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  #16  
Old 11-02-2016, 10:15 AM
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Last edited by hvg3akaek; 06-29-2017 at 10:59 PM.
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  #17  
Old 10-10-2017, 01:45 PM
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DM of: So You Wanna Be A Starfinder? | Blood on the Snow | Out Of The Abyss
Very Very behind. So sorry if I owe you posts. Working on getting myself together to get back to work on here.

Last edited by hvg3akaek; 07-28-2019 at 05:15 AM.
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  #18  
Old 10-12-2017, 12:45 AM
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Burn the land and boil the sea
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"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."#TEAMEVIL

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  #19  
Old 01-23-2018, 06:11 PM
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Name: Garvyn Jerenar
Race: Human
Class: Druid (Circle of the MoonPrimal Guardian)

Description: Garvyn’s hair is long and dark and appears largely unkempt. Beneath the dark locks is a boyish face which remains without a hint of facial hair. Garvyn is a burly young man with a broad chest and thick legs. He wears furs crudely sewn together at (apparently) useful locations to keep them confined to his body.

At first glance he appears quite formidable, but one prominent feature lends some doubt to that initial assessment. Garvyn’s right arm is less defined than the left and seems to hang uselessly at his side. The arm is not completely useless, however, as he holds a strangely writhing implement in its grasp.

Personality: Garvyn is as wild as the forest where he calls home. While he is generally quiet and reserved, there are times that his emotions will erupt – often in odd moments – and his convictions will be strongly voiced. Garvyn tends toward peace, but does have a violent temper. Often, there are obvious signs of his displeasure before the eruption, like thunder warning of the approaching storm.

Garvyn rarely shows his emotions while in human form, preferring to transform into an animal he has observed exhibiting the emotion. Even when he does show an emotion in human form, it is often disjointed and confusing since the vast majority of his time has been spent around animals rather than people. Perhaps because of this lack of connection, Garvyn is fiercely loyal to anyone he deems a friend.

Backstory: Garvyn’s shoulder got stuck during birth and when it broke free the damage was irreversible. He was always burly, but his decrepit arm left him vulnerable physically as well as emotionally. The other children picked on him constantly and he received little sympathy from adults who viewed him as a pox on the tribe. His parents still loved him, but only in secret.

Over time, Garvyn began to predict where the blows were coming. He didn’t have the strength or quickness to get out of the way, but he could adjust his body to take the blows in less painful ways. One day when he was just eight years old, the other kids cornered him. He had always taken the blows without even crying out, but this day was different. The children who witnessed the events claimed that a bear appeared where Garvyn had been and attacked the largest boy beating him. While the stories were largely taken as an exaggeration by the adults, the strange scratches on the boy made a few wonder. When a similar event happened just a week later, the adults made a decision: Garvyn would be exiled from the tribe.

So, at just eight years old, Garvyn was chased from the village and left to fend for himself in the wild forest. His survival instinct was strong and the magic dwelling in him was even stronger. Left to fend for himself, Garvyn found he was stronger than even he imagined, not in body but in mind and spirit. His fury over his exile lasted for a few years until he really found his way with the nature magic raging inside. After that, Garvyn was one with his surroundings and roamed the forest freely, able to disappear and appear whenever he wished.

