[PF-1e] Giantslayers

[Winterwind]

Withdrawn, sorry this one sort of got lost in the shuffle.

[Jarl11]

Wow - great first day up on the thread guys! Glad to see so many new faces and very glad to see that there's enthusiasm for the game!

Originally Posted by Starspawn

The Background ended up being A LOT longer than I wanted it too. Hope that doesn't turn you off of my character.

There's some pretty fierce competition here with the RPG Crossing veterans. I hope a whelp like me can stand a chance among the big dogs.

Length doesn't look like an issue, Starspawn. Do see that you edited it since commenting though. Content is more important than size to me. The giants wouldn't agree there... And don't worry about being treated fairly! You'll be compared with everyone else evenly, based on the depth, creativeness and compatibility of your character. So take your time to flush her out - make her believable, memorable, and tie in all the components to let me understand them (traits, beliefs, goals, background, etc). If you love it, there's a better chance I will too.

I can give a review once we get about a week from the deadline, for those that want one.

Keep up the good work, guys!

[Neqq]

Originally Posted by Jarl11

I felt like this part of the ad spoke directly to me. I don't why? Perhaps it's because my name is Dave.

Jarl has the making of a great GM. He is a super reliable poster both in terms of reliability and quality. He has a wicked sense of humour and a razor sharp wit. Most importantly he has an evil streak that is sure to place your PCs in a world of trouble. So put in app.

With that said I will take my own advice and begin contemplating my options.

[tracman]

Jerreth Pilkins III

Race: Halfling
Class: Bard
Alignment: Chaotic Good - Jerreth is good-hearted and enjoys being able to aid others, but can also be quite mischievous and perhaps immature at times as well. He is the type that will trip you, but then help you back up after a good laugh.

Traits: WIP

Description: Somewhat short for even a halfing, Jerreth Pilkins III certainly makes up for his short stature with an even bigger personality. If there were one word to describe Jerreth, it would be: radiating. He has fiery red hair, which many people joke matches his fiery persona, that seems to spike up in all directions naturally. His eyes shine with a bright emerald-green shine, certainly helpful for charming over the ladies. swoon Jerreth adorns himself with quite colorful clothing, various knick-knacks and musical-related objects hanging off of his belt and pack. His lute, if not cradled in his hands, can be found carefully strapped to his back.

Beliefs: WIP

Goals: WIP

Fears: As one who constantly loves surrounding himself in good company and merry times, Jerreth is most afraid of finding himself all alone in life. Not alone in the literal sense, but meaning that he hopes that the connections he makes with other people aren't superficial. He wants the reassurance that there are people who actually care about him as opposed to simply being just friendly with him. Particularly being in a profession where he makes many new acquaintances regularly, Jerreth has learned quite quickly that true friends are hard to come by.

Background: WIP

Trunau: WIP

Posting Rate: 1/day minimum, at least currently.

[Mcderth]

