[Characters] Dramatis Personæ

[Insacrum]

I will keep a list of NPC characters here on the first post, with high level (non-spoiler) information. Please post your character application here. In case of a character's death, We can then include then in this thread as well.

Character Creation Starting Level: 1 Stat Generation: 20 Point Buy. Starting Gold: Roll or take average (whichever is higher). Traits: 2 Traits total, one of which must be a campaign trait from Iron Gods. May include a drawback to take an additional trait, not for a feat.

[Dressedtojazz]

El Glorioso Name: Eldorado Estoban - “El Glorioso” Race: Blue Gender: Male Class/Archetype: Grammaton Cryptic Alignment: LN Group Role: Skills/Ranged Campaign Trait: Robot Scavenger Appearance: Little of stature, big headed, glowing red eyes and rows upon rows of sharp pointy teeth - El Glorioso looks much like any ordinary, dumb, ignorant goblin from the marshlands. Three primary things make him stand out from them: One - his deep zaffre blue skin is undoubtedly different from the bland green variant the bog mongrels ‘wear’. Two - The orderly way he carries his gear and the absence of nasty little, creepy vermin. No snakes, toads, spiders, dead skinks or rotten carcasses fills his pockets and he keeps his skin free of pimples, warts and lack-of-hygiene-rashes. Three - The book. Only muchos stupidos believe childish nursery rhymes about books stealing words out of your brain. In a hardened steel chain, a leatherbound tome hang with the chiseled letters: “Wire-cutting The Tech Threat” Wey Estoban - among friends his surname is often used, if not his self-proclaimed title - is a man dressed in practical dark, loose garbs. He has a poncho that doubles as a blanket and a sleeping bag, but he usually only wears it when he is relaxing. Eldorado often wears a bandana as dust-mask and a wide-brimmed leather hat to go with his holstered firearm - a battered old gun with just as many dents and scratches as it has elaborate carvings from production. Background: Stuff is about to go down and Mr. Estoban wants in on it. Going down is his business - especially when robots are involved. Back then, Eldorado Estoban lived a pleasant life, enjoying the benefits of his grand-grand-grandfather having spilled his bodily fluids over a bunch of willing goblin females and now, some generations after, the blue of the tribe was near half of its inhabitants and calm had settled somewhat in the muddy darkness of a god-forsaken bog on the border of the River Kingdoms. Everything went just as it should, until the dreaded Longpole Savages came through, led by some tech mage and slaughtered everyone they deemed unworthy of the true blood. They would have slaughtered Estoban too, had he not made a dive for it and kept his head below the stinky murk until nightfall, where he could scamper off. They had brought robots and the tech-babbler had immediately started to infuse the goblins that was left with metal appendixes and odd instruments. Imagine that? The swamp was a living horror of explosions and murk-blooded carnage. Seven years has passed and El Glorioso is still hunting revenge. The ultimate goal is to find the Longpole Savages and their leader and let them feel the innovation of lead and gunpowder. During this hunt, Estoban found a colleague, friend and intellectual partner in Ninove Zaelniacni - she even had the same heigh as he did and he would spare his sore neck from looking up when dealing with her. A plus. Apart from the obvious merits in having an arcane adept gnome friend, there was ‘The Deal’. She wanted tech, parts, salvaged parts and sky metal and as little questions asked. El Glorioso was the right Blue for that job. He needed silver, gold and platinum and while he knew enough, he also knew that a whole lot of questions wouldn’t further his causes. So... When Ninove sent message for his help on a task, he made haste to Blackpipe. RP Sample: References: Zahan the Qadiran Cavalier visiting a hearty halfling (in Sassafrass’ Jade Regent) Edelbart the Ulfen Aasimar Bard invoking the power of his angelic heritage upon a lesser crime lord (in Thorsten’s Curse of the Crimson Throne) Chop Chop in the Barn What have I done to get cramped up in a position like this? dry tears of imagination stuck in the pistolero’s red eyes. He hung with his belly and legs on one side of a rafter - feet stretching to support on the next along the top of the barn - and his upper torso and balloon-like head counterweighting on the other. Below him, a mad thing of innovation, skymetal and gears was on patrol. The reason for him coming here - and the gods knew that it had been a long walk - had been extensive rumors on a crazy old hermit that gathered these metal beasts in his workshop, trying to infuse them with souls