil but only if the light is willing to fight for itself. He scoffs at the notion that only passiveness is the key to enlightenment for he has seen to many violent things to believe that’s true. He is a protector first and foremost, trusting in his skills to help him follow his gods divine will and protect those who need it. Since his ordainment as a saint the has taken his duty to protect the corridors and rooms immediately surrounding the Orb of Serenity, as well as any other duty the elders think needs his attention.
His loyal friend, ally, and mount Karak is someone who Galahad trusts with his life and although Karak cannot be with Galahad at all times they are always in each others thoughts. Karak thinks of Galahad as an older sibling in that he showed Karak the wise and honorable course in life as an older brother might do for the younger.
Galahad was born in the monastery, as he grew its all he learned and all he knew but you probably want more then that so let me start at the beginning…
He was born to a great war hero and a peasant, the hero battled the forces of chaos and evil in every form where ever it was met. The peasant was raised in the forests, and was part of his home villages militia. Oh yes I should probably tell you that the hero was Galahads mother and the peasant his father. After they met the wars had ended and there love grew as they lived in peace within the monastery walls. Their love formed Galahad after they were married. The first few years of his life he was strictly his mother and fathers child, anyone who tried to teach or discipline him had an angry mother bear to deal with. But as his sixth year of life came his mother learned to let Galahad explore and learn from others, although her protective instincts were still very strong it was tempered by her husbands ‘let him find his own way’ philosophy.
His seventh birthday his parents found him in the courtyard copying the monks in there fighting techniques and it was at that time the head of the order saw him, even at his young age his movements and techniques were nearly flawless. He was inducted into the order the next day and his mother was called away to take care of a minor dispute in a local village. Months flew by and Galahads training was going great but both he and his father began to worry about their wife/mother. Then the news came, Galahads mother had died protecting the village from a wyvern but she was killed by the wounds she suffered and the poison sting the creature gave her as it fled. Galahad was saddened that he never got to say goodbye to his mother but even at his age he understood that death was a part of life and accepted and was even proud of his mothers death protecting the villagers. His father was not so understanding and set off to hunt the creature that had killed his wife. The same creature ended his life as well.
Some months after his twelfth birthday a new monk arrived at the monastery, he claimed to be more in tune with the natural world. This of course sent Galahads mind spinner as he thought of all the creatures he had been taught about, maybe this monk could teach him to move as fast as a striking snake or with the power of a raging bear. With the blessings of the elder monks Galahad began learning this new kind of training, it was something his mind and body had no problem with and soon he had mastered it. The training with the fist of the forest monk left its mark on the young boy and from the time he started his training he had given up his room under the roof of the monastery and began sleeping the garden in the courtyard. His first night in the garden he had a strange dream, a golem of immense size spoke to him. It told him that the monastery was a special place that needed to be protected at all costs, the Orb of Serenity was even greater then anyone knew and because such a holy and powerful artifact was in the monastery then the monastery as a whole needed to be protected. When he awoke the next morning he knew his life had changed but not how it had.
Seven months after his fifteenth birthday he was called to a remote village near the base of a mountain range, if he had remembered he might not have gone to the place because its where both of his parents died. His travel was uninteresting to say the least, he was alone in his mission and though he wanted companionship it wasn’t unbearable. He arrived in the village and found out that it was being plagued by some kind of monster. He had a guide show him to where the creature had last attacked and found smoldering ruins of buildings and more importantly he found claw prints. He tracked the prints through a heavily overgrown forest to the base of the mountains where the tracks seemed to vanish. But up the side of the mountain was a cave and as luck would have it the creature was home. Galahad gave a silent prayer to his god and entered the musky and damp decayed smelling cave to confront the creature. He challenged the dragon, for that’s what it looked like to him, to a fight with the conditions that if Galahad won the dragon would leave the village alone. The wyvern didn’t let the boy finish issuing his challenge and it lunged forward in attack. The battle shook the cave as Galahad avoided charging attacks and the dragon slammed into the walls. Galahad was to fast for the beast to catch him, and that’s how he won. The dragon had weakened and tired itself by slamming into the walls trying to squash the intruder, with a final blow Galahad knocked the creature unconscious and then dragged its body outside and tied it up. He then ran back to town and found some help and the villagers loaded the unconscious dragon into a cart and hauled it back to the village square where they started to talk about the punishment for the creature.