Application Name: Felix Mansfeld Race: Human Alignment: CG Class: Ranger Dragon Hunter Archetype Traits: Dragonfoe, Draconic Vigil (Regional: Lastwall)   Description Sitting at the corner table of the Killin’ Grounds you take another draw of the tankard in your hand. You were told there was a man coming that you just had to meet, but you’re a busy man. With so many other appointments to attend to and considerations that need to be made waiting here is no easy task. You are just about to get up and leave when the door opens and a figure steps through the door and in to the room. At first glance, the sheer size of the silhouette has you convinced that a fully grown orc warrior has entered. Just as quickly as the thought enters your mind you see that you were mistaken. A man, standing nearly seven feet tall scans the room with his eyes finally coming to rest on you. His shoulders are as broad as an ox’s, his chest as big around as a full grown oak and with arms so thick it looks as though he would have no trouble wrestling a bear. In one hand he holds a polearm, the shaft nearly nine feet long. The wicked steel tip adding another foot in length, has a hook on the side. With the other hand he pulls off his leather helmet revealing a head shaved, smooth and glistening with sweat. He walks towards you with smooth and purposeful steps, his boots making a heavy thud with every step. As he moves closer you notice that the leather armor he wears has the insignia of the Vigil of Lastwall stamped on to the chest and shoulder plates. His hands and forearms are wrapped in leather gloves, metal spikes worked into the knuckles. His eyes are a deep brown, the grand moustache that he sports nearly the same color. It makes him look older than the rest of his face, shave it off and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was just coming into his early twenties. His skin is tanned from years in the sun, the tips of his fingers calloused from work of some sort or another, but no great scars are visible on him. Either he has never known a battle or has managed to come through them unscathed. It only takes his long strides half a moment to cross the distance between you before he's there, towering above you, staring down intensely. Are you the man I talk to about a job? he asks in a smooth, deep baritone voice. The accent of Longwall is strong in his words. As you nod a smile breaks out across his face. Ah, good. I’m new in town and was afraid I was in the wrong place. He slaps you across the back then sits down across from you, the chair groaning slightly in protest to his weight. "Bartender", he calls out, "two of your finest meads here for my friend and I!" He looks over at you then, still beaming. Are you hungry? No? Well I know I could use a hot meal. As you speak to him he tells you a little of his past, of what he’s doing out here and where he wants to go. It’s quite evident that he is a man quick to make a joke. He is lighthearted and quite free with his money as he makes sure that your cup is never dry. Eventually though, the time comes for you to depart and he stands as you do, offering you his hand. It was good to meet you, friend. My arm is at your disposal should you feel the need for it. Still, I’m sure you’ll find a great group of people to help you along no matter what your decision. Beliefs The Greater Good: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, especially when it comes to his own life. His years of training to be a member of the Vigil of Lastwall have instilled in him that his own life isn’t as important as the lives of those he has sworn to protect. He’ll give no though to dying to insure the safety of those that he belives are in his charge. Books Aren't Covers: Rich or poor, noble or common, healthy or sick, thief or knight, none of that can truly tell you the heart of a man. You have to really get to know someone before you can tell who they are, and he's not above giving everyone a chance to show him who they really are. No Second Chances, I'm That Sort of Man He's willing to give anyone a chance to prove themselves, and show anyone that ask for it mercy. But burn him once and it's something he will never, ever forget. Goals Become a full member of the Draconic Vigil: Felix has already become an initiate into the rather newly formed and secretive Draconic Vigil. In order to become a full member he must gather at least one vile of blood from the heart of a dragon he landed the killing blow upon. Once obtained Felix will be able to use it in an arcane rite that will bind his blood with that of the dragon, allowing him to Or in game terms, gain a level of Sorcerer and then become a Dragon Discipleabsorb and even grow its power for himself. Protect the people of Lastwall His whole life Felix has trained to become a member of the Vigil and protect his country (and in turn everyone else). But with so many people now going to try and hold back the Worldwound the defenders of Lastwall know it’s only a matter of time before the orc hordes (or maybe something worse?) that lie across its western border make what could be the final push that crushes them. If Felix could find a way to neutralize any threats to Lastwall in the Hold of Belkzen that’s more lives of friends and innocents saved. Last the long haul As a player I would love to make it all the way through the first adventure, if not the whole dang path. In all my years here I've never managed to get that far, both because of DM dropouts and RL issues of my own. Fears Irrelevance in a massive world : Is everything that he’s trying to do with his life nothing more than the impotent screams of a man trying to hold back the inevitable tide? Even if he were to somehow able to find the power to kill Zedoran and the Whispering Tyrant once and for all would it even matter? The hoards from Belkzen still eat away at his homeland piece by piece. Undead and other monsters are still a blight upon the land. And of course there are the demon of the Worldwound now beating at the gate. What can one person really do against all that? What can one little man do against the tide. Disappointing his father: His father's love and respect mean the world to him. So far he has shown a great deal of trust and faith in Felix, and sometimes he worries that he won't be able to live up to his father's expectations and hopes. Background Quick points: Born in Lastwall. Raised near Castle Everstand. Father the founder of secret dragon hunting order within the Vigil, dedicated to fighting the ancient green dragon Zedoran and his allies. Was granted membership into Dragonic Vigil as initiate. Now questing to protect the people of Lastwall, slay a dragon, and become a full member of the order.   Felix was born in to one of the house's minor of a noble family of the city of Lastwall. His father Heinrich and mother Veena had been promised to each other since their childhood, and while they never grew to love one another in any sort of romantic sense there was always a mutual respect between the two. Still they loved Felix greatly, and he never felt lacking during his childhood. His father was a scout for the Vigil and an officer at Castle Everstand, and as such Felix’s mother and he lived there also. Growing up inside the walls of the keep allowed him to see firsthand the devastation orcs could wreak, both those from Belkzen and the tribes living in the Fangwood. The latter seeming to be allied with Zedoran, an ancient green dragon that had lived within the wood since the time of the Whispering Tyrant. His father told tales of devastation and horror that the dragon and his cohorts had committed in the past, as well as the heroic exploits of himself and Felix’s grandfather. When Felix was eight his father was sent on a scouting mission to the Hold of Belkzen. It was to be a rather simple affair. Check the strength of the enemy tribes nearby and look for any signs that they may be massing or forming some other form of alliance between them. Missions of this sort normally took six months at the absolute most but Felix and his mother didn’t hear from Heinrich for more than two years. During that time Felix was constantly worried about his father, wondering what could be going on. For her part, Veena kept in contact with Heinrich’s superiors who always assured her that they were in contact with her husband and that he was still alive. Veena would always relay this information to Felix to try and cease his fears but it did little for him as he watched the other boy’s father’s leave and return. Finally the day did come that he returned to his post and family. He was much decorated and honored by the Precentor Martial for Scouting and even the Watcher-Lord himself. Many thought that Felix would hold resentment toward his father for being gone so long but he had been raised the stories of his father and grandfathers exploits, and felt nothing but pride toward his father. There was a little awkwardness between the two of them as they readjusted, but that quickly passed. Falling back in to their rolls Felix was soon sitting next to his father in the woods once more, listening to tales and exploits of the past. Added to these, were many stories from his time in the Keep. Stories of orcs and giants and even dragons. However Felix couldn't help but get the feeling that his father was holding some things back from his stories. When he would ask his father about it he would dismiss it or avoid answering. The boy was curious, but he never pried to deeply, always assuming there were some things his father couldn’t talk about. As the years went by Felix began to grow taller and stronger. The Mansfeld men had always been large of stature. At six and a half feet Heinrich being a fine example of this. But it quickly became apparent that Felix would outstrip even him. As the years went by his father began taking him out into the surrounding country, teaching him the arts of survival and general woodsmanship. He also made sure the boy knew how to pick up most any weapon and at least have a general knowledge of how to defend himself with it. Oddly he also began having Felix study certain books that he had acquired after his return from Belkzen. Mostly books about dragons, both broad facts about the creatures as well as books on how to best hunt and kill them. In some ways this seemed odd to Felix, as neither he nor his father had real been much for reading. But on the other hand he found the information fascinating, and mixed with his father’s stories the information really seemed to come to life in his mind. At the same time Keyron Saiville himself came down to give Heinrich a commission, as well as command over scouting missions involving the northern Fangwood. Not only that, but now he would report directly to Keyron himself. A couple men were put under his charge and soon the group began running missions in and around the Fangwood. Felix’s father kept much of what was going on there to himself, but unlike the old stories from his time in the Hold of Belkzen Felix could definitely understand why he kept this information to himself. Still some of Heinrich’s former comrades that seemed to dislike the idea that he no longer reported to anyone nearby, and felt that he was wasting resources and time running around the woods that could be better used against those in Gallowspire or the orcs of the Hold. Heinrich never seemed to let this bother him, however. There had never been any doubt in anyone’s mind that Felix would join the Vigil when he came of age, so when he turned eighteen he was quite excited to take up arms and join as a scout, just as his father had been. Indeed his father pulled a few strings and got Felix assigned to him, something the boy was more than excited for. However he had no idea just what a shock he was in for. As a newly minted initiate into the Draconic Vigil he was now able to hear his father’s whole tale. As it turned out Heinrich had run into a group of adventurers not long after he entered Hold territory. See the exciting adventure Skeletons of Scarwall for more information true believers! Excelsior!They were trying to get to Scarwall in order to obtain the holy sword Serithtial and try and defeat the remaining taint left by Korvosa, a blue dragon that had been thought defeated years before. Within the ruins of Scarwall they did indeed find the sword they were looking for. But Heinrich also found something, hidden in an ancient tome he happened upon. Inside was a secret and powerful ritual that could grant the recipient the power of dragons themselves, should they be brave enough to face the dangers. He adventurers left for Korvosa, but Heinrich declined, instead sending word to Keyron Saiville himself about the discovery, and offering to be the first test subject should he and the Watcher-Lord feel the risk could be worth the reward. His superiors did, and so Heinrich spent the next year and a half gathering the supplies necessary to perform the rite, including slaying a black dragon to obtain its heart blood. He returned to Vigil, and undertook the ceremony. Thankful it was a success, and soon Heinrich found himself growing stronger and tougher, growing claws, and even being able to cast arcane magics because of the blood coursing through his veins. A few other brave souls had secretly followed suit, being put under his command and beginning their work of destroying the minions of Zedoran. Keyron and the Watcher-Lord both hope that in time the group will be strong enough to push the evil green dragon from their land once and for all. Then who knows what kind of good they could do within the Hold of Belkzen. And so now, his mother and father looking on from Castle Everstand, Felix finds himself sent on a quest not unlike his father undertook all those years ago. He is to scout as much of the Hold as he can. He is to destroy any and all enemies that pose a threat to the citizens of Lastwall, as well as those places lost to his people if he is able. And should he come across a dragon, he is to pack at least one vile of its blood away for safe keeping… Trunau Ostensibly he has ventured into Hold of Belkzen territory on a scouting mission to see what the ancient foes of Lastwall are doing, to lay waste any enemies that may threaten his home, and to help protect the people left behind by Lastwall's failed defense of their old borders. Though if he happens to meet a few strong companions that could help him slay a dragon he defiantly wouldn't complain. Optional additions! Posting Rate: Once a day, give or take. Music / Character Entrance Song: Dovahkiin Song Other: Have I told you that you look amazing today, and I forgive you for being an upper? I also come into this game knowing that we may not see a dragon for many months in RL time, if not longer. I'm 100% ok with that. I still think he would be a fun character to play, and I hear a dragon slayer may come in handy in the later mods   Name Felix's Opinion Valerius Well one can’t deny he’s is a striking young fellow, that’s for sure. His eyes could be the stuff of dreams or nightmares depending on what side of his personal battle you are deemed. We are close to the same age, yet Valerius has seen so much more pain than I can imagine, and made an enemy more powerful than I would ever want. I can only hope that he’s as good at picking friends as enemies. Otherwise I may be in for a world of pain down the line. Still, when I look at him I can’t help thinking But for the grace of the gods go I. What if my father had a bit more noble blood in him, or my family’s legacy more darkness than light? Would I be a much different man than he? I pray I never know. Orrin I’m not entirely sure what to make of Orrin. He is probably the oddest looking man I have ever come across, but that stony exterior seems to only be skin deep. Still, he lives by a code that I’m not entirely sure I can fully understand. Balance and order are all well and good in theory, but outside of the lonely mountains and plains they are rarely ever seen. And as a man bred in civilization I can’t honestly say that’s a bad thing. I can’t think of a time that I wouldn’t want the civilizing hand of man pushing aside the barbarity in the Mindspin Mountains. Of course I wouldn’t mind discussing with him where I could be wrong. Barnabus Now here’s a lad I would be glad to share a pint with! I’m sure most of his stories are hogwash, but that doesn’t make him bad by any means, only… interesting. A few white lies to spice up a nights drinking aren’t a bad thing at all, so long as the person telling them can be trusted when your backs against the wall. And I have no doubt about this one. I do find it interesting we have so many values in common, even though we seem to be coming at it from different sides of the coin. Our hatred of a bully, love of a good fight and a good time, appreciation of great facial hair, even our quests to gain our own type of familial glory. He’s a b---y fine fellow, and can count on my steel backing him up any day. Asgeirr I must admit, I’ve never been much for religion. Too much intrigue and drama between the gods, and gods and demon lords, and the demon lords and archdevils, and all of them against humanity. I’ve also never been drawn to books and the wealth of knowledge they can impart. But if there was a religion I could get behind, or someone whose opinion on something I would enjoy reading I’m pretty sure Asgeirr has the answers I’m looking for. The whole "Drink and fight 'till you die, then drink and fight some more." bits of his religion definitely hold a little appeal to me. Guess that's where his is love of a good drink and fighting ability come from. I’ll gladly trade some time listening to stories of his one eyed god if it means he’ll be standing beside me in battle. Sky It’s a rare day that I meet someone that can actually intimidate me. Sky is one of those people. On the surfice she seems like a nice enough young woman, and someone capable enough in battle (who knows, she may even be able to take me down a peg). But every so often when she tells a story or speaks of certain things I can’t help but see the raging fire burning inside of her. Were she ever to lose control of that fire I’m afraid it would consume her, and everything and everyone around her, faster than she can even begin to imagine. Hrotha There’s just something about Hrotha that I can’t get out of my mind. I definitely find her strikingly beautiful in her own exotic way. She seems quite funny and personable also, I can’t help but have a big smile whenever I’m around her. But even more so I feel that she has a true heart of gold that is weighed down for reasons I can’t begin to imagine. She’s a good person if I’ve ever met one, it breaks my heart that she seems to worry about that sometimes. Part of me just wants to wrap her up in my arms and let her know everything is going to be ok. The other part feels guilty, after all in some ways she’s still just a kid. I’m definitely torn inside just thinking about her. I’m sure it’s a moot point at any rate, since I can’t imagine her father would approve of a man like me. Hrotha did mention he is from Lastwall, maybe I’ll have to send my parents a letter and see if either of them have heard of him. Eghan I can’t say I expected to meet anyone on my trip that knew as many tails about dragons as I, but Eghan may actually be able to teach me a thing or two! He seems quite cheerful for one that has known so much loss and hardship. Growing up without your father must be a hard thing, I know that the few years my father was away it felt as though a piece of my heart was missing. I would be glad to help him revenge his father’s death, even if it had nothing to do with a dragon. Makkari A man not unlike me in so many ways, yet different in so many others. We are both honor bound to our countries, are willing to die for those in need, have fathers we wish to make proud. Yet our differences abound. He prefers intelligence and magic to strength and steel, and comes from an alien culture I can’t imagine. I have known precious few elves in my day, and the knowledge that the “young” man before me was alive when my grandfather was a lad is disconcerting to me. Were I to live as long as he has while seeing the world continue to fall as it does I fear I would become jaded at best, openly cynical of everything at worst. But he seems to still be an optimist. Maybe it's an elven thing. He is a well-trained though, and a seemingly confident combatant. Should magic be needed I’m sure I wouldn’t turn down his aid. Sophitia I can’t stand a bully, and despite most people’s perceptions not all bullies are strong brutes. Some can use guile and wits to exploit people. Sophitia’s that kind of person if ever I saw one. Using her natural abilities to get whatever she wants from others. I hate to burst the princess’ bubble, but not a damn thing in this world is owed her because of who she is, let alone who her daddy may be. Gods help her if I ever find out she used some of her little magic tricks on me. Maybe a few years on the road will do her good. Let her see the real world for what it is. But unless she learns some hard lessons, and soon, I’m going to be damn glad when she leaves this town and my sight for good. Anders He seems a good fellow from what I can tell. He’s another one of those religious types (gods there seems to be many of them here in Trunau, I wonder if it the stress of the town always feeling besieged brings out the more faithful side of these people). He looks to be a fair hand with that custom sized longsword of his, I wouldn’t mind showing him a trick or two if he asked. Still, listening to him I would think he’d feel more comfortable singing a good song than swinging a sword at an orc’s face. Maybe that’s why it seems he’s always doubting himself so much, maybe he feels he’s on the wrong path. But a bit of good music and mirth go a long way, and I wouldn’t mind spending a bit more time with him. Kyra My but she’s a beauty. Not just in looks mind you, but in her every move and action. Kyra exudes fluid grace the same way I imagine I exude brute strength, in a quiet and natural way. It’s a marvel to watch her move. The fact that her heart seems as graceful and beautiful as the rest of her is something good to see also. I would love to spare with her once before we go our separate ways just to see what that would be like. This Vow of Truth that she has spoken of seems complicating though. Little white lies grease civilized society, everyone knows that’s an unspoken rule. I mean, what does she do when she’s asked how adorable a particularly ugly baby is, or a friend asks how bad they look in a particular piece of clothing? Does she just come right out and be blunt about it, or does she dance around the issue? Maybe she’s as nimble with her words as she is with her body. I suppose I could just ask her, after all she couldn’t lie to me about it. Sittania I know well the horrors that orcish raids can bring down upon a land, as do most of the citizens of Lastwall. That Sittania can seemingly forgive what happened to her in the past... well I have nothing but the utmost respect for someone like that. Revenge can be a damn dirty thing when you get right down to it, and too many people in this world seem to cling to the thought like a warm blanket. Still she’s so serious all the time, it’s quite disconcerting to see one of the short folk act so. I’m afraid to even offer her a drink, and that’s quite a shame. Get her to loosen up and have fun once in a while and I think with her natural talents and abilities we could make for a great team out there in the wilds.

[Blackfyre]

Valerius

Race: Human
Alignment: TN (I feel like I should add a note about the alignment, because I don’t think just “TN” does the character justice.
On the law/chaos scale, he definitely tends towards law. He still believes in a certain order of things and that laws are required to make society work, but they are not as set in stone as I think a LN char would probably see them.
On the good/evil scale he is closer to neutral atm, but leans towards good. He doesn’t want to be like his father (who likely is LE), but his experiences with being a good guy have been limited so far. His believes should help with that though.
So in reality the char is more like somewhere between LN/LG/NG and TN.)
Class: Magus (Eldritch Scion - Blue Dragon bloodline)

 

Convincing Liar (Social) - He knew that he needed to conceal his relationship with Bastian, for fear of his father’s reaction (in the end reality turned out even worse than that fear). This skill also served him well in getting away from home.
Dragon Foe (Campaign) - Due to his heritage, he has learned quite a bit about dragons, not least of all their abilities in combat. As a result, he has a good idea about how to deal with them.
Attached (Drawback): Bastian crafted a dagger for Valerius, that he gave him for his last name day. After Bastian’s death Valerius has been loath to part from it in any way, seeing it as the only material memory of his lover.
Lover of the Law (Religion - Abadar): His mother’s lessons not only helped shape his moral values, but also influenced his choice of faith, both going hand in hand with each other.

 

The first thing that grabs anyone's attention when looking at Valerius are his intense, unnaturally blue eyes. As far as he knows all his ancestors had them, all the way back to his draconic forebear. The eyes are in stark contrast to his straight, unbound, black hair falling down to his shoulders and his pale skin. An angry red scar runs along his left cheekbone, marring his otherwise unblemished, aristocratic features. He prefers to keep his cheeks clean shaven and gets annoyed when he doesn’t have the chance to shave for longer intervals. A slender golden chain is fastened around his neck with an ornate golden key hanging from it. A present from his mother, the symbol of Abadar.

