[Characters] Ship Log (character sheets)

[darthcharon]

Congrats to everyone who made it! Please put your character here, along with a link to the character sheet. As a reminder, we are using a 36pt buy system, and you can either take average health or roll for it (obviousiously getting max at first)

[Craigthulu]

Name: Aldrit Luenth

Race: Human

Homeland: Lenys

Class: Dragon Shaman, Copper Dragon Totem

 

Alignment: (CN); Aldrit Luenth is an enthusiastic explorer from Lenys with a passion for aviation and the nature. Aldrit focused his studies on the mechanics of flight and the way animals accomplish this feat. Throughout his life he has generated several models that show how birds and insects achieve this miraculous ability. Aldrits fascination with flight stems from his natural curiosity and need to explore. Animals that can fly can travel anywhere in the world to see anything they want to. Aldrits has a need to explore the world and see everything there is to see. Through his studies Aldrit has a strong working knowledge of the natural world but little practical experience.

A noticeable flaw in Aldrit is his love of treasure. When vast sums of money are on the line he can lose sight of reason and take foolish chances. The more exotic and valuable the reward seems to be the more likely he is to take a risk.

Brief history: Aldrit Luenth was born and raised in Lenys. Like most children he was educated in the natural sciences and urged to explore them for himself. With his wolf pup Runto he traveled the nearby hills and valleys, intrigued by the multitude of creatures that inhabited the land As he grew older he attempted to understand why some creatures could fly and others could not. This investigation taught him the complexities of flight, different birds seemed to fly in different ways and unique wings to accomplish this. Insects flew in way that didn't resemble the flight of birds at all. There were even mammals that could fly for short periods of time. To make matters more complicated there were birds that showed no ability towards flight what so ever, even though they had the required anatomy. Notes taken from examining birds and insects showed Aldrit that flight was possible for humans with a few modifications. Aldrit became the human guinea pig for his own experiments. After several failed attempts at home made wings he decided to take more data for his experiments.

While traveling through some hills he watched the skies to see if he could see any new species for new inspiration. To his surprise he got to see two new specimens that he never expected to see. Two large creatures seemed to be fighting in the sky above him. The silhouettes of the creatures were indistinct at this distant but they must have been huge to be visible from this distant. They wheeled, circled and dived at each other with grace and ease that surpassed many creatures he had seen before. One was larger than the other and has pressing the smaller creature. As they passed overhead he could see the wings were large and bat like, with a long sinuous tail and snaking neck. The larger one rose swiftly and dived upon the smaller creature forcing them both closer to the ground.

Now that they were closer he could see that they were both dragons. The smaller one was red and being harassed by a longer heavier copper coloured dragon. According to his studies neither creature should be able to fly. The odd shape of their bodies would create too much drag while proportionately their wings did not generate enough lift. The muscles in their chests did not look big enough to support flight. This was a once and life time study that Aldrit could not miss. He followed the two dragons until the red was driven off and the copper dragon land in the nearby hills.

Aldrit eventually found the dragon who was resting on the top of hill. Aldrit approached slowly but was noticed by the dragon. Each examined the other with mutual curiosity. Aldrit was curious about the physiology of the creature trying figure out how it could fly. The dragon was curious because most humans weren’t brave enough to come this close to a dragon. Aldrit began to take notes estimating the the dimensions of the dragon. The dragon bent down and plucked the note book from Aldrits hands. "Hey you give that back!" Aldrit yelled not willing to let anything take his lifes work. "What you want this back, then introduce yourself properly. These scribbles you are taking seem to be about me. I will not allow such a casual examination of the great copper dragon Byth."

Aldrit introduced himself and explained the meaning behind his notes. Explaining he was trying to understand the mysterious of flight. The conversation eventually led to his need to explore unknown lands. Byth led the conversation and teased Aldrit by lowering the book slowly and raising it quickly so that Aldrit was forced to hop and jump for it. A friendship was born between the two and Aldrit made a point to learn everything he could about dragons. Aldrit followed Byth around the hills for weeks taking notes about the dragon even measurements when he was allowed (while the dragon was asleep usually).The dragon made a point to tease and play pranks on Aldrit whenever he could. Scaring him or placing him high on cliffs and tree tops, laughing as Aldrit clumsily climed down. Byth was amused by the human and offered to tell him about the lands he was so eager to see. Aldrit refused to hear the answers to these questions, adamant that he would find these lands for himself once his flying machines worked. Byth was always willing to help Aldrit test on of his devices laughing as they inevitably failed.

Aldrit learned about expedition being attempted by Frederick Gallant and had to sign on to the voyage. Aldrit couldn’t wait to see what kind of specimens he could find on this new land. He might even learn something to make human flight possible. The voyage to the knew lands was an experience he was looking forward to as well. From his studies he understood that sails had a similar function to wings. He also noted the fins of certain fish acted in ways that resembled flight. There were even rumors of fish that could fly above the waves. If these were the creatures he could see on the way to Quautomec than what would he find on the island. Aldrit could not wait to find out. Although sad that he his travels would take him away from Byth he was still excited to see what he could find in this new land.

Physical description: Aldrit is bright eyed young man with the look of someone who travels. He has sandy brown hair and stands just below average height. He isn’t particularly strong but his constant travels have kept him fit.

Motivation:Aldrit is motivated by his constant need to explore. He dreams of traveling to new lands and naming the discoveries. Secretly he hopes to find a vast treasure, a pile of gold so high he could slide down it. He also wants to record his journey so that he can go back home and brag to Byth

Notes: As far as party roles go, I will attempt act as a secondary melee unit and use auras to augment the party. A dragon shaman with an animal companion is an interesting concept that should be fun to use.

[Forsythia]

 

Name: Asaad Majid
Race: Half-Elf
Homeland: Muulstan
Class: Beguiler, with a dash of Fighter

 

Asaad believes that 'Right' and 'Wrong' are largely subjective. In general, it isn't nice to wantonly cause unnecessary or undeserved suffering. On the other hand, people who allow themselves to be taken advantage of are foolish patsies. The same can be said for people who blindly observe the letter of the law. Laws are, after all, mutable social contructs subject to the whims of whoever happens to be enforcing them. Of course, this doesn't mean that Asaad can't toe the line when it is in his best interest to adopt the ideals (at least superficially) of those whose company he keeps.

