[PF-1e] Giantslayers

[Hydra-X]

I'd like to throw my hat into the mix as well. My app is currently in its late stages. I'll post it up when it's complete.

[Jarl11]

Spreadsheet updated until now with the submissions received and info below.

@Mountainbound - Thanks for stopping in! If you change your mind, we'll be here!

@Hydra-X - Great to see another face I have yet to game with Look forward to seeing what you come up with!

@MundayKnight - Will get to your question a bit later, I need to read up first

@Darksoul - Sorry to hear that but thanks for letting me know.

[MundayKnight]

Okay, figured I would make sure not to get lost in the mix.

[Mcderth]

I think I finally have my application complete, though I'm sure I'll keep putting the ol' polish rag to it here and there until you get a chance to review it.

[Jarl11]

Why is hotel internet always slower than normal... Dang other users

Responses to a couple of you:
Blackfyre and Mcderth -

And to all - I'm saying no to psionics.

[JonnyGulliver]

[Hydra-X]

Here be my full and complete app.

The Spellcastin', Switchbladin', Jive-Talkin', Debt Collectin', Snowy-Haired Lady of Riddleport Sophitia Tisiphone Bellerophon Race: Human Alignment: In the sense that while her thoughts and actions are not typically governed by any mean-spiritedness, Sophitia is perfectly fine with lying, cheating, and breaking promises in order to benefit both herself and her allies. Her motivations are not exactly altruistic (yet), and she cares little for the needs of others (for now), but Sophitia is more than willing to join a benevolent cause if it promises an opportunity to test her arcane prowess. I would play Sophitia as gradually transitioning from True Neutral to Chaotic Good.True Neutral Class: Enchanter (Manipulator School) Traits: Taken from the Giantslayer Player's Guide: You’ve always been fascinated by the giant races, and have devoted a considerable amount of time to studying their history and societies, gaining insight into the way they think and use their abilities. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Diplomacy checks against creatures with the giant subtype and a +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (local) checks regarding creatures with the giant subtype, and one of these skills (your choice) becomes a class skill for you. In addition, you know the Giant language (this does not count toward your number of languages).Student of Giantkind, Rich Parents, Charming Drawback: Vain And Introducing Her Fantastic Familiar:   Perseus, Squirrel Extraordinaire!

