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  #1  
Old 06-25-2019, 01:19 AM
Antipode Antipode is offline
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Dramatis Personae: Player Characters

Accepted players should drop their backgrounds and such in here, along with links to their sheet. While it isn't a requirement, players are encouraged to edit their entry to include their thoughts and responses to major events. At its heart, roleplaying games are storytelling. These are the characters. Your characters. Help tell their stories.
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Old 06-25-2019, 01:22 PM
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Tyeal Tyeal is offline
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Character App
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Character Theme - Blood Brothers

Name: Talia Silvercrush
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Soulborn
Class Build: Soulborn 20 [Yep! No MC'ing to be seen here]
Personality: Talia has enturned abuse and ridicule all of her life. Growing up in a merchant city meant there was a fairly diverse group of peoples there, coming and going, but she always stood out. Looking far more Orcish than other Half-Orcs, even compared to her Dad. She's a hard-nosed, take-no-sh*t-from-anyone Amazon of a woman. She's quick to fire back with insults of her own, always ready for a fight worth getting involved in, and will take any excuse to celebrate. Her thorny exterior can be difficult to deal with for most, making it a challenge for her to form lasting friendships beyond work relations like she has with her fellow Pathfinders. And only her folks have really seen the studious, inquisitive, very capable woman underneath the constructed walls and uncertainty of her own powers. She's blunt, bold, the picture of grace under fire, and there's few others you'd be happy to have when things go south.
Background:
 

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Old 06-25-2019, 06:42 PM
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Mairien Mairien is offline
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Application
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Name: Pellanistra Glenshade (to her friends, Nistra)
Race: Deepwyrm Half-Drow
Class: Bard 6
Progression: Bard 18/Crusader 2
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Patron Deity: Eilistraee
Age: 27
Origin: The Silver Marches
Character Sheet: [x]
Role: Buffer/Melee/Healer/Face

Backstory

Deep wyrms are accomplished shapeshifters and often meddle in drow society disguised in humanoid form, and in the process they occasionally inject themselves into drow bloodlines.

But not all creatures of mixed blood come to be through a consensual union, especially when frustrated drow males on raids to the surface are involved. Pellanistra's mother, a human woman, wife to a lumberjack, did not bear her fate well and, against their own conscience, the couple abandoned the newborn in the depths of the Moonwood. But hunters of the Moonwood, servants of Eilistraee, see much of what goes in the forest, and whether by luck or fate, they found the little girl and took her in, and gave her a name, part drow, part human, that represented her nature.

The girl was quick to pick up song and dance and showed much talent, as well as wits, though she was also whimsical and sometimes erratic in her feelings and behaviour. The closest thing Pellanistra had to an adoptive mother, a young woman who was herself of half-elven blood, made an effort to ensure that her ward should not grow up in total alienation from her human cousins, somewhat against the child's resistance, and they spent much time in Quaervarr. It was difficult not to notice that the unusual pair sparked some amount of gossip, but local attitudes were such that it was born more of fascination than of contempt. An unattached half-elven woman with a daughter of such curious appearance excited imaginations.

The Whistling Stag, Quaervarr's renowned inn, was the plane of manifold performances and was something of a gateway to the wider world, and especially to Silverymoon, and the adolescent girl soon discovered with great pleasure the power her voice - and her appearance - had over the guests. One acquaintance led to another, and eventually, she was accepted into the Fochlucan College on an affirmative action stipend for Creatures of Diverse Ancestry.

More so than Utrumm's Conservatory, the House of the Harp sees an active role for the bardic arts in bettering the world and regards them ill-employed for mere entertainment, however exalted. Some students found themselves deeply moved by old tales of heroes and tragedies. The urge to pick up a sword and go out to do Eilistraee's work, in furtherance of a world where all races would live in peace side by side, grew ever stronger...

Pellanistra is not a sword dancer in the strict sense of the word: she is not a priestess of Eilistraee. But she certainly knows how to dance, and how to wield a sword - and indeed at the same time. With no other place in life, and driven by a feeling of urgency that comes from the awareness that the world is in bad shape and needs to be fixed, she is a devoted servant of the Dark Lady and over the years has come to exemplify many of the virtues cherished by the Dark Lady's followers.