The tall youth looks to be around twenty years of age and long training in the yard has ensured that he is quite fit. He clearly does not have the lithe grace that a duelist might call his own, but makes more than up for it in strength. When at rest, he often sits straight backed in his chair or stands at ease, giving a rather rigid and formal impression. His stocky frame is covered in dark clothing that would not have looked out of place at a noble’s court - before it had obviously been subjected to a long journey that can’t have had many an inn or city along the way. The hems are beginning to fray, the cloth is dusty and a tear in one of the pant legs has been very ineptly fixed. A vest hides most of a shining chain shirt, though it doesn’t look as if it is meant to be entirely concealed.

A slender scimitar in a dark-brown, wooden sheath rides on the young man’s left hip and a dagger on the right. While the hilt of the scimitar looks just shy of being ostentatious, the dagger’s crossguard and pommel look plain on first glance. Only a closer look shows an embossing on the pommel. Valerius can often be seen rubbing over it with his thumb, as if making sure that it’s still there.

The sturdy backpack on the man’s back manages to look out of place next to the formerly fine clothes, even though it’s just as travel stained.

 

Love falls where it wills: The logic of political marriages is not lost on him, and he agrees that they are necessary. However, he strongly believes that nobody should be punished for whom they love. There’s always a way to make it work.

Noblesse oblige: While his father mostly reinforced the rights coming with his heritage, his mother, in long, quiet talks, actually managed to instill in him the idea that it also comes with duties and that his blood alone does not make him noble, that might does not make right.

 

Justice/Revenge: Valerius wishes to see his father pay for his lovers death. To see that come to pass, he follows two “sub”-goals:

• Money and favors rule the world: First off, he needs to make ends meet. Once he doesn’t need to worry anymore about food and a roof above his head, he intends to use what money or influence he gains to keep up-to-date on what’s happening at home.
• Skills make the man: He knows that their last confrontation was not a fluke and if he wants to take on his father, he will need to get better and stronger. He may have lived a reasonably sheltered live - at least when it comes to worldly experiences - but he is aware that there are more than enough dangers out there. Dangers that, when they threaten local society, need to be dealt with. Something his training should make him well suited for. And there is no better trainer than hands on experience.

Overcome trust issues/Come into his own: I’d like to see the character to learn to fully trust in himself and his skills, to find the self assurance to stand on his own without constantly feeling the need to prove himself. I’d also like to see him learn to trust others again.

Sure, he has traveled with some woodsmen of late that he had to put his trust in, but has trusted more in their love of his money than their persons. I’d like to see him be part of a group that’s not held together by obligations to each other or some being employed by others in that group. He would have to face the opinion of people that aren’t just as “unimportant” as a random innkeep and prove to them and himself that he can be a valuable team player, that he can change things for the better. (If he couldn’t, how could he ever expect to go home? Once his father has been dealt with, duty and the hope to be able to make things in his home better, would likely compel him to stay, after all.)

 

First and foremost: failure. What child does not wish to hear praise from a parent? To never get it, to only ever see disappointment over another (perceived) failure, would leave anyone scared and with the lurking fear that maybe, just maybe they were right. Maybe his skills were wanting. Maybe whoever he will find himself working for or with will agree with his father’s judgement of him.

If that weren’t bad enough, he is also afraid of others finding out that he is gay and that any relationship he were to enter in would endanger his partner, should his father’s men ever find him. A prospect in and of itself to be afraid of. (At least he believes that the chance is high for there to be hunters on his trail. Whether to bring him back or kill him, he could not say.)

 

Who am I, you ask? Such a simple question with so many different answers. I am a grieving lover. A loving son and a failed son. I am a warrior with spell and sword. The blood of blue dragons curses through my veins. I had my future made for me. A wife-to-be waiting. I am an Ustalavic noble, who tries to remember what nobility truly means. My name is Valerius Thormorath, and I am the sole heir to my father’s holdings. Oh, and I guess, I am a murderer.

How did I come to be all of that? I think, it is safe to say that my bastard of a father is largely responsible. You see, my father Titus prizes three things over all: his bloodline, excellence and his reputation. Please note, that I said ‘bloodline’. His blood, his family, they are purely a necessity. He married my mother Melissa because it ended a feud with his neighbors and her dowry included a bountiful orchard. I like to imagine that she was a lively young woman once, but in the halls of Keep Thormorath, she learned to be quiet and avoid evoking her husband’s displeasure. Especially after she didn’t get pregnant again. Only one child was not exactly what the lord had hoped for.

I don’t know if I should be happy that I never had a sibling to share my fate, or sad for missing out on the company. It is said that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved after all. My mother did as much for me in that regard as ever I could have expected. For a long time she was the brightest light in my live - until I recognized my feelings for the smith’s son, Bastian, for what they were. Where my father sought to teach me that my blood was enough prove that I was a noble and deserved obedience, sought to hammer home that might makes right, my mother tried to teach me that there is more to being a noble, that only if I acted accordingly would I actually deserve anyone following, anyone trusting, me. I am trying to live up to her ideals.

Philosophy was not the only thing taught to me. I learned about my bloodline and it’s source. In all probability I could write a small book about dragons and not make a fool out of myself. A tutor was hired to teach me all manner of subjects, and a swordmaster to train me to fight. I... would like to think I am good at what I do, but you would never know it from the way my father treated me. Try as I might, I can only think of a single time that he ever had words of praise for me: the day I nearly electrocuted my swordmaster and in doing so showed my magical talent. And you see? Even that was praise for something I had no control over. I did not chose to be a spellcaster. I simply am.

Anything I actually did... it was never good enough. When I realized, gradually, that I was interested in boys instead of girls, I knew that I would never be able to tell him. I knew he wouldn’t understand, would see it as a disgrace. Mind you, I was still willing to do my part for the family - well, ok, for him - go through with the advantageous wedding he had arranged for me, father children somehow, but I knew that would never have been enough. And so, once we realized that we actually shared feelings for each other, Bastian and I did everything in our power to hide our relationship. Even with the hiding and the lies, it was a wonderful time. Sweet, strong Bastian.

I don’t know if it’s a thing about Ustalav or if it’s a universal truth, but good things don’t seem to last. My father’s valet Drey happened upon us. There was no way to explain away what he saw. I was so shocked at the discovery that I didn’t react before Drey had already thrown the door shut again and was halfway to Titus’ study. I urged Bastian to run, hide. Surely my father’s anger would cool down in time and my lover would be save. How naive I was.

Some of the guards found him before he even made it out of the keep. They dragged him before my father and no amount of protesting on my part helped. My father was deadly calm as he watched Bastian, ignoring me completely. Then he walked over to stand in front of the smith’s son, and I could see the rage in his eyes. “No man will dishonor my house by seducing my son and live to tell the tale.” I can still quote every word he said that day. Even then I could not, would not understand what he meant. It seemed to happen to someone else in a nightmare when my bastard of a father drew his dagger and drove it to the hilt into Bastian’s chest.

I am sure I said something, shouted something, but I don’t remember. All I remember of that moment is the surprised look in Bastian’s eyes, the silent plea for me to do something. Anything. As the light in his eyes faded and my anguished gaze fell on the man who had so casually taken my love from me, it was as if the world was consumed by a fiery blaze of rage and hatred. Few things in the world are worse than a son trying to kill a father - and yet, in that moment I wanted nothing more. I jumped at him, all thought of weapons forgotten, just me and my magic. Electricity crackled along my fingers... and vanished before it truly touched my father.

He backhanded me across the face with such force, that I found myself on my knees, my face blazing with pain where his signet ring had torn open my cheek. “Take him to his rooms and make sure he stays there,” he ordered his guards. “Later, I will make sure that you remember what it means to be a Thormorath, you ungrateful bastard,” he promised me as I was dragged away struggling and screaming and crying.

The next few weeks were hell. Until I had myself well enough under control to convince my father that I had learned my lesson and he finally let me leave my quarters again. I had come to the conclusion that if I couldn’t kill him, there were other ways to hurt. Without a groom, for instance, there would be no wedding, no continuation of the precious bloodline. I packed what I could get my hands on and left, only to find Drey, spying on me. No doubt ready to raise all hell as soon as he figured out what I was planning. This time I did not hesitate. Could I have gotten out without killing him? Probably. To my shame I have to admit that it felt good, though.

I didn’t spare a single glance for the valet’s corpse or the keep when I finally managed to make my way outside. I only wish I had been able to say goodbye to my mother, but I was afraid that even visiting her would make her complicit in my actions in my father’s eyes.

Since then I spent most of my money to have gifted woodsmen guide me out of Ustalav and hide my tracks from a pursuit that I hope I’m just imagining to be there. The gold is nearly gone now and I will have to see if a noble who knows little more than his arcana and swordplay can find a way to make an honest living and maybe even a difference somewhere.

All that goes through my head at your simple question of who I am. But, seeing as you are a stranger and I have no reason to trust you (yet), all I politely say is: "I am Valerius, good sir, a traveling magus looking for work."

 

Valerius is from western Ustalav. In an attempt to throw off any pursuit by his father, he payed woodsmen to help him hide his trail - not caring where the road took him. His way led him through Ustalav and Lastwall into Belkzen. By then he was hoping to find someone else to possibly take him further south or west, but has realized that he is nearly out of money. He was pointed towards Trunau, the only non-orc settlement around, and now hopes to find a means to earn some money.

Posting Rate: I can generally post at least every other day.
Other: I’ve been RPing for about 15 years now and have mostly been part of fantasy campaigns, with some Shadowrun, Star Wars and an Iron Kingdoms game thrown into the mix. I feel I should also mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse me if I made some mistakes in the text that spell check didn’t catch.



Theme music: Glory to the Brave

*cough* I went a bit overboard with the original background and had to write the shorter version that you saw above. In case you feel like it, here is the long version.

 

A storm was raging outside and the door of the little shelter that someone had built close to the mountain pass was rattling. The wind was howling like an enraged animal and the cold was seeping through gaps in the wood. At least the sleet was kept out. The place smelled of mould mixed with a faint whiff of old feces and food gone bad. A young man was shivering in a corner and pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders. Once his clothes and light armor would not have looked out of place at most noble courts, but now they were travel stained and in need of some mending. Not long ago he would never have imagined finding himself in a situation like this. Alone, in the wild, on the run. Looking little better than a peasant. It stood in stark contrast to what he had been taught all his life.

Flashback "What did I tell you about looking presentable for the feast, Valerius?" the cold contempt in Lord Titus’ Thormorath’s voice made his son flinch. The boy, who looked about eight years old, opened his mouth, probably to try to explain that he had only just come from swordplay in the dusty yard and was, in fact, on the way to wash up. Before he could get a word out however, his imperious father had turned away and motioned to his personal valet, Drey, to take care of the matter. "Come along then," Drey told him in a pitiless voice. The young noble closed his mouth in silent defeat. Only moments ago he had been elated at having bested his friend Bastian. Maybe he should not have been surprised that his joy had evaporated after having met his father. It hadn’t happened for the first time. As yet Valerius had not shed the hope for praise or a fond word from his sire, though. "And be quick about it!" The valet barked at his young charge, who guiltily hurried after the older man.

The man in the wooden shelter sighed at the memory. Even thinking hard about it, he couldn’t remember a single time that Titus had actually been a caring father to him and not the stoney, cold lord of his domain in western Ustalav, obsessed with his reputation, excellence and his vaunted bloodline. Only once Valerius actually heard words of praise.