Sophitia, Inside and Out:   Fine and Fancy Sophitia stands a slim and long-legged five feet and eight inches tall. The lines of her tall yet delicate frame manage curves both gentle and soft—with the singular exception of a strikingly sizeable derrière (a gift from her mother, as Sophitia’s father likes to tease; a gift horribly unbefitting, as Sophitia often laments). Her skin tone is somewhere between the creamy pale of her Chelish father and the deep olive of her Varisian mother—tending more toward one or the other with the change of the seasons. As a young child Sophitia’s thick and wavy hair shone a brilliant blonde. In her mid-teens, it abruptly saw fit to lighten to a near-platinum grey. These days, despite being a mere twenty-three years of age, Sophitia sports a lustrous hip-length mane of snow-white. Sophitia’s father blames her hair’s odd colouration on the slight dash of cloud giant blood rumoured to flow through the family’s veins. Sophitia’s grey eyes are sharp like her father’s, though her features at large are more reminiscent of her mother—in particular her slightly-larger-than-she’d-have-them ears and plump (perhaps full to an admirer, perhaps sensual to a lonely poet, and probably fishlike to many a Chelaxian) lips. As a daughter of privilege, Sophitia’s wardrobe tends toward the extravagant and expensive (some might say pretentious) over the mundane and modest (Sophitia would say scroungy). In addition, she likes to adorn herself with all manner of jewelled finery including earrings, chokers, bracelets, and rings. She is fond of capes and hoods, tights and hose, fingerless silk gloves (the better to accentuate her magnificently immaculate nails). In public she often dresses in long skirts or a fine chiton to hide her ample posterior (though her rate of success in this endeavour has been moderate at best—and her unconscious habit of swaying her hips like a pendulum while she walks doesn't help matters either). She prefers her clothing in whites and pale blues. Sophitia never, ever wears red or black. Unless the environment absolutely demands otherwise, Sophitia can usually be seen strutting about in a pair of tall, leg-hugging strapped sandals (usually painted a glittering gold, bronze, or silver). She is rather partial to such footwear—particularly of the type in vogue in and around the Chelaxian capital of Egorian—and maintains a vast collection in the family manor at Riddleport. Yet beyond the snow-white hair, the bounteous behind, the luscious lips, the shiny sandals, and the immaculate wardrobe, Sophitia's most distinct feature is perhaps also her most malleable: her voice. Without affectation of any kind, Sophitia’s voice is naturally lilting yet throaty; it flows from her lips like husky honey. However, the true mark of any silver-tongued devil lies in his or her powers of manipulation—not the least of which thrive within the vocal realm. At times the sweet tones of a maiden fair, often the authoritative timbre of a scholar, and occasionally even the vicious edge of a Riddleport street thug—Sophitia’s voice is multitalented in and of itself. Assuming an identity all its own, Sophitia’s voice is always ready to work for her whether she finds herself expounding the glories of magick, threatening a deadbeat down at the docks, or lying through her brilliant white teeth. A most practical—and powerful—tool. Often seen furtively poking its head out of Sophitia's purse is a little beady-eyed, bushy-tailed, bundle of white. Sophitia has referred to the squirrel as "Perseus" ever since receiving him as a gift from her grandfather about a year ago. Sophitia's grandfather has longed trained squirrels for the purpose of thievery—yet Sophitia doesn't send little Perseus off to snatch coin purses from an unsuspecting mark's belt as often as she employs him in her study of magic. Having thus been infused with a touch of the arcane, Perseus is not your average nut-hoarder—and serves Sophitia as her chosen familiar.   Not Just a Pretty Face Sophitia believes in the untouchable superiority of magic. To her, there is nothing more worthy of study, inquiry, practice, or pursuit, than the great mystery that is the arcane. Magic is her breath, her lifeblood, and her soul—and it is a force far greater than any power above. Sophitia eschews conventional religion. Following the traditions of her family, she shuns even the worship of Nethys to proudly echo the time-honoured words of Bellerophons both past and present: “Magic is a god unto itself. There is no greater glory than in its veneration.” Sophitia believes that magic is the single greatest thing that exists, if only because that is how she was raised. Nevertheless, she will stop at nothing to pursue her long-term mastery of it. Sophitia believes in herself. Not just in the sense of her being confident and self-assured, but also quite literally. Sophitia doesn’t just believe that she deserves happiness, fortune, and prosperity—she believes she deserves happiness, fortune, and prosperity because of who she is. Be it her intelligence, beauty, or arcane prowess, Sophitia feels that she possesses the means to have her life and everything in it go any way her heart desires. What’s more, she lives by the guiding principle that the mere fact of her possessing such intelligence, beauty, and magickal skill bestows upon her an obligation to use these qualities to her advantage. Things will go Sophitia’s way because they should—because of who she is and what she can do. Sophitia wants recognition. In the long term, she wants people from far and wide to be able to look at her and know her name. She sees the advancement of her arcane abilities as the immediate and most worthwhile course towards this aim. In the short term, she wants no one she comes into contact with to ever forget her face. She needs everyone to know who she is, what she does, and why that makes her exceptional. These desires are no doubt rooted in her long-cultivated vanity. It eats away at her like an addiction, unshakeable and raw. Sophitia wants to attend arcane university in Quantium. The famed institutions of magickal education dotting Nex’s capital call out to her from across the Inner Sea. Only there, within those hallowed halls, does Sophitia believe she can gain full mastery of the arcane. NOTE: I know full-well that Sophitia would most likely be going nowhere near Quantium in this AP. I wouldn’t expect her to ever end up there within the course of this game. Her desire to study there is meant to