 

Brief Personal History:
Throughout Asaad Majid's relatively young life, he has been many things to many people. Never remaining in one place long, he joys in traveling around Muulstan, taking in new sights, meeting interesting people, learning useful new tricks and trying on different personas. Among his various dabblings, he has 'worked' as a theatre costumer, a reserve soldier, a sticky-fingered locksmith, and a wizard's personal assistant. He was once both poltergeist and exorcist-for-hire to a wealthy yet 'supernaturally' beleaguered family. That was a fun one. Not all of his erstwhile endeavors have been conducted under his given name (nor his given appearance, for that matter). Asaad is no stranger to the art of deception but neither does he consider himself to be particularly criminally minded. He merely delights (perhaps a bit too much) in using his natural talents to influence people into giving him what he wants. Most recently, he has finagled his way into the pants of a stint as the trusted financial advisor to the Muulstani trade princess Bahira Barat, of the city-state of Ambad.

If there is one phrase to define the driving force behind Asaad's life choices, it would be Spirited Opportunism. When he sees something he wants, he goes after it with artful zeal. His cleverness, charisma, and magical inclinations have allowed him to skirt conventional career paths in favor of more entertaining and personally rewarding pursuits. Occasionally, what's personally rewarding for Asaad is not always so for those who meet him. From time to time, Asaad gets himself into hot water with his high jinks, and can be quite creative when it comes to placating suspicious or disgruntled marks. Instead of learning the value of caution from these close-calls, Asaad has learned the value of quick thinking and self-defense. Though he finds physical combat slightly distasteful (he hates to sweat), it has proven to be an invaluable skill due to the colorful nature of his chosen activities. When Asaad does find himself backed into a corner, he prefers to fight a little dirty in order to gain the upper hand. He is less likely to strike a foe outright than he is to feint, then cast a spell to confuse his enemy before running away and moving on to the next town. But as a general rule, he prefers to talk his way out of dangerous situations, sometimes with the aid of a charm or two. After all, you catch more flies with honey...

Path to the Angel's Grace:
As financial advisor to Trade Princess Bahira, Asaad managed to broker a lucrative deal between Ambad and a mid-level Khagraskan mining guild. The deal involved the exportation of goods and equipment in exchange for a substantially more valuable import of refined ore, with Asaad taking a cut from both sides, of course. The goods were sent from Muulstan, and the impending outcome looked promising--that is until it became unavoidably apparent that Asaad had never actually secured legal rights to said ore. He had of course discussed the deal with the guild's council, and the council had agreed to an ore payment--but not anywhere near the amount that Asaad had led the princess to believe would be her due. There was no express intent to swindle on Asaad's part. It's just that he'd naturally assumed that he'd be able to sort out the more important details on the fly, and make everything work out in his favor as usual. Well, the Khagraskans were a little more pragmatic and a little less swayed by his charms than Asaad had anticipated. Ambad ended up losing a substantial amount on the deal, and Princess Bahira was none too pleased.

The now former-financial advisor worked hard to convince the princess that his actions did not constitute fraud per se, merely a lapse in good judgment. Though she was infuriated and embarrassed by his flagrant disregard for the financial security of her city-state, Bahira still retained a slight weakness for Asaad's many charms. But very slight. When the half-elf implored that she banish him from Ambad rather than imprison him or worse, Bahira was struck with inspiration. She would spare him, but only if he engaged in a very important undertaking on her behalf. She knew of a ship that would soon be setting sail toward the fabled Isle of Quautomec. Legends told of a lost civilization with riches beyond compare. Bahira certainly wanted a piece of that pie, but the journey was too dangerously uncertain for her to risk sending any skilled adventurers currently in her employ. She would send Asaad. Best case scenario: he would return with valuable information and exclusive trade contacts. At worst (and probably more likely), he would be eaten by some monstrous island beast and never be heard from again. Not an entirely unfitting punishment, as far as she was concerned.

And so it has come to pass that Asaad now wears the mantle of another new profession. To Fredrick Gallant, Asaad is a seasoned adventurer of good repute, with strong ties to the Muulstani market. This persona is basically a true one, at least on paper. Asaad was able to provide letters of recommendation (including one from trade princess Bahira herself) extolling his ample qualifications as an inveterate, if roguish, explorer. Frederick Gallant accepted Asaad onboard the Angel's Grace on the basis of his impressive resume, embellished though it was.

 

For his own part, Asaad feels ambivalent about the looming journey to Quautomec. On the one hand, he does love new travel and new opportunity. The hint of untold rewards is also enticing. On the other hand, he knows that no one who has set out for Quautomec has ever, ever returned. He did consider the option of avoiding Bahira's punishment by escaping into parts unknown at the first opportunity. However, on reconsideration, a life on the lam lacked appeal. The princess' influence is far reaching, after all, and he wasn't sure that he could evade her retribution forever. The armed escort from the royal jail to the Angel's Grace also helped him to make up his mind on that front.

 

Asaad's 5'8", 160 lb. build is trim and toned, but not particularly imposing as far as physiques go. His vaguely elongated facial features are typically half-elven, but his complexion is slightly darker than one might expect given his ancestry. His thick black hair stands in pleasing contrast to his golden skin. It is cropped just short enough to curl over his ears, hiding their pointed tips. His almond eyes are brown, and framed by thick lashes. He walks with a confident ease, and usually carries the hint of an impish smile on his face, no matter his mood. His personal preference is for colorful, ornate clothing and accessories--but he doesn't mind adapting his appearance to a given situation. In fact he quite enjoys dressing the part, whatever that part may be.

[Ericg1s]

Ok, I will post my application here:
Name: Gven Ash
Race: Dwarf
Homeland: Eodin
Class: Druid (Shapeshifter PHB2)


http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=31741

(New link)

[Heyzuse]

 

Name: Tasnu Leengrad

Race: Human

Homeland: Desert Dwellers

Class: Dragonfire Adept

Alignment: Neutral Good- Although carefree and reckless in nature, he is fiercely loyal and will never allow his companions to be at risk if he can help it (though he will be disappointed at passing up what he believes is the more "exciting" option). Tasnu also enjoys fighting, though he would never even consider attacking with lethal intent unless his foe was clearly evil, or if he had no choice.