Flashback Valerius was fighting with Bastian, who was often called on to provide a sparring partner. The boys had been fooling around and their trainer, VanHart, decided to make an example of the smith’s son. "Do you think war is a game?" he snarled as he attacked again and again, scoring one hit after another. "Stop it!" Valerius commanded in his best approximation of his father’s voice. The trainer only threw him a contemptuous glance and carried on. Of course he couldn’t know that Valerius and Bastian were more than just friends. That they were, in secret, exploring their love for each other. The noble felt hot anger well up inside him and on an abstract level he realized that this would be a weakness in a real fight. Right then, emotion triumphed over logic and with two long strides he was next to the two combatants, making a grab for VanHart’s arm to keep him from striking again. "I said stop!" he shouted and it had felt as if the heat of his fury went out through his hand. Electricity arced along the swordmasters arm, burning the skin. VanHart’s eyes went wide and he stumbled back towards the wall of the keep. He was still leaning there, swearing profusely, when Lord Titus strode onto the yard surveying the scene. At first, Valerius did not even notice his father, his eyes were still fixed on the electric burns on his trainer’s arm. Only when Titus stepped in front of him and grasped his son firmly by the shoulders did the young man flinch and come out of his trance. "So, there is something of the dragon in you." He stated, clearly pleased that some of the powers, that had been part of his beloved bloodline since the blue dragon Virastrix had interbred with the family generations ago, had manifested in his son. "Well done." He actually squeezed his son’s shoulders before turning and walking away again, leaving a now entirely stunned Valerius behind.

Looking back at it, he realized that he had been praised for something that he had had exactly zero influence over. Always his father had regarded him as a useful commodity. Something to show off to his peers, something to carry on the bloodline, something to increase the family’s standing and fortune. Just as had been the case when it came to arranging a wife for Valerius.

Flashback "Tales of your beauty have not been exaggerated," Valerius told the slender, raven haired girl as he bowed over the offered hand, kissing it delicately. At least he assumed that they weren’t. The young man had realized a while ago that women held no allure for him. A fact that did not deter the fairer sex to make doe eyes at the athletic magus and try to curry the favor of Titus’ only heir. Most of them were, of course, far beneath anyone the lord would even remotely consider for his son. Titus smiled when he looked at the two young people. Knowing his father well, Valerius could see plainly that the smile did not reach the unnaturally blue eyes and was meant for the benefit of the ladies father anyway. Titus steered the other man towards his solar, likely to finish the negotiations, leaving the future couple alone in the hall, Kaelyssa smiling haughtily and self assured, despite being several years younger, Valerius trying to hide his awkwardness about the situation. The match would be a good one, no doubt about that. Once everything was sealed and she was old enough for the marriage to actually take place both houses would profit from the alliance. Love, of course, had nothing to do with it. Only the most naive would hope to find love in a political match. Valerius mused that he should likely be glad about this. As long as he managed to somehow father a child with her, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about not being intimate with his wife. And if he was careful and discreet, he might even be able to keep sweet Bastian as his paramour. He sighed in dread. Just as long as his father never found out.

Valerius felt the by now familiar rage burn hotter in his chest at the thought of his father. Of course he had found out. Images of what had happened surfaced in his mind and he tried to shut them down. He did not wish to relive the worst day of his live yet again. How Drey had happened upon the two men, only half dressed, with no way to explain away what the valet saw. How Valerius had failed to stop him from going directly to Lord Titus. How the guards had dragged Bastian before the lord, Valerius hard on their heels, as panicked as he had ever been.

The magus rose with a start, the blanket falling forgotten to the ground. He smashed a hand into the wooden wall, making it creak alarmingly.

Flashback At first his father was deadly calm as he watched Bastian, ignoring his son’s pleas. Then he walked over to stand in front of the smith’s son, his rage only apparent in his eyes. "No man will dishonor my house by seducing my son and live to tell the tale." The words were still sinking in and Valerius didn’t manage more than a protesting "Father..", as Lord Titus drew his dagger and drove it to the hilt into Bastian’s chest. "Nooo!" Valerius shouted, full of grief. His eyes met his lovers, his mind screaming to let this be a dream, just a nightmare. When the light went out in Bastian’s eyes, he looked from his fallen friend to his father and his grief turned to hate. He threw himself at his sire, striking out with his magic, only to see it harmlessly dissipate against some protection that Titus wore. Anger now visible on the lord’s face, he backhanded Valerius across the face with such force that the young man found himself thrown back and fell to his knees. The left side of his face was blazing with pain and when he touched it, he felt blood where Titus’ signet ring had torn open his cheek. "Take him to his rooms and make sure he stays there," the lord ordered his guards. "Later, I will make sure that you remember what it means to be a Thormorath, you ungrateful bastard," he promised as his son was dragged away struggling and screaming.

Valerius let his head sink against the rough wood. Tears born of rage and grief rolled down his cheeks. His imprisonment had gone on for weeks in which he had endured more or less violent talks with his father. Once he had gotten over his sorrow and started to think more clearly again, he had managed to curb his emotions and eventually convinced his father that he got the message. At least it was enough that his enforced confinement had ended.

By then he had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t take his father, at least not yet. But there had been other ways to hurt him. The marriage was supposed to have taken place two weeks before he had reached the shelter in the mountain pass. No groom, no marriage though. No son, no continuation of the bloodline. So Valerius had, in the middle of a moonless night, packed some supplies and as much money as he could find and left. The money was nearly all gone, used to pay woodsmen to help him hide his tracks. He’d have to find a way to earn more. And soon. And just maybe, whatever means he found, would also allow him to hone his skills to one day thank his father, as he had thanked Drey in the night he left.

The look in his lover’s lifeless eyes still haunted him, and likely would until the day he died. The memory of Drey’s however, as he wrapped his hands around the valet’s throat and let an electric pulse curse through the other’s head, brought grim satisfaction as he sat down again and drew the blanket back around himself. Only a small voice in his mind was whispering that he should feel ashamed about the murder.

 

Name	Valerius’ Opinion
Felix	A true patriot, who seems to be willing to give his all for his mission, for what he believes in. I admire that, but at the same time I am not sure if he might hold others to the same ideals and if he finds me worthy to fight beside him. His knowledge about dragonkind at least gives us a lot to talk about.
Orrin	Before meeting Orrin, I had never heard of, let alone seen an Oread before! I find that I have to curb my curiosity to not be perceived as prying into things that may not be my business. His attempt to find a way to protect his home through understanding his opponents, instead of simply fighting them, is certainly interesting. My knowledge about giants is too limited to evaluate his chances of success, though. Still, it might be worth trying to learn something from it.
Barnabus	Barnabus? He seems to see himself as a gentleman and maybe he has the right, basic ideas about it, but he certainly needs to work on both his temper and his language. The former paired with courage that borders on recklessness may well get us all into a lot of trouble. He would do well to cultivate patience, lest the lack of it cost him his dreams and aspirations.
Asgeirr	I do not trust this man. He seems likable enough and my knowledge about religion may be limited, but even what clerics I could find, had never heard of that All-Father he worships. That alone is no reason to persecute him, however. I need to remember that vigilance is commendable, but my judgement should be made based on actions.
Sky	I noticed her having a nightmare one night and went to wake her. Words of comfort were on my lips, but the rage in her eyes when she woke made me shy back. To have that rage focused on our enemies is just as heartening as it is disconcerting to see it directed at myself - even if just briefly. I hope she finds the cause of her fury. Maybe I can help vanquish her demons?
Hrotha	The only half-orc I have known so far were members of my father’s guard. Uncouth, uncaring brutes, the lot of them. I would never have expected to find faith like hers in one of her kind - the realization should teach me not to judge a book by its cover. It can’t have been easy growing up facing the prejudice that likely came with her race, especially in a place like this. I wonder if she knows how lucky she is when it comes to her father.
Eghan	Living life always looking for stories worthy of song - I am not sure if that is the best use a man can make of his time. Of course he is more than willing and able to be part of those stories, instead of watching better men fight and die for a righteous cause - which in turn speaks for him. I can well understand his hunt for the dragon that took his sire from him.
Makkari	Somehow I always imagined elves to be less jovial and approachable. Should teach me not to let myself be blinded by preconceptions. Even so he still seems to be haunted by his experiences in his youth. And who could blame him. I do hope that he has his.. companion well under control - a large predator seems to be an odd choice for a pet, especially in any civilized area.
Sophitia	Such arrogant belief that everything has to happen her way, just because of her looks and her magical ability. She would get along famously with my father. Needless to say that does not exactly endear her to me. She seemed rather put out, when fluttering her eyes at me and posturing in a suggestive way did not make me induldge her every whim.
Anders	He reminds me a little of Bastian - even though the latter did not have such a stunning voice. It seems to me that he is doubting himself much like I doubt myself - though I think the reasons could not be more different. I am sure he will find his place in the world eventually.
Kyra	She is a serious, far traveled, young woman with impressive control of her body. I am, frankly, amazed how anyone can be brave - or foolish? - enough to face the dangers of the world with neither steel nor magic. Either way, if her search for her brother has led her to Belkzen, it can’t mean anything good. I wish her luck, that she does not find him to be the victim of the Holds less savory denizens.
Sittania	She has good ideas about keeping a community safe. I feel she may be a kindred spirit. It is nearly unfathomable to me, how she cannot harbor a deep hatred for the ones who killed her family. If not the race, then at least the individuals.

[Sageheart]

Wow! Awesome looking game. Will keep.tabs on it, though cannot apply since away on vacation for the month and won't be able to build something up to my standards. Will lurk though.

[Lolita]

I'd love to participate, if there's room for me and you don't mind my relative newness! I'll start working on a character!

[Neqq]