be a reflection of her character and nothing more. More than losing her command over the arcane, more than dirtying her sandals, and even more than centipedes, Sophitia is afraid of death. She's not necessarily afraid of dying, but rather of death itself. It’s the reason why she’s never devoted much study to the school of necromancy, and also the reason why she’s not too fond of eating meat. Sophitia won’t even swat a fly or trap a mouse. The sight of a bird carcass lying on a riverside path unnerves her. Passing by a tomb or cemetery gives her goosebumps. And while she has thankfully never laid eyes on one before, she’s certain that the sight of a walking corpse, reanimated by necromantic magic, would surely freeze the blood in her veins. She admits the fear is somewhat irrational, but it’s stuck with her ever since she was seven years old (see Background for the grim 'n gritty details). As a player, I wish to take advantage of the traditional heroic theme of this AP in order to portray, through Sophitia, the internal hero’s journey just as much as the external. Sophitia is not a hero. Not yet. She’s not even a particularly nice young lady. But when surrounded by evil with only her allies—heroes and heroes-in-the-making—to depend on, she'll have to find who she really is. My goal with Sophitia is very RP-based: to watch her develop from a haughty little mafia princess into a respected—and even beloved—heroine. But she can’t do it on her own.   Who's That Girl? Sophitia Tisiphone Bellerophon comes from a long line of wealthy magic-users originally from Westcrown, Cheliax, some of whom were among the very first Chelish colonists to Varisia almost three-hundred years ago. The Bellerophons, a proud and cultured family claiming to be descended from a lost civilization of ancient cloud giants, assisted in the settling of Korvosa and over the years came to take advantage of the area’s emerging commerce; the Korvosa Bellerophons would enter the business of usury, and over the decades carve out a celebrated, successful, and lucrative little enterprise. It should come as no surprise that the practice of moneylending might attract some unsavoury characters to one’s doorstep, and that is just what Sophitia’s great-grandfather Andronikos Konstantinos Bellerophon II inevitably encountered when he returned home one cool autumn night to find a collection of Sczarni thugs waiting for him. He began lending to the Sczarni though remained cautious of their reputed treachery. With the passing of a few years however, Andronikos II came to see value in the Sczarni as shrewd and clever allies—and soon enough a loose (and more than a touch reluctant) alliance was formed between the Bellerophons and the Vratro family of Sczarni. Soon enough, the Bellerophon family business expanded from simple moneylending to include smuggling, drug peddling, and extortion rackets. As a young man, Sophitia’s father Nikolaos Kallistos Bellerophon, a sorcerer and conjuration specialist fascinated with the ancient mysteries of Varisia, relocated his business to Riddleport so that he might study the secrets of the famed Cyphergate. With him he brought his lover, Lymkallia, only daughter of Vinzi Vratro—patriarch of the Vratro Sczarni family. Vinzi did not appreciate this. A few months after the flight to Riddleport Lymkallia discovered she was pregnant and Nikolaos very hastily wed her. Vinzi did not appreciate this either. However luckily for Nikolaos, his wealth and influence in Korvosa—not to mention his family’s history with the Vratros—spared him Vinzi’s wrath. Sophitia’s mother Lymkallia’s one fatal flaw was her spirited carelessness. Despite being warned, scolded, and threatened about dipping into the “wares” that would come delivered by bandanna-wearing, rotten-toothed ne’er-do-wells to the back gate in sealed crates every month, Lymkallia ended up dipping one time too many. One night, the then seven-year-old Sophitia found her mother lying face down in her bathwater still clutching a pipe packed with fine brown powder. Vinzi Vratro was devastated, and his relations with Nikolaos remain strained to this day. Not even a month after the funeral, Nikolaos wed the illusion-specializing daughter of a Chelish merchant, Noravennia Arcturia. From that point forward, Sophitia’s life was one of constant instruction, study, and practice. Sophitia’s education came to encompass ancient languages, history, mathematics, natural philosophy, and even the lore and linguistics of her reputed giant ancestors. Though intriguing enough in their own right, the pursuit of these and many more diverse academic disciplines were always secondary to Sophitia’s first love: magic. Despite being the very first Bellerophon in seven generations to not manifest sorcerous abilities (an unfortunate fact that she curses to this day), Sophitia’s natural enthusiasm for wizardry nevertheless rendered her a fine candidate for the next great Bellerophon mage. Under her father and stepmother’s tutelage, Sophitia quickly grasped the intricacies of spellcasting and developed a potent mind for arcane theory and application. Yet Sophitia was a child of Riddleport; her father was a moneylending drug smuggler, her grandfather the head of a regional crime gang, and most of her childhood friends the sons and daughters of cutthroats and thieves. Sophitia didn't choose a life of thuggery, she was born into it. Her father, an unscrupulous businessman exceptionale, intentionally trained his only child as an enchantment specialist. His morally questionable reasoning was simple: Nikolaos figured that the potent mind-altering talents of a bona fide enchantress combined with his precious daughter’s natural charm, innocence, and good looks would produce one hell of a means to good, reliable, liability-free debt collection. And was he ever right. It was high time for Nikolaos to call in one particularly delinquent debt owed to him by a big burly dockhand on the other side of town who went by the name of “Hangnail Harry”. But after two of his toughest hirelings shot off their mouths drunk in the street and got themselves knifed for their troubles, Nikolaos found himself without anyone to send to rough up Harry. What else was an amoral loan shark to do? Nikolaos sent sixteen-year-old Sophitia along to pull her first job. Even a scumbag like Nikolaos knew just how much danger he had foolishly placed his young daughter in—but about an hour or so later, Sophitia returned. Not only was she unharmed without so much as a