The villagers decided that the creature needed to die for all the lives it had taken in its attacks. But there was one problem, Galahad. Galahad stood between the villagers and the dragon refusing to let them meet out punishment. He spoke with conviction and the knowledge that he was right, he told the villagers that to take the dragons life would make them no better then the dragon. When the villagers screamed in outrage, yelling at Galahad that he had no idea what the creature had done, Galahad’s eyes went misty and he told them all about his parents deaths and that this dragon was the one who had killed them. Galahads words swayed the people, for many had lost a mother or father or sibling or child but Galahad had lost both his parents to the dragon and he refused to kill it. Galahad and the others hadn’t realized that the dragon had woken up half way through the discussion about its fate, it stayed quiet because the first person he heard speak was Galahad telling the others that they could not hurt it without being evil themselves. It was then that the dragon had a massive change of heart, it stood breaking the thin bonds that were supposed to hold it. The villagers scattered into the buildings, some looked out windows and others cracked the doors and peered out. Galahad stood his ground as he had in the dragons lair, relaxed and unthreatening. The dragon gave a mighty roar and watched as the window shutters and doors closed but the curious little man didn’t move and was smiling to boot. The dragon spoke then to the strange and powerful man, he told Galahad his name and that he would like to stay with him because in his own way he had honor and it demanded that he serve Galahad for saving its life. Galahad refused the servitude and told the dragon that if he wanted a friend he had one.
Three years Galahad taught the dragon of the ways of good and virtue as he had been taught growing up. Never once did one claim anything but friendship and respect for the other and the dragons heart really began to change during his time with the strange monk and he found that he agreed with this monks ways. Harmony and peace were something to respect but everyone needed to be ready to fight if needed or to defend those who needed it. On the first day of the fourth year, exactly four days since the two had met, they were in the forest training when a flash of light blue and silver light lit up the woods and a messenger of Galahads god stepped through a portal and spoke in crystalline tones. He asked if the dragon was ready to live in serves of good and when the dragon spoke true and said yes the celestial laid a hand on its forehead and drew upon its holy power. Galahad watched in awe as the dragons scales were marked by the divine power and silver streaks appeared on its scales. When it was done the dragons eyes were teal and he said he could feel the essence of good in himself more clearly now. The celestial turned to Galahad and told him that he had done the world a serves in redeeming a creature known for its evil and that his god had been watching him and found him as an exalted being worthy of a divine status. But godhood had to be earned and Galahad had not proved that he was worthy of such a thing yet, but he was worthy of sainthood. After letting the two know that they had a bond and intertwining destinies the celestial left in the same flash of teal and silver light, his final words were that the peoples of the lands would know that a new saint had been given status and the monastery alone would know it was Galahad.
Last edited by Scimmy; 01-07-2012 at 09:58 AM. Reason: Out of game
Summoner: I know someone who knows someone who can do that...
Sirai is a slight girl, thin and lanky, with the look of someone used to living without a lot of finery. She wears rather drab, utilitarian clothing, preferring the browns and grays of homespun cloth over the more brightly colored silks that others of her gender tend to accumulate. At best, it could be said of her that she "cleans up acceptably". Her brown eyes and brown hair give her a mousy appearance, and her rather 'hang back' nature makes her more of a wallflower than the belle of the ball. She's not the girl next door; she is the girl down the street that everyone knows, but barely remembers. Sirai stands a very average five foot, four inches tall, and has taken to cutting her dull, brown hair in a short bob, with simple bangs cut above her brown eyes. She has an easy smile, however, and she isn't shy; she simply blends in, and is easily overlooked. Should she ever murder anyone, the description of the witnesses would be "Short girl, mousy-looking. Friendly, but plain. Brown hair, brown eyes, freckles, nothing special to look out. Beige blouse, mannish cut, and brown leather pants, tucked into knee high leather boots. Carried a book in a shoulder bag, always looking through it, taking notes. Rather bookish, with big brown eyes. Owlish. "
Sirai is very simply fascinated by the mystic arts of summoning. She is enamored of the idea that magic will allow her to bring forth magical creatures to assist in this mortal coil, who serve, battle, assist, even provide companionship, and yet they disappear, with no lasting wounds or permanent effects. She specializes in calling forth friends to aid in solving problems. For Sirai, there is always someone or something she can call upon that could help.She is the ultimate believer in networking; that's it not what you know, but who you know, that makes life easier.