Application Name: Orrin Stratatoa Race: Oread (Alternate Racial Traits: Granite Skin and Mountain Born) Alignment: N Class: Druid (Mountain) - Mountain and Weather Domains Traits: Student of Giantkind, Highlander Description: Orrin stands at 5 foot and for an Oread is quite slender at 190lbs. His skin appears to be a light grey granite like that found in the Mindspin Mountain. Gem-like sapphire blue eyes stare out at the world from a squarish bald head. Despite his rocky appearance he has an aura of softness. Plain brown or grey robes are his dress of choice and he travels with a staff in his hand and a scimitar at his side.   Beliefs: Orrin believes balance is something that needs to be actively sought. Each day a thousand different paths maybe trodden, it is a druid’s duty to travel the one that brings balance not just to himself but balance to the beings and environment around him. When he was young Orrin's father used to say regularly, "Winners are grinners and losers find excuses." The druid lives by this maxim and never complains when he struggling to achieve success but redoubles his efforts. He finds it hard to suffer those who are not as driven as he is. Goals: Giants and orcs are natural part of the Mindspin Mountains’ ecology and Orrin seeks not to eradicate them but to understand what has pushed them from their natural path. Orrin knows to achieve his first goal he needs to overcome his solitary nature and ask others for guidance or even to walk the path of balance with him. Fears:The greatest fear for Orrin is that his mountain home will be overrun by giants or orcs and then he will no longer have the connection to nature that is centre of his identity.   Background: Orrin grew up in a remote settlement of goat-herders north-west of Janderhoff in the Mindspin Mountains. Life was hard but rewarding in its simplicity, the young oread was content spending his summers in the alpine meadows. He was a serious child that grew into a serious young man. The others in settlement both oread and human held him in high regard but he had no close friends. He especially known for surefootedness on precarious terrain and his climbing ability. Oreads are long lived and as the humans he knew as a children became old men and passed away Orrin felt unsettled and found himself taking his small increasingly flock farther and higher into the mountains. Finally one spring he distributed his flock to the other shepherds and set out to explore the high mountains leaving behind his parents and younger sister. He has returned infrequently to see his family. His sister is married and his parents are aging but well. He fears for their safety as the mountains grow more dangerous. In the high peaks he met an ancient human druid, Mathias who taught him how to listen to the mountains and become one with his surroundings. The power and the majesty of the mountains filled Orrin’s soul with a great joy, it change his whole demeanour making him a lighter and more approachable person. The effects of this transformation were most visible when he was atop the highest of peaks but still noticeable even in the lowlands. Under his master Orrin learnt the secrets of the druids and upon Mathias’ death replaced him as the guardian of the southern Mindspin Mountains. Orcs and giants have always been a hazard in the mountains and Orrin took time to study them and try to understand. He learnt the language of the giants and conversed with the less aggressive members of the race. Through trading rare herbs he collected in the mountain he was able to amass a small library of tomes on giantkind. Decades of study and travel have left with a unique knowledge of the southern Mindspin Mountains and it inhabitants. Trunau: While travelling through the Mindspin Mountains Orrin ran into a small band of orcs. He was pursued by the band for over a week and was force to travel west away from his home. Still being tracked he headed for Trunau, a settlement he visited some 50 years ago, he knew he would be safe there. Orrin has been in the settlement for a few days and plans on viewing the Hopeknife Festival. The town is a source of trepidation and fascination for the druid. After years of living a solitary life, a social setting as large and as complex as Trunau is overwhelming. Orrin yearns to return his mountains as soon as possible but knows this may not be the path that brings balance to his homeland. The oread knows he needs to stop hiding in the shadows of his hood and interact with the wider world. There could be valuable insights into restoring balance to his mountains, right here if he ask the right people, the right questions. Optional additions! Posting Rate: Can post up to once a day. Music / Character Entrance Song: Travelling Song Battle Song Other: I think you should have a good sense of me as a player and you know I am reliable and can create and play well rounded characters that grow and change with a game. Orrin is a re-imagining of my Outplay application and I have made him flexible enough to fit in with the tone of game as it develops.   Orrin walked with confidence on the narrow ridge as the blustery wind whipped at his brown druid’s robe. He strode at his slightly laconic but steady pace using his quarterstaff to help propel him along. His eyes scanned the winding path that was barely four feet in width with steep shale slope plunging down more than 300 feet on either side. Despite the danger a huge grin was a permanent fixture across the oread’s boulder like face. Pausing for a moment, his blue sapphire eyes took in the full jagged vista, the great peaks of the Mindspin Mountains reached up and merged with the banks of clouds rolling in from the north. This is where I belong, some are weighed down by the presence of the mountains. I am lifted by them to where I can see creation and the connections that bind us all to this world. Today there was a blight on this divine canvas. Far below making their way up a winding path was a party of around twenty orcs. They had been tracking him for a few days and were drawing closer, so far it was only Orrin’s superior knowledge of the local topography that had kept him ahead of his pursuers. Removing three fist size rocks from his backpack that he picked up hours earlier, he sat on the ridge and waited. He could hear the orcs’ guttural jabbering and see them pointing to where he sat. He drank deeply form his waterskin and waited. The druid stood as the orcs were approaching the point on the track almost directly below his position. Expertly he threw the rocks one by into the shale, sparking a small avalanche of that picked up some larger rocks as it plunged down toward the orcs. Orrin was not a violent man but he took some small pleasure in watching the rock-slide crash into the orcs taking down two of their numbers. My mountains, don’t need your type. Marauders and vandals are not welcome. As the orcs reorganised themselves Orrin stood and continued his plodding journey knowing that his way home was cut off and he needed to strike farther west. So with his quarter staff in hand and his scimitar by his side he walked towards the setting sun. The peaks of the distant mountains appearing as darkening cut-outs back-lit by crimson, white and rose light. Red sky at night shepherd’s delight.

 

Name	Orrin's Opinion
Felix	A big man with a big dream, to kill a dragon. This quest to join an exclusive order is tempered by his desire to protect his homeland. Hopefully his lust for dragon's blood doesn't distract him from him helping achieve the greater good.
Valerius	Seems like a decent man but something is hiding something behind those blue eyes. He carries a heavy burden and his need for revenge will weigh heavy on him. Valerius' underlying beliefs are noble and maybe with time and companionship he can find inner-peace without evening the score.
Barnabus	The man definitely has self confidence and is very forthright with his opinions. He seems to be a touchy about his height or having his courage questioned. I am concerned his need to be a hero may contradict with the role he might be asked to play in the party.
Asgeirr	An eye for knowledge is better than an eye for eye. A priest who wants to protect life will be handy even one following a god I have never heard of. His philosophy on earning knowledge through sacrifice is more extreme than mine of achieving success through hard work but they are compatible.
Sky	The formidable woman with the flaming dragon tattoo. The wisdom of her adopted dwarven uncle can be further nurtured and as an oread I have an affinity with the people of the rock. Maybe with a clear purpose and knowing she is helping others she can put to rest some of the ghosts of her past.
Hrotha	The half-orc is gentle soul and still holds on to an idealistic view she can 'save' her mother, her willingness to seek alternative solutions may help bring balance to the party. She has an admirable commitment to her community and shows a great deal of maturity in dealing with others.
Eghan	A strong heroic type but one who respects the importance of history. Hopefully, he can put the greater good before his own glory.
Makkari	The elf is a very principled young man, whose leaning towards tactical thinking and magic could compliment the more heroic types in the party. His idealism maybe tested by those who would advocate strong actions and less words.
Sophitia	A vain young lady but I guess if I looked that good I would be too. Seems very capable in the field of magic but how will she fare in the mountains or the forest. I can't say I trust anything she says but that could be a useful trait.
Anders	This little priest has a big heart and a work ethic I can identify with. He is a contradiction, a performer but selfless. With the trust of others he will flourish and believe in himself more.
Kyra	The monk seeks perfection where I seek balance. Our end-goal maybe different but our philosophies about the world share much in common. Kyra believes in truth and the laws of nature so I know that she will be a wise and trusted companion.
Sittania	A scout is always useful, this little lady can help us avoid unnecessary trouble. I respect her dedication to her community and her inclination towards out-thinking her opponents.

[MundayKnight]

Mooz and Sass both promoting you on the front page... Don't mind me...

