[Characters] Shield polishers and errand runners (PCs)

[oztk]

Post the information about your PCs here, including the RP samples. Please link to both the Hero NPC and the rival NPC information in their threads; also, when you finish your character sheet link to that.

[kymrel]

Ealian Finuthin Ealian Finuthin Name: Ealian Finuthin [Character sheet] Race: High-Elf (Sun Elf) Class: Wizard (Bladesinger) level 3 Background: Urban Bounty Hunter Master: Kytaran Finuthin Rival: Nalia Tave Executive summary: The birth of twins is rare in any elven community, and Ealian and his twin sister Ealiara were destined for greatness from birth. Both trained with their uncle Kytaran as bladesingers, working to find those who wrong elves in some way and bringing them to justice. When the death curse fell over the land it affected Ealiara, raised from the dead after a tragic betrayal by a member of the family. Ealian and his uncle were sent to Chult in a desperate bid to end the curse before it claimed the live of many prominent elves, as well as Ealian’s sister. Description: Ealian Finuthin at first appears fairly unimpressive, of average height for an elf (5'7") and fairly skinny. Although not heavily muscled, he has well-toned muscles and carries himself well. He has tanned, almost golden skin and honey-blonde hair that reaches just past his shoulders. His face has a feint-blue geometric tattoo which makes his face quite distinctive. His arms also have a patterned tattoo that is vaguely similar to a black-and-white tiger. Ealian tends to dress in a light green-tinted leather armor that doesn't restrict his movement and clothes in various shades of green. He carries a long, slim sword with an ornate hilt on his left hip and a matching dagger on the other. Traits: - I can be overly stubborn, even when it makes sense to give in. - I am very curious, I have to know everything that's going on around me and solve any mystery I'm presented with. Ideal: Perfection. I strive towards perfection in everything I do. Making mistakes annoys me greatly. Bond: I feel that a bladesinger has a duty to all elves, regardless of origin, and should try to make the world a better place for all good races. Flaw: I will take great personal risks to learn secrets unavailable to others. Bonus: Headband of Intellect – Given to him by his twin sister when he left for Chult, Ealian uses this green headband to keep his hair out of his eyes. Links to NPCs to be added

 

A Tall Tale "You heard that story ‘bout that poncy elf sitting by the fire? Ealian is his name. A real stuck up snob, but don’t tell him that. He works with Kytaran Finuthin, the bladesinger who was the guest of honor at the solstice festival last year. You remember, right? He performed that dance that all the broads went wild over," Dario, a one-eyed half-elf slurs. Brugo just shakes his head, bushy eyebrows drawing so close together that they touch in the middle. "Well, I’ll tell you about it,” the drunk Dario continues, throwing his head back as he pours the remainder of his shot glass into his mouth. “Me and a few associates were hired by the Rotan boys to track down a group suspected of working for the Black Network. Not to take them out or anything so dramatic. No, they apparently killed some uppity moon elf and took his sword. The Rotan-brothers told us to forget anything else, that the elves would ransom that blade with enough gold to keep us all in whores and liquor until the end of time. We weren’t the lead on that hunt though. We were the hired muscle for the most tasty moon-elf I have ever had the displeasure of not having a romp with. You might have seen her, calls herself Nalia. Red hair, green eyes. Body to die for. But anyway. We tracked them down. There were about fifteen of them, going slow up the road to the Dales with a couple of wagons full of who knows what.” The half-elf waved a serving maid over and ordered another round of drinks for the table. “We stalked them for the better part of the day, until they stopped for the night by a small creek. Nalia ordered us to wait for a bit, since she wanted the guards to get sleepy before sneaking in and finding that sword. But we weren’t the only ones hunting that night. As we are making our approach, what do we see but a trio of poncy elves, walking up to the camp from the nearby woods, not even bothering to hide.” Dario pauses for a moment as the waitress brings the drinks, and gratefully takes a large swig from a tankard, pinching the girl’s behind as she walks away, deftly avoiding her slap. “The leader, the Kytaran fellow I told you about,” he says, continuing his story. “He has a pair of balls on him. Twenty or so guys facing him, and he just tells them to deliver the sword or they will all die this night. Bloody hell, that’s cold, right?” he says, and his companions nod in unison. “Me and the boys, we decide to wait this out. Let them fight it out and take the sword from the winner. Smart, that’s us, right? Only, we can’t find Nalia. So we figure she’s done a runner. Anyway, those Black Network guys are having none of what the elves are selling. About half of them shoot at the trio of elves with crossbows, but they just mutter something, and the quarrels miss. Every single one of them. Must have been fifteen quarrels. And not one hit. And now the elves are a blur. They draw swords, so the rest of the guys rush out to fight them while the crossbowmen reload. Damn guys, if you ever have to fight a bladesinger, you should make sure you’ve paid the priests for a nice funeral first. Those elves weren’t messing around. The leader opened up with a spell, burning half or the Black Network guys where they stood. And then they sliced into the rest of them.” Dario takes another gulp of ale, wiping the foam off his mouth with the back of his hand, before continuing. “About that time the leader of the Black Network guys decides to make himself scarce. He grabs a box, which I presume has the elven blade in it, and uses a spell to create some sort of a portal that he steps through, and poof, he’s away. The leader of the elves, he doesn’t miss a beat. He says something to the other two and then with a snap of his fingers he’s gone too, through a portal of his own. You would think that the other two elves would be doomed, facing all the rest of the Black Network guys, probably twenty-five or thirty guys. Well, they weren’t. They fought back to back, so close that it looked like one elf with two swords. The others never stood a chance. They were cut down like corn on harvest day. When the fighting was over, there must have been fifty bodies around the elves. All dead. All killed with a single blow. Think about it, every blow a killing blow. How do you fight people like that? You can’t, that’s how,” he says, finishing his tankard. As he slumps over the table, feeling dizzy after a long night of hard drinking, he finishes with words of wisdom for his friends: “So, guys, take my word for it. You don’t want to give that elf any cause to want you dead, that much is clear. And if you find an elven sword, just hand it back when they send someone for it. Trust me.” Brugo, clearly unsatisfied with the lose end of the tale, pokes Dario. “Hey, what about the broad? Nalia? She just split on you?” The question brings a little life back into Dario. “Not even close. If you think the other elves had a pair on them, she must have had balls made of pure adamantite, that one. You know what she did while we were watching?” He doesn’t give Brugo or the others a chance to respond. “She crawls into one of the wagons, pops on a pair of manacles and when the elves have defeated the Black Network guys she shouts for help, playing the damsel in distress, saying she got kidnapped. Last we see of her she’s walking away with the elves, looking back to us and winking. I’m willing to bet she ended up stealing that sword from them. My kind of girl.”