As such, Sirai is a team player; even by herself, she is a team player, since she rarely confronts any challenge alone. She enjoys the challenges of adventuring, as it is a means for her to learn of new things, and new powers, so that she can then learn to call those powers later. Sirai disdains personal violence, although she is not opposed to the concept of violence. She simply prefers it by proxy, through creatures that aren't really hurt or harmed by the actions, when possible.
Sirai quests for knowledge, for the more she knows about things, the more she can use in her summons. She constantly takes notes on unusual creatures, and in her spare time, you can find her scouring any scrolls or libraries for esoteric information on strange beasts, rumored monsters, and old folk tales.
Sirai has been a seek of knowledge for as long as she can remember. Her father claimed, with pride, that Sirai's first word wasn't "mama", it was "Why?". Roland (her father) had been a traveling minstrel of little repute, who had settled down with a local earth witch after being lamed in a wagon accident, giving up the gypsy life for one of a small cottage on the edge of a farming community. Roland still loved his tall tales and stories of adventures, and raised Sirai on them. She learned from her mother the ways of the woodlands, and the beauties and mysteries of nature. Encouraged by her parent's love of education, Sirai grew up an inquisitive, experimental girl, with more than a hint of magical prowess to her name.
Smart, studious, and friendly, Sirai grew up well liked, but not popular in her village. She had many acquaintances, but few real friends. everyone knew OF her, but no one in the village really knew HER. But, her lack of human friends was easily overcome by her fledgling magecraft. She learned simple druid-craft from her mother, and simple arcanist spellwork from her father. However, she never gained the wide range of spellcraft that either of them enjoyed. Instead, Sirai quickly found that she could summon creatures to be with her, to help her, serve her, even be a friend or confidant. Indeed, she seemed to be particularly adept at summoning; whatever she could imagine, whatever animal she had seen, or magical beast her father's tale had described, she could magecraft, and bring forth, at least, for a few moments. The more she practiced, the better she became, and it soon became simply second nature for Sirai to call forth monster and beast to assist, provide, or even answer questions for her.
She grew up in her village, under her mother's care and tutelage, constantly expanding on her powers to summon. It was at her mother's side that she learned her love of nature, and tied that into her personal pacifism. Sirai, while not abhoring violence, much prefers to let her special friends handle the riskier tasks, for she knows that when her magic is gone, and they return to wherever they come from, they are essentially unharmed.
When the time came for Sirai to learn the more formal arts of magecraft, she was sent to study with the Seekers, for both her parents felt that their message of peace, hope, and enlightenment would merge well with Sirai's own calling, and that she would benefit from their knowledge. She came to them as a young girl, barely 15, and has spent over a decade in studious practice with them.
Sirai came to the seekers the way many do: simply to learn, and study, at what is often thought to be the spring of knowledge. While the Seekers may not have the depth of knowledge that some universities have, the absolute breadth of what they know, have encountered, and recorded makes up for that. It is that breadth that drew Sirai from her hamlet to study the scrolls and stories of the Seekers, and to add her own to their lists. The Seekers have given her a place to grow, learn, and nurture her skills, to develop a rapport with both natural and arcane magic, and to practice her abilities. Every new book she studies opens a world of potential uses for her.
With the Seekers, she found kindred spirits: masters of magic, both arcane and divine. She thrived, using her own skills to serve the Seekers, for what better solution to many problems could there be than a quick call to Sirai's friends, who could come, serve, and then disappear without issue.