Brief History-From before he could remember, Tasnu had been in the care of a Brass Dragon who made his home in the desert. From the moment Tasnu could walk the Brass Dragon talked a great deal to him, and some of his adopted father’s outgoingness has spread to Tasnu. Even when Tasnu was young he always looked up to his adopted father and tried to emulate his father. (This rarely worked well without the possession of his father’s strength or wings) To help Tasnu in his quest to emulate his father the Brass Dragon taught Tasnu the way of the Dragonfire Adept and Tasnu absorbed every single lesson the dragon taught Tasnu like a sponge. As a child Tasnu would climb the rocks in his adopted fathers cave, and one day even climbed so high that his adopted father had to come get him down. Tasnu, however, instead of being frightened became more determined to climb higher next time and climbed higher and higher every day. The Brass Dragon, instead of berating Tasnu about his climb, encouraged Tasnu to rise higher and higher so Tasnu sought more and more challenges every day, and even faced death many a times before his adopted parent would come and save him. These thrills, instead of frightening Tasnu, excited him, and he got an enjoyment out of the thrills, and sought more dangerous thrills and challenges as often as he could. One day, however, when Tasnu was about 13 years old, the Brass Dragon mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again. Tasnu was heartbroken and wandered aimlessly in the desert with the only belongings he had, the clothes on his back and a ring that the Dragon gave him that he had said would protect him from harm. A day later Tasnu encountered a tribe of desert dwellers who would help raise Tasnu. In return for for the shelter the Desert Dwellers gave him, Tasnu helped with the daily chores, and breathed fire here and there for the dwellers. Also, because of his chats with the Brass Dragon, Tasnu found that he was quite the eloquent speaker and was able to negotiate and barter on his tribes behalf. When Tasnu was old enough to take care of himself, he said goodbye to his desert dwelling parents and went out into the world for fun, thrills, adventure, and to find out what happened to the Brass Dragon that raised him. While exploring and looking for new thrills, Tasnu came upon Frederick and heard about his expedition to the island of Quautomec, and Tasnu believed that this would be the ultimate thrill.

Motivation-Tasnu is a thrill seeker. He lives to put his life on the line, and he never feels more alive than when he's just a hair's width away from death, whether that death comes in the form of enemy spears, or a long drop from the top of a mountain. He came to Quautomec for wealth, as did virtually everyone else, but also for other reasons: because it seemed to him like it would be one massive thrill after another. He lives to push himself to his limits, to push himself beyond his limits. Part of it is self improvement, and the other part is the desire to prove that he can do what others say he cannot. And his other reason is much more personal: he seeks to find the dragon that raised him when he was much younger, not only to find out where the only parent he ever knew went, but to thank him for keeping him alive and teaching him this strong and ancient magic.

Physical Description-Young Man,(aged 20)fairly average height, lean built, olive skin with brass hue scales on upper arms and neck, green eyes, clean shaven, thick black straight hair, and a small scar on the left side of his neck. Wears a black waistcoat with red trimming, no shirt underneath, a ring with a dragon insignia on his left hand middle finger, and a medium sized quarterstaff tied to his back with a string.

http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=23914

[Gadring]

 

http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=23902

Name: *Fisskvar* the Ioth Irisvir
Race: Spellscale
Homeland: Eodin
Class: Healer
Alignment: Neutral Good: Fisskvar believes in the power of Tamara. Her Beneficence allows him to do what it takes to preserve life, if their life is well deserved. If there is a chance for redemption then the possibility must be pursued. However, once one has committed atrocities beyond forgiveness, or has become an aberration to the natural order (especially undead), they must be utterly and completely destroyed. Allies are to be protected, enemies should be given the benefit of the doubt.

Brief history: 16 years old, Healer of Tamara. I was born to an arcath with a seat on the high council of Eodin. My father left before I was born, something about seeking arcane knowledge in distant lands. My mother held a seat on the high council because of her natural gift, a close connection to the sorcerous magics that are said to be descended from dragon blood. My mother was either unable or unwilling to raise me, and dropped me off at a local temple to be raised by the human clerics. They were happy to take me, they thought that coming from such a prestigious lineage, they would manifest me into a true agent of Tamara, a sorcerer beyond match. But my abilities rested in another area. My spells manifested in healing the sick and injured. From the time I could walk, clergy would see me running around the temple healing insects and small animals that had hurt themselves, or been the targets of others’ sadistic spells. This only added to my rejection from the social world. Aside from being different (I have only ever seen a handful of arcath like myself) I went against what was expected of me. The constant bullying pushed me further from my peers, and closer to Tamara. She understood my calling, understood why I felt the need to heal the sick and wounded. Just as there are those that protect our world from evil, there must be those to protect those heroes when they are incapacitated. Despite being separated from my race, I nevertheless inherited their need for pomp and flash, and have been drawn to fine clothes and splendor. Looking around, and not finding what I wanted, I took up the art of tailoring, so that I can have my garments made exactly as I want them. I have spent the last 6 years honing my skills, my spells and my abilities, to a point where I am now useful to Tamara, and she has blessed me with a task.

Motivation: Her Mercy Tamara has instructed me that there is a large party going to the Island of Quatomec, and that I need to go with them. It came in my dreams, images of extreme violence, pain, agony. Death. Death that comes before its time is a travesty, and life that continues beyond death is an aberration that *must* be cleansed! That is not to say that death cannot be reversed to life, but undead are the most terrible of abominations.
Throughout my dreams, flashes of pure emotion came through, rage, disgust, fear. Along with these images came what I must assume caused these emotions. A dracolich. The most hated enemy of every living dragon. But senses from the dream make it seem like it is not certain. Tamara is not sure that the thing actually exists, but if it does, one of dragon descent must be among those that bring it down.
Upon waking I knew what I must do. I was uncertain of my quest, uncertain that I should believe these dreams. Uncertain that these dreams were even real, or just something coming from some bad achthend. Regardless of the source, I believe that I must go on this quest. Even if there is no dracolich, there will be adventurers in need of healing.

Physical description: (5’4” 140lbs) - Fisskvar stands slightly shorter than his average human counterpart, but it’s hard to miss him in his elaborate robes. Despite his (uncommon) devotion to a single deity, Her Mercy Tamara, and the vows he has taken as a healer of her temple, he has made his robes into the most elaborate garments possible. Fine gold embroidery borders every inch of his spotless pure white silk robes. Fisskvar’s draconic heritage has left him with a spectrum of colored scales, dark gold scales across his chest and wrapping around his midsection meld into emerald green covering his extremities. He has draconic wings, a heritage of his ancestry. The bones of the wings are golden, folding into green, then deep sapphiric blue. This green culminates into sapphire scales across his eyes and over the backs of his hands and tops of his feet. Gold eyes lie behind the blue mask, and a kind smile rests on his mouth.

[icon]

 

Here is my character info and sheets for Kalron and Archo

Name: Kalron Narsh
Race: Human
Homeland: Lenys
Class: Warmage
Wolf Companion: Archo

Alignment: Chaotic Good. Though Kalron truly believes in the virtues of good deeds and it’s morality, he has no qualms about disregarding peoples or groups laws to see that good is done. As Kalron has been remarked as saying, “I do not suffer fools gladly…”

Brief history: Born of the wild tribes of the Lenys, he is one of the few ‘cursed ones’ that crop up within their midst. Though being unwanted by the tribes of Lenys, he still holds true to his reverence of nature and his companion Archo. Kalron left the tribes at an extremely young age, when Archo was still a wolf cub. Wanderlust is a modus operandi for Kalron, moving from nation to nation, seeking whatever knowledge he might garner from them, and promoting good deeds wherever he may perform them. He has spent a large amount of time within the nation of Eodin studying arcane lore there, and also studying the history and techniques of the warmages of Delgor. During those travels, Kalron heard of the expedition to Quautomec and the tales associated with it. Seeking knowledge of something no one else has come back from alive; Kalron seizes his opportunity to join this expedition.