A Unique Find: When Garvyn was first chased to the wild, he was angry and would lose his temper and become destructive quite often. While some of the occasions were justified, Garvyn would feel awful afterwards. After one especially severe outburst directed at no one in particular, he slaughtered an entire family of weasels, Garvyn ran into the forest weeping. He fell to his knees in a clearing sobbing at the unnecessary destruction he had wrought. As his knees hit the ground, the right one fell on a gnarled piece of wood causing it to jut up from the foliage. His tears fell near it and the dense foliage of the forest floor seemed to reach out and curl around the gnarled wood. Amazed, Garvyn watched momentarily before intervening. He gently plied one of the straining vines from the dirt and wound it about the wood. Much to his amazement, the vine stayed in place and pulsed with a strange energy. Without knowing why, Garvyn was compelled to return to the site of the weasels’ destruction. Filled with shame, he turned to leave but as he did a gentle rain began to fall despite the dense canopy above. Garvyn heard a rustling behind him and turned to find a whimpering pup clinging to life. The small creature looked to him for help. Without knowing what to do, Garvyn stood there with the stick in hand as the rain continued to fall. It took some reflection before he realized that the rain only fell in the clearing that day. Every time Garvyn has lost his temper after that day, he has found new growth in the forest and added it to the gnarled wood. The plants on the wood – of which there are many now – all flourish despite a bizarre fluctuation: each plant on the totem slowly dies beginning at one end of their length only to rejuvenate later, creating a strange mixture of life and death on the gnarled wood.
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Status: Breakthrough! Suddenly less horrible ... though still busy
GM: Sky Realm (FATE) | Magic Rising (FATE) | Glimmerwell (FATE) Playing: Garvyn (5e) | Cinch (SR)
Bazziox, Imperial Advisor (13th Age!) | Landslide (SR) | Cassia(13th Age)

Last edited by Roekahs; 12-24-2018 at 05:52 PM.
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  #20  
Old 06-06-2018, 11:42 PM
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Ireena Kolyana

Ireena is a striking young woman with auburn hair. Although she appears mild, she has a strong will. She doesn't remember her early past, nor where she came from before being found alone in the woods.

She hails from the small village of Barovia, where her adoptive father was the burgomaster...until last week. He died, and her and her adoptive brother, Ismark, had to see to his funeral arrangements.

All her known life, others have been looking after her, as if she were fragile, a thing easily broken. Thus, Ireena has focused on honing her skills - strengthening herself not just to be able to defend her own person, but those around her too. But even now, her brother wants to see her to safety.

As the strangers passed through the village, Ismark asked for their aid. They were to travel to Vallaki, to seek safety within the town's walls...but Strahd's forces were at work even then, so they had to keep on moving. Of course, she isn't looking for safety - she's looking for a fight.


<human fighter (Battle Master)>
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Allan, Ethronon, Othatheth, and Jones, not so much.

Last edited by hvg3akaek; 11-02-2018 at 06:16 PM.
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  #21  
Old 10-30-2018, 06:46 AM
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Application - Nessima
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Name: Nessima Khidell
Race: Human (variant)
Class: Bard 2 / Warlock 2 (Celestial)
Patron: a Lillend named Thireahl, called "Iri"
Alignment: Chaotic Good

 


Overview: She's much more of a storyteller and orator than a musician/singer/dancer. She uses stories and speeches to entertain, encourage freedom and autonomy, and try to lead others to lead good lives. She prefers to use stories and allegories rather than overt political rhetoric. She's made her peace with just authority, at least somewhat, but hates tyranny and oppression.

Goals: The world is full of stories! So many are lost or forgotten, and Nessima is driven to rediscover them. So many are happening as we speak, and Nessima is driven to chronicle them. The great and the humble both have something to teach us - this is something she knows very deeply. Stories uplift, stories transport, stories change the world. That's why those who would oppress others often seek to hide, change, or destroy stories that give hope and light to their victims. Quietly and calmly, Nessima will work to undermine those who hold power unjustly, who use it to crush others.

History: Nessima Khidell was one of the first babies born in the restored Halruaa, growing up in a place that was simultaneously ancient and brand new. The daughter of a minor cleric of Mystra and an archivist in the great Library of Mount Talath, her earliest memories are deeply embedded with the smell of old parchment and her father's musical laughter as he and her mother discussed philosophy and history. Magic was as common for her as snowfall in the northern reaches, and she grew up loved, indulged, and encouraged. She was enrolled as an Acolyte of Mystra at an early age, and while Mystra's yoke is gentlest of all, still Nessima chafed.

In her spare moments and whenever she could conveniently absent herself from her duties, she'd be found in the great library, immersed in legends of old. By the age of seven, she could recite long passages of lyric poetry by rote, and by ten she would regularly enthrall hordes of young children with her stories and myths.