And for Sirai, it was the best of all worlds. Some of her summoned creatures were old friends now, eternally youthful, and ever renewing, no matter their fate during their stay in her reality. And, new friends and new knowledge were always just around hte corner, in an old musty tome, or a partially transcribed scroll, waiting to be discovered, and called forth.
Last edited by dirkoth; 11-02-2011 at 11:47 PM.
Name: Karshinn Marduk__________________
Build: Ninja 10//Wu Jen 10 (Earth Focus)
Flaws: Meager Fortitude (Weak Stomach), Pathetic (-2 one ability score)
Party Role: Stealthy Caster
AC: 23 ( Wisdom, Dexterity, Deflection, Armor, Natural); Touch: ; Flat:
Saves-Fort: Ref: Will:
Abilities: Str: , Dex: , Con: , Int: , Wis: , Cha:
Karshinn is not known as a warm man, often he prefers to keep silent when he knows that his comments are not entirely positive ones. The man's pale complexion often causes some to wonder at his connection to the undead but Karshinn's social talents also cause him to be chosen to accompany the members of the merchant arm of the Seekers. Karshinn takes a viscous delight in maneuvering opposing merchants into positions that are less than favorable for them, some Seekers complain that Karshinn's methods are unkind but he points out that nothing he does is illegal or even morally wrong. In his spare time Karshinn carves small figures and has recently taken up painting at the prompting of a sword instructor that he holds in high esteem.
In the sweating jungles of Miraq it is commonly accepted that the natives in the area have dark skin. Dark of eye and black of hair, the men of these harsh and sweltering forests were known for their ferocity and prowess in battle. Each tribe in the area held to their own sort of culture and common tradition, often the same gods would have differing names and stories from group to group. One story that is shared among all peoples in the area is the bedtime tale of Nonjin.
These pale demons were known to be dark spirits of the forest, vengeful creatures that raided the encampments in the night to abduct the tribe's undesirables or troubled souls. These night terrors were what kept most respectable families inside their rough hide tents instead of exploring the the wonders under moonlight. Only a select few village shaman possessed the nerve or skill to pierce the thick veil of shadows that covered the activities of this fabled group of creatures.
In truth, the feared tribe of pale-skinned demons was nothing more than a clandestine group of druids that employed dramatic ways of keeping order in their corner of the world. These self appointed avatars of nature plucked those they felt would be best served working in their cause then whatever life this individual had chosen for themselves. Weaving an elaborate ritual of blood and magic over their initiates, these individuals are pared down to a primal version of themselves that is free of past memories and driven by passion.
Known as slayers of abominations and harbingers of natural disasters, the Nonjin are organized as a loose tribe with the senior members being voted on every nine seasons via messenger. There was some truth to the rumor that Nonjin took troublesome boys and girls away in the night if they didn't eat their vegetables, Karshinn and his brother Morin were two such boys stolen from an abusive home and inducted through the secret Nonjin rite that every tribe member experiences.
From the beginning the two boys showed themselves to be different from the other boys in startling ways. The elder of the two, Karshinn showed a natural aptitude for arcane mysteries involving terra firma and his sword work was better than above average. Morin was three years his brother's junior but showed an amazing skill with a particular kind of axe. The two never wavered in their duties to their adopted tribe and were often the spearhead of various military operations. An ambitious council member whips the tribe into a fury when they are raided by the elves that occupy a nearby volcanic valley, an ill-advised counter-strike deals the clandestine druids a vicious blow and their numbers are greatly reduced. Disheartened by the direction the Councils are taking them, some tribes retreat to the wild plains and they are hardly heard from except during major trade celebrations.
Instead of retreating with some of their tribesmen the two choose to move south to the fabled sprawls of civilizations to seek their fortunes. The two men find unsatisfactory employment as enforcers for a wizard's business of moving valued spell components from one area to another. Proving loyalty to their employer for more that three years, when the two are invited to participate in the wizard's shadier business proposals they reject the offer and are forced to confront the arcane master and his six cohorts with only their own force of arms and the assistance of a wandering priest.