 

Traditional Writing Sample “It is time to leave, Ealian.” Kytaran’s voice sounded cold. “We have to be in Waterdeep in a weeks’ time. Syndra Silvane isn’t known for her patience and if her expedition is to have any chance of success, we need to be on it.” The tall Sun Elf looked at his nephew with a sad look on his face. “I have already said goodbye to Ealiara. The priests will do all they can for her. All we can do for her now is to solve this riddle and find out how to lift this damned curse.” Ealian closed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He took one last look at the spartan room that had been his place of refuge while the priests tried to find out what was sapping the strength out of his sister. At least they now knew what was happening. And that there was something they could do to help. Even if the odds seemed stacked against them. He walked slowly through the corridors, not sure what to say to his sister. His twin sister whom he’d spent his entire life with. And now he might never see her again. Almost too soon he found himself in front of Ealiara’s room. As he opened the door he could see that she had gotten worse. She was lying in a divan, her head resting on a thick pillow, a book in her hands. As he walked in, she put the book down and sat up. It pained him to see how slow and sluggish she had become, wincing as she rose up. He slowly kissed the back of her hand. “We are leaving for Waterdeep, sister. And from there, who knows. Kytaran seems to trust this Silvane person, but she hasn’t told him where we need to go.” Ealian stroked his sister’s forehead slowly. She looked older. “We will break this curse, Ealiara. No matter the cost we will not fail. If not, so many of our people will die.” His eyes well up. “It’s just, I don’t know how to do this alone. We have never even been separated before, I’ve never gone into danger without you to watch my back. It feels as if I’m leaving the best part of myself behind,” he says, hugging his sister tightly. “You will be fine,” his sister said, her voice calm and controlled. “All I have to do is wait here and get bored while you go on the most important quest of your life. I wish things weren’t the way they are, and we were headed out together. But we must play the notes we are given and finish the song. And my part is over, for now. And you must finish our song.” Ealiara quickly untied a green ribbon from her braided hair. “Here, take this, and remember me every time you touch it,” she says, rising up to tie the ribbon around her brother’s thick ponytail. Ealian looked at her wide-eyed. “I can’t. The queen, she gave it to you, I can’t possibly take it,” he says, starting to untie the ribbon again. Ealiara held his hands, stopping him. “And now I’m giving it to you. You will need it much more than I will. Take it, and remember me.” Ealian stopped struggling. “I will be back, you know. And you will be waiting for me when I do,” he said, his voice firm now. The twins hugged for a long moment before he kissed her cheek and turned to leave the room. As he walked out he had to force himself not to look back.