Motivation: Wanderer and scholar by nature, Kalron is attracted to anything that is ‘previously unknown’.

Physical description: He stands at a roughly average height of 5’8” and is of a stocky build. Often mistaken for a druid, in appearance. Kalron wears robe of leaf-green and crimson in overlapping patterns. He also adorns his robes with bear skins, having a bear-headed hood fashioned to his robes. His skin has a weatherworn look, which makes him look much older than he actually is, a feature that is accentuated by his long black ponytail and full beard of black hair, braided down the front.

Notes: I found this picture that portrays my idea of Kalron perfectly

 

[Insacrum]

Name: Laraek Dartak

Race: Lizardfolk (MM)

Homeland: Quautomec

Class: Barbarian

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral. Laraek has difficulty making decisions at times. It’s not that he can’t make decisions; it’s that he isn’t consistent about them. Sometimes he’ll run into a mob of 20 people, taking them on single handedly, another time, he'll run away from a single opponent, thinking it’s the best fight strategy at the time.

Some of Laraek’s actions might be viewed as evil to other party members, but given the upbringing Laraek had, these are merely actions that are normal among his people. It will take a little time and understanding to teach Laraek to not do these things (like eating those who have fallen by your hand in combat).

Motivation: Laraek is from Quautomec. Given his recent history, Laraek wants to figure out which of the four tribes slaughtered his tribe, and repay them in kind. The problem is figuring out which tribe did it. With the landing of the new comers, Laraek sees the possibility of not only a new tribe to be a part of, but also a way to figure out who destroyed his tribe.

Physical Description: Laraek is mostly grimy and dirty in appearance. He has mostly green and brown scales over sinewy muscle, with a grey-brown underbelly. Dirt and dust are caked and settled into, under, and between his scales.

He has an imposing presence at 6’ 9” with three feet of tale waving behind him. He doesn’t wear much in the way of clothing. He has some hide armor to go over his scale covered skin, but this only covers vital areas, not provide modesty. His most prominent feature is a head frill that runs from head to tail.

Lareak carries with him a large Greatsword, not made of metal, but instead of stone: a sharpened onyx veined with jade. The sword’s blade stands as tall as Laraek himself, making it seem odd that any creature his size could actually carry such a large sword, let alone wield it effectively.

Brief History/Personality: Laraek looked down at the large sword in his hands. He had been traveling for three days, eating whatever he could scavenge. He and the sword were most likely the last things from his tribe to survive from three days ago. That was when his tribe had been raided. He was awoken during the raid by one of the shaman’s and given the sword. He was given the task of surviving, and to keep the sword safe and out of the hands of the attackers. He wasn’t sure who it was that attacked, but assumed that it was one of the four warring tribes.

The shamans and lore keepers say the Four Tribes have been at war for over a thousand years. Laraek didn’t know if that was true, but he knew they had been at war since before he had been born. The shamans had stories of the old times. Back when all of the tribes, even the four, had been slaves; slaves to the Blighters. That was so long ago that even the shamans don’t know what really happened.

In the stories told Laraek, the Blighters had been slavers; slavers and imperialists. Either you submitted to them as their slaves, or you died at their slaves’ hands. The only ones who were ever able to resist the Blighters power were the Vadrai. Now that the Blighters and Vadrai were gone, it was the Four Tribes that fought to determine who ruled in their absence. The Blighters had left behind war, and the Vadrai had left behind their tower, and their metal men.

Throughout the years, the visage of the war would change. Allies would betray ally. Enemies would make pacts with enemy. As the makeup of the sides changed, the actual tribes didn’t. The main powers in the war were the Four Tribes, while the main casualties in the war were always the lesser tribes. And three days ago, it was Laraek’s tribe that had become a casualty.

Laraek looked around at his surroundings, getting his bearings, with the thunder of a waterfall in the short distance. He didn’t know where to go. It was obvious that the sanctuaries weren’t safe anymore. But he wouldn’t know where they were anyway; the shamans and lore-masters kept track of that. He wasn’t a prominent figure in his tribe, just a warrior. He wasn’t even a very good one.

He heard a noise in the brush. Laraek’s instincts kicked in. He picked up the sword and the rest of his gear and ran. He didn’t want to chance that a scouting party had found him. He couldn’t get captured or worse yet killed. He had a promise to uphold to his shaman. A promise to his shaman and the rest of his tribe. Seeing the waterfall in front of him, Laraek took a risk. He jumped.

Surely no scout would follow him, not matter the tribe they were from. He hit the water below, and managed to keep the heavy sword in his hands. He stayed underwater as long as he could, swimming down the river. The deer that had made the noise originally managed to see him dive off the cliff and down into the water. ’What strange creatures those large lizards are.’ it thought.

As Laraek finally emerged from the river, he had managed to make it almost to the coast of the island. Through the sparse brush, he saw a large craft upon the beach. From what he could tell, the creatures that the craft had carried where not happy with it. At least one of the creatures seemed to be kicking the thing, as it laid slightly off-kilter on shore. Several more of them seemed to be talking among each other, some pointing inland, others motioning to the craft, and the ocean. Laraek wasn't entirely sure, but perhaps these things could be helpful to him.
Secret text!

[Mal Radagast]

 

Ezri Zvesda
Race: Xeph
Class: Soulknife, spiced perhaps with something Roguish - she'd be fond of the term skillmonkey.
Homeland : Paulzenet



Description : Short of stature (5') and slim of build, Ezri could almost pass for an adolescent girl. Even her hair is short, except for the rat's tail at her neck. She grins as a child, too - in innocent mirth, and a genuine enjoyment of life. She's never had time to feel jaded, always finding some new interest or entertainment to occupy her mind. She loves to travel, not only for the sights but for the feeling of motion, of setting her goal on the horizon. And when she gets there? More horizons! Her bright brown eyes are often fixed on the next horizon, either literally or metaphorically. Even in conversation, she is nomadic - often waxing a bit philosophical. Her copper complexion is marked by only one tattoo, which she frequently has to explain is not the least bit psychic.

Alignment/Motivation : Neutral. Ezri really is a philosopher, at heart. Quietly observant...objective in her assessments - yet her judgements are often delivered offhand, cast out for anybody to agree or to disagree with, it doesn't much matter to her. It's a good-natured sort of apathy, to be sure. The sort of person some would call cold, others might call absent-minded...really she's neither, though she is a bit tactless. A lot tactless. Still, she's nearly impossible to rile, which is particularly good, as her insouciance tends to drive everyone else a little nuts.