of their own... the very thought shook Eldorado to his core and he had to tighten his grip on Verga and think on the task at hand. He went through the tactic again. He had been watching the patrol pattern for half an hour and was getting bored. Time for action. It would use its chopper mechanism to swing by the iron pole set up in one corner of the barn, then cross the middle - that being directly under Eldorado - and swing round another pole in the opposite corner, go along the wall, swing again and cross the barn once more. Of course, while El Glorioso had this pattern nailed down pretty thoroughly, there was no saying what it would do once he presented himself on ground... wrr...chunk, chunk, chunk Three... Eldorado let go with the tip of his feet and started to lower his head, sliding the bulk of his belly forward, over the rafter, two... the machine was skittering toward point of impact as the blue from above came into a rolling fall, one... click! TWANNG! El Glorioso had bolted to a direct dive and was aiming straight down at the little robot underneath, the gun blasted off a thick oily-looking ray of black energy that immediately engulfed the little hack and scorched it’s pretty ivory-white shell - the paint coming off in specks and the metal below buggling and bending. SMOK! Eldorado came smashing to the ground, his weak arms failing to take the brunt of the impact with the dust caked ground. Everything was silent. The agony crept from his neck down his right arm and he heard himself groan, Gaaah... Wrr... bzz.. wrr wrr... that seemed to set off the robot, despite the initial damage his scorching ray of psionic energy had done to it. Dammit! Eldorado lifted his head just in time to see the whirring gizmo come at him in a frenzy hacking, chopping up the dusty ground and bouncing off like a wiggly ball. He manifested a thought to push it sideways while he - with greater effort - manifested his own strength to roll away in the opposite direction. Tearing through a manifested pain in his neck, he avoided to be minced blue meat and he came up on his knees. Chunk, chunk the robot had already connected with an iron pole in the corner and used it to fling itself at him in greater speed - once again, Eldorado fought with mind and body to overcome the robot threat. He gasped in pain as it wobbled just in time to deliver a painful slit in his right calf. Then he reached out with his thoughts and flung Verga to his hand. Hah! He was potent again. Limbing backwards, he corrected the flint to the frizzen and noted mentally how the robot was hacking its way in deadly speed. He counted, drew a breath, counted again and Click! BOOM! The bullet surged forward, tearing through hack mechanism and skymetal in one fabulous great show, splinters flying everywhere and the lovely smell of black powder emitted from the ‘numero uno’ reliable source of pain. His gun. The gun of El Glorioso. Yeah. Take that! he offered to the torn apart construct. There was a high pitched whistle and a metallic bark outside. Crap. Eldorado Estoban quickly wrapped his bandana around the free-flowing wound in his calf and limbed towards the rear entrance. He had wedged a board free some hours before, in case something like this would happen. He was a magnificent being, after all. A revengeful, resourceful magnificent being. - Bonus/Optional - Initial Impressions:   Neerale: A festival gnome, a mystery knight and a kleptomaniac trapped inside a halfling child’s body. I like her. I like the fact that she doesn’t tower above me and that she is as colorful as she is. I’m not so sure about the ghost monster, but... I can live with it. Neerale loves her foster father, who in turn loved the robots. That’s kinda silly, but I guess we’ll sort that affection out, once I have helped Neerale and the other kids of the house to get back their master. Thaddeus Bluestone: 90% trustworthy. Beautiful surname, honorful choice of weapon and a decent choice of profession. The only thing that make me think twice of leaving blue babies with him is the haunted look to his eyes. Oh - and it is annoying that he is so bloody tall. Sorrow: I’ve heard her speak words that made me think she was competent on niche areas, but otherwise, she seems to deranged and nervous to make me feel comfortable that she has that gun. A very cool gun, though. To tall, too. Gaming History: I’m 33 and I’ve played RP games since the early 90’s. Back then it was the Swedish: ‘Drakar och Demoner’ and I’ve kept mostly to fantasy since then. I’ve been playing Pathfinder for the last four years and started on this site around three years ago. I tend to favor rich characters and immersion in the plot, but I do like a good combat encounter too - I guess that, along with awesome Golarion lore, is why I play Pathfinder.