Temor Wildmane Temor at a glance Race: Dwarf Character Sheet: Temor character sheet. Alignment: Chaotic Good. "Alignment Description": When given a choice to protect someone he will do it but he will blatantly ignore the laws of the realm if he finds them to be unjust or even just a nuisance. Class: Barbarian (Totem Barbarian, Invulnerable Rager.) Traits: Player's Guide: Trunau Native. Other: Reactionary. Drawback: Paranoid. 3rd: Blooded. Description Temor is odd for a dwarf, he stands at a squat five feet three inches but weighs in at over four hundred pounds. He is wider than an ogre and twice as ugly, or so many of his friends would say. He is missing a few teeth from his many years of bar brawls and skirmishes with some of the less civil denizens of the tundra. His face and chest show the brunt of the damage he has sustained in battle as they are both crossed with thick scarring and strange discolorations from bruises that just never seemed to fade entirely. His eyes are the green of gemstones and they are the only thing about himself that he would consider to be attractive, the rest of his body he laughingly calls a rough cut stone. His arms and legs are both thicker than trees and it would be charitable to call the stump that connects his head and his chest a neck. His hair hangs in a wild jangle of braids laced with bits of metal and the teeth of beasts that the young dwarf had been a part of taking down. His beard is a riotous red mass that ends in a braid that is tightly laced with the petals of white flowers. Many question his choice but whenever they get close it is easy to tell why he chose the flowers as a very mild but calming scent constantly flows from the bulky dwarf. The final distinguishing feature of the young dwarf is his tattoo, a great swirling blue dragon ringing both of his arms and cross around the back of his shoulder blades with the tail ending at the tip of his left middle-finger and the mouth gaping open at the wrist of his right hand. On the back of his right hand stands a stout dwarf, enormous hammer in hand, defiantly preparing to be the dragon's final meal. Beliefs: Believes in: Freedom to live as one wishes to live without harming others is the highest value any society can aspire to. Believes in: The power of resolve, the stubbornness of the people of Trunau combined with the stubbornness of Dwarves has turned Temor into an exemplar of hardheadedness. Belief against: Tyranny in any form. The reason the young Dwarf is willing to fight against the Orcs is not because he believes they are inherently evil or even that he wishes to kill them. He fights to protect Trunau from the Orcs that wish to enslave and control them and those that show themselves to be of good intention are embraced as heartily by Temor as any other race. Belief against: Malicious violence. A tavern brawl is simple fun and protecting others is a duty that everyone has but the want to go and kill another sentient being without reason other than ones own pleasure is anathema to Temor's beliefs. Goals: As a player: Cleave a giant and then hit a dragon, if that happened I could die a happy man. On a somewhat more serious note I would simply enjoy seeing this game go on for a long time and flourish as I like the concept and I am a huge supporter of this site and have recently had a few of my longer running games finish up so I am looking for another one to be in for the long haul. As a character: Temor simply wishes to keep his home safe and enjoy life, sometimes that means going away from home and fighting the enemy before they reach the doorstep but sometimes that means digging deep into the trenches and preparing for war. Fears: 1: Temor is terrified of losing those he loves, The town and it's predominantly human population embraced his parents and himself so thoroughly when they came to the small village that he sees all of them as members of his clan and the relative fragility of their position in the world leads Temor to worrying that a single death could have catastrophic echoes throughout the community. While he has experienced the deaths of many members of the city he still fears every new death. 2: Temor fears heights. While he is a capable climber and a generally surefooted person when he stands on a cliff and looks off the side there is a stark terror that fills his heart. This is the only fear that he has that is truly about himself and he sees it as his largest weakness which has led to him fighting to overcome it by seeking out ledges and other high places to look out upon the world from. 3: Temor's final fear, and one that he doesn't speak of often, is his fear that others only accept his family out of fear. While dwarfs are not unheard of in the north his family has a reputation as being battleragers and the carnage that they have dolled out to the orcish warbands that raid the village is common knowledge and rarely will anyone in town oppose the words of his parents or himself whenever it is clear that they are not going to budge on the topic. Background: "I was born on the battlefield, I mean this in the literal sense, not in the born for warfare sense. My parents were adventurers who were hired to go up to the Holdfast but they got involved in a fight just outside of Trunau. After the battle me Mum shot me out and added a little more blood and screaming to the battlefield. After a time my parents made their way into Trunau itself and brought me along with them, mewling and screaming for all that I was worth. From that day I was embraced here and given the rights and expectations of all Trunau citizens. When I was young I fought at the drop of a hat, I brawled with the other kids and whenever I was finally given the right to protect Trunau I fought the hordes that threatened my home." The halfling sitting across from him finished his drink and propped his feet up on the table. "So you are saying your mum squatted in the middle of a corpse strewn battlefield and shot you out like a giant throwing a boulder? That is the single most absurd thing I have ever heard." The half-orc woman who sat at a nearby table looked over at the halfling and smiled. "Sad fact is it is true little brother, heard it from his Mam herself, he was born as he claims. In truth the poor boy rarely lies." The dwarf nodded over to the half-orc woman and let a chuckle out. "Didn't notice you there Sara. When are you gonna leave that wife of yours and put the only two women near my age worthy of my affection back on the market eh? If nuthin' else at least let me try and woo you and 'er." A toothy grin and flexed muscles are the visible response but the words that came from the Councilwoman were far from biting. "You couldn't handle either of us. Anyways we are happily married and if you try to lay any moves on her I will show you what being good with a hammer really looks like." The squat dwarf and most of the tavern laughed in unison before he lifted his mug to Sara and shouted for someone to get her another drink on his tab. When the clamor got down to a dull roar Temor continued his tale. "Well after a time I finally got to take the oath and was given my hopeknife. Humans and you halflings get it at twelve but I got mine at twenty, not even a full grown adult yet but it was given to me the day after my first true battle... A child of blood Silence dominated the land save for the slow keening of the wind through the barricade. Like so many other nights Temor found himself staring out at the empty vastness and wanting nothing more than to go out there and explore it. His parents had told him time and again that he would be able to when he was older but as the days, and eventually the years, dragged on without anything of excitement he became increasingly melancholic. He had heard the stories that the people of Trunau told of his parents, the terrifying display of might as his father sent a hill giant to it's knees in a single blow, the breathtaking beauty of his mother flinging axes in a constant volley upon an onrushing warband of orcs. The world was filled with an amazing array of sights and sounds that he wished to see. I just want to live. Can they not see... A blur didn't even register before Temor pressed himself tightly against the walkway. He was on his feet and pulling his hammer from it's resting place on the wall in front of him. The living boulder hooked the hammer head on the top of the barricade and slid down it's haft before releasing it. The dwarven child let forth a bellow that shook the wood around him and his vision came to him through a veil of red. He finally noticed what his eyes had missed upon the battlements, a band of a dozen orcish warriors, one archer already attempting to get a bead in on the burly dwarf. His call seemed to bring the attention of those men working the wall and before the orcish archer had drawn focus on it's target an arrow took it cleanly in the eye. More arrows flew from the trained bows of the Trunau guard and in his lust for battle Temor flew forward as well. The small legs that should have slowed the young man to a crawl instead seemed to carry him like an avalanche and when he got near the few remaining orcs showed genuine fear of the dwarven child. The orcs shouted in their guttural language and to Temor's joy their shouts where the same ones that came when his parents were spotted by the foul beasts. As his hammer licked out at the knee of one of the beasts it tried to block the blow but his hammer bulled it's way through the orcish blade and shattered the unprotected leg beneath. An arrow caught the orc that tried to come up behind Temor and the last orc squared away with him, holding his shield up in an attempt to intercept any arrows. In his youth and his arrogance Temor shouted for the archers to hold their fire, to let this be a battle between men. The orc tossed his shield aside and shoved his sword point into the ground before pulling out an ax that stood taller than Temor himself with a blade nearly as wide. There was no exchange of words, both combatants knew that there was no point to it. There was no circling, neither would lose their footing. Neither attempted to distract the other nor cause misdirection, their eyes were for one another and nothing else. The orc moved first, his blade whistling through the night air but not coming close to contact with the squat dwarf. Temor counter attacked with a probe to the orc's foot and was quickly deflected by the haft of the mighty ax. The orc came in somewhat closer and let forth a whirlwind of strikes that pushed Temor back a handful of steps before he found an opening and slammed the haft of his hammer into the foot of the orc. A light grunt was let out of the orc's mouth but it was overshadowed by the sound of breaking bones echoing through the night. Another attack, this time slower and more cautious as the orc defends his left foot and carefully puts it behind himself. The hesitation, the signs of weakness, where all that Temor required. The young dwarf pressed his advantage and his longhammer struck upon the orcish ax again and again and as the young man bellowed in his fury the horrid rending of steel pushed beyond it's limit screeched across the barren wastes and the orc who had fought so valiantly against the young dwarf could do nothing but look on in dread as his opponent stood, hammer held firmly in his grip. "I do not wish to kill you. I also do not wish for you to ever return to Trunau and there is only one way of ensuring that as far as I know of. I could ask for your word but there is nothing to hold you to it other than your honor and I do not know if you are an honorable man. Luckily for you I believe you may be, and even luckier I believe there has been enough death this night. Go home, take your injured friend with you and after I have removed the arms and armor from the dead you can have them as well. In exchange for your life I will take your sword, in exchange for your friends life I have already taken his leg." The orcish tongue came easily to Temor, his parents having taught it to him at a young age. "Thank you for your mercy child of stone. I will not return to this town as an enemy for as long as I am under my own control. If I am enslaved then I make no promises but know that me and mine will not willingly prey upon these lands again. I do ask that you leave the hand-axes of my men. It is our tradition to be buried with them." A nod was all the response given before the dwarven youth stripped the orcs of their belongings. When finished he carried as much as he could to the walls of Trunau and asked for a sled and rope to be brought to the main gate. The night wrapped up quickly, Temor used the sled to get the gear to Trunau and then returned to the area of conflict before giving it to the Orc with the request that it be returned to Trunau's gate the following night and, like clockwork, the next night at the same time as the attack had started the sled appeared, sliding by the force of a mighty shove, up to the gate itself... "Next day they gave me my hopeknife and told me I was a proper adult. Parents were none too pleased with it but once you are an adult you have to start working the wall." The halfling looked on in disbelief and sputtered a bit before words finally escaped. "You are going to sit there and tell me you fought two orcs on your lonesome and beat them and then you let them live. You let them live and take the bodies of their dead with them on a sled you took from Trunau and that the savage brought back the sled? Now Sara this time he has to be lying to me." The half-orc shook her head and her grin grew. "I was one of those guards on the wall that night, I actually shot the one that tried to stab him in the back, every bit he says is true 'cept maybe the part where he got an orc to say thank you. Even then he is selling himself a bit short, only took two swings for him to shatter that ax, however he has forgotten to point out that the hammer he was swinging around was one I made him." An uproarious laugh swept the room and Temor himself laughed the hardest. He stood up and walked over to the councilwoman and gave her a crushing hug before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "That decides it, you and your wife are now both required to marry me, anyone with a sense of humor and the ability to give me a fair match in an arm-wrestling match is somebody I need to be married to and make plenty of little bearded babies!" In the same instant that the final word left Temor's lips his entire body left the ground as Sara picked him up and slammed him mercilessly onto the floor. Despite the aggressive action Sara was laughing wildly and Temor himself kept the grin on his face. "Maybe if you can hold onto me for more than a minute, otherwise it just won't be fun. Now keep telling the halfling your story and keep your grubby little hands off me and mine." "Alright Sara, alright. Okay friend where was I? Ahh yes after my first real fight. Now I will be honest with you, I never much trusted other people, even as a child I didn't trust anybody to do something right 'cept myself and that has kept on into my adult years with little in the way of change. With this in mind I go into my next little story..." A cheat, a warrior, a murder. The bar was surprisingly silent for the early night hour but Temor didn't appear to mind, his drink came on time and the game of cards he was engaged in kept his attention fairly well. One of Halgra's children was his opponent and the two played for drinks. After an hour or so of playing a man from a passing caravan came up to the table and sat. A few hands in and the man spoke of raising the stakes, a drink and a coin to help keep the game lively. While Temor required little to enjoy a drink he agreed. In the first handful of minutes something became clear to Temor, the man they where playing was cheating. Temor couldn't tell how nor could Halgra's son, but the man won three out of every five hands without fail. The two Trunau natives had often played with one another and so they began to play the game as a team but it seemed the foreigner was still better. The winning switched to half and half and yet it was clear to the natives of Trunau that it was the man's want to keep the game without bloodshed that led him to losing more. As the night wore on Temor had his fill of the cheat and accepted his losses and settled his tab with the owner before heading out into the night. It was not long before Temor noticed something, another patron from the bar was following him and he was doing his best not to be seen. Finally Temor took a side ally and squatted within the shadows. The tail came into the ally and a few seconds later a much larger man joined him. "Where did the bloody dwarf go? Martin said he had a hefty purse on him even after the fleecing he gave him." The smaller man hissed as the giant spoke and whispered in reply. "He almost is still here, be silent and help me search." "Wouldn't he have just gone through to the other side?" "I was in here moments after he entered and didn't see him leave, the little furball is still here." The two began looking and finally as the enormous man got close to the spot in which Temor hid he mustered all of the force of his body to spring into the nose of the massive man. Cartilage crunched and blood spewed forth in a torrent as Temor's head shattered the face of the large man and the moment his feet where on solid ground once more the small ball of fury shoved the man back a half dozen feet before taking a box in the ally and smashing it over the head of the original tail. In moments the young dwarf had the two men tied tightly to one another. As the dwarven youth approached The Killin' Ground he noticed two things; first that Halgra's son lay in the street, second that the man at the tables with them had a sword that was soon to end the man's life held high in the air. Before his mind could register his actions the small dwarf hurled his longhammer at the man and sprinted as quickly as he could behind it. The hammer connected with the man's shoulder before the sword finished it's arc and caused him to drop the blade. What the man would have done next is a mystery as before he could even respond to the hammer he was tackled by over two-hundred pounds of dwarven muscle and rage. Temor took the coward's head in his thick hands and began to slam it again and again into the frozen dirt, his passion reaching new heights with the near-death of one of his adopted town. It was nearly a minutes before anyone was able to drag Temor off of the man, whose skull now resembled nothing more than a crushed melon with little left to even suggest the original shape.[/b] "So you went and saved the Chief Defender's son? Impressive." "Not really, learned later the only reason he was on the ground in the first place is the sneaky little blighter clubbed him over the back of the head with the flat of his blade, apparently he was gonna try and make it look like an orc snuck in and made a struggle out of it. Poor dumb blighter should have just stabbed the boy and ran off into the night. Then again I doubt he had reason to suspect I would show up what with his toadies and all. So what other stories can I regale you with?" The halfling paused for a handful of sips from his ale before he finally spoke up. "Anything that doesn't make you sound like a hero from the legends?" "Ahh that is easy friend. There was this time I was up on the cliffs, nearly pissed myself with fear...

Trunau: Temor was born outside of the walls of Trunau and was raised within them for his entire life. While the young warrior has been blooded and proven himself a worthy addition to the town watch he ultimately hopes to adventure further from home to better ensure the safety of his home.

Optional additions!
Posting Rate: Most of the time I can post daily however this summer my job has been more time consuming than normal and it has become three times a week or so.

Music / Character Entrance Song: For your bagpipe hearing pleasure.
Other:

Me as a player at a glance Been in some great games on this site, I like to play characters from their perspective and I attempt to avoid meta-knowledge interaction whenever possible and as such I will actively avoid reading other people's posts when my character is dead, unconscious, or away. I have yet to leave a game on this site until the bitter end and I try to be prompt about informing when I will be gone for any reason or slow on posting.

rp sample Done within the background as it gives me a chance to flex different mental pathways. Tried to fit them in with the fears, goals, traits, and beliefs but if I could do so better or need to add more just let me know.

[/FIELDSET]

[Starspawn]

I was unhappy with the way Bianca turned out, so I made a new character.

Make way for the Mad Bomber!

He's not really mad, though. Just misunderstood.

[Jarl11]

There's the first halflings application

Thanks for the kind words, Dave Neqq! Look forward to seeing what you come up with.

Welcome to the thread tracman, Mcderth, Blackfyre, Lolita, MK

Sageheart - maybe you can find time to throw something together over the next couple weeks! No harm in trying, is there?

Starspawn - sounds good. You have lots of time!

[Rolzup]

Barnabas, Lord Clutterbuck
Race: Halfling

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Class: Rogue (Vexing Dodger)

Traits: Giantslayer Scion -- A direct descendant of the famed Anataeus Clutterbuck, the "Toppler of Titans".
Bastard (Not literally, but it fits so very well.) -- Barnabas' battered signet ring, bearing the Clutterbuck crest, is his most treasured possession.