"She's not called to serve," her father often remarked to her mother. "And she'll tire of these dusty stacks soon enough," her mother observed in kind. Her inclinations clear by now, Nessima was allowed to leave Mystra's service and set to study with those who understood the subtle magics that connected people - the magics of mind, voice, and motion; story, song, and dance. From the beginning, she excelled.

There are few bards who lack wanderlust, and her parents understood her better than she did herself. As her early training drew to a close, Nessima found herself drawn to chronicle the stories of others - great and small. So many deeds go unnoticed every minute. So much good forgotten, so much evil ignored. To be out in the world, living amongst those who strove and struggled, sharing their lives and stories...this became her driving passion.

After a time of wandering, Nessima found herself in a tidy little house in the village of Juniper's Bend. It's the perfect home base - ignored by the world around it, self-sufficient, and close to Baldur's Gate, one of Faerun's preeminent cities. Here, she can write and reflect, yet still have access to all that the world has to offer.

Meeting her Patron: Iri revealed herself to Nessima late one night, when Nessi was hard at work translating some fragments of heroic poetry she'd found in a bazaar in Waterdeep on one of her travels - a poem written in an old Mulhorandi dialect. "You humans," Iri had said, "It's so hard for you to understand anything." She flew over to Nessima and rested a hand on her shoulder. The ancient words shimmered before her eyes and resolved themselves into clear writing in the common tongue. "I could help you, you know," the strange creature said.
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Last edited by Berith; 10-30-2018 at 09:39 AM.
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  #22  
Old 10-30-2018, 07:39 AM
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  #23  
Old 10-30-2018, 09:42 AM
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  #24  
Old 10-30-2018, 09:45 AM
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Last edited by hvg3akaek; 07-28-2019 at 05:17 AM.
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  #25  
Old 10-30-2018, 10:48 AM
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How could you forget?
 
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Last edited by hvg3akaek; 07-28-2019 at 05:18 AM.
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  #26  
Old 10-31-2018, 07:40 AM
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Sulla Einarii
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Sulla Einarii
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Corvus (familiar)

Name:Sulla Einarii
Race: Human (variant)
Home Plane: Forgotten Realms, Ravenloft (past 50 years)
Class: Wizard, School of Divination

Alignment: Machiavellian Lawful Neutral with touch of Nietzsche
Background: Sage/HermitRed Wizard of Thay
Ideal: Power. Knowledge is the path to power and immortality.
Bond: My life's work is a series of tomes related to a specific field of lore; undeath.
Flaw: Secretly, I believe that things would be better if I were a tyrant lording over the land.

Description:

Sulla is a human male of advancing years with full grey beard and cold violet eyes. His silver locks now disguise the tattoo sigils of his former life. His face is often stern and dour. He favours ostentatious clothing, finely embroidered silks and embossed leathers, yet he disdains jewellery and gaudiness of all forms. His wardrobe is of beautiful craftsmanship; regal yet functional and befitting his place within noble circles. His avian familiar often sits upon his shoulder.

 



Last edited by Zinrokh; 08-12-2019 at 04:17 AM.
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  #27  
Old 10-31-2018, 08:19 PM
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Name: Mikayla Smith

Race: Human

Class: Artificer

Description: Standard beauty seems to have missed this average height woman with little in the way of curves. Her face is a deep tan and her brown hair is a bit sooty in addition to being colored by the sun. She wears a leather outfit that might clearly put her at a forge if one were nearby and she smells much the same. She holds a wooden staff in hand with an artistically rendered cap on it's top showing an anvil.

Background: Mikayla is a smith and an alchemist as well. Give her a forge and some time and she will make you armor or weapons, give her chemical components and she'll brew you a potion. Whatever it is that might be needed Mikayla is there to either craft it on the spot or figure out where it can be crafted. She comes from a family of smiths so old that their surname is Smith. Unfortunately she's the daughter the girl who wouldn't bake bread and who wasn't interested in dolls or toys. She watched her father and begged and pleaded for his attention and to learn the trade. When she didn't get it she experimented on her own time with etching and acids trying to show her worth and ending up with a rather gruesome acid burn on her back.