Edit - Bringing Monk into her mechanic, I had to reassess her alignment. She's a curious Monk, to be sure, though I believe I am justified here. Wisdom is, after all, the most philosophical attribute - it's a distinction I often make, rather than the more classic intuition/street-smarts. Intelligence is what a person knows about the world; Wisdom is how a person considers the world. A certain amount of law is inherent in this consideration, at least the way Ezri approaches it. She likes to define words, to follow associations and trains of thought...often, she is looking for an objective definition, as she views the world as an objective place, as a landscape. You can move about, and your perspective of the landscape changes, yet the landscape itself does not. Often she has this image of a great carved column, with all the people in the world walking around it - you can't ever see it all at once, but you can keep walking, gathering more of it...well, now I digress, rather like Ezri herself might. I only meant to say that she is Lawful Neutral, and that her particular definition of Law has little to do with social conventions. [/ramble]

 

"What is the style of a soul?"
Sunlight glints and glances on steel and crystal, throws dancing lights across the small audience as the knives arc higher and higher. I glance at the people, I wink, and I watch my knives. Five crystal-hilt daggers, crystal to catch the light - quicker and simpler than yelling for their attention...and where is the style in that?
"Is the style of a soul an emotion? Is it a philosophy? Or is it, rather, a theme? Why...the plot of any story must follow some theme, must it not, or else it is ill-written. What is life, then, but a story, and you the character?"
A child's gasp as the sixth knife appears - and a clink of gold in my patchwork cap. Of course they couldn't see me draw that knife - it would seem to be purely crystal...yet this crystal does more than catch the light. The sixth knife moves among the others with a glint of its own...one bright spot at its center - one photon caught in an amber shard. Or a character caught up in a story.
"You see the hero of my own story - like the other characters, yes, but different. She is perhaps brighter in some respects. However, if need be..." The spark fades, and the dagger is lost in the spinning sequence, indistinguishable.
Someone claps, and more coins fall into the cap. I laugh, and turn a little bow. "Do not be so quick to applaud," I warn them. Once more the blade outshines its friends. "Is it so admirable a thing, a dim hero?" The crowd chuckles with me. "A hero must be as bright, as intense, as individual as a star."
"Stars look the same to me!" some cheery drunk shouts. Someone shouts back, "Shows what you know, eh?"
I raise one eyebrow, quirk a sly smile, and continue... "The style of a soul is written on the face of it - in features and expressions, in glances and glints. A sharp eye can read the soul as well as the expression. I wonder, are there as many faces as there are stars? Are there as many heroes?"
They didn't notice the first knife to vanish up my sleeve. "We all have so many faces, yes...but there is one which is true to them all. Many names, many values...yet there is one principle which governs them." Two more slip away, and the whispering begins, but I encourage the knives to fly a little faster...no need to be obvious for them. "That quality of integrity...it is the style of a soul. To weave the threads into a single...coherent...pattern..."
Laughter and applause as I continue tossing just one blade into the air. Turning, facing the audience now on all sides, I flourish the blade - playful...I balance it upon the tip of my finger.
"My soul is a knife. Nimble...precise...effective. Sharp. A useful tool, to a clear and clever mind. For is it not the mind which defines the soul? So, then, it is the soul which the mind must utilize. Without a soul, there isn't much of a mind, and without a mind..."
I toss my blade into the air, where it vanishes.
"...there is no soul."

This expanded backstory began in response to the challenge of an odd race in Charon's world, though it...ahm, seems to keep growing...still only partially developed, really. I suppose I'll add to it whenever I can manage...

 

There is a word for those of my...description. In the tongue of Paulzenet, from the very root of it, from the time before our words were blended with Aiohan and Eod...the language of science, some call it. This word – xeph – carries a host of meanings and associations...having picked them up, I suppose, as a wanderer through the ages. The word itself may mean wanderer, as many of us are, or sometimes madman...and a few of us are that, as well. Mostly it means odd, in a not unpleasant way. Only odd.

Of course, it also refers to a people. Oh, not a nation, or even a group really...a small fraction of the Paulzenetian people. We grow a bit smaller, a bit darker, than the rest and, well...a little odd. Quicker, for one thing, when we need to be...quicker to move and quicker to laugh, and you can bet there are a few good jokes about that. Quicker to know, sometimes...perhaps too quick. The xeph have a sort of magic, they say...well, Paulzenet cares little for such except as it works for their workings. If nothing else, there is a great national amusement at the frustration this causes in Eodin towers! Those mages are brimming with curiosity, hot and cold with it, indeed, to such extent that our shared border is...ah, let us merely say that there are particular codes of extradition where xeph are involved.

There is a history of xeph-lore – scholars who study nothing else, in some rare cases. (There is a scholar for everything in Paulzenet, is there not?) Many such tales refer to the origins of the xeph...several describe them as a separate people, with a hidden homeland, somewhere, of their own The southern isle is a favored location in many of these..lost in the deep of the jungles. More like, many say, that location is lost in the deeper well of time, a thousand years back or more...

When I was a little girl, my father took me by airship to the Rao islands – a curious place, with a curious story, founded by Paulzenet yet named in Aiohan. He told me how it was long the haven of pirates, rogues and makers of mischief...this, and the beauty of the landscape, imbue the location with a romantic reputation. Indeed, though it seems that no one does recall when, the islands have come to be known as the islands of Rao-Xeph. A remark on their oddness, yes, and also a recognition, one must suppose, of the two halves of the place. Two owners, I might almost say, except that neither nation could truly be said to claim that place. If it is owned by anyone, it is the Librarians. Librarian-monks, more truly...an odd sect, warily acknowledged by both nations, yet warmly accepted by neither.

There are old ruins spread over the islands, temples perhaps, though I would not assert such with any great confidence. I might rather name them the ruins of institutions, though...odd...ones. I should know, as any child would who grew up among the myriad institutes of Paulzenet. Old stone buildings are set among the more solid rock formations, connected here and there by old wild paths, half-tended now by quiet their pedagogues. Between the ruins and the Librarians, my father was drawn to the place and fascinated by it. He was...oh, there are many words for what he was...archeologist, anthropologist, sociologist...most of these do not translate well from Zenetian, and even then only describe a part of his attention. Call him a historian, though he wouldn’t like it – too passive a word, he used to say.