Traits

Pellanistra is nothing if not intense. Her inner life is rich and colourful, to the point that she often has difficulty keeping her balance, and while at times she tries to hide it, it is generally very much reflected in her demeanour. Her body language, her appearance, her obvious intelligence and eloquence, and her charming bell-like voice all conspire to ensure that she makes a strong impression on people. Spend an evening talking to her, and you will come away feeling that life is a big deal. Not everyone, of course, is always entirely charmed, and some people find her exhausting and think she is a try-hard with too much to prove.

Nevertheless, one would be mistaken to think that she is a sombre or overly earnest character: in fact, she is wont to joke without taboos, and sometimes takes a mischievous pleasure in confusing her interlocutors as to whether she is being facetious or not. A darker soul might recognise that she is probably a good liar.

Pellanistra is in some ways a creature of extremes, and prone to thinking in absolutes. Much as she is friendly and approaches others without prejudice, she will show a surprisingly ruthless side when disappointed or opposed. She dreams of a world where all manner of beings live together in peace and understanding to enjoy the beauties of creation, but as she sees is, those who do not wish to participate in this vision are free to leave this world by way of a sword.

This half-drow is not the kind of beauty one would depict in a statue. Her face, while somewhat pretty, is lacking in softness, and she is more curvy than most half-elves, positively chubby by elven standards - though perhaps merely healthy from a human standpoint. But her appearance is nonetheless captivating in its own way. There is, of course, the element of its plain unusualness: the purple eyes, the white hair, and the grey skin with its pinkish hues. But most of all it is the curious way in which the manner in which she carries herself, the inexplicable nuances of her gestures and facial expressions, mark her as an intensely sensual creature.

Pellanistra is obsessed with words and language. Not only did she readily absorb the languages that were spoken in the environment, but she was eager to use the scholarly opportunities offered by Silverymoon to explore even more exotic forms of speech. With a particular knack for accents, she can often create an illusion of proficiency well beyond the level of her grammar and vocabulary and impress native speakers.

Trivia
  • Strange as it may appear, Pellanistra regards the underdark as a curious place of wonders that she would like to behold herself one day.
  • It is a fact universally acknowledged that singers are unreasonably fond of scarves. And while it is doubtful that this habit has genuine medical benefits, they inspire comfort and confidence in the performer and ease the anxiety that something may have happened to their voice. Whether placebo or not - they do help. When she left the Fochlucan College, her teacher gave Pellanistra a parting present in the form a particularly attractive exemplar of pale blue colour (Masterwork Tool: Perform (sing)).
  • At one point or another, one of the Eilistraeeans' expeditions into the underdark to rescue one of their returned in disarray: they had encountered Illithids, and while they have slain several of the abominations, they were severely shaken. The group's wizard, whose pretty head had only by hair's breadth escaped being sucked empty by one of the monsters, afterwards found a blob of strange matter sticking to her robes. Disgusted, and still not recovered after the horrifying encounter, she wanted nothing to do with it - but Pellanistra, somewhat recklessly, was most interested in investigating the strange object, and in time discovered, if not its nature, at least how to use it. (Skin of Ectoplasmic Armor)

Last edited by Mairien; 06-27-2019 at 04:16 AM.
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Old 06-26-2019, 01:36 AM
Infestation Infestation is offline
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Name: Zarogul
Race: Frostblood Half-Orc
Class: Crusader
Progression: Probably just Crusader 20
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: Tempus
Role: Frontline fighter with some actual tanking capability. Melee support. Minor buffs. Can act as a leader. Capable social character but not particularly good at lying.

Appearance: Zarogul is relatively average in both height and weight for a half-orc, slightly larger than the usual human but slimmer than the usual orc. He stands at 6'4" and weighs around 276lbs. The similarity to others ends there. His scales, yes scales, are as white as snow and his eyes are a crystalline blue. The scales cover nearly every inch of his body, save a few key points on the face and joints. The individual scales are small enough that he looks to be covered in normal flesh unless you draw within a few feet of Zarogul, where the scales become obvious to the observer. He also lacks the tusks common among his kind. Instead, he has large, slightly serrated, teeth that are evenly spaced within his mouth. This adds to his reptilian appearance. These abnormal changes in his body are a result of ritual forced upon him at a young age (more info to follow in background). Despite being a warrior, Zarogul does not wear any armor, opting to rely upon the natural protection of his scaly hide. His weapon of choice is a massive sword made from the tooth of a dragon, he has taken to giving it the name "Fang". Not particularly creative but he seems to like it.