[Arthilian01]

Complete pending GM Review

The Kobold's Halberd: Gathered snugly around the best table in the Kobold’s Halberd, a weary, wounded adventuring party is celebrating a day’s hard work. Brugo the dwarf had insisted there be no adventuring talk, not after what they’d just been through, and the group had at first obliged. Brugo started the long, rambling saga of his first love -- or was it his first hammer? It wasn’t clear which was the emotional core of the story -- but he hadn’t gotten to the finale yet when dinner was served and they’d gotten sidetracked by describing the favorite dishes from their respective homelands. It was only as the dishes were cleared away and the fourth round of drinks brought out that the ban on shop talk fell apart. They weren’t doing important work, mind -- any adventuring party worth their caltrops knew that debating the next move and cataloging the party’s supply of ten-foot poles were tasks best left to the harsh light of morning. But gossip and networking are part of every job, and adventuring was no different. Was the famous cutpurse Bulargio starting to rest on his laurels? Was that rumor about the goblin tribe riding elephants true? And oh, have you heard about that new up-and-comer? "You heard that story ‘bout Inaria? Hangs out with Paladin Keldor Zeal?" another party member slurs, but Brugo just shakes his head, bushy eyebrows drawing so close together that they touch in the middle. "Well, lemme tell ya...Inaria is this little half-blood thief taken in by Sir Keldor. They say that she was gonna rob the man and he caught her red-handed. Keldor's boy, Alexander was about to execute her on the spot but the old man stopped him. Folks say the old Paladin saw the Light of Torm in her." Brugo interrupts, "More like, Keldor saw his codpiece in 'er!" This brings devious chuckles but the tale-teller swats the table with an open palm, angry now, "Nay, she has the power, I seen her heal a man with just a touch of her hands, She's a Paladin, alright even if she ain't but a slip of a thing what can't wear heavy armor or even carry a sword." Brugo burps loudly and takes another swig of his ale, obviously upset at someone contradicting him. The tale-teller scowls at the dwarf and continues, "That boy Alexander ain't fond of her, that's for sure, I hear he wails on her daily, hopin' for an injury that will see her out of the house on her arse every day. Feat: ToughShe sure knows how to take a shield to the face and Feat: Shield MasterAlexander knows how to give it."

Inaria (PC): Name: Inaria Race: Half-Elf Class: Rogue 1 /Paladin 2 Background: Urchin Personality Traits: I am brutally honest and I never mince words, unless I am sowing a lie to save my hide. I have a secret spot in the City where I like to go to think or hide things I have stolen. It's my own little world where no one can get to. (Mostly because it's too small for anyone else to get into.) Ideal: Charity - Anything I steal that I can't use, I give to those who can't steal it for themselves. (Good) Bond: I once lived among a close group of vagabonds that I indirectly watched out for because they were too old or sick to take care of themselves. Flaw: I often take things that I don't need just for the sake of taking them. Appearance: Being a half-elf, Inaria has slightly more weight to her frame than an elf would but she is still athletic. Her almond-shaped eyes, slightly upturned, pronounced cheekbones and slightly pointed ears mark her as more exotic than most humans she interacts with. She has a grace about the way she carries herself that is somewhere less than her elven kin and more than her human kin. Executive Summary: Inaria was an orphan that grew up on the streets of Silverymoon, the back alleys and gutters that visitors to the city never see. She once felt that the rich have more than they need and she felt obliged to take anything they left lying around. Despite the fact that she would take it back to her 'home' and upon deciding that she didn't really need it, she would pass on her boon from the robbery to those less fortunate, the sick and old vagabonds that she lived around. Her outlook changed a bit when she got caught trying to cut the purse from a Paladin's belt. On some crazy notion that she had some good within her, the Paladin spared her life and took her as an apprentice. She has since found a perspective that she can't judge all the people of a certain caste based on their status in the world. Between this new power that sprang forth from the nurturing of her mentor and her already compassionate heart, she has learned how to put herself between danger and those too weak to fight for themselves, above and beyond just passing out coins to vagabonds.