scratch to mar her pretty face, but she dragged back to her father a huge bag of gold and silver coins totalling three times what Harry had owed Nikolaos. A smile here, a wink there, a few careful words, and a well-placed charm incantation were all it took, according to the proud and beaming Sophitia. Nikolaos knew a gold mine when he saw one—and his clever little daughter was just standing there gleaming, glittering, and shining away. Gifted beyond measure with enchantment magicks, highly intelligent and quick-witted, silver-tongued, fair of face, and a frighteningly talented liar (so talented in fact that at the age of twenty-one she went on to successfully dabble in acting with a local Varisian troupe), Sophitia could empty a deadbeat’s pockets without even lifting a finger. It didn’t take long for her adoring Sczarni grandfather to take notice—and have her innumerable aunts, uncles, and cousins stringing her along on one of their many capers whenever she wasn’t out collecting for her father. She soon learned street-speak from her grandfather, hustle tactics from her uncles, and how to throw a mean right hook from her “big brothers” Vik and Konn—her father’s half-orc cronies. While never much of a fighter, Sophitia did take part in a few good old fashioned beatdowns alongside Vik, Konn, and her vicious cousins every now and then. They'd feed their cruel streaks by jumping halflings down at the docks. Sophitia never was the nicest girl. She was a criminal’s daughter. She knew that, accepted it, and had no problem reaping its benefits. She always knew she was smart, beautiful, and pretty much untouchable. She would do what she felt like, even if it meant a bit of pain and suffering for someone else. And for several years, that's exactly what she did. Yet even if she didn’t particularly care for halflings, the appeal of beating them half to death in a gang started to drop off eventually. As did the thrill of blackmailing, spying, and extorting money for her father. Sophitia wanted to devote more time to her magickal studies—but all her father and cousins were doing were sending her out day after day to ply her talents for crime. Maybe she was indeed starting to drift away from the greed, vanity, and cruelty that had defined her just as much as her intelligence and skill—but more than anything, Sophitia was getting annoyed and rather tired of sharking, of fights, of Riddleport, and certainly of her father. She wanted, or rather needed, to break free of her leash. Sophitia was sick of being her father’s tool. She declared to him that she would be leaving for Westcrown, Cheliax, where she hoped to find passage to Quantium, capital of Nex. There, she would work towards a mastery of magic at one of Quantium’s famed arcane universities. The argument that followed was a rather nasty one. After nearly an hour of venom-spewing, Sophitia begrudgingly conceded the dispute. In her father's words, there was no way in Hell she would be traipsing off to Nex on some foolish whim. She was to remain in Riddleport and help out the family business as only she could. Sophitia gave her father her word that she would do just that. And as if there was ever any doubt, she lied.   Rollin' Down the Road A few days ago, Sophitia’s father dispatched her to collect an outstanding debt from all the way in Korvosa. Two of her roughest Sczarni cousins, Rani and Frev, were sent to accompany her. Sophitia, of course, had absolutely no interest in seeing this little journey to its conclusion. Collecting yet another debt for her father didn’t concern her, because Sophitia was hell-bent on furthering her art as an enchanter and gaining greater arcane power through practice and glorious discovery. This is exactly why she’s used a sleeping-spell to render Rani and Frev a pair of snoring lumps on the bank of the Yondabakari river. She places a note in her slumbering cousin’s pocket saying she’s gone off on her whimsical way to Westcrown—right before playing the role of the frightened, lost maiden and charming her way onto a merchant caravan en route to Trunau. Sophitia doesn’t know much about the town of Trunau, but she knows enough to know that given the constant threat of violence in the savage orcland that is the Hold of Belkzen, Trunau is not exactly the ideal place for her to slip away to. But confidence has never been in short supply with Sophitia, and she trusts not only her skill as an enchanter but also her command of the Orcish language (thanks in part to her “brothers” Vik and Konn) to keep her safe and out of trouble. Of course, she would truly love to be in Quantium studying the fantastic mysteries of the arcane—but that can wait until she has the means to get there. After all, Sophitia has more or less run away from home. All she has on her person are a few belongings, her spellbook, a couple changes of clothes, and a special friend of hers—her magical little squirrel familiar, Perseus. She’s left her expensive gowns, most of her jewellery, her sandal collection, and a whole hell of a lot of money, behind. If she’s ever going to make it to Quantium someday, she’ll have to scrape up some coin in Trunau. And that is something Sophitia Tisiphone Bellerophon does very, very well.   The Rest Posting Rate: 1-2/week works as a nice minimum for me. I could probably do as much as 3-4/week without much trouble if need be. Entrance Theme: I've added a link to a piece much befitting the snowy-haired lady in her name at the top of the app. Sophitia in a Party: Sophitia would not just be the party wizard. She would also be the party liar. Her traits and a high CHA would translate into significant Diplomacy and Bluff modifiers. Combine that with strong enchantment spells, not to mention her Student of Giantkind trait giving her a diplomatic edge with the big bruisers, and Sophitia stands poised to help the party beguile their way out of problems that swords and magic missiles can’t solve. I would also consider the idea of giving Sophitia a few bard levels down the line. Old Man Hydra: I’m one of the old hands here at RPGX, having joined waaay back in 2005. I’ve been more or less a career DM for the better part of my time here, with one of my games hitting its seven-year anniversary this month (click those links in my sig wouldja!). Even I need to step out from behind the DM screen though, and not only does this AP look great and Jarl look nice and reliable—but the other prospective players look to be full of creative excellence. Consider my hat thrown in.