Personality/Goals: His strange appearance often makes him the brunt of bad jokes, and discrimination. Perhaps even more so than the average half-orc already endures. Most of the time he does not care, with a few exceptions. He is rather amiable for his race, rarely showing outward anger save for in the middle of combat. He has seen how constant infighting can destroy from within. He has no taste for lying or subtlety, always preferring a straightforward approach in and out of combat. While he might never admit it, a lot of his personal beliefs could be considered a code of honor. He dreams of revenge but is enough of a realist to understand that this is unlikely to happen. Zarogul wanders the lands south of the Wall, unsure of what to do. He does not yet understand it but he seeks a calling that he can throw himself at wholeheartedly.

Background: Zarogul comes from an unusual tribe that resides along the northern slopes of the Spine of the World. They venerated a young (relative to other dragons) white dragon that lived along those same hills. Their relationship was one of mutual agreement. The dragon would keep other dragons, giants, yetis, and other dangerous creatures away, allowing the tribe to reside within his territory. The tribe, which consisted mostly of orcs and half-orcs, would serve him as he saw fit. That wasn't to say that they were slaves, but would be required to present a portion of any spoils to the dragon or run certain tasks at his request.

Over several generations the tribe became more and more fanatical toward their connection with this dragon, coming to revere him as something a bit more... divine. Tattoos of his particular likeness became common. Occasionally one of the more enthusiastic warriors would even offer up their daughter to the wyrm, resulting in the odd half-dragon or two. More common, but also less powerful, is the ritual of having a newborn drink from a bowl containing the dragon's blood. This warps the child's body as they grow older, resulting in appearances akin to Zarogul with small variations. These white skinned warriors were used as an honor guard for the chromatic dragon's lair or as leaders for raiding parties. Their appearance rallied the tribe's warriors and struck fear in the hearts of their enemies.

Over the years the tribe became one of the most successful along the northern side of the Wall. Unfortunately their success created fear and jealousy among the other tribes. As Zurogul's tribe grew, so too did the ego of its leaders. They began to truly believe themselves superior, becoming sloppy and overconfident. They were ultimately betrayed from within and attacked from without.

Zarogul was sixteen at the time, barely into adulthood and yet he already served as a guard to their dragon patron. Cries rose up in the distance as the main camp was attacked by three different tribes of barbarians. Moments later shouts could be heard coming from within the cavern that served as the dragon's lair. Zarogul glanced at the other guard who had been something of a mentor to him, and perhaps the closest thing to a father Zarogul had. The older orc's name was Ghol, Sorrow Quasher. Zarogul was a little confused, as there wasn't supposed to be anyone inside. There wasn't supposed to be another entrance, but the deepest tunnels were off limits to all but the dragon himself. By the time the two of them entered the inner chamber to investigate the white dragon had already been slain. Ten outsiders stood around their patron's body which was slumped over a portion of its hoard. The killers were a mix of human, orc, and even an ice troll. The mix insinuated multiple tribes coming together for a common goal.

Ghol reacted quickly, while Zarogul stood stunned. He had never imagined that a dragon could be taken down so easily, even if it was a younger one. Ghol ripped a weapon free from the wall of the cavern and shoved it into Zarogul's arms, displacing his mundane spear in the process. "Flee! And do not stop until the land grows warm, even then keep going until you grow too tired to continue!" Ghol's words were shouted in anger and fear. Anger over what has been done, and fear over what has happened to their tribe and what may happen to his pupil. The action of freeing the weapon and his shouting drew the attention of the murderers. Ghol shoved Zarogul back toward the entrance and stepped to stand in the center of the tunnel, stirring the young half-orc from his shock.