RP Sample: Inaria saw the shield coming, as she did every time, but she wasn't fast enough to dodge it, ever. All she could do was brace for it. Alexander's shield made square contact with her chest, throwing her to the ground, the top edge of the shield slammed her chin, causing her to bite her lip. As she rolled to the side to recover without getting another hit, she could taste the blood in her mouth. As she recovered with a soft grunt, she hefted the heavy longsword, a weapon she hated training with and her arms were beginning to go numb from repetitive hits from Alexander's shield. She felt the reverberation as the longsword bounced from Alexander's flawless shield block then his sword came down. She raised the blade to catch it, a resounding clang then the shield, She knew it was coming, her body tensed and then the impact and she hit the ground. "Enough!" came Sir Keldor's powerful voice followed by several claps of his gloved hands, indicating the end of the sparring match. Inaria struggled to stand then spit the blood from her mouth. Her grimace as she approached her mentor was noticed, "Are you alright, Inaria?" Keldor's appraisal of the situation was spot on but Inaria wasn't about to admit defeat, "I'm fine." was Inaria's only reply as she hung the sword in it's groove on the training rack and flashed the seemingly infallible Paladin a slight smile that brought more blood to her tongue. The Half-elf pushed the door to her quarters open and walked inside, It wasn't that she was ungrateful to her mentor for taking her in and training her. She knew that Alexander was trying to hurt her, It was the norm of everyday, The shield slams were made with his full strength, she wasn't ignorant enough to believe otherwise. She loosened the straps to her bracers and tugged them off then tossed them onto the bed. She wasn't about to give Alexander the pleasure of knowing he was breaking down her resolve and she wasn't about to let Keldor think she couldn't handle it, earning special treatment because of that. This was her chance to be more than she was, to help people in a bigger way than just stealing and fencing goods for a few coins to help others who were unlucky enough to find themselves living off the scraps that others threw away. Inaria walked to the washbasin and spit blood into the bowl of water, then filled cupped hands, covered in callouses, with water and brought it to her mouth, rinsed and spit then dabbed her bloody lip with a towel. The towel met the washbasin table the moment the latch clicked and she whirled around. Alexander stood in the doorway, still clad in his shining armor and a malicious grin on his face. Keldor wasn't behind him in the courtyard, He must have went to his quarters. Alexander crossed his hands behind his back and strolled right-wards towards Inaria's bed and picks up the discarded gauntlets, "You know you don't belong here, You are little more than a thief, only a little more than you were that faithful day. My father sees something in you and that is the only thing that gives you worth, but one of these days, He will tire of you." He drops the gauntlet, hitting the edge of the bed, followed by a clatter as the metal makes contact with the stone floor. "You'll never be me, Inaria, You might as well just give up now."

Fellow apprentice and Tormentor: Knight Alexander Zeal
Knight, Mentor and 'Adopted Father?': Knight Keldor Zeal

[goatmeal]

PC: Kunjufu Name: Kunjufu Race: Human (Chultian) Class: Bard (possibly multiclass Wizard depending on party, etc) Background: Entertainer (instrumentalist, poet, storyteller) Executive Summary: Kunjufu is an affable young man, an up and coming teller of tales, gifted in both exhortation of his companions and verbal sparring with his enemies. He was recognized by the leaders of New Mezro as someone who would do well representing their interests in the outer world and was being groomed for such a position. When the sudden influx of adventurers hit Chult, he was sent out earlier than expected to learn what was going on and whether Chult was in danger of being further colonized. But he was instructed to not reveal the secrets of New Mezro to any outsiders. Physical Description: Kunjufu is tall and thin, almost lanky: healthy if not built for battle. Both his movements and his voice have an appealing dexterity to them. He often shaves his head in the fashion of the poets of New Mezro. Personality Trait 1: I know a story relevant to almost any situation Personality Trait 2: Nobody can stay mad at me or around me for long, as I can defuse almost any amount of tension. Ideal: The stories, legends, and songs of the past must never be forgotten, because they teach us who we are. Bond: The secrets of my people are more important than anything else. Flaw: Sometimes I’m better at taking care of others than I am at taking care of myself.