[darthcharon]

Neerale, the littlest knight Name: Neerale (and Zeelan) Race: Halfling Gender: Female Class/Archetype: Unchained Summoner, possibly a level or two into fighter. Alignment: Chaotic good, with emphasis on the chaotic. Group Role: Tank/support/DPS (frontliner) Appearance:   Background: Life in the Starfall Orphanage is hard, especially when you're smaller than every other child there. Neerale learned from a young age that if she wanted to be seen, she needed to be SEEN, and that if she wanted to be heard, she needed to be HEARD. And so she started wearing the brightest clothes she could get her hands on, and when that wasn't enough she bought (well, usually stole) dyes, and made her hair as vibrant as possible. Of course, all those colors eventually attracted the wrong kind of attention, and that was when she learned her second lesson-if you want something, you'd better be willing to fight for it. A scrappy and tenacious fighter, she never backed down from a fight, even if her opponent was twice her size (and they usually were). She took more than a few beatings, but came out on top more often than not by sheer virtue of tenacity. Eventually, the other children stopped messing with her, because they knew she'd just keep going until they surrendered. Her tenacity earned her quite a few enemies in the orphanage, but also a few friends. More than once, a family tried to adopt her, but none seemed to be able to handle her limitless reserves of energy, until a gnome named Maelina happened by. She saw something in Neerale that no one else had seen, and adopted her on the spot. Maelina was a sorceress herself, and she saw in Neerale that arcane gift, and the potential for her abilities. Bringing her back to her home in Blackpipe, Maelina had planned to act as a tutor for the budding Neerale, to ensure her gift was not wasted. But while Maelina was as patient as a rock, even she struggled to reign in the constantly moving girl, who would rather be out running rather than in reading. Still, once Maelina showed her what her magic could do, and what one day perhaps Neerale might be capable of, her tune changed drastically, and she threw herself into her studies. Even then, however, she couldn't quite get her energy out fast enough, and she began introducing some... creative improvements to Maelina's training program. Obsessed with tales of knights slaying great beasts, she would often conjure creatures and then engage in mock battles with them. Maelina couldn't decide whether to be disappointed with her adopted daughter's unconventional methods, or proud of her unwavering morals. Ultimately she decided that as long as her daughter's heart was in the right place, and her skill enough to take care of herself, that the rest would work out. Things went like this for several years, when Maelina suddenly came down with a nasty sickness. When it became clear that she wasn't going to make it through the week, she gave her adoptive daughter a letter, and told her to deliver it to Ninove, who would take care of her. Though teary eyed and upset with her adoptive mother's failing health, she did as she was asked, and brought the letter to Ninove. After reading it, she looked at the weeping halfling, and promised her that everything would be alright. Maelina slipped into a coma that night, and would not wake again before her death three days later. Though the loss was hard on her, Ninove kept her busy with her studies, hoping to keep her mind off it. During this time, she made first contact with the air elemental known as Zeelan, who would quickly become her eternal friend and companion. RP Sample: For some, 'ride the lightning' is a purely metaphorical statement. But for Neerale, it was not only a legitimate tactic, it was her favorite tactic. "Tear it down!" Neerale hollered at Zeelan, clinging to his back with one hand, and grasping a sickle with the other. The clockwork automaton shambled forward, its simplistic programming incapable of properly assessing the danger that was fast approaching it. As the air elemental rushed through the air, the front formed a wide maw, which quickly snapped shut on the construct. Using the recoil from the impact for momentum, Neerale leaned forward and swung her weapon into the crippled creature's head, causing it to spark briefly before shutting down. "Wooh!" she cheered, "Now that's what I call a biting wind!" "And that's what I call a waste of a perfectly good construct," Ninove sighed. "We were supposed to be practicing your spells, remember? And since when do you own a sickle?" "Hey, I am practicing my spells," Neerale replied defensively, "Zeelan here didn't exactly materialize out of thin air... well, okay, actually I guess that's exactly what he did, but you know what I mean." "And the sickle?" Ninove insisted. "I uh," Neerale hesitated. "I may have borrowed it... without asking for permission." Shaking her head, Ninove sighed. "Unbelievable. Am I raising a mage or a thief? Go return the sickle to wherever you found it, and then get back here. By the time you return, I should have the automaton repaired, and we can go back to actually practicing spells." Neerale's Thoughts   "I dunno. Seems alright to me. Sounds like he used to be a paladin, but then got scared off by something, and now he's hunting machines? Sounds like there's a story there, but I haven't quite managed to get him drunk enough to share it yet. A bit grim and dour, even a bit depressive at times, but at least he knows what he's doing. Most of the time, anyways. Well, some of the time. Alright alright, he knows how to shoot well and drink well. But honestly, what else do you want him to do? Juggle knives while standing on one hand? Actually, I take that back-that would be pretty awesome. "   "I'm not sure which is worse-trying to talk about magic or guns and getting run over by a constant barrage of words, or trying to talk to her about virtually anything else and nearly drowning in her self doubt. Get outside, get some fresh air-maybe catch some rays, so you look less like a corpse and more like a person. Her shakiness doesn't seem to affect her combat abilities, but I think I'll avoid standing between her and her target just in case. Maybe the reason she's so upset is because everyone keeps telling her she's sad. Maybe I should start calling her Joy, and see if that improves things. "   "If you told me a year ago my best friend would be a literary red eyed, blue goblin with a penchant for guns and a death wish grudge against machines, I'd ask who your dealer was. While a bit... rigid for my tastes, he's got a real flair for the dramatic, and a gift for figuring out puzzles. I usually just smashed my way past obstacles, but there's something about watching him figure things out that's strangely satisfying. If he wasn't a red eyed, blue goblin with a death wish grudge against machines, It might have even been enough to make me swoon. Just don't tell him that, or I'll cut your kneecaps off."