"Come with me..." Zarogul half pleaded. All he got was a shake of the head in response. As strong as Ghol was, Zarogul knew there was no way he could stand against the group that killed the dragon.

Sensing the hesitation behind him, Ghol shouted "Go! Become strong! I will hold them here, though for how long I do not know! GO NOW!!"

Zarogul fled with tears in his eyes, unbecoming of an orc. Though he knew there was nothing he could do, Zarogul still branded himself a coward. He fled south, to the foreign lands free of snow. There he spent time wandering the lands, unsure of where to go or what to do. He slowly learned how best to deal with the more civilized people, and his own appearance. He kept to areas where races were greatly mixed, making him simply another exotic race rather than the only one. Over time he became something of a bounty hunter and mercenary for hire. It was more a matter of his wanderings and lack of true goals aligning with the work, than it was of desire. This is where he finds himself when he is approached by Tosker.
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Old 06-27-2019, 04:17 AM
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auntmousie auntmousie is offline
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If someone would be willing to PM me about attaching pictures, that'd be great...
Name: Desiree
Race / Class: Pixie Rogue 1 / Ranger 1
Competence: Ranged damage / Wildcard.
Link: Character Sheet
CL20 Progression: Rogue 3 / Ranger 3 (order TBD) / Order of the Bow Initiate 10
Traits:
* Chip on her Shoulder: Pixies are used to not being taken seriously, and for most of them it isn't a problem; they have an independent streak a mile wide, and it's a short walk from being dismissed to being underestimated. But Desiree is smart enough to recognize that her personal vendetta will require more than a personal effort. To that end, she's seeking to be part of a team... and that necessitates a degree of recognition that her kind are not often afforded. Despite her natural advantages, she feels she has something to prove.
* Musician: Desiree grew up with music, and had her home forest not been destroyed, she would probably have trained as a bard. The interplay of wood, strings, and tension translated easily to archery - but at the end of the day, music is still her passion.

RP Sample:
Desiree finished her set to fairly loud applause. The song had been a good one - in fact one of the best she had ever composed - but some of the applause might have been for her gimmick of vanishing and flying around the room during the verses, only to alight back on the makeshift stage for the chorus. She was not, after all, the greatest musician in the land - but she was competent, and knew how to sell it.

Taking a bow, she slung her lute over her back, rose above the heads of the crowd, and flew - visibly - over to the bar.

Tosker himself had listened to the performance, though he was busy talking to a heavy-looking warrior - probably about a job. Desiree stood on a stool a polite distance away and caught the bartender's eye. "Wine, if you would," she said. "And I'd like a word with the man when he's free."

"A word? It was a fine show, lass, but we're not really looking for another resident performer."

"You're right that I'm looking for work... but not that work. I want to help hunt Gnashtusk."

It seemed Tosker had wrapped up his conversation with the warrior, because he turned to face her. "You're... a pixie."

"That's what my mother always said."

"A bard, then?"

"Actually no. I'm a scout by trade. Been teaching myself to hunt orcs."

Tosker seemed taken aback. "I don't believe I've ever met a pixie ranger."

"Until recently, neither had I. But we've all had to improvise since Gnashtusk destroyed our forest." She stared at her glass of wine, and sat in silence for some time.

"So, you're out for revenge, and thought you might let me pay you for it." Tosker smiled wryly.

"That's one way to look at it."

"Do you have another?"

Desiree smiled, and vanished. "I'm going to find him," she said, and reappeared hovering opposite Tosker. "He won't see me coming," she said, as she drew her bow from its quiver. She disappeared again. "No one sees me coming. No one knows I'm there, unless I tell them. And I'm going to kill him, with an arrow from this bow."

She reappeared again, on her former seat, and finished her wine in one gulp. Her bow was gone again. "I can get into places no one else can get into, because I'm smaller, and I'm quieter, and I can fly. Walls don't stop me. Traps don't bother me. Locks don't slow me down. And I can shoot the wings off a hornet at twenty paces. Yours, I mean, not mine."

Tosker nodded. He had, after all, been listening to pitches like this all day. "You mentioned locks?"

"I, ah, wasn't always a scout."

Tosker smiled again. Rogues had their uses, even if he usually found their company