Places and Things Relationships Kunjufu and Triwyn found each other as convenient translators of new cultures. Triwyn was well aware of the dangers of the arrival of her group as appearing overtly colonial and wanted a local to help guide her away from any of her unconscious biases which might cause harm. Kunjufu was seeking an “invader” whom he could dialogue with to gain a sense of their motivations. Kunjufu supports Triwyn’s efforts because he knows that they are meant to save her family not to exploit his land, still he feels bound against sharing the details of his secret people with her. Triwyn respects Kunjufu but knows he is keeping something from her; she fears this might be because she bears the stain of colonialism, and is unsure what to do about it. Kunjufu knows little about Jabbazz or his plans, but does have a slight aversion to him for reasons he can’t quite articulate. Jabbazz was not yet on the council when Kunjufu was selected to be a future representative of New Mezro to the outside world, but spoke against the current mission when it came up for vote. Jabbazz is against the intentions to one day reveal the secret city to the rest of Chult, and especially not to outsiders. He believes Kunjufu will find some way to sell them out and secretly spies on him hoping to catch him in the act. The story “...So I’m pretty sure that he knows where a motherload of treasure is and he’s just waiting for a few more of Triwyn’s party falling to the death curse before leading the rest of them there. Best way to increase his own share of the take,” a knowing look to all who are gathered at this sage bit of wisdom. The sort of wisdom they all know but seldom want to verbalize in the cutthroat business they occupy. “And I’ve got proof of it, too.” Fingers are extended and counted off with the sort of finality that broaches no questioning. “One: that bandore he carries around, it’s part of the motherload. No way someone of his standing gets something like that otherwise. Plus it's his proof to Triwyn that the motherload is real, otherwise why would she have hired someone like him instead of one of us?" All those gathered knew the instrument of which he spoke. Crafted of hbny wood, native only to Chult. It was darker than night, but was smooth and oiled so that it almost gleamed of a light not it's own. It was said to be made of one piece of wood, a terrible extravagance when one considered the rarity of hbny and the vast empty space inside it where the sound reverberated before spilling out. Kwalu called it Trina, and seemed to love it more than most men love their women: always polishing it, tuning it, fretting over it, humming to it, plucking at it as if doing so was a favor to the instrument itself. The sounds that came out of it seemed to crawl across the floor and fill the room without really saying anything. But those sounds filled everyone in the room with something, with whatever Kwalu was feeling at the moment he played them. And when he'd eventually join in with his own words, you couldn't help but listen. Every one of them wanted to get their hands on that instrument, as if touching it would somehow make them as effortlessly appealing as Kwalu seemed to be among those they most wanted to impress. He continues the story, "Two: Triwyn’s a rogue, pure and simple. Don’t matter what she says of her family, nothing matters to her but the biggest piles of gold. Don’t let that smile of hers fool you." He looks around to make sure they are all listening before continuing in a somewhat hushed voice, "Three: A guy named Jabbazz said it was so. Local Chultan fellow, too, so it's not just blowin' smoke to up his own stock. Said Kunjufu is going to sell them out as soon as he gets a chance.” Lowering his hand now as if the point has been made. “So it sounds to me like the most dangerous place to be is next to Kunjufu. But it’s also the best place to be if you want to get the big payday.” “Maybe so, Brugo, but that could describe half a dozen persons, places, or things that I dealt with today,” replies a seemingly disinterested elf lounging on the far side of the table. “Ain’t that the truth. God, I hate this line of work sometimes…” a halfling sitting next to the elf affirms. Brugo's said his piece and just takes a swig before starting another conversation about something else. But ears have heard this tale and mouths will share it again when the moment is ripe. The RP Sample Kwalu and Triwyn sat at the base of the eroding hill they had recently been tumbling down after escaping a horde of trolls through a crack too small for the large creatures to get through. That had been a close call. There had been a lot of close calls lately, and they had nothing really to show for it. They were probably looking in the wrong place anyways. It was time for a change. “We’re never going to get through there if it’s just the two of us,” Triwyn states matter of factly after catching her breath. “Something has got to change.” “There are others who seek what you seek. Some of their motivations might not be as altruistic as your own, but perhaps it is time to find a compromise,” replies the Chultian. There is a brief hint of sadness in the words. So brief that none but Triwyn would have even detected it. But the time they’ve spent together along with her uncanny ability to pick up on these sorts of things makes it clear to her: there is something he is not saying. This is not the first time she’s sensed this, and she has a gut feeling of what he might be hiding: he is a member of some group he is not willing to talk to her about. Perhaps it is a thieve’s guild. “We don’t have to compromise if you aren’t ready to do so. If there is some other group you’d rather work with instead, I am certainly open to that as well.” “No. There is no other group,” he says, looking her straight in the eye. A bald faced lie? Maybe. It is infuriating, but at the same time she knows that her very presence is an imposition on his people. She must give him the space to share the details when he is ready, on his own terms. Though it feels she has given too much space already. “Alright then. We know where to find them.” Having rested a bit, they head now back towards town. Kwalu is ready for what comes next. This one he trusts. It is not what he would have expected. The others he has heard stories about, and is sure there are many of them to be wary of. But he’d thought the same thing of Triwyn before he met her. But what if he is wrong about them as well? The secret of his people remains hidden deep inside, part of him wants to tell it, but a larger part of him respects the oath he made not to share it with the outlanders until it was time. And he doesn’t get to decide when it is time.

Jabazz: https://www.rpgcrossing.com/showthre...25#post7803925

Triwyn: https://www.rpgcrossing.com/showthre...29#post7803929

[TNK]

Goog'Jub Goog'Jub Name: Goog'Jub Race: Grung Class: Ranger, Revised - Beast Conclave (3) Background: Outlander Hero: Arana Ellaberiel Rival: Ranga Executive Summary: A red Grung, Goog'Jub was a disappointment to his family, being more interested in archery and hunting than in the magic felt more fitting to his caste. Nevertheless, he gained respect by helping to defend against a night time attack on his village. Goog'Jub began ranging further and further around, looking out for threats. While on these travels, he found that he had a great affinity towards small beasts. Physical Description: 30" tall, Goog'Jub is short even for a Grung. As a mid-caste red Grung, he's a little more noticeable in the woods than his more camouflaged relatives. Personality Traits: I love nature and I'm not happy when I'm in the city. Common is still a new language to me - I say things wrong when I'm under stress. Ideal: Grung society is too staid. I'll show what changing things around can do. Bond: The undead are threatening my tribe. I'll not let them win out. Flaw: Goog'Jub is careless as to his poisonous skin and the personal space of others. He's been known to make people ill by touching them without meaning to. Bonus: Bracers of Archery, a gift from his father. If Goog'Jub is going to be an archer, he can damn well be a good one.