PHASE II

 

Player	Character	Sophitia's Two Coppers
Mcderth	Felix	My Perseus, let it be known that I so truly miss Vik and Konn. Those two orc-blooded brutes are the brothers I never had, and I absolutely love them. But this Felix—this strapping gentleman—reminds me so much of those two. For one, he’s so incredibly huge he might even be descended from giants just like moi. For two, he seems to suffer from delusions of valiance. You know the type—the kind of imbecile that would rush headlong into certain death just to preserve the life of a fair maid like me. I’ve seen Vik and Konn beat grown men half to death for just looking at me the wrong way, and I could certainly see dear Felix doing a lot worse for a lot less once I properly endear myself to him. And why would I not? I mean, this man has spoken to me of slaying dragons in his near future. Dragons! Just look at this hulking beast of a man—if anyone could slay a dragon, it would surely be Felix. I’ll need suitable bodyguards if I’m to risk travel through those accursed mountains on the morrow, and I could certainly do a lot worse than this man. Sure, a common fool he may be, but I’d be the fool not to ingratiate myself with so mighty a creature. And a fool, my Perseus, is something that Sophitia Bellerophon will never be.
Blackfyre	Valerius	Perseus...he’s perfect. Handsome, intelligent, well-groomed, of noble birth, and more than just marginally aware of the power and value of a gold. He is wonderful on those merits alone...but he also knows the arcane. That makes him more than wonderful—that makes him perfect. My perfect man. My perfect Valerius. With a name like that he might be Chelish, but he claims to be of Ustalavic stock. He mentioned so to me earlier. I’m lingering around this filthy slip "Ramblehouse" only so I might bestow upon myself every possible opportunity to catch Valerius and speak with him. Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that I may be blushing during our conversations. That is markedly bad form for a lady of my considerable talents, and might even amount to an explanation for the strange looks he’s been giving me. But I cannot help it! He’s so incredibly beautiful Perseus! Like a dream come to sweet, wondrous life! And I've not seen him make a single eye at a woman even! Not one! Can you imagine if we were to marry? Would that not make me Ustalavic nobility? Nobility, Perseus! I really must do all I can to get to know him better. I must—no—I will have him. I deserve him. Sophitia Bellerophon always gets what she wants, and be he a perfect one or not, dear Valerius is still a man. And in the twenty-three years I’ve graced Golarion, I’ve never met a man who could resist my charms. Sweet Valerius shall be no different.
Neqq	Orrin	I had read a thing or two about oreads in the past, but had never actually encountered one until I met this Orrin on the street yesterday. Putting it plainly Perseus, I think he’s ugly, awkward, and flat-out strange. He commits himself to this thoroughly foolish philosophy of preserving balance or something along those ridiculous lines. Personally, I think it’s just a cover for his general ineptitude when it comes to dealing with people. It certainly doesn’t take someone as quick-witted as myself to see that Orrin’s probably had a lot of time to himself over the years. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s spent the bulk of his life as a goat-herder or something equally plebeian. Still, for all his social gracelessness, Orrin does possess a considerable amount of knowledge when it comes to giantkind. I must admit that I actually enjoyed sitting by the hearth with him last evening swapping facts and sharing tales. That this stony grey man was anything remotely resembling an intellectual was a thought that I had not considered before deigning to speak with him. It is unfortunate he hasn’t tried his hand at wizardry. I still haven’t shared with him the truth of my family's ancestry. It will be most amusing when I do. I imagine the shock of learning that the blood of a vicious cloud giant pumps through the veins of someone as comely as myself might actually put a crack in Orrin’s rocky face.
Rolzup	Barnabas	I HATE that loudmouth slip! All he ever does is sit there flapping his stupid gums about how he’s Brevoyan nobility and his grandfather’s grandfather was some kind of legendary hero that slew giants. That is absolute rubbish. If he actually thinks anyone believes a single one of his half-cocked stories he’s stupider than your average slip. Which, Perseus, is pretty bloody stupid. He seems to fancy himself some kind of heroic adventurer. Don’t make me laugh! That turnip-washin' pod-sucker would probably be the first to tuck it an' run like a scalded dog when things get hot! Bend me sideways on a Starday mornin' what a jerry-lickin' little piece of rotten—*cough* *ahem*—I apologize Perseus, just talking about him is enough to infuriate me, and when I am so perturbed the Riddleport gutter water just spews from my lips. I'm sorry—but not sorry enough that I wouldn't like to rip those ridiculous-looking muttonchops off his disgusting slip face and shove them down his cocky little throat! Loud, annoying, and STUPID. A common slip if ever I saw one. I swear to you my Perseus, if he even tries to make a pass at me I’m going to personally introduce his nether regions to the tip of my switchblade. You know how slips are, always gawking at us “tall” women like the forbidden fruit that we are. Disgusting creatures. I hope a storm giant cleaves his impudent skull in two! It would still be less than a little freak like him deserves! UGH!
ByronBulb	Asgeirr	“Asgeirr” certainly is an amusing name—as is the fellow who bears it. You’ve seen him haven’t you Perseus? He’s the one at that awful bar with an ever-present tankard in hand and an equally unflinching smile on his face. He seems to be a nice enough man, but I’m not sure I care much for him. He acts a touch too familiar for my tastes. It’s all too easy for a lot of men to overstep the boundaries of decorum while trying to be friendly—and this one is no exception. All the same, even if he is something of a nuisance who does not know his place in the presence of a talented beauty like myself, he does have my respect. I mean, how often does one come across a self-proclaimed warrior-priest who is nevertheless devoted to the pursuit of knowledge? His boisterous exterior might mask it from the less perceptive, but I can tell that there is considerable intelligence behind his bright eyes. I know not why he hides it—intellect is surely not something to be ashamed of. He might make a fairly competent arcane magic-user if not for his sad devotion to religion of all things. 'Tis a shame, really. Nothing but braids, a barrel chest, and wasted potential.
Sassafrass	Sky	Shoanti tend to be simple-minded and thick—and this “Sky” seems to be no different than the rest of her kin in that regard. It is, of course, not her mind that concerns me though. Her sheer size, savage bearing, and that awful rage I can see bubbling behind her eyes ought to translate into considerable talents as a bodyguard. Once again my Perseus, I must emphasize that I need competent protectors by my side if I am to make my way through those perilous orc-infested mountains tomorrow morning. I imagine I could have Sky wrapped around my dainty little finger in as little as an hour or two. After all, it isn’t exactly difficult for me to convince a simpleton that taking personal risks for my benefit is a good idea. I do that better than most fish swim. However, it always pays to be prepared. So in the unlikely case that my skills fail, I could always resort to bribery. Susceptibility to bribes is rather typical of Shoanti—and perhaps not surprisingly. I mean, have you seen the conditions in which they live Perseus? Abhorrent is far too generous a word. Sky might be pretty for a Shoanti, but maybe if I grease her palm with a few golds she’ll see fit to get herself some proper clothes instead of walking around in a blanket. She can roar and rampage all she wants, but no bodyguard of mine is going to be selflessly shielding me from a promise of grim and brutal death dressed like some derelict wino.