He made that place his life’s masterwork, and we returned with frequency throughout my childhood. Often he would leave me there while he made other sojourns to farther locations...if you know our culture, you realize that this was not neglect. It is a valued aspect of our culture, the wisdom of liberty – no Paulzenetian parent wishes to impose on their child, nor allows their child to impose upon them. This way, neither party is abused or slighted. Independence of thought and emotion from arbitrary authorites, to prevent irrational decisions or conclusions...as a proper Paulzenetian scholar might put it, which I suppose I am not quite. I have learned too much from the librarian-monks, you see...they sit there, on the border, collecting information from any passing vessel, recruiting the occasional member from any scholar too xeph for their culture...

...

I do recall one particular friend, a Khagraskan engineer, Stellan. Khagaskra keeps their industry quiet...if Paulzenet were more attentive, they might wonder why, though then again I’d rather be inattentive than interfering... Stellan, though...he used to give me precioius stones to play with, and later to craft; though our stoneworks were both rather less than brilliant, they were ours. Among other things, he taught me to appreciate this. The old Khagraskan had been everywhere, it seemed...he had left his home as a disgruntled youth, worked his way through Lenys in a Muulstani caravan, then through most of the Muulstani city-states, guarding, repairing, and learning that he had an almost Muulstani talent for appraising. He wandered Paulzenet as well as any xeph, then, learned what he could, and fell enamored of an Aiohan woman. Following her north, he first encountered the libraries of Rao-Xeph – to return in later times, a social exile. He thought to find a place in Khagraska, with an Aiohan wife and a Muulstani mind for business; the Guild takes care of its own, yes...but then, it does not allow for anyone else. The woman is a high priestess, now, of extraordinary ability, and she visits him often. They are happy, I think.

Stellan did tell me many things, oftimes teaching and othertimes tales...what he taught me most is how to paint a picture. Not pigment on parchment...that was his lady’s work. He would tell, though, as he sat by her and she worked to capture that romantic island scape...he would talk of her work as though she had captured the world itself, all its thoughts and meanings...all the secrets of it in her strokes and sight. “Perception,” he would say, “is a weighted word. Not unlike the home I was raised in...you see only a door in the mountain’s face, among many doors...but inside, many rooms, and deeper doors.” He would chuckle, light yet harsh against his throat. “The word requires itself, to define, doesn’t it? Watch the world, young Zvesda, and you will see...” He would pause, to take a prism from his pocket, to hold it up to bright sunlight, bathing himself in spots of color. Then he would toss the stone to me, with which to do the same, to see it for myself. “They don’t have those in Khagraska. Stones of all kinds, but not those. The world is filled with white light, you know...and it only takes a stone like that and an interested eye, to see that every inch of light is full of color.”

Here the painterly woman would nod and smile at him so warm, proud...she seldom spoke, yet expressed much. He would pause to smile back before going on. “Only some of them,” he gestured vaguely out beyond the painted landscape, “even see the light right in front of them. Most people only look where the light points. Yet some...some few...can see the places and the things, and they can see the light...and they can see the composition of it, the thousand colors of it! A complex and beautiful world, in a myriad manner!” So often, he would sigh, such as a man does following a sating meal or drink. It made me laugh, as a girl, to picture it. “Don’t only see the red,” he would tell me, “or the green, or the blue of a thing. See it all, savor it, capture it!”

...

I hadn’t known, at first, that he referred, in part, to the people in the world as well. Each person may be divided into their many colors, as may many people be divided into individuals, as may nations, and it is through the analysis of such divisions, their understanding, that integrity is achieved. Another librarian, a Lenysian chymist, lent me books of nature, showed me the shape of it, and I learned of spirals and fractals. When my father was home, he told me the old myths and the new philosophies, and he taught me to see where they connect – in symbols, images and metaphors.

I came to wish to see these things, these places, to find and analyze these divisions of my own, to maintain my integrity across a wider landscape. No one among them argued against it – a healthy desire – and passage was arranged for me to the continent again. Having seen much of Paulzenet already, I chose to go north.

Now a young woman – fierce and proud and clever, yet without occupation – I set off on foot, thinking my wits to provide my fortune. Luck was quickly encountered in a passing bard and his partner, who thought a xeph might bring them luck in turn. The bard, a young halfling, though older than myself, explained how they had been, until recently, assistants to a prominant Eodin wizard. Unjustly accused of misplacing the wizard’s displacer beast, they had been...compelled...to quit the tower in some haste, after the subsequent discovery that the beast was guarding an artifact of some value...simply and speedily stolen upon the loss of its guard. Obviously not their fault, decryed the bard...the partner, a younger half-elf, began to whistle.

I shall not bore you with every scrap and story of my wanderlust...we three tumbled and played through the pubs of Aioha (not half so interesting as the pubs of Muulstan, yet better furnished), learning from one another as we went. The half-elf, a talented illusionist, conjured lights and costumes to capture attentions...the halfling owned an eager appreciation for knives, and for tossing them about while telling tales...a habit I’ve adopted, over time, with some few alterations of my own. Some nights we would perform epics, with grand combat and illusory blood falling on the onlookers...some days we would balance and tumble...at least, until the incident of the Aiohan art merchant.

[Yogge Mothi]

 

Name: Maia Eusio
Race: Human
Homeland: Eodin
Class: Cloistered Cleric (Community, Healing, and Knowledge domains)

Alignment: Maia is an incredibly kind and motherly individual who always considers others' well being when making decisions. Doing the right thing is all that matters to Maia, regardless of what her personal feelings or the law might dictate. Seeking to give more than she receives, she is Neutral Good.

Brief history: Maia was a midwife and healer on the mainland. Her extensive studies of the humanoid body have given her great insight into how both mundane and magical healing works. In combination with her years of experience delivering babies and tending wounds, her talent is immense.

Motivation: Always a humanitarian, Maia felt divinely inspired to provide aid to the brave explorers embarking on this perilous journey. Her skills were greatly welcomed when she volunteered and she is certain she will be able to do much good in the coming days. Unbeknownst to others, she also longs to leave her previous life behind (see Notes section below).

Physical description: Maia has very long golden brown hair, amber eyes, and lightly tanned skin. She stands 5'4" and has a motherly figure; not overweight, but with broad hips and full bosom.

Notes: Maia is haunted by her past, although she never shows it. She loves babies, as evidenced by her dedication to the midwife profession, but has never been blessed with children herself. In fact, her ex-husband recently left her because they could not conceive. Even though it is her ex-husband who was infertile, Maia doesn't know this and feels somewhat betrayed by the forces of life she worships. All she can do is maintain her faith that, one day, she too will know the joy of motherhood that she has been delivering to other women for so many years.

[kenneth]

 

Name: Vladimir Khomiakov

Race: Human

Homeland: Aioh

Class: Cloistered Cleric 1 (charm, craft + knowledge) / Paladin of Freedom 2 (PrC undecided)

Alignment: Chaotic Good (His oaths to protect individual liberty and those in need fall in line with his personal beliefs perfectly or he would never had made them. He takes the swearing of oaths very seriously, which is why he hadn't done it before his investiture or since.)