A Tall Tale Brugo took a long swig of beer and the table was silent for a moment after the last story. "How about that rusty looking Grung, Goog'Jub? Follows that scowling Elven druid Arana round like a puppy. Quite the menagerie she's got going, with that hulking great tortoise boy too." The party looked around at each other and smiled. Even in Port Nyanzaru, such a motley crew stood out like a sore thumb. "Amazing archer he is, looking like a kiddy with his dad's bow. I might attribute some of that to the fancy looking armwear he's got on. Fortunate he's so small, I imagine given half a chance they might go missing if they were likely to fit someone else. Did you hear about that thing at the bridge?" This time the looks around the table were blank. "So these guys were out wandering through the jungle, as you do, until they came across a gorge. Hadn't been the first there though, old rope suspension bridge stretched across it. All three of them trot on out, happy as anything, until a brace of pterafolk come to pay a visit. Those ugly scaly old things don't know who they're facing though." Brugo wet his mouth again and carried on with the story. "So anyway, they spring into action. Whasisname, Ranga, does what big dumb lumps do best, grabbing onto one of the pterafolk to hold him in place, while the other one takes off and cuts through the ropes. Poor sod, thinks these are just normal travellers. It's when the elf turns into a giant eagle that the pterafolk realise it's not going to plan." "Everything moves fast at this point. Off flies Arana, Ranga holds his new buddy tight while they fall into the river below, and Goog'Jub does this almighty leap from the collapsing bridge and lands on the far side. Arrow comes out, wiped on his skin, and loosed right at the one with the knife. Straight through the throat, pinned into the cliff on the other side, dead as a doornail." "It was pretty much over at this point, one of the enemies skewered and one battered and drowned. By the time Ranga found a way back up the side of the gorge, Goog'Jub was eating and Arana was back in her Elven form and deep in meditation. He's not daft, that Goog'Jub. Knew to keep his mouth shut about the pondweed wrapped around the Tortle's head. I don't imagine he was in the mood for personal grooming advice."

RP Sample Goog'Jub and Arana walked through the streets of Port Nyanzaru. Neither felt at home in crowds, and the dust in the midday air was making Goog'Jub yearn for a river to bathe in, but they had work to do. The streets were abuzz with people going about their business as normal, but there was an air of apprehension about the place. Rumours abounded about the so-called Death Curse and the more cautious people who could afford magics to revive them from the dead no longer enjoyed the confidence of their riches. Arana was looking for a Harper contact who had promised to meet them, but so far there had been no luck. Grungs were quite unusual in such an urban setting and Goog'Jub got to enjoy personal space from people avoiding his toxic skin, so the two of them should be obvious. Their compatriot, Ranga, had been left behind guarding their possessions which had caused some muttering from him. As the pair turned a corner into the main market area, a vision of dinosaur chaos confronted them. Their use as beasts of burden was par for the course in Port Nyanzaru, and the races were famous, but this was something different. Clearly a dinosaur wrangler had lost control of his charges, and they were running amok. While Arana used her Animal Friendshippowers to calm most of the dinosaurs, one velociraptor had broken free from the rest and charged down a side alley, terrifying the locals. "I would get!" yelled Goog'Jub, his Common clearly being a new language in the heat of the moment. Goog'Jub gave chase, with his bow drawn, but reticent to send an arrow flying with the potential to harm passers-by. The blanket roof on the market stalls gave him an idea, and taking great care he loosed an arrow into the ropes holding one up. As hoped for, the missile hit its target, and the velociraptor was trapped under the collapsed material. Goog'Jub approached, and made soothing noises to calm the panicking creature down. He drew a breath and Speak with Animalscarefully spoke to the tiny dinosaur. Able to get across that no harm was intended, Goog'Jub led the now peaceful raptor back to the market square. When he returned, calm had returned to the place. Arana was talking to the dinosaur wrangler who stopped mid-sentence when the Grung emerged. "He seems to have taken a shine to you. Take him if you want, angry little creature set the rest of them off." pronounced the sweating man. Goog'Jub across and smiled at the velociraptor. It would be nice to have a companion closer to his own size.

