Characters The Seekers of Serenity

Scimmy · #1 09-10-2011, 08:40 PM

Please post your accepted character app as well as a link to your character sheet.

Also include a stat block, much like those found in the monster manual and similar entries.

Scimmy · #2 09-24-2011, 10:17 PM

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
Alignment: CG
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.

Stat Block:

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.

Background:

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.

Inukotsu18 · #3 09-25-2011, 12:08 AM

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

Appearance:

Personality:

Stat Block:

Background:

Monty · #4 09-25-2011, 12:27 AM

Cristal08Darkmoon · #5 09-25-2011, 12:50 AM

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)
Race: Catfolk
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
Appearance:

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.

Personality:

Background:

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.

tiluvias99 · #6 09-25-2011, 01:43 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

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.

-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.

The third combination is Melee Bruiser.

Summary:
Duvon can make up to 5 attacks per round, which he can also do on a charge. He can fear lockdown an opponent for one round every round as a swift action, or a free action if he enters a rage. His host of fear effects almost guarantees some sort of fear status effect on his opponents at all times. When he strikes a creature under a fear effect, he deals +5d6 Sudden Strike damage, which causes additional, stacking fear for every hit to every creature within 30 ft. Any creature he deals Sudden Strike damage to must also make a fortitude save or become staggered, reducing their actions. In addition to the large amount of damage, shaken, frightened, or panicked creatures suffer a host of penalties, may not be able to take actions, or may drop anything held. If he elects to use the Power Attack feat, in addition to all of the above effects, he can make a free bull rush attempt on every successful strike. If the opponent's back is to a wall, they take an additional 8d6+3x(Str Mod) Damage on every successful bull rush.

Weaknesses:
-Anything immune to fear shuts down a huge portion of Duvon's effectiveness, and prevents him from locking an opponent down and dealing extra damage.
-Fighting in open spaces, where Duvon can't bull rush his target into anything solid, also takes a huge chunk out of his damage potential.
-Duvon focuses on a large number of attacks rather than more powerful or accurate single strikes. Enemies with high armor class will force him to forgo many of his extra attack options in order to maintain his ability to hit.
-Duvon has a lower AC than normal and lower hit points than normal, and while he can dish out a lot of damage, he cannot absorb very much himself.
-Example: In the case of the above three, a Heavily Armored Paladin standing in an open field negates nearly all of his special abilities. In a fair fight, Duvon will lose every time.
-Duvon has little to no ability to deal with invisible or flying opponents.
-Lastly, like many melee characters, Duvon has a poor will save and struggles with casters of all types. Should Duvon be dominated, he could be very damaging to a party.

Appearance:
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.

Personality:
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.

Until now.

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.

slyster · #7 09-25-2011, 02:44 AM

StatblockHP: 83(10d8 + 30)
Initiative: +6 (+3 Dex, +3 Quick to Act)
AC: 37 (+8 Armor [augmented Inertial Armor], +4 Shield[Force Screen], +3 Dex, +10 Wisdom, +1 Natural, +1 Deflection) Touch: 24 Flat: 34
Base Attack/Grapple: +7/+2
Melee: +1 flaming shortspear +18/+13 (1d6+7 plus 1d6 fire), x2
Speed: 50 ft.
Space/Reach: 5'/5'
Special: Maenad Scream - 1d6 sonic (DC 14), Evasion, AC bonus, Discipline Focus (Weapon Focus, Insightful Strike, Defensive Strike) - Diamond Mind, Quick to act +3
Power points/day: 139; Mantle powers known (ML 10th):
-- 1st: Force Screen, Inertial Armor, Energy Ray; 2nd: Vigor, Hustle, Energy Push; 3rd: Concussion Blast; 4th: Fly(Psionic), Telekinetic Maneuver; 5th: Freedom of Movement (Psionic), Teleport (Psionic)
Maneuvers and Stances Known (IL 10th);
-- Stances: Child of Shadow, Step of the Wind, Pearl of Black Doubt, Hearing the Air; Strikes: Blistering Flourish, Charging Minotaur, Wolf Fang Strike, Emerald Razor, Mountain Hammer, Insightful Strike, Ruby Nightmare Blade, Searing Charge; Boost: Burning Blade, Moment of Perfect Mind, Mind Over Body; Counter: Zephyr Dance, Leaping Flame
Saves: Fort:+12 Ref:+15 Will:+21; includes +2 from Defensive Stance
Abilities: Str: 18 (+2 gloves) Dex: 16 (+2 gloves) Con: 16 (+4 belt) Int: 14 Wis: 30 (+6 torc) Cha: 14
Skills: Autohypnosis +23, Concentration +27, Craft (sewing) +8, Listen +19, Psicraft +15, Sense Motive +17, Tumble +13
Languages: Common, Elven, Draconic
Feats: Psionic Meditation, Psychic Renewal, Craft Universal Items, Empower Power, Quicken Power
Equipment: Torc of Wisdom +6, +1 flaming shortspear, Masterwork light crossbow, 40 bolts, Hand straps (+2 to Str and Dex), Vest of Resistance +3, Ring of Natural Armor +1, Ring of Sustenance, Decanter of Endless Water, Third Eye (Concentrate), Body psionic tattoo - Body Purification, Shara's Belt (+4 to Con, Belt of Hidden Pouches from MIC), Dorje of "My Light", Dorje of "Synesthete", Masterwork Sewing Kit, Spool of silver thread, Bedroll, Torch x3, Cooking supplies, Everlasting Rations