[Zandramasa]

 

General Name: 'Sorrow' Age: 27 Race: Human Gender: Female Class: Spellslinger (Wizard Archetype) Role: Techno-know-it-all, Ranged Damage Dealer, Tinkerer Campaign Trait: + 1 DC against members of the Technic LeagueAgainst the Technic League (Spell) Other Traits: Benefits: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Craft (alchemy) and Craft (weapons) checks, and it takes you only 30 minutes to remove the broken condition from a firearm.Unblemished Barrel Benefit: You gain a +2 trait bonus on initiative checks.Reactionary

Appearance 'Sorrow' is a six foot and four inch, slender human, her skin which is naturally a pale pink, pallid from lack of exposure to the sun. There is a lack of freckles, and other blemishes, at least what can be seen where her skin is bare. Dark circles are prominent under her narrow, almond shaped eyes. Her irises are a silver-blue and seem to always be slightly over dilated and mildly bloodshot, whilst her thin lips have a visible discrepancy in sizes, the top lip narrower and bowed in comparison to her lower lip. Her white-blonde hair is straight and cropped on the short side, its general appearance being spiked and messy from constant, nervous ruffling and it doesn't appear as if she cared too much about how it is cut. In-fact it had a rough, self-cut appearance with the many uneven strands scattered amongst the mix, but it seemed for the most part that the hair has a glossy, healthiness of the un-weathered. 'Sorrow' wears boyish, un-remarkably bland clothing that look slightly too big for her, more a-kin to citizen style but has opted to cover her forearms and hands with finger-less cuffs. When one is able to see her hands they will notice straight away that she uses them a lot, her fingers veiny, the ends of her finger pads cracked and tougher, while there seems to be dark stains like oil that simply won't wash off. There is also a clear arch in her neck from constantly looking down, her shoulders hunched and winged from terrible posture. Sorrow also wears cuffs, they being a haphazard mixture of gears, wires and focusing objects melded into leather. They didn't seem to be made for protection and seem to generate magical energy as well, drawing that from it's owner in-fact. The cuffs are finger-less, allowing for movement and covered up to the elbow of her forearm. Brown lace kept it strapped to her arm Gun The gun she has peeking from her belt and which glows, magic potential radiating from it's barrel is a mixture of the alien technology, with Numeria's new age knowledge of technology. It looks as if someone had tried to tinker with its original make and thus ruined it's authentic-ness. Over-all the condition of the gun is fair at best, still sporting dents and cracks, the welded over metal used to 'patch it up', was not the same as the sky-metal the gun is made from.