[tomplum]

PC Name: Jomm ‘Puma’ Birch Race: Human Class: Monk Background: Outlander Summary: A peaceful man at heart, Jomm is also a ferocious fighter, capable of turning the switch from diplomatic envoy to cornered animal in an instant. Physical Description: Tall and strong but graceful and agile in his movements, Jomm earned the nickname, Puma, from the rapidity with which his strikes may come as a cougar may swat an a rival. Personality Trait 1: The mountains of my home are the most beautiful structures in all of nature, but I search for that which may surpass their beauty. Personality Trait 2: I idolize a hero of my people and constantly refer to their deeds. Ideal: My honor is my life. Bond: I serve a hero of my tribe and would lay down my life to protect him. Flaw: Nature is cruel and the fittest survive. I have no sympathy for those who cannot protect themselves. RP Sample ”Patience, Jomm. Though man may consider themselves better than the animals, they are susceptible to the same impulses.” Sure enough, the man on guard fell asleep at his post allowing Jomm and Magnus to sneak past into the slumbering camp. A crude shrine to the thunder god had been erected in the short time these heretics had made this vale in the mountains their home, but it was the other structure within the camp that was their destination. A small tent had been erected over the entrance to the ancient catacombs of the ancient kings who once laid claim to these peaks. Arne Asleson, wielder of the lightning spear, had concocted some plan to raise a dead ruler to life. For what purpose, Jomm and Magnus did not know but to disturb the tombs of the dead was an offense the pair were honor bound to stop. ”What secrets could the dead tell the living?” asksed Jomm. ”To what end does he wish to learn this knowledge?” ”Ours is not the place to question. Elder Svein decreed this act abominable and we must put an end to it.” Climbing down the rope into the catacombs, the pair were forced to light a torch to see the path ahead toward the tomb. His nerves were on edge and his mind racing. This man they hunted was a fearsome opponent. Stories of scorched opponents left in his wake, still smoking from the bolt of lightning that Arne could create from his own body told a frightening tale. Jomm trusted Magnus with his life and knew he would not have been allowed to accompany the great warrior on this quest if the elder and Magnus had not thought he was ready. As they moved down the stone passage with the carved reliefs of the kings of the past staring at them in the darkness, a lit chamber came into view. Dousing their own torch so as to approach unnoticed, they came upon the tomb of King Snorri the Dread, a terrible conqueror and slaver of the mountain people. What horrors could he tell Arne? The ritual was already under way as Jomm and Magnus leapt from the shadows to attack the first two henchmen standing guard. No simple guards were these two as they stood their ground and took their blows, fighting back. A gash on his right arm the price Jomm paid to dispatch his foe as Magnus leapt toward Arne to disrupt the evil happening before them. The skeletal remains of the king were held aloft over his tomb as the tempest priest spoke in a long forgotten tongue to it. Jomm readied his spear and launched it at the wicked cleric, just missing its mark and grazing his cheek. Anger in his eyes, Arne chants magical words and Magnus is frozen in place, his sword mere inches from the priest’s head. ”You’ve stopped nothing, boy. I’ve learned all I needed to.” Jomm was sure his end had come. No dobut, a bolt of lightning was about to issue forth from the cleric, scorching the monk into a steaming pile of meat. Instead, a softness came over Arne’s eyes as he regarded Jomm. He traces a finger over the fresh wound across his cheek and says, ”By rights I should kill you for that. Scarred me you have. Though instead, I’ll attempt to prove a point. Your elder is mistaken in my intents. I cannot ask forgiveness for delving into your people’s sacred tombs but the information the dead have, had to be gained. A powerful artifact lies buried in the jungles of Chult and I must find it before far worse than me do. You don’t agree with my methods and that’s understandable. At least respect my reason. I’m trying to save the world and if disturbing a few old bones is what it takes, then so be it. Don’t follow me.” With Arne Asleson gone, Magnus regained control of his body again. No trace of the cleric could be found. Likely fled for this Chult that he spoke of. The elder, Svein, decreed that Magnus should travel to this Chult to claim this artifact before the mad priest can get it and so the pair make their way south. Far from home and farther still from safety into an unknown world far different than that from which they came. Rumor and Gossip "Came upon the two of ‘em sitting round a campfire. Not speaking, not moving, just sitting there, staring into the flames. Both big as a minotaur but there was only two of ‘em and six of us. So, we jumped out at ‘em and thought we’d have an easy kill. Neither of ‘em was even wearing armor! You’d think they had eyes in the back of their heads. As the sword blows was coming down to their necks, they both twisted away and returned the slight with a fury none have ever seen. The big one pulled a giant sword from his back as he twisted and took Snigg’s head clean off before we knew what had happened. The other smaller one (only compared to the other, they were both head and shoulders bigger than any of us), spun around and impaled Tog with his spear before breaking Tovalt’s nose. He leapt back out of the way before Tovalt could get a counter in. He’d have had better luck catching a fish bare handed than landing a blow on that one." "The rest of us stopped dead in our tracks as they both just looked at us, like a parent silently disciplining a child before they sat back down and stared into the flames. One look to me mates still standing and we knew these wasn’t the easy marks they had looked to be. The four of us high tailed it out of there lickity split. Don’t know why they let us live but if ya come across those two big barbarians, leave ‘em be, I says. Just look at ol’ Tovalt’s nose if ya need convincing.” Links The Hero The Rival

[ridin gaijin]

Kaskafrazz "Kaska" Shruffter

Name: Kaskafrazz Shruffter, Race: Bugbear, Rogue 3, Background: the Urchinest of Urchins.