IkenName: Iken
Race: Maenad
Build: Unarmed Swordsage // Ardent
Traits: Focused and Passionate

Party Role: Secondary front line and Damage.

Before the Seekers - BirthThey found him as a babe, crying on his back in the midst of the broken village, surrounded by the still-warm corpses of Iormord's rebel remnants.

The stragglers had been crazed and fanatical. The militia surrounding them at the village center saw in their eyes the flecked, roiling madness and delirium of thralls. The sun had set as the soldiers spent minutes ordering, almost pleading, with the rebels to stand down, outnumbering them ten to one. But the last dozen of Iormord's thralls followed their absent master's parting wishes - fight to the death, and let none who knew of Iormord's scheme survive. The brutal massacre, bitter and lit in cold starlight, lasted barely a minute.

As they checked the bodies, they found him. No one had spotted a babe among the rebels earlier. Bewildered, the villagers-turned-soldiers did their best to wipe the gore and filth off his tiny, mewling form. The night sky bore witness to a child seemingly born of murder.

There was little the conscripted militia of farmers and hunters could do for the child beyond wrapping him in spare blanket. They whispered of cursed fates and killers born as they gave him off to the care of Kovli, the nearest town left standing in the wake of Iormord's latest attempt to defy the Seekers.

Childhood - Village of KovliThe people of Kovli named him Iken. They did their best to care for him.

His childhood was difficult and tormented. Iken saw the shadows of that massacre every night in never-ending nightmares, its memories steeped into his psyche and tainting his entire life. In addition, his tantrums and emotional swings were uncontrollable. Iken would seriously injure himself as he threw his weight around; none of the village parents had ever seen a child prone to such strong emotional outbursts. The other village children, not accepting the cursed orphan as one of their own, did their best to incite his rage with cruel teasing. At least the adults of Kovli did their best to understand him. They could see that, between his rages, Iken struggled to be good.

As years went on, he proved too difficult. Eventually, all realized that they simply didn't know how to help the child as fear and nightmares claimed him at night and torrents of uncontrollable emotions swallowed him by day.

Only one friend among the villagers stuck by his side into his puberty. Shara was his age, born days after his arrival. She had watched him grow tormented by the other village children - away from the others, she would try to soothe him. Her gentle touch and words were the only calming influence in Iken's life. Perhaps she was more to him than just his friend. Shara become Iken's closest companion.

Her ability to calm Iken was only matched by her older brother Cilam's ability to spark Iken's tantrums with jibes. Three years older than Iken or Shara, he was a menacing bully, ringleader of those that picked on Iken. His comments were cruel and crass. The village adults would cringe and later scold Cilam when they saw him incite the smaller orphan to brawl, simply to have an excuse to beat Iken down. Shara often consoled Iken after these beatings.

But there came a day when Shara wasn't enough and Cilam went too far - he named Iken an unknowing bastard of the Thrallherd Iormord. In his rage, Iken felt a hot, searing need to scream. As he did, he discovered a physical release in the form of a shout of such force that it bent the air around him. Thirteen years to the day Iken arrived at Kovli, he screamed at Shara's older brother and almost killed him. The sound blast crushed the bully through two cottage walls into an unconscious heap.