PopCultureBard	Hrotha	I am, as you well know Perseus, very fond of orcbloods. That is why I wish Hrotha would knock off the pretty-girl act and just be an orcblood. Her pretensions toward beauty and grace are laughable at best, most especially when she’s standing next to me. I mean, she’s really just embarrassing herself. I think I’d be doing her a tremendous favour by telling her that she is in fact ugly and probably always will be. At least that might encourage her to save all that energy she puts into trying to pathetically doll herself up. Half-blooded orcs aren’t exactly known for their pretty faces—or their intelligence for that matter. Hrotha seems typical in this regard, but that just makes her a more valuable acquaintance. After all, a good idiot is useful. Add to that the easily-exploited jealousy that all but drips off of her, not to mention how desperate for acceptance she so obviously is—and I think we have ourselves not just a bodyguard, but a rather fine tool. Now now, I wouldn’t mistreat or take undue advantage of her—because again, I am very fond of orcbloods—but I think after working my way into her good graces I’d be very happy to use Hrotha as my personal shield when I brave the savage mountains tomorrow. I only deserve it after all. I am smarter than everyone in this wretched backwater town. Much better looking and skilled too. Certainly more so than Hrotha.
Cedric	Eghan	So this Eghan also has his heart set on slaying a dragon, apparently. If you can believe it Perseus, I actually feel his intentions as a would-be hero are honourable—but I’m not so sure he’s up to the task. I’d leave the dragon slaying to Felix if I were him. Eghan might be a touch too headstrong for his own good, and I think he is much better suited to cultivating his skills in the arcane than chasing after these foolish dreams of his. I care little for his attempts at song, but the spells he weaves into his verses are impressive. He’s certainly no rival to me when it comes to arcane prowess, but he’s skilled enough in his manipulations of magic to have earned my respect. However, I wouldn’t place too much stock in him as a potential bodyguard. After spotting him about town these past few days, I've determined that he's the type whose mouth gets him into trouble with very large and angry men far too often. If he ends up getting beaten to death for saying something stupid to the wrong large and angry man, then how would he expect to protect me? Not every arcane practitioner is a font of wisdom like myself, and Eghan seems to prove that.
Xian	Makkari	That elven boy at the slip inn seems to be one of the few souls around here in possession of considerable arcane talents. I've deigned to converse with him a few times over the past few days, always on the topic of magic. He does know a thing or two about the Art, and for that reason alone he has my respect—but like Eghan, he is nowhere near as sharp as a good magic-user ought to be. Why Perseus? Because anyone who walks around with a bloody tiger can only be DAFT. The thing’s liable to rip your face off. I for one have made sure to keep my distance from the nasty animal. Yet that's not the worst of it. He claims to be some kind of military advisor sent all the way from Kyonin—but I’m certain that anyone placing their trust in the military acumen of this Makkari is just as great a fool as the long-eared sod himself. Makkari seems inept, vulnerable, and foolish. He’s just a boy, and a boy doesn’t exactly inspire much confidence. I could never trust him as my bodyguard. He’d be liable to faint or something.
Vex	Anders	I can hardly believe I'm even saying it Perseus, but this Anders Barterson has proven to be the first slip I've ever been able to tolerate. The little fellow is a fine singer for one, and he’s calm, quiet, and less prone to the myriad annoying habits that slips commonly exhibit. All the same, I cannot take him too seriously. Spending every waking moment clinging to the heels of Iomedaean knights does not make him one of their number—it just makes him look pitiful and foolish. If he actually believes he could ever amount to anything even resembling a gallant knight then he is absolutely out of his little mind. The tiny man has absolutely no confidence in himself or anything he does and could never, ever, until the day he dies, hope to lead or inspire anything that lives. He seems to actually be afraid of me Perseus, can you believe that? More than likely he’s simply intimidated by my beauty and eloquence. He wouldn’t be the first, and certainly not the last. Despite how altogether miserable a creature Anders is, I must confess that I do not mind him at all. I actually pity him. It would be very, very easy to crush what weak spirit he does have with a few well-placed words of cruelty—but I feel not the slightest desire to do so. If anything, I almost wish he would prove himself a gallant hero—just so I don’t have to watch his pathetic moping any longer. He might be a slip, but he's still a man. He really ought to act like it.
ItsaVerb	Kyra	My goodness Perseus, this woman is almost as beautiful as I am. I might have to respect her just for that. Yet I also respect her deep commitment to the pursuit of self-perfection, which is not unlike my own pursuit of magickal mastery. I like Kyra a great deal. It is beauty and discipline that we share, though she differs from me in many ways. Vik and Konn taught me how to toss a stiff punch a long time ago, but Kyra could probably kill Vik or Konn with hers. She is clearly more than capable of handling herself in physical confrontations, which for my purposes in this terrible place is point of definite merit. Not only would I place my trust in her as a bodyguard, but I also feel I could value her as a friend. Kyra is someone I know I could get along very well with, and I’m not ashamed to say that I sincerely hope I can get to know her better. A lot of these people here, these toe rags, are mere marks and tools to me—but Kyra is not. Kyra is different, and I would prefer to try my hand at befriending her without forcing hers. A woman of her beauty deserves that much respect, and in recognizing such, I am quite pleased to give it to her.
Pads	Sittania	I must admit, Sittania is quite pretty for a slip. She’s also quite admirable. Good Perseus, while Anders might be the first slip I’ve ever been able to tolerate, Sittania is undoubtedly the first slip I think I can respect. She doesn’t act anything like a slip, and I could absolutely tell that she had been raised far away from the awful buggers before she even had to tell me. Sittania is a true lady, and a formidable one at that. Normally I would laugh at the idea of a slip bodyguard, but what Sittania lacks in size and strength I imagine she makes up for in guile and skill. At the very least, her sober air suggests as much. Sittania is a very serious woman, and I absolutely LOVE that. She does not fool around, and is not a woman with whom to fool. She reminds me a lot of myself, actually. I will always be skeptical when it comes to the merits of slips, but I like this one. Who ever thought one of these short-legged blockheads would prove respectable? Sittania is an astounding, and frankly quite refreshing, discovery.