 

Brief History Born to wealth and bred for the priesthood, Vlad grew up knowing what he was going to do. This irked him. He played along, as much as he could, but wine and song called to him Freedom... Whimsy... He was nearly thrown out of seminary for his carousing and late night activities. His father intervened. "Discipline is what this boy needs. And vows to keep him in line." Again, someone else was determining his fate. Again, no one asked him what he wanted. He took the situation by the horns. He joined the Order of Liberty. His father was incensed. His mother tried but failed to hide her mirth. "At least he's serving the church," she said, trying to put a proper spin on it. "And, he's a paladin. What father wouldn't be proud of that?" His father fumed. Often, when the subject came up, the man's mustache would twitch and rock. This invariably sent his mother into a fit of giggles. Everyone else in the family was much better at keeping a straight face.

 

Motivations Vladimir came to the Isle of Quautomec for the same reason as everyone else: money. Wine and women aren't cheap. Plus, the cost of dressing the part of the gentleman gendarme is no modest thing. Oh, yes, then there's that whole protecting the weak and stamping out tyranny... thing. Honestly, he's hoping the reason no one ever returned from the place is that it's so lovely, no one wants to leave. He's no stranger to bloodshed, though, and loves a good brawl as well as the next man. However, actual fighting and killing is... unpleasant. All the same, he didn't pack his armor and a stout blade because he expected a party. Vlad came expecting war. The party, of course, comes after.

 

Physical Description Vladimir is tall, at just under six feet, with dark of hair and eyes. He's a strikingly hansom man with strong masculine features. He's prone to broad smiles and unrestrained laughter. His voice is a smooth baritone. His armor is enameled black, with bronze highlights and set with a pair of sapphires on the breastplate. His clothes, though clearly showing wear, are of dark velvet and red silk. He wears his hair long and unrestrained so that it flows from under his helm like a mane.

 

Proposed Build Cloistered Cleric (from Unearthed Arcana pg. 50) HD: d6 Added skills: Decipher Script, Speak Language, all Knowledge skills, and 6 + Int skill points per level Gains: Lore (Ex): as Bard, Knowledge domain, extra spells to list Paladin of Freedom (from Unearthed Arcana pg.53) Substitution: Bluff replaces Diplomacy Substitution: 3rd level Aura of Resolve (Su) replaces Aura of Courage (Su) Substitution: gain the spells protection from law, magic circle against law, remove curse, dispel law, freedom of movement lose the spells death ward, discern lies, dispel chaos, magic circle against chaos, protection from chaos Alternate Class Feature: Charging Smite (Su) (from Player's Handbook II pg. 53) replaces Special Mount Statistics: Str 14 Dex 10 Con 14 Int 12 Wis 15 Chr 16 Feats and Abilities: 1st Cloistered Cleric 1 -=- Turn Undead -=- Feat: Power Attack, Human Feat: Divine Might (from Complete Warrior pg. 106) 2nd Paladin of Freedom 1 -=- Aura of Good, Detect Evil, Smite Evil 1/day 3rd Paladin of Freedom 2 -=- Divine Grace, Lay on Hands -=- Feat: Divine Vigor (from Complete Warrior pg. 106) and eventually 4th Paladin of Freedom 3 -=- Aura of Resolve, Divine health 5th Paladin of Freedom 4 -=- Turn Undead, Spell Casting 6th Paladin of Freedom 5 -=- Smite evil 2/day, Charging Smite -=- Feat: Battle Blessing (from Complete Champion pg. 55)

[Demian Rex]

Name: Antael Daywalker Familiar: Screech
Race: Elf (Arcane Focus Alternate Racial Trait)
Homeland: Khagraska
Class: Ranger 1 / Wizard 4 (will PrC Eldritch Knight)
Alignment: Neutral Good - fights against the forces of darkness deep within his homeland. Tries to follow the laws of his people to the best of his ability, but is well aware of the good that can be accomplished when the rules are bent or even broken.

Brief history:
Antael Shir'Rylia, as was his birth name, grew up in a community of Elves who made their home deep within the underground nation of Khagraska. Not normally an environment suited to their race, they learned to adapt and even borrow some of the customs of their normally hated Drow kin. In some cases, cross breeding even occurred, though no elf would admit to it. Be that as it may, some of the Kagraskan Elves began showing hints of Drow heritage, namely in respect to their ability to see better in pitch black darkness. Instead of being viewed as a curse, this new hereditary trait was seen as a blessing as it greatly aided those who had it in their day to day lives.

Antael, unfortunately, was not one of these Elves. By the time he grew into adulthood, having "Drow Vision" was a requirement in all but the most basic of militia troops. Normal Elven communities were not this strict, however Khagraska could not afford leniency as they were constantly under attack by the forces of darkness they had chosen to live so close to. This did not stop Antael from trying to join the most elite of the demonslayers. While he was able to make it through every other part of training, there was just nothing he could do to make his eyes more accustomed to the conditions here. Because of this, he was denied entry to the special tasks unit, and left humiliated by his peers who laughed him out of the room.

Pride shattered, Antael never the less jumped back to his feet and began searching for some way to improve his own vision. Naturally, he turned to magics, a skill many of his kin aptly possessed. He still maintained his proficeincy with the sword, knowing he would eventually come back to it. However, during his magical tutelage, he quickly realized that he was greatly adept, even with the martial training he was doing on the side. He quickly dove in to the mysteries of the arcane, learning as much as he could to bring to "the fight". He tried to reapply for the special operations demon unit once more, but they denied him again. Even with the necessary magics to effectively give himself Drow vision, the Elder Council and military leaders deemed that it must be natural Drow vision, mentioning something about no-magic aura effects and other political rhetoric.

Furious, Andael stormed off. He trashed his room in a fit of rage, trying to do anything to calm himself down. That's when he saw it, a book written about ancient legends of the Isle of Quautomec. Not sure why this particular book seemed to call to him, he picked it up and began reading. The stories it told were fantastic, many too good to be true. However, legends tend to have a way of proving at least part of themselves true. The part of each legend that caught Andael the most was always the mention of some great power, item, or place tied, somehow, to the evils of the world. In each storiy, this thing changed from many different interpretations, but always there was some representation of it. He spent many days researching it through various sources, and no matter where he looked or what he read, one thought burned strong in his mind... Something about this must be true!