The village could take no more. Cilam was at death's door and Shara refused to meet Iken's eyes. Iken found that he didn't care for Cilam's fate, but his shame and guilt for how he had hurt Shara was enough. Kovli's orphan bowed his head in submission when the village brought him to the care of the Seekers - only they could control him.

TrainingThe Seeker monks stemmed Iken's emotions quickly. They identified the child almost immediately as a Maenad, and over many years, other Maenad monks eventually taught Iken to control his urges through sheer will. The Maenad monks would become his guards, captors, and mentors for many years.

With his tidal waves of emotions finally in check, Iken's personality seemed to change dramatically. His immense suffering and tainted childhood settled onto Iken as gravity and maturity beyond his years. He began to think in two minds - a deeper mind, true to his core, that contained the fireball of anger, frustration, and sadness of his life at Kovli; and a strictly superficial mind, expressed as an exuberant and outgoing persona, that he wore as a mask. He had to; he found that anything short of diametric opposition to his seething, brooding core would ultimately start him on a slide back to uncontrolled emotional turmoil.

And with the control came discipline to train. The Seekers found that his early shout was a small manifestation of incredible psychic potential. In the walls of the monastery, Iken found the will to focus his rage into shocking displays of force and elemental power. He became stronger and faster through his martial studies, able to draw upon elemental fury and move faster than the eye could track without his psychic talents. His powers grew steadily and quickly.

It unnerved the Maenad monks that trained him. Not fooled by his new demeanor, they knew that if ever he lost control of his burning emotions, he would be a true danger, one much more powerful than the prepubescent teenager that had come to them almost a decade ago. They could only hope that his control had grown as fast as his raw power.

Path to today... After a decade, there was little more his Maenad mentors could do. Only the trials of the real world would prove if they had given Iken the focus and discipline he would need. They sent him to the monastery that guards the Orb of Serenity. They hoped his relatively easy guard duty there and the influence of the Orb itself would be a painless, easy re-entry to society away from his Maenad mentors and guardians.

To this day, Iken has avoided going back to Kovli and has neither seen or heard from Shara. Iormord has not resurfaced since Iken's "birth".

Yogge Mothi · #8 09-26-2011, 08:45 PM

Name: Libram the Balanced
Race: Human
Build: Fighter 10 // Monk 10 (Hand & Foot Variant from UA)

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:

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 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.

Morzella · #9 10-23-2011, 07:34 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.

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.

Cloudpiroth · #10 10-24-2011, 10:02 AM

Link to stat rolls

Name: Catarina Dunsidane
Race: Human
Age: 27
Build: Cobra Strike VariantMonk 6/ Fighter 2/ Dervish 2 // Warblade 10
Traits: Quick & Skinny
Flaw:

Party Role: Front-Liner, Distractor, Voice of Reason

Stat Block:

Appearance:

Personality:

Background:

A Beginning with Love Lost and Love Gained

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"
- Serena

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.""
-Catarina

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.

Finding Peace

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)

Morcleon · #11 10-24-2011, 05:02 PM

Melagant · #12 10-24-2011, 06:21 PM

dirkoth · #13 11-02-2011, 11:45 PM

Sirai Brownstone

Summoner: I know someone who knows someone who can do that...

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.

Sifer · #14 01-07-2012, 01:44 AM

Name: Karshinn Marduk
Race: Human
Build: Ninja 10//Wu Jen 10 (Earth Focus)
Flaws: Meager Fortitude (Weak Stomach), Pathetic (-2 one ability score)
Party Role: Stealthy Caster

HP:
Initiative:
AC: 23 ( Wisdom, Dexterity, Deflection, Armor, Natural); Touch: ; Flat:
BAB/Grapple:
Space/Reach: 5'/5'
Special:
Saves-Fort: Ref: Will:
Abilities: Str: , Dex: , Con: , Int: , Wis: , Cha:
Skills:
Languages: Common
Feats:

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.

Jaruen · #15 01-07-2012, 01:54 AM

Name: Bera'chk
Race: Poisondusk lizardfolk
Build: UA Swordsage//Ranger 4/Bloodhound 6
Traits: Suspicious, Quick
Flaws: None
Party Role: Skilled Melee, Mad Tracking Abilities

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.

EDIT: This post copied directly from the application, including the dice roll...