[Roofio]

Jarl, your game app was epic looking, and that music to go with it top notch! So amped for this game Im using the EVE online browser to keep tabs while mining in highsec lol even if i odnt get in on this, i think im gonna want to read the story thats crafted here

[Starspawn]

Damn it, Hydra. Now I'm not the only person with 'Student of Giantkind'.

That's one awesome application though, if I say so myself.

[FoggyKnight]

Name: Arran Tellahir
Race: Human
Alignment: NG
Class: Bard
Traits: Vexing Defender / Talented (Perform (Act))

Description:
The coffee-skinned human dresses in loose, billowing clothing to protect him from heat and add volume and color to his frame. Muscles ripple in Arran's frame as he moves, but his feet never fully touch the ground before they're off again. Underneath brown studded leather armor, Arran dresses in bright crimson and white hues embroidered with gold stars and silver moons. A gold hoop twinkles in his left ear. His face is animated and friendly, revealing that Arran's face is marred by the loss of one of his wisdom teeth and the crookedness of his beaked nose. Brown eyes twinkle and sparkle but snap when angry.

Personality:
Arran feels a kinship with the trickster in the stories, the one that could only rely on himself, but had the capacity to perform great deeds of heroism and misfortune to those that aided or crossed him. Arran's favorite heroes in stories are the ones that perform their tricks to foil evildoers and succeed, balancing the cosmic scales in favor of those that try to live good lives and punishing the people that tried to get ahead in life on the pain of others. Like his heroes, he has a soft spot for people down on their luck, but he prefers to make luck of his own in his own life.

Developing a thick skin and a streak of optimism have kept Arran cheerful despite his previous lot in life and he does his best to laugh or stay cheerful in even the most stressful situations with a joke, or a chuckle, or downright making fun of the other guy. A laugh confuses someone expecting a scream and that moment of frozen confusion is often enough to make a run for for safety.

His family encouraged him in his acrobatic and storytelling talents and the attention that his talents receive as an entertainer in these Northern lands continue this encouragement. Children in particular are a favorite of his, as they still hold a sense of wonder that can amaze Arran in turn and cause him to continually strive to outdo previous performances. Arran has learned some humility lately, having bragged about his acrobatic talents before his diminutive audience, then literally falling short of what he attempted to accomplish.

 

Live by your wits: Not every situation needs brute force. It is better to diffuse most situations by other means. Arran would rather perform a clever trick than wield a club and views others that reverse that trend as dull and unimaginative.

People learn when they are being entertained: Arran has discovered one of life's truths: people are more apt to absorb something when they are enjoying themselves. A person may not like being told an uncomfortable truth about themselves directly, but they may recognize the truth in their own life if told a story about another person in a similar situation.

Goals:
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King: Arran wishes to change his image in the eyes of bystanders and stop being typecast as The Fool so his talents can be respected and adored properly. Away from home, Arran can lose the image of the Fool that he had developed and be seen as the talented, intelligent man he knows himself to be.

Seventh Son: Supposedly, seventh sons are supposed to have great magical abilities, changing water into wine and so forth. All Arran can do is...create gray, slippery puddles on the ground. However, he sometimes dreams of flying arrows arcing through the air, trailing many different colors of light. He has been practicing his archery skills in anticipation that he may develop his magic this way.

Fears:
Alter Ego:
Arran fears that he has played The Fool for too long. Standing tall and confronting trouble face-to-face is something he has had to learn since coming to Trunao as everyone is required to man the battlements during an attack. He feels the ghost of the Fool hovering over him, urging him to run away. Arran fights the urge but wonders if one day the Fool will get through.

Arran's journey from home may have allowed Fate to attack his homeland without him to distract it away. His drive to become Arran the Storyteller is fueled through his need to distract himself from these worries. However. when he dreams, he finds himself face to face with a twisted mask that cackles wickedly at him, chiding him for trying to outrun his fate and showing him images of his dead brothers, bodies twisted in accidents and mishaps that he could have prevented if he had been home.

 

"You are the seventh son of a seventh son..."
Born to a household steeped in superstition, Arran was raised to follow the path that his father had laid out for him and his brothers. His father held rich lands and was beloved in the eyes of his people, but a great deal of the family's time was spent in traditions and rituals designed to ward away bad fortunes and summon the good. His sons were granted lessons in whatever they wanted to learn, and carefully groomed to follow paths that would place them in respectable positions that could become high-ranking if they were ambitious. His father was warm and loving to each of his sons, especially so when Arran's mother grew bed-ridden when he was a toddler.

However, Arran was not destined to inherit lands or go into politics and religion. Arran was groomed in a different manner. There would be no respected position for him. Instead, he was to become a fool. Or the Fool. The lightning rod for whatever misfortune Fate threw at the family. Privately, the family loved him, showering him with praise and enthusiasm. In public, he was the misanthropic son, the dim-witted child that played pranks, respected no authority not given with a kick, and was treated as the village idiot by the land's tenants and villagers who were not made aware otherwise. Arran's father believed that by having the son destined to change fate's course for the family wrongfully treated, Fate would be unwilling to add further misfortune to the lad and thus turn away terrible events from the family's land.