Description:

The first thing that one notices are his muttonchop sideburns. They are, for lack of a better word, magnificent. Regal, almost. These are the sideburns of a halfling who saw his inability to grow a beard as a challenge, not an impediment, to the development of properly manly facial hair. To say that he is proud of them is to vastly understate the case; one would not think that a man could work his muttonchops into so many conversations, but yet....

But there is more to Barnabas Clutterbuck than his impeccable grooming. So much more!

It is his posture that one notices next. Ramrod-straight, almost impossibly so, the mark of a man of firm discipline and iron resolve. Short, even for one of his people, but he holds himself in such a way as to make himself seem to tower over those around him. This is the spine of man to be reckoned with, to be sure.

There is a scar across his left cheek, a slash of livid white. Many are the tales that Barnabas tells of how he received it, and no two are the same. Was it from an Orcish axe? A dragon's talon? None, save Barnabas himself, know the truth.

(He fell from a tree, at the age of twelve. There may have been a hive of bees involved in the affair. We shall speak no further on this matter.)

It must be admitted that his clothing is, despite being finely made and perfectly tailored, more than a little worn. It sports rather more patches than is strictly fashionable, and his cuffs are rather...tattered. If this bothers him, and it surely must, he gives no sign. Barnabas Clutterbuck is not a man who public laments the state of his fortunes. Barnabas Clutterbuck is, above all else, a gentleman. And a gentleman simply does not complain.

More? His hair is brown, his eyes a piercing blue. He generally wears either a smile or a scowl, and only rarely does he deign to allow any other expression to cross his face. He is man filled with joy, Barnabas Clutterbuck, when he is not filled with rage. The line between the two is, alas, a slender one indeed. One should take care, great care, not to make any slights upon his stature. Barnabas does not take well to such insults, and has been known to respond...improvidently.

Beliefs:

• "I am, by d---n, a hero." Barnabas Clutterbuck is brave. Barnanbas Clutterbuck is courageous. Barnanbas Clutterbuck is dangerous, but Barnabas Clutterbuck is also compassionate. That Barnabas Clutterbuck fears, in his heart of hearts, that this all of this is naught but a pack of lies? Makes him strive all the harder to prove them true. Always, always, the specter of his past failure...his past cowardice...hangs over his head. He ran, you see, and left his parents to die. Ran at their urging, ran knowing there was nothing that he could do to save them, ran so that the Clutterback name might not be entirely lost...but still. He ran. He has never forgiven himself for this, and likely never will.
• "Bullies, of any stripe, are simply not to be tolerated." There are those in this world who are, due to circumstance, unable to defend themselves from the strong. Shameful, certainly, but not to be helped. That there are those who would take advantage of this fact to entertain or to enrich themselves? That can be helped, and by d---n it will be helped, if Barnabas Clutterbuck has anything to say about it. (Surprising no one, he does. Rather a lot, in fact.) His time on the streets, when he was young and weak and so much smaller than his 'peers', has left Barnabas with a profound awareness of injustice...as well as a near-perpetual state of indignation about it. Woe betide anyone foolish enough to kick a dog, or to strike a child, in the presence of Barnabas Clutterbuck.

Goals:

• More than aught else, Barnabas wishes to show himself...and the world, but mainly himself...that he is indeed a man worthy of the title "hero". This means doing great deeds, slaying terrible foes, and never, ever surrendering.
  
• Find the resting place of Anataeus Clutterbuck, and recover Crysophrax, the Blade Brightly Shining. Not only is this a deed worthy of a hero, but it is a way -- the only way, now -- for Barnabas to honor the family that he so terriby failed.

Fears: Humiliation and failure. The very thought of being made to look like a coward or a fool (particularly the former) is enough to send him into a trembling rage. It must be admitted that, because of this, he takes insults very seriously, and far too personally.

Background:

"Snuff? No? Can't blame you, really. Filthy b----y habit, without question. Barbaric, really. Even so, even so, shame to let it go to waste, what?" Barnabas took a pinch from his ivory snuff-box, inhaled it on the left, and followed with a dose for the right. "Ha!" he roared, "Invigorating, what? Knew there was a reason for the d----d stuff, eh? Eh? Quite." He leaned back in his seat, almost vanishing into the confines of the plush leather, and considered the ceiling. "Quite. So, then! Where were we? Ah, yes, yes, of course. One begins at the beginning! I suppose that's traditional."

Barnabas loosed a long and echoing sigh. "My father was Lord Percival Clutterbuck. Minor Brevoyan noblity, loyal to, and favored by, the house of Rogarvia. No need to tell you what that means, eh? The Rogarvians up and vanished, and it all went to h--l in a b----y handbasket, right quick." He shook his head. "D--n politics, and thrice-d---n those who practice it! My father had enemies, y'see, and they took swift and b----y ruthless action the very moment they saw their chance."

A fist slammed down upon the arm of the chair. "We lost it all," Barabas snarled, "Everything. Our title, our lands, our fortune, gone in the space of a single day! B----y vultures descended to pick the carcass clean, and we fled for our lives. Fourteen, I was. One d----d day short of fifteen, to be specific. We packed what we could into a coach, fled for our b----y lives! Didn't do us one d----d bit of good, of course."

Barnabas took a long drink, refilled his mug, and then drank again. His face twisted into a snarl as he continued. "They took us on the road. A dozen men, masked." His eyes closed, and he took a long and shuddering breath. "Mother died. Father died. I ran, and I lived, and that's all I'm going to b----y to say about that."

His eyes snapped open as the halfling leaned forward. "First, last, and only b----y time in my life that I ran, d--n it all! You can be sure of that!" He relaxed a little, settling back into the chair. "Years passed," he continues, almost absently, "As they tend to do, what? And I survived them, obviously enough. Not that it was easy, you understand! Anything but! I was only a boy, after all. I was fortunate, I suppose, in that I must not have been seen as much of a threat. There's a b----y price on my head, of course, but it's a mere pittance. Not prize enough for anyone to go a'hunting."

Barnabas frowned. "Would have welcomed it, truth it be told! Had a bit of vengeance, by d---n! But no, no...nothing so glorious as that. I...well. I did what was needed, and d--n my pride. I begged, and did a poor b----y job of it. I stole, and did a remarkably fine job of that, I must confess. But I craved honorable work, by h--l! And I found it, in time. I was a hired blade for a time, a mercenary, what? Picked up a few skills. One does what one must, and it left me rather a dab hand with a blade, if I do say so myself. But never, NEVER, did I forget who I was. Barnabas, Lord Clutterbuck, by h--l! And more than worthy of the name."

"I knew, you see, what needed doing." Barnabas sighed. "Took longer than I liked, of course, before I could do it, but in time I found myself with enough coppers to allow me to begin my quest. Ever been in a library, my dear fellow? No? Rather envy you that, if I'm honest. So much b----y dust! And librarians! Lords above, what a dreary lot! Half dust themselves, I dare say! But again, a Clutterbuck does as he must! I read, by d--n, and read like a b-----y titan! I slew them all, book after book (Metaphorically only, my dear chap. Again, those librarians are scarcely to be borne!) until I carved out the very fact for which I sought!"

"Have you heard, perchance, of Anataeus Clutterbuck? No? Of course you haven't. He wasn't one of the tall folk, after all. No, no, my apologies. Perhaps a little bitterness, what? But old Anataeus, he was my grandfather's grandfather, and every inch a hero. Called him "Titanbane", so they b----y did. Had a sword, a magic sword, called Crysophrax. 'The Blade Brightly Shining.' All sorts of poetic, what? Killed a fair number of giants in his day, Anataeus did, and the perishing b-----ds lived in b----y terror of the fellow. And rightly so! We Clutterbucks are a fearsome lot! Were, rather...."

Barnabas trailed off and took another drink, draining his mug once more. He made no move to have it refilled, staring instead into its empty depths as he continued. "He vanished, Anataeus did, in the end. Came North, in search of worthy foes. Seems he found them, what? Last time he was seen was here, in Trunau, before he set off into the wilderness. Never came down the b----y mountain."

"I'm going to find him. His bones, at any rate, and Crysophrax besides. And with 'The Blade Brightly Shining' in hand, I'm going to teach these b----y giants to fear the name 'Clutterbuck' again. It's the least I can b----y do, what?"

"And that, having b----y failed to make a long story short, is what has brought me to Trunau, my dear chap. Arrived just this morning, and d--n lucky not to have frozen my b----y a--e on on the way. Thank goodness there was space here at the Ramblehouse, what?" Barnabas grinned, and raised his empty mug high. "Left me a bit dry, that did! Now then, my good man, I do believe that you owe me a drink...and a tale of your own!"

 

...and in their gratitude, unto Anataeus Clutterbuck was given the blade Crysophrax. Of Elven make it was, but forged for the hand of one of the True Folk and upon its pommel it bore the seal of the house of Clutterbuck. Lord Clutterbuck did accept it gladly, and held it aloft for all to see. 'Behold,' he cried, and in the darkness the blade did flash as though with the light of the sun, and all cried out in wonder. 'Behold the Blade Brightly Shining! With this, I shall drive the giants forth, and in their serried ranks they shall fall before me!' Loudly the people did cheer, and great was their joy at the words of Lord Clutterbuck....

Posting Rate: Generally daily, although weekends are often tough.

Other: I am seeing Barnabas as a combination of T.H. White's King Pellinore (from The Once and Future King), and Joe Pesci's character from Goodfellas. A fairly unlikely amalgamation, I must confess, but whether that's a point in my favor or against it, it remains true.

 