The three don't succeed in eliminating the entire cabal of wizards but they are able to hamper the shady operations in a way that would ensure heavy losses for the near future. Accompanying the priest to his base of operations they learn of the Seekers of Serenity, Morin joins the group eagerly and Karshinn does so with a bit more reservation than his younger brother.
The two have served under the banner of Serenity for the better part of five years and Karshinn is beginning to wonder if his fortunes would be better found in other places. When he broaches the subject to his long-time friend Karshinn's idea is met with a closed-minded rejection that leaves Karshinn frustrated and angry. Karshinn grows increasingly bored with the assignments given by the Seekers but he is sure to complete assigned tasks with a professional air that smacks of a condescending attitude. While Karshinn is unwilling to leave Morin with the Seekers as he seeks his own fortune, no argument seems able to convince Morin that a better life could be just over the next mountain. Unhappy with the current direction his life is going Karshinn splits his free time between the libraries maintained by the Seekers and a handful of taverns and gambling dens in the city.
Last edited by Sifer; 01-07-2012 at 11:05 AM.
Race: Poisondusk lizardfolk
Build: UA Swordsage//Ranger 4/Bloodhound 6
Traits: Suspicious, Quick
Party Role: Skilled Melee, Mad Tracking Abilities
Bera'chk stands at an unimposing 3'4", with the wiry build common to his specific breed of lizardfolk. His scales are a dull, motley brown and green, with a pattern that seems to shift and makes the viewers eyes subtly ache. He has the standard red iris with black slit pupil. Honestly, they say among the common races that if you've seen one (insert monstrous race here), you've seen them all...it applies in this case.
He is a study of contrasts. In the field, there are rocks more talkative than he. Furtive, suspicious, edgy, he seems little more than a beast, an ultimate predator. Yet as soon as he brings his quarry home, he changes. Never loquacious, he still enters into conversations in his accented, yet completely proper common. He cracks jokes. He sings. Not very well, but still. It isn't uncommon to see him seated around his friends in a pub, enjoying a pint. He is kind, and is seen helping out in the orphanage...it is a weird sight, a small lizard-man playing hide-n-seek with little kids.
Bera'chk was birthed feral. For his early life, he was the terror of three or four small farming villages. Livestock, crops, equipment, he was a swamp-ghost. Then a three-year-old vanished, and the Seekers were called in. Their focus was the little girl, of course, and they found her, trapped in a rotted tree-fall, half-starved but well. While they were there, the Seekers also decided to take care of the 'swamp-ghost'. It took 4 fully-trained Seekers more than three weeks to finally track Bera'chk down, capture the little brute, and bring him in. He was cleaned up, tested, and found to have the potential to be an asset to the Seekers, so instead of the orphanage, he was brought up in the monastery. And boy did his instructors have their work cut out for them. For the first three years, he was very resistant to their instruction, and more than once had the headmaster (not the abbot, obviously) wringing his hands while taking ulcer medications. And then, when the instruction finally started sinking in, and he began excelling at his studies, then the pranks began. Somewhat morbid at first, his ability to get into small and out-of-the-way places, mixed with great stealth, and everybody felt for the poor headmaster.
While the Seekers of Serenity accepted Bera'chk with few qualms, the city proper had a harder time with the little lizard. Being ostracized was the least of his problems, even in the center of peace, and for the first few years, he was never allowed out of the monastery without a couple 'keepers'. It took seven years and two successful missions for him to 'earn' a grudging acceptance. Instead of a sore point, it is one of bemusement, and it's not that important to him. Except for the orphanage, where he spends his happiest moments outside the monastery, he feels more comfortable in the shadier areas of the town anyways. So his assignments switch between the far outskirts of the nation, and the monastery itself, where he is currently assigned.
Dice * Roll:
EDIT: This post copied directly from the application, including the dice roll...
Last edited by Jaruen; 01-08-2012 at 01:30 AM.