Personality Having an acute aversion to close interactions, this woman is seen as easily spooked and appears to be a complete nervous wreck, her body wound up like a loaded spring constantly. Paranoia and doubt is a constant threat to her mental state, the woman the type to shoot first and ask questions later if she thinks that she is being threatened. She is always thinking, her mind sharp, but it is to her a complete nuisance as in a split second she could have several irrationally pessimistic thoughts spinning inside her head. Although this doesn't seem to effect her ability to protect herself, it does make it hard for her to make personal decisions because she always thinking of the 'what ifs', and will sprout endless amounts of insecure questions. Another typical argument she has for not making up her mind is the 'I can't do that', or the 'What if it gets me in trouble?'. As one may find, this woman reacts quiet strongly toward authoritative figures, the reactions ranging from sudden bouts of irrational fear, immediately submitting to the person's wishes with an abruptness of a kicked dog, to outright furious outbursts. Whatever the case it is never a pleasant reaction. On the other hand if her knowledge of the arcane and technology were to come up in conversation her attitude can make a complete 360, the tense, flighty demeanor replaced by a confidence of someone that was clearly experienced in their field and loved their work. She stopped smiling shakily, the nervous laughter and words which rush from her mouth like a form of verbal diarrhea, vanishing only to return when the subject shifts from her work.

Known Information - New to Torch, arrived a few weeks before the 'Fire' went out in the town. - Until recently, appears to be homeless, although she has made it clear that she is good at fixing things and has managed to keep fed by helping out with odd jobs. - Slinks around a lot, it feels like she is purposefully avoiding people.

Roleplay Samples RP Sample: Bot Attack 'Shhhiiingg': 'Sorrow's' boot-steps echoed lightly in the large cavern in time with a consistent 'drip, drip' of some dubious liquid, contaminated by the alien technology. The tall, pale haired figure held her pistol at the ready, her other hand slowly waving a flaming torch, its fire hissing whenever something from the ceiling would land on it. Each drip was putting Sorrow more on edge, her shoulders hunched and muscles tightly coiled to react. So when there came a distinct whirling like blades swiftly cutting the air, well Sorrow couldn't stifle a breathless yelp, instinctively bunching her legs and springing backwards. She landed in a crouch five feet from her original location, her aim rapidly changing to follow a fast moving silver glint. 'Whiiirrrl!' The sound became shrill as a miniature bot zipped forward from the darkness, cutting the air where Sorrow's ankles would have been. The spell-slinger squeezed the trigger on her pistol, watching as the barrel lit up a white-blue. There was a resounding 'BANG' and a bullet launched through the air, followed quickly behind by a rapidly coalescing sphere of pressurized Hydraulic Pushnanitids. The construct looked to try and avoid it, but is ultimately pummeled by both the bullet and nanotid blast, sending its metallic body careening into the darkness. There is a metallic thud and pitiful grinding of gears, Sorrow only just able to discern the bot's shape with the light of her torch as it set itself straight and launched toward her again. This time she is not so lucky, only managing to avoid the brunt of it's now damaged blades with a quick side step, and biting her lip at the burning pain of it's blades nicking her right ankle and drawing blood. Dropping the torch, Sorrow tricked the narrow minded bot of limited intelligence that the flaming wood was a foe. It dived on the torch, shearing chunks off it and causing the fire to splutter. Still the light held long enough for Sorrow to charge another Shocking Burstspell into the barrel, which crackled angrily, releasing its own light before roaring forward toward the bot. 'Poof', it's circuits over loaded when the compact electricity was conducted through it's system, the effect enhanced by its naturally metallic nature.

Gaming History Gaming History: I began my RPing adventure when I was 15 and curious of the enigmatic realm where people narrated everything their character did like writing a book, but live. This was when I was playing World of Warcraft in retail, which soon upgraded to checking out private servers dedicated to RPing, and finding the quality to be much higher. When I began wanting to branch out from the WoW lore to play other worlds I decided to find myself a play by post site and joined a variety of games. There were not many (Zero) tabletop players where I lived in the middle of no-where but I had become friends with quiet a few like-minded individuals on-line and have experience with games such as WoD and Shadowrun in voice. Since being on this site I have joined a few Pathfinder games, completing the New Player Solo game and am in my first DnD 5e game. I really like how Pathfinder has so much more freedom in choice and getting my hands on the information/rules is easy.