	The Exceedingly Humble Opinion of Barnabas, Lord Clutterbuck, As Drunkenly Related To Some Random Stranger in a Tavern.
Felix	"Harrumph! Awfully b----y large fellow, wouldn't you say? Biggest Tall that I've ever met! Doesn't seem entirely proper, that, with the giant hunting and what-not. Generous of spirit, though, and more importantly of spirits, what? Bit of a pun, that. 'Spirits' in the sense of alcohol, don't you know. Chap stood me a drink, in short, and that's a sure sign of a gentleman. D------y muscular, what's more, and that's just the sort of thing that comes in handy. Be delighted to have him at my side, although I might be inclined to tell him to take care where he steps."
Valerius	"Lot to prove, that one. To himself, what's more, and that's something that I can respect. Got a tragic b----y tale to tell, I don't doubt. But hell, don't we all? Thought the boy broods rather more than I find entirely seemly...no way to live, that. Look forward, say I, not back! Particularly if there's something chasing you; you're just asking to trip over something, in my experience. This much I can say: He knows how to use that blade, that's clear enough. And that's what matters, innit? Still and all, the boy needs to be pried out that b----y shell of his!"
Orrin	"A reasonable sort, clearly. And that's the problem, what? We don't need b----y reason, we need swords! Giants aren't the listening sort, everyone knows that! Savages, the lot of them. Now, don't mistake me! I don't hold it against the chap. He seems a dab hand at mountaineering, and that counts for a goodly bit. And a druid? All kinds of useful, that. Really, though, he'll need to see reason, and NOT try to see reason. Er...if you follow me. Truth be told, I'm not b-----y sure that I'm following me on that. I may have a few too many mugs of...of...what the d---l is this, anyway?"
Asgeirr	"Don't much care for priests, as a rule. A somber lot, always worrying about sins, morality, the afterlife...all that rot. But this Asgeirr chap, he's different! Drinks like a fish, fights like a dragon, laughs like...like...d--n and blast it, what's something that laughs? Laughs a lot, is what I'm saying, and loudly at that! Like a b----y avalanche! Not that avalaches are known for laughing, but by way of a meta-whatsit regarding how he sounds, what? Hardly the point, I know, but it clearly needed saying."
Sky	""So much anger, that one! Better anger than despair, mind, if you know how to use it. Does she, though? Doubt it. Too b----y afraid of it, too unsure. Girl needs to be b----y d---n sure of herself, if she wants to go a'hunting giants! Needs to be taken under the wing of an experienced warrior like...well, modesty forfends. No, actually, it b----y well doesn't! Like myself, by d--n!"
Hrotha	"Not a d----d thing wrong with Orchish blood, you know! Blood's not half so important as the heart that pumps it, and hers appears to be of fine quality indeed. Girl needs to understand that, if she's going to get anywhere. Young, though, and that? That troubles me a bit. The young tend to be impetuous, as I know all too well! And in an undertaking such as this, impetousness...impetuousity....being too d----d hasty can prove fatal to all concerned."
Eghan	"Oh, he's a proud one, what? Take him far, that pride, if it doesn't cost him his head...which it likely will. Rather reminds me of myself, or he would if he weren't a b----y Tall. No, no, just a jest. Quite like the chap, really. But from the stories he tells, I rather hope that I never meet his mother. Sounds like a proper terror, she does! It'll be a d-----d shame if a dragon eats him. Suppose I'll have to watch the chap's back."
Makkari	"The boy has a tiger! A b----y tiger! Is there anything more that I need say? A tiger, my dear chap! I wonder if he would allow me to ride it? No, no, I'm sure you're correct. Better not to ask. But perhaps...no. Quite right. D----t. But yes, Makkari! Bit of an idealist, from what I gather, and that's refreshing -- especially when one considers the hell he's been through, judging by those scars. Whatever it was, he hasn't let it break him! And that tells me a great b----y deal. Also, he does have a tiger."
Sophitia	"Magic. Harrumph! Nothing strictly against magic, or those who work it, you understand. Comes in handy, it does. But the girl is so b----y smug about her d----d finger-wiggling! D---l take it, magic's weird, tricksy stuff, and not half so reliable as a good sharp blade. And she's fancy, to boot! Won't be nearly so well turned-out after a week or two in the wilds, I tell you that! Wouldn't mind seeing that, if I'm honest. Do her a world of good to be taken down a peg or three. Hubris, what? 'Pride goeth', and so forth, eh?"
Anders	"In my experience -- and it's vast, that experience is -- when something is too good to be true, it usually isn't. True, that is. And this 'Anders' fellow, well...he's just too b----y good. No one is that d----d nice, my dear chap. No one. Not unless they've something to hide. What? No, I'm not just not a b-----y cynic! How dare you, sir! I am a realist, and that is another thing entirely!"
Kyra	"Have you seen her move? Like a b----y cat. D----d graceful, particularly for a Tall like herself. Chasing perfection, though? That's a fool's goal. No such thing as perfect, not so far as I've seen. Perhaps it's some of that 'it's the journey, not the destination' tommy-rot? Noting wrong with striving for perfection when you look at it that way, I suppose, but I can think of more than a few ways to better spend my time. Drinking, for example. If you can't perfection at the bottom of an empty mug, it's not worth b----y searching for. I would, however be remiss if I did not make note of Kyra's left hook, which is d----d impressive. D----d impressive."
Sittania	"Rather a paranoid sort, which is a remarkably sensible outlook. Only stands to b----y reason, since the world really is out to kill us all. She and I can both testify to that, I fear. Doesn't seem to bear a grudge, though, and that's nothing short of remarkable. I, myself, have been known to be a trifle...*ahem*...single-minded, in regards to matters past. Have to wonder how she does it."

[DarkNetwerk]

Name: Rhasadilara "Rhasa" Orobered
Race: Half-elf (
Mordant Spire Half-Elves (Spireborn)
Few in number and rarely seen, Spireborn retain many human features but are still as enigmatic as their elven forebears.

Elven Ancestry Mordant Spire elves
Human Ancestry Arcadian, Ulfen, Varisian
Regions Mordant Spire (Steaming Sea)
Languages Azlanti, Elven (All Spireborn begin play speaking Azlanti and Elven. These replace the default half-elf languages.)
Spireborn)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Bonded Mountain Witch
Traits:
You’ve always had an interest in magic, but you’re fascinated with those legendary magic items known as artifacts. You’ve spent years researching these mythical relics and committed the stories and legends about them to memory, making you something of an expert on the subject.

Benefit: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Spellcraft checks to identify the properties of magic items and a +1 trait bonus on Use Magic Device checks, and one of these skills (your choice) becomes a class skill for you. In addition, whenever you first encounter an artifact, there is a 50% chance (+1% per level) that you recognize the artifact and know its name, origin, and something of that artifact’s powers, abilities, or dangers. Exactly how much knowledge you possess is left to the GM’s discretion.
Artifact Hunter (campaign),
You have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge about the world and desire to obtain it firsthand.

Benefit: You gain a +1 trait bonus on all Knowledge (dungeoneering) and Knowledge (history) checks, and you may treat your caster level as 1 level higher for all conjuration spells of the teleportation subschool.
Eldritch Delver (magic),
Your spellcasting powers are infused with the powers of the occult Outer Gods.

Benefit: Whenever you cast a spell or spell-like ability with the curse descriptor (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 251), increase the DC of the spell’s saving throw by 1. If you cast such a spell or spell-like ability at night, as long as the sky is clear and the stars are visible, treat your caster level as 1 higher when determining the spell’s duration.
Starlit Hexer (religion)
Drawback:
You were touched by terrible horrors that live in the darkness just outside the human sphere, such as shadow-beasts or aberrations linked to the Dark Tapestry, and feel your life-force ebb away ever so slightly whenever you return to the shadows.

Whenever you are in an area of dim light or darkness, you take a –1 penalty on saving throws.
Shadow-scarred

Description: Rhasadilara is a woman of statuesque beauty. Her snow-white hair makes her otherwise pale complexion seem dark by comparison. Her beauty is marred only by an old scar that runs from her temple, down along her cheek to her mouth. Her pale sky-blue eyes hold a deep intensity that coupled with the grim set to her face, makes her, at times, almost fearsome to behold, but there also occasional cracks in her demeanor that emit an overtone of a deep sadness and despair.

 

Rhasadilara was born of an elf from the Mordant Spire, a product of her mother's dalliance with a human. Although her mother refused to bring her to the Spire, she was raised among the elves of nearby Crying Leaf. Rhasa was something of an outsider, however, maturing faster than the full-blooded elves and thus feeling out of place among them. Still, she was able to find things to do that did not require socializing with others of her age, apparent or real. The libraries of elvish lore, although not plentiful in this elven village, were interesting enough, and her mother often lent her books from the Spire on ancient Azlant and their artefacts. Rhasa could always be found with her nose buried in a book of civilizations long past, artifacts, or some other ancient lore. There was only so much she could learn from books, however. With nothing really keeping her there, and actually accessing the Mordant Spire, highly unlikely, Rhasa left for other parts of Varisia, the land that had once been part of a vast empire known as Thassilon. The schools, monuments, and ruins of that country, although not of Azlant could still likely occupy her time for ages.

After some years travelling through the cities and academies to further research the lore of the area, she settled down in a town in western Varisia. There were some ancient thassilonian ruins nearby that hadn't entirely been examined by her fellow researchers, so she decided she would live there to analyse the carvings and words etched into its walls and columns without fear of any distraction from competing researchers. Even so, Rhasadilara did find herself distracted by a young farmer who had recently inherited some lands near the village. They fell in love with each other, almost opposite sides of the same coin, and soon she was with child. Life was simple, yet idyllic for Rhasa, continuing her research while raising her young daughter and helping her husband with the farm chores.

It was not to last, however, as a raiding party of orcs from nearby Belkzen came to the village, slaughtering all that they could find. Rhasa herself, gathering water at the well when the attack occurred, was struck across the face, knocking her over the short wall and down into the pit below. Whether it was luck or fate, Rhasa didn't drown, her body kept partially afloat by the bucket. She had been left for dead.

With some false starts, Rhasadilara eventually pulled herself up and out of the well, only to witness the devastation left behind. The village was razed, some areas still burning, embers glowing elsewhere. And the bodies seemed to be strewn everywhere, looted of anything that may have been of value. Rhasa ran around in panic, looking for signs of her family, hoping that they may have escaped or somehow survived. Her hopes were dashed when she came upon their corpses, her husband draped protectively over their daughter, a broken orcish spear impaling them. Grief and despair took the half-elf then, and much of her memories were clouded by madness. Outside of the memory of burying her loved ones, she recalled the sensation of movement as she wandered aimlessly away from the remaining carnage, the sound of chanting in some gutteral language her mind had trouble connecting with, the image of a depiction of some formless creature, and a feeling of dark absence, a void that consumed all.

Her memory only began to clarify some time later, when she found herself in the mountains somewhere. Something had communed with her and snapped her out of her daze of despair and madness. Mountain spirits, perhaps tempering something, some entity communicating to her through her wedding band, the only thing she had left to remind her of her loss, that was now defaced with unknown markings. In her isolation from civilization, she began to speak to these beings and even learn from them. Things of spirit and of magic. She buried herself in the training, almost taking on the nature of stone, in order to suppress the grief and loss she was experiencing and to stabilize her mind from the madness that threatened to consume her once more.

Eventually, as she ganed more and more control over herself, she began to travel away from her mountain, eventually reaching the nearest town, known as Trunau. She never stayed for long, the solace of her mountain and the salve of isolation pulling her, but she did visit now and again to gather needed supplies and to assist the townsfolk with any remedies she could offer. The human contact helping almost as much as the mountain in staving off the madness.

 

Beliefs:
1- Thanks to the raid that had effectively destroyed her, Rhasadilara believes that no good can be found in an orc. They must be cleansed at any cost... no... not any cost... why would I think that? Even one showing only a portion of an orcish bloodline raises her ire, although she is able to temper it, knowing that they had no say in their situation, much like she had no say in her period of madness. It happened and must be dealt with.
2- Rhasadilara believes that the mountain, through its age and solidity, is what keeps her stable. She cannot fathom that it could truly be her own inner resources that push back the madness.

Goals:
1- Rhasadilara wants to let go of her past, divesting herself of her wedding ring, the only item that connects her to her dead family. That lone connection prevents her from throwing it away, even though it has been defaced, perhaps by herself in her madness, with symbols she later divined to be related to the Dark Tapestry. The entity that somehow connects with her through it is pure madness that only the mountain stone spirits can shield her from. She knows she must destroy or somehow rid herself of the ring, but she cannot, the memory of her husband and daughter too strong for her to yet release.
2- Rhasadilara hopes to see an artifact of some ancient civilization for herself, a culmination of her life's research into antiquity and the legendary items that exist only in the storybooks.

Fears: Rhasadilara fears the darkness. Not because she would be blind to whatever may come, but because she knows that something darker than the darkness awaits there, seducing her, pulling at her soul, threatening to return her to the madness she had fought so long to escape.

Posting Rate: I am generally able to post at least once a day on weekdays, barring a large influx of work that needs my attention. Weekends, holidays, vacations, etc. I am generally offline.

[PopCultureBard]

Aw, man. I totally have a concept ready to pitch for this AP and now, when my time is least forgiving, an opportunity pops up with a reliable GM. I would love to take part in this but I am going to have to wait until later in the month to see what my work situation has become before I commit.