She ended up learning everything that her father could teach and more. She's a prodigy in her home town and has only decided to go out into the world because her brother will inherit the business. She may be a smith and she may have the skills, but without a shop full of tools she won't get anywhere. That is what puts her on the road and she is determined to make her fortune. Her only fear is disappointing her father. Her biggest flaw is her ego the stubborn belief that she can build it, that she can make it, that her artistic abilities are the best. She was a big fish in a small pond and the world might just be waiting to show her up.

Last edited by Ysolde; 11-03-2018 at 04:48 PM.
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  #28  
Old 08-07-2019, 06:10 PM
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Nikrial
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Name: Nikrial Deepwinter of Waterdeep
Race: Human (Variant)
Class: Bard (College of Swords)
Age: 29
Alignment: CN
Background: Entertainer

Traits: I change my mood or my mind as quickly as I change key in a song.
Ideal: The world is in need of new ideas and bold action.
Bond: I want to be famous, whatever it takes.
Flaw: A scandal prevents me from ever going home again. That kind of trouble seems to follow me around.

Backstory: Nikrial is the younger son of Lord Deepwinter of Waterdeep. Unlike the rest of his siblings Nikrial had no desire to enter the family business. He always found the idea of spending all day in the Dock Ward supervising the workers in constructing yet another ship boring. Growing up his passion was always the theater, a passion always encouraged by his mother, the Lady Deepwinter. A born showman Nikrial would at any chance he had find himself in the South Ward enjoying the theater. Nikrial felt that life should be enjoyed to its fullest, not slaving away in offices or shipyards. Disappearing for weeks at a time Nikrial would under a disguise join one of the local troops and perform for the masses. This is where he found the most enjoyment, in the tiny hole in the wall theaters performing for the common man.

Much to the dismay of his father Nikrial’s actions were not approved of and he had a falling out with the old man that caused him to leave Waterdeep with a circus traveling the North. Not looking back he was able to spend many years traveling from city to city. Baulder’s Gate, Silverymoon, Luskan, Neverwinter and even for the dwarves of Mithrial Hall. A jack of all trades, he enjoyed everything from reciting poetry, singing and dancing on stage, but what he was most famous for was his rendition of Samular Caradoon the Knight of Tyr who was recognized as a hero in the second Trollwar, and went on to form the Holy Order of Samular. His performance was well known and many trolls were slain night after night in spectacular fashion.

Sooner or later all good things must come to an end and the circus closed. Always one to take full advantage of every situation he is in Nikrial decided to return home the long way around by dropping in at every inn, tavern and watering hole possible from Silverymoon to Waterdeep. It was time to make it a one man show.

Unfortunately he never made it home.…

Personality: Nikrial lives for the moment, for him life is meant to be enjoyed, What better way than to travel to all the ends of the earth performing? Life is about making friends, making them laugh, making them cry, even for just one night. A serious performer on the stage sometimes Nikrial can be reckless off the stage. This has gotten him into trouble more than once. In the end things work themselves out, even if there are a few bumps in the road getting there. Nikrial enjoys performing, but there is a part of him that wants to be more than just an actor that plays the hero. He wants to be the hero, maybe if he becomes the hero then a hundred years from now another bard will sing his tale.

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  #29  
Old 08-12-2019, 08:01 AM
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Name: Kurnos'ildur
Race: Wood Elf
Class: Gloomstalker Ranger
Appearance: Over time, Kurnos'ildur's once tanned, olive skin became as pale as the bleak landscape of Barovia; his once-golden hair was now too bereft of color, having faded to grayish white. Only his eyes remain the vibrant green they once were, though they have since burned with a darker sort of life. In the wilds he looked like a ghost; pale, tall, slender and sneaky, wielding a black longbow almost as tall as he with uncanny accuracy. He wears a thick, dark cloak over the studded leather armor on his chest to keep warm, though the absence of a smile makes him seem just as cold as the weather.