Ecstatic, Andael raced to the Council's chamber. Maybe he could not join the subterranean fight, but now a glimmer of hope sprang up that he could make an appreciable difference up there. The Council, however, was not so enthused. They called it a fool's errand, one that would likely be fruitless and simply waste money and manpower. Andael's blood boiled in anger, he verbally lashed out at the Council, admonishing their poor neglegence and lack of foresight. They were almost ready to remove him from the chambers when he finally calmed and pleaded one last time, "What does it matter to you that I go on this qwest? I am an Unseeing One, not useful in the grand scheme of things. Even being trained in the art of magic doesn't hide the fact that I will be doing rather menial tasks here. If I go, though, and my intuition and knowledge prove true, then you will have risked very little to gain almost everything. I won't even take an escort, I don't want one. I can do this on my own if you just give me the chance!"

Thinking on the words he spoke, the Council agreed, there really wasn't anything to lose so long as they didn't need to send any of their real soldiers out to protect this Elf kid. They gave him permission to leave, but not before stripping him of his birth name, as their Law required of anyone deserting the community. They did give him one concession, though, the name they game him was not one of usual humiliation.

Andael quickly left for top side. After several days of wandering around almost blindly in the sunlight, he stumbled upon a poster requesting volunteers to journey to the Isle of Quautomec. Seeing this as a sign, he hurried in to town to apply. The ship left the very next day.

Motivation:
As evident from his background, Andael is motivated by 3 main things: love for his people, the desire to make a difference, and pride. While the first two are fairly obvious, pride sticks out as an almost frivilous concern. To Andael, however, it is a huge driving factor. He will never allow any failure to return him to the state of humiliation he endured so many years ago. Not only that, returning to Khagraska empty-handed would bring much disgrace to himself and his family and leave him shunned as an outcast or even exiled.

Physical description:
As is common for the Elves living in Khagraska, Andael is shorter and slightly stockier than the average elf. His skin is a dull gray, almost sickly looking, from a lifetime spent out of reach of the suns rays. Similarly, his eyes are a muted blue-gray. Since his time above ground, however, bright sapphire-blue streaks have started to appear in his irises. He Has no other obvious defining marks save from other members of his clan, his lack of scars and worn skin. Apart from the disquieting color, his skin is nearly perfect, smooth, and supple.

[Sir Alex]

Name: Tamlin Raathil
Race: Human
Homeland: Eodin
Class: Magus
Alignment: Neutral Good. Tamlin is an upright young man but his morals are couched in terms of financial stability and profit. Not any particular ideal or ideology.

History & Motivation:
He grew up free from any want, but the one thing he ever needed was taken from him. He will pursue any clue or traverse any dangerous horizon, just to get her back.

Tamlin was born into the prestigious Raathil merchant clan. As the first son of Preskit Raathil, he became a scion of the family business. Prospective business partners were seeking him out even before he reached the age of majority. Young women flirted and made salacious offers. Tamlin grew into his prime, recognized as an intelligent, capable, and wealthy lad. He could balance the ledgers. He excelled at swordplay. Nor was he a stranger to his nation’s magic, and the currents of arcana were soon bent to his will.

Then he fell in love. It was beyond expectation. He had never realized he was only half a man until he met Yerri. She completed him, like the charcoal that tempers iron into steel. Together they reforged themselves into an alloy of love and mutual respect that knew no bounds. Yerri was his soulmate.

The accident took her from him. A ley line ruptured beneath the earth, wreaking havoc across a span of miles. Tamlin was scorched...but Yerri was cast into an arcane rift. She lingered there, preserved in a stasis effect but utterly beyond reach. Only scrying could touch her; no spell known to the Eodin mages could recover her.

There were rumors, however. The Island of Quauntomec was said to possess many secrets. Ancient ruins. A system of magic lost to the ages. It was Tamlin’s only hope. He had already been interested in the expedition, albeit abstractly. He knew that curiosity alone could never have justified his abandoning the family responsibilities. With Yerri’s plight, the equation changed. The Raathils took pity on the young man. They understood that any other path would be unacceptable to him.

He was given formal leave to depart. One day, perhaps, he will return with the spell to free his lady.

Physical description: Tamlin has the dark hair and fair complexion that grace most of the family portraits. His physique is lean and potent. He has impeccable manners. Yet, for all his class, there is a tension that emerges in the occasional catch in his voice or flash in his eye.

[WarriorPrincess]

Name: Ariel Vanyataur

Race: Elf

Homeland: Eodin

Class: Wizard/Enchantress

Alignment: Chaotic Good. She is very concerned with ethics, but in keeping with Elven memories older than governments, no particular law is given privilege over doing what is ultimately right. Deception is a perfectly functional tool to the enlightened mind so long as it isn't wielded for malicious ends, but 'the ends justifies the means' is a bizarre human corruption of flexibility which should be wielded in defense of goodness, not the power of corrupt leaders.

Brief History: Ariel Eliah Verafel Vanyataur, daughter of Eliah Vanyataur and Andaher Verafel was born and raised near the capital of Eodin, in a quiet seaport, by loving parents. They remain alive to this day, and nothing truly tragic happened to Ariel at any point in her development. Unusually heavy for an Elf, this quirk in her appearance remains largely unknown to her due to a life spent among humans who fail to notice, or at least fail to care. Her favorite food is lamb braised in cherries, and her favorite colors are yellow and blue, just like her hair and eyes, respectively. She was encouraged to paint from an early age by her mother, and took to it excitedly. Drawing studies for her paintings has occupied much of her time spent on long walks through the wilderness.
Ariel demonstrated a talent for wizardry at a very young age, rising to the occasion of her parents’ hopes, being both wizards themselves. Her ability to harness limited magical powers while still a very young child was quite impressive. The floating lights and objects did frighten the neighbors’ dog, however.
Quickly developing a reputation for empathy and gregariousness, Ariel became fast friends with almost everyone from a very young age. Unfortunately, one day she was playing at the docks when a porter bumped into her from behind, knocking young Ariel into the freezing port waters. She remains afraid of sailors to this day.
After twelve decades of life, Ariel has developed a highly gregarious and hopelessly romantic personality, the sheer number of relationships of all sorts she has amassed in her lifetime is truly vast. Friends and lovers too numerous to list have floated in and out of her life like the bright chords of a symphony. She has also been somewhat numbed by the deaths of many around her, learning to accept the loss of friends over the last century.

Motivation: Life can be so boring without something to do, and a mysterious land is just the sort of intellectual exercise that might liven things up. Perhaps something good can come from these magics everyone is so excited about.

Physical Description: Very fair skinned, with golden hair and mountain lake-blue eyes, she is shorter and plumper than one might expect from an elf, but her delicate features stand up to a double take. She has the look of a pampered intellectual, lacking any physical signs of athleticism, but prefers the light, breathable outfits of someone who doesn't want to inhibit their movements. She is accompanied by a plump, golden songbird that coincidentally matches her hair; the coordination between the bird's color and her outfits' is more deliberate.

 

Updated!