Executive summary: Shruffter is a thoroughly disreputable and highly effective gypsy thief. His Bugbear clan have coerced him into accumulating enough money to buy them each their own covered gypsy wagon.

A short physical description -- Shruffter's fur and clothing are patchy gray-brown, which makes him somewhat hard to spot. He offsets this advantage with a motley collection of cheap trinket-y jewelry on his hands, around his neck, and in his ears.

Traits: Cocky and Talkative. Ideal: Money is everything in this life.

Bond: The extended Shruffter family, all of whom want their own high-quality caravans, which Kaska is expected to pay for. Flaw: Where to start? Greedy, amoral, gambling addiction, etc.... However, he's also always true to his word, and will stand up for those he sees as friends in any tight spot.

Bonus: Cloak of Elvenkind.


Heroic PC: Anglarion Starbright Infidel-Hammer, amazing elven paladin

Rival NPC: Trace Jaster, dedicated knight and tracker somewhat extraordinaire

COMPLETELY UNFOUNDED Rumors and gossip "You heard that story ‘bout Kaskafrazz...Sumthin'? Used to work for that Anglorion Star-smiter or whatever?" another party member slurs, but Brugo just shakes his head, bushy eyebrows drawing so close together that they touch in the middle. "Well, lemme tell ya--"the doughty dwarf was about to begin, but Kenna Landslider, the usually-silent Elven witch, interrupted. She'd been leaning her chair back against the wall, sipping from a crystal goblet of mysteriously-always-chilled Turnok Heritage '08 Chablis. Now she lets the front legs of her chair slam to the floor and leans across the table. "No no no. Let me tell you--about this scourge, this shiftless, appalling...bugbear!" High cheekbones flushed, she launches into her tale. "I'm proud to be acquainted with both Anglarion Starbright and his able man Trace Jaster. Anglarion found this Shruffter literally dead drunk in a gutter one day, and even though Anglarion was on his way to lead the expedition to unearth the Tomb, our noble paladin paused and reached out a hand of friendship to the dissolute creature. Anglarion offered this Shruffter an honest position as a porter for the expedition. Well, the drunken thief duplicitously accepted. That very night, he vanished with half the party's funds! Vanished into thin air, doubtless aided by some magic. No one could find him. It was probably sorcery. --No, no, any stories you heard about Trace insulting Shruffter and forcing him to clean latrines is surely false. This...scummy bugbear just took advantage of every helping hand he was offered! So now, Jaster is charged with hunting him down, and I am sure justice will prevail. Hmph."

Show your PC interacting in some way with your hero NPC.

Pack mules really do hate the smell of bugbears Kaskafrazz Shruffter: "T'anks a million fer th' chance to earn some honest coin, yer worship. I'll be sure an earn it by workin as hard as ye evvir saw, bless me." Anglarion Starbright Infidel-Hammer: "That's enough fawning. See Trace about your assignment." KS: "Ah, yes--about dat, now, yer worshipness, see, I spoke to him already, and he says I ain't fit fer nuttin but cleanin up after the animals an such. Ting is, yer magnificence, I've got talents, y'see, dat could serve ye better--" ASI-H: "Accept the hand offered you, son, and start from there." KS: "Well, your gloriousness, it's that animals don't often take a shine to my kind, y'see, an I don't wanter start a fuss back dere. I can do ye a world o good as a scout, pr'haps, or as a sort of advance agent--" ASI-H: "That's enough now. All must earn their place in this world." KS (muttering): "Turn yer back on me, will ye? Cleanin up after the mules, is it? Go an' try to help a feller out--see what it gets ya, Kaska! Dammit to ****ing hell then!"

eoghankerrigan, deviantart.comImage credit

[Swagbag]

Oswald Name: Oswald Borowski Race: Human (Variant) Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon) Background: Huntsman (Custom) Hero: Rival: Executive Summary: Physical Description: Personality Traits: I feel more comfortable sleeping under the open sky. Ideal: - Our wits are our most valuable resource in troubled times. Bond: - I cannot leave a harmed animal behind; I must save it or put it out of its misery. - If my pet does not like you, I do not like you! - Once youve ridden with me and fought by my side, Ill be there for you odds be damned. Flaw: I strongly dislike enclosed spaces and require intoxication or firm encouragement to enter them. Bonus: Feat: Reslient (CON); Oswald is a large, healthy man