Personality: Kurnos isn't one for social graces; having lived off of the wilds for more than four decades, he is comfortable even in the harshest outdoor conditions, and seems more out of place inside a warm tavern than in the snow-capped forest. He is often blunt and straight to the point, which is refreshing to some, but unappealing to others. Though his exterior would paint him as gruff and unforgiving, he is not beyond showing kindness to others, such as helping lost travellers find their way to town, or protecting a caravan from wolves without asking for payment. He dismisses compliments brought by these acts as trivialities, yet would often feel slighted if he is ignored or disrespected.

Backstory: The ranger was a slave, a long time ago.

He existed as the property of one called a Zulkir in a land far removed from Barovia, where those with arcane powers ruled in absolute authority. He was little regarded and therefore relatively safe from abuse (though his owners and their servants who were superior to him called him 'Churl' instead of his real name), yet Kurnos quickly grew to have great contempt for the ruthless, callous, and duplicitous nature of power-grabbing ambition that he saw so often among his masters. Many of his contemporaries suffered as collateral damage from these individuals; some of them were summoned for a task or errand, then were never seen again.

The worst occured by chance when Churl was tasked to deliver a missive to one of the Red Wizards, a young mage named Sulla. The elf of course had never spoken to the man, but heard of his ambition and relentless pursuit of power. The missive was never delivered, however; when Kurnos found the wizard, it was in one of the lowest levels of the stronghold, down where prisoners were held for questioning. It was there that he witnessed in a dark room a large circle drawn with chalk illuminated by well-placed candles. In the center lay a body wearing the livery of servants, which looked at least a week dead. Standing over it was the young human, chanting phrases repeatedly in a language Kurnos recognized as the language of the underworld. The rest of what would happen in that chamber would haunt the elf's dreams up to this day. He left the missive on the floor of the threshold and ran, hoping that he would somehow forget what he had just witnessed; yet something inside him knew that that dark ritual would scar him for life.

Kurnos refused to eat, nor speak to anyone for the next few days. He knew that confronting the mage would most likely kill him, or worse he too would find himself the subject of who knew what other manner of necromancy or black magic his masters practiced. When the elf finally worked up the courage and a plan to confront Sulla, it was the day he betrayed his master and was banished face-first into a weird shimmering portal. Realizing there was an opportunity for freedom and he would never resolve what he saw in that chamber if he would not face Sulla, Kurnos himself rushed to the magical opening...

... and ended up in this dark, bleak dimension.

That was more almost fifty years ago, now. Kurnos has had a fresh start since then, living off the harsh wilderness and sharpening his skills to survive; mastering both land and beast. Sometimes he would see Sulla and stalk him while he travelled from city to city; but somehow Kurnos never found it in him to talk to the mage. His nightmares continued to taunt him, and more often than not refused to let him trance in peace. In time, a few villages grew to be in cooperative terms with him, though he always felt that his welcome was short and not always warm. The wandering Vistani proved to be the most friendly; almost always he would be invited to share their fires, their stories, their meat and their mead. Often Kurnos would give them with elk or rabbit as well, depending on what was available. Yet visions of that violence and gore and the scream of a reanimating corpse would invade his mind, and drive all thoughts of civilized conversation away.

Yet here too, in this strange land, the corruption of ambition and total dominion echoed in Kurnos' perception. People went missing, lives were lost, and no one cared. The villagers were either too weak or too frightened to change their circumstances. Here too, the plague of undeath seemed to grow and fester, in a way much worse than he had seen in Thay. Was Sulla involved in all this somehow? Was he in league with this Count Strahd he had heard hushed whispers about? Now that he was fifty years older and Sulla himself was white haired and no longer an arrogant youth, Kurnos would have his answers, even if it would cost him what little sanity he had left...
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Slowly returning to normalcy...

Last edited by Zwingli; 08-15-2019 at 11:05 PM.
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