Arran lived this life for nearly seventeen years, seeing it as his familial duty and seeing no other course of action. He became adept at dodging attacks through acrobatics appropriately timed 'falls' or 'trips' maintain his cover of clumsiness and reported each day's events to his father in colorful stories when in private, acting as his father's eyes and ears as he roamed freely. However, it was lonely, too. He was never invited to public events, even family events, for fear of inviting the misfortune that followed the Fool down upon the celebrations. Despite his family's position as nobles, women would not dance, talk, or walk with him. Each day, he watched for the fortunate event to fall upon his family that would free him from his life's shackles and allow him to reveal himself for who he was.

...or are you?

It came sooner than he planned. During his eighteenth year's Harvest celebration when all of his brothers were home for their annual visit, a visitor arrived, pale-skinned and wearing furred clothing. He demanded to see Arran's father in private, wielding a letter written on wolfskin. Despite the man's rudeness, his father acquiesced to the demand. Despite seven sets of ears pressed to their father's door and two sets of listening spells, no one could make out what was being said until Uruntil strode out, his own skin pale with shock. A bastard son, third in line, seeking out information from his mother's past. A barrage of spells and tests cast over the next week against the suspicious arrival confirmed that despite his lack of knowledge of how, the newcomer was a Tellahir.

Despite his superstitious nature, even Arran's father couldn't swallow this sudden story, even with the evidence. With six of his sons caught up in the duties required of their positions and unable to get away for the length of time that would be required to travel, only Arran remained that could be trusted to work for the family. Releasing him from his Fool's duties, Uruntil sent Arran north as a spy, to find out what he could about this man that claimed to be his son. Hitting two birds with one stone, Uruntil believed that Arran's travels would allow him to find himself away from his brothers and duties. If the newcomer was truly a son of Uruntil's, Arran was no longer a Seventh Son, and would need different skills to find his own way in life away from the family lands.

Trunau:
Arran was sent north to seek out information about this interloper. His father has no knowledge of lying with a woman besides his wife, but all tests magical and mundane state that the pale-skinned northerner shares the same blood running through his veins as his true sons. The Tellahir's lands are rich and would be a great prize for a cold-minded man willing to do anything to claim it, especially if he was working with one of Uruntil's neighboring enemies. If he was truly third in line, Arran's eldest brothers could be in danger.

A month ago, he had come to Trunau off of a merchant wagon. He had exhausted the funds his father had given him and had fallen back on his talents as a performer to earn the money to keep himself fed and sheltered while he wondered what to do next. With his leads exhausted, Arran could have returned home and denounced Dmitri to his father. However, Trunau has opened its arms to him, and Arran finds himself oddly reluctant to go. Arran admires the fierce little town defiantly standing up to the orc hordes with only the weapons and people to hand. "We are here, and we are going to stay."

The Eighth Brother
Arran has traveled through many lands in his search for information. The half-brother called himself 'Dmitri' and stated that he was from the Mindspin Mountains, telling the family that he was the son of a great witch, though not a spellcaster himself. Instead, he is supposedly a great warrior. From spying on the man prior to his departure, Arran discovered that when alone in his room, dressing, Dmitri has a strange crimson tattoo shaped like scales going down his back. This tattoo has made him start to wonder at the man's heritage as he began hearing tales about great creatures called dragons fierce lizards with hides like full plate and teeth like swords breathing fire that immolates armies. Crimson colored, scaled beasts. Arran has begun to wonder if this brother has ties to such creatures, or even if he is one of such creatures, magicked into human form and seeking dominion over the lands to the south where dragons and giants are unknown and djinn feature prominently. Keeping his eyes and ears open to the fairy tales told by these northerners, Arran has discarded the mundane and expanded into the fantastical.

[Rolzup]

Originally Posted by Hydra-X

I'd like to throw my hat into the mix as well. My app is currently in its late stages. I'll post it up when it's complete.

That's excellent news! So long as you don't....


Oh god no he has a bird, we're all doomed, run run run....

[Vex]

Originally Posted by Rolzup

Oh god no he has a bird, we're all doomed, run run run....

Kraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwww.



I have to apply for this as well, don't I. I have a moral obligation to deceased characters.

[Hydra-X]

@Starspawn: Thanks! Who knew the Joker was into the sociological patterns of giants?

@Rolzup and Vex: Better hope my little birdie doesn't smell BLOOD.

Forgive us everyone--bit of a Natural Order inside joke (that has resulted in 2 dead PCs so far ).

[sertaki]

I sense that the story behind this one must be hillarious

[Jarl11]

Will send out the first 4 reviews by PM tonight! They're headin' out to Roofio, Ghostwheel, Shadesoul and sertaki.

Further, based on positive responses and no negative ones, we'll be moving the deadline up by one week. We have garnered lots of interest already (which is awesome and likely no small part due to you folks) so I'm not worried about getting enough apps at this point. Will update the main page shortly, and will include the latest and greatest from Foggy and Hydra-X.

Welcome to the BIG show for little races, Vex! Welcome as well to Battlechaser, cuz I see you snooping around I look forward to seeing what you put together.

Originally Posted by Roofio

Jarl, your game app was epic looking, and that music to go with it top notch!

Thanks, Roofio! I kind of stumbled across that song and loved it for an intro. Am saving one of my favs for the intro game post - my song for Trunau.

Definitely follow along. People will be welcome to follow along even if they don't get in! I always encourage people to give reputation points for good posts (IC and OOC), so those unfortunate few can still hit up their fav characters with rewards AND be available to jump in if we happen to lose players. You never know when a giant might step on someone!