[Estlor]

http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=71567

Name: Thaddeus Bluestone (In the wilds, he's known as "The Shark." But don't call him Thad. If you're an old friend, he may answer to "Sharky" or he may shoot you.) Race: Human Gender: Male Class/Archetype: Gunslinger Alignment: Neutral. Once upon a time he was Lawful Good and old habits die hard. Group Role: Deadpan Snarker covering up a serious case of Knight Errant Character Traits: Robot Slayer, Grief-Filled Appearance: Somewhere, under all that hair, lies the face of a man aged prematurely by the horrors he's seen. What can be seen of him are sad, watchful eyes that peer out from beneath the brim of his wide hat. Bluestone is a tall man, but he walks with his shoulders bowed and radiates the feeling of being smaller than he is. With a gun or a drink in his hand or a cigarette at his lips, he's steady and cool. Take away those things and you may notice a subtle twitch in his hand that betrays he's not as collected a man as he seems. Background: Once upon a time in what feels like another life, the man known as the Shark fashioned himself Ser Thaddeus Bluestone, knight of Mendev, and crusader of Iomedae in the endless battle in defense of all mortals. Ser Bluestone idolized his Queen and believed his lot a noble band who would restore order to the north and, in doing so, save all of existence. Whoever Ser Bluestone was, he died the moment rode off to the Worldwound. In his stead, a broken man returned, shaken to his core. Thaddeus fled the Worldwound, but he he didn't stop at Nerosyan. He kept right on going, vanishing into the wilderness of Numeria where the trappings of his old life - order, nobility, and sacrifice - couldn't come find him. He became a scavenger, especially skilled tearing down any automatons and re-purposing them for scrap. Soon enough, folks took to calling the ghost of the wilds "The Shark" because he was always moving forward. Or maybe on some subconscious level they knew what Thaddeus wouldn't admit - that if he ever stopped moving forward, his old life would come to kill him. RP Sample: Reference - Dorian has a bad dream about his past (from Unwanted). Cowboys and Robots "The problem with robots is there's so godsdamn many of 'em." Bluestone set his whisky down on the table, but kept hold of the glass. He turned it slowly in his hand, a nervous tic that kept his mind focused on something else in the silence. When had nothing better to think about, his mind had a nasty tendency to wander off on things better off forgotten. "And what would you do if there weren't, Shark?" Bluestones companion at the bar - an ugly, gap-toothed sort of fellow who claimed to be a pure blood human but looked like he either had a touch of orc blood in him or had been swimming around in the shallow end of the gene pool - shot back with a gruff laugh. The only funny thing about that comment was how the fellow's breath smelled. "I ever tell you the time I got myself cornered by one of those ankle-biters and had to fight my way out of it alone?" Bluestone took a sip of whisky to let his question breath for a moment. "I was pretty new to the scavenging gig. Wet behind the ears and too dumb to get outta my own way. So I went off from town on my own figurin' I'd have an easy go of it, make a fortune in the first day and go retire to some quiet corner of Blackpipe and drink myself into a blessed stupor. So, anyway, I was out creepin' around the woods south of Torch when I saw it. A big ugly one with six legs and a big 'ole red eye in the middle and one of those light guns bolted to its ass. I thought, this is it Blue, you get yerself a whopper straight out of the gate. Now, I'm not the sneakiest fellah, but I crept down on 'im nice and quiet and he didn't see me. There I was, 'bout thirty to thirty-five feet away from it and I had that shot all lined up and I can feel the gold in my pocket." "Let me guess, you 'bout got your arm blasted off by that thing's ass cannon, amiright?" The rough-looking fellow smiled his rotten smile at the thought. "Gods no!" Bluestone spat. He was smiling, but his beard hid the expression. "Never took the shot. Suddenly I hear this 'Gonk gonk' kinda noise followed by the whine of metal on metal and this little bastard about the height of my shins was runnin' right at me like I had snatched its babies or somethin'. I think somebody had knocked it around a bit because it wasn't rollin' just right and it bounced funny on it's treads and missed me by this much." Bluestone put his hand about an inch in front of his companions face. "****! You'da needed a robot leg!" Bluestone took another drink of his whisky and nodded. "This irony, right? Nah, no such luck. 'Course I was all shaken and took a shot at the little bugger that was wild and missed 'im worse'n he missed me. Didn't even stop to consider that big fellah might hear me and come back. So he come back around, but this time I was ready fer 'im and I just stood there like a statue, gritted my damn teeth, lined it up, and as soon as he was within twenty feet of me, I blasted 'im square in the middle of his... Well, I guess it weren't a face. But whatever it was, he stopped movin' right quick." Bluestone's companion slapped the table with both hands. "Now I know yet shittin' me. You mean you 'bout got kneecapped by one of them pissant robots?" Bluestone shrugged and finished off his whisky. "Like I said, I was wet behind the ears. So you can gather I never got that big 'en as I'm still doin' this stuff today. Speakin' of which," Bluestone stood up and straightened out his poncho, "I've got to be off. I've got a new job waitin' for me. With any luck this'll be the one that's finally the big score. Just got to put up with workin' with the others." "Good luck man, we both know how you feel about workin' with others." Bluestone nodded and left. Outside the tavern, he paused long enough to fetch a smoke and light it. He took a long draw, let it sit in his lungs until they burned, then let it and his nervousness out in one big exhale. His hand went into his bag and found it - a fragment of a curved blade that, until that first day, had been part of the robot that taught him a very important lesson about paying attention. - Bonus/Optional - Initial Impressions: El Glorioso He's one - pretty sure they'd call it a loco hombre in his tongue - but I can appreciate someone takin' pleasure in his craft. Sorrow It ain't too often you'll hear me feelin' sorry for someone else. There's a story there, I just haven't figured it out yet. Neerale tbd Gaming History: I've been playing D&D in some format off-and-on for 31 years, including BECMI, 2e, 3e, 4e, and 5e with the occasional foray into Pathfinder or Dungeon Crawl Classics. I'm a player in your Volstrad game, so either our styles mesh or you're a glutton for punishment.

[Frederik]

Svidur Name: Svidur Race: Elf Gender: Male Class/Archetype: Rogue - Eldrich Scoundrel, Hidden blade Alignment: N Group Role: Jack-of-all tades Campaign Trait: Local ties Appearance: When people look at Svidur, a thing they rarely do for long, they see a wanderer, but neither the exotic nor romantic kind. His cloth is plain and his cloak is long. The colours are dark and grey. He weares no weapons nor armour except if a pair of gauntlets counts. Svidur is a weather bitten, scared elf who at some point in the his past lost his right eye and now only have a scar in its place. A single left eye looks out from under his soft broad hat. There it watches, moves and stares in a way so that it would seem that Svidur sees more than most, though he only have half their numbers of eyes. Svidur is bend, but not broken. He quickly disappears in any crowed. His good eye leads and the feets follow. Background: Svidur is actuelly rather young for an elf, being no more than a 140 years old, but his hard traveling life makes him look older. He have spend the last 20 years wandering the lands of Numeria searching for techno-artifacts and knowledge about what drives them. Not because because of some inherent curiosity, but because he belive that it will some day lead him to power. You see Svidur only have one want in life and that is power. He cares not for how that power takes form. It can be items of power, wealth, knowledge, the ability to bend the arcane arts, the secrets of the sword or allies. Svidur wants it all. He wants power so much that he can almost tast it. This need for power, combined with Svidurs knowledge that his time is limited drives him forward with an impatience and ambition that is rare for an elf. It was this impatience and need for power that made him leave his home, a small human village in the Riverlands, at a very early age. He first traveled the regions of the inner sea visiting the big cities and there learning the craft of thiefs and murderes. Here he learned how to hide in shadows, open locks and pick a pocket. How to take what he wanted from to not preppared enough to defend it. Having learned this shadowy craft he traveled to the continent of Tian Xia to learn secret arts of the blade. Through his knowledge of the shadowy craft he was able to track down a teacher and over several years he learned the arts of the blade. On his way back to Avistan over the Icy Crown Svidur meet the green dragon Suttung that guarded an well of unfrozen water. For its own nefarious reasons it promised to learn Svidur how to see the secrets of the world and bend magic to his will in exchange for gold and his right eye. Of course this was an offer that Svidur could not refuse and so he ripped out his eye and offered it to Suttung that fullfilled it part of the pact over the next few years. As Svidur decended down to Avistan he took the roads leading to Mendev as he had heard that there where many powerfull secret close to the Worldwound. Svidur did not stay in Mendev for long though. Instead he wandered further to the south as he learned wabout the powerfull techno-artifacts of Numeria. The next few years Svidur tried to learn the many secrets of technologi. It was a search that found many low ranking members of the Technic League dead at his hands, before he found Khonir Baine. A person willingly shared his knowledge for favours and gold. Svidur sees Khonir as an importent resources in his quest for ever more power. An importent resource that he is willing to protect and now that he have heard that Khonir is gone missing he have traveled to the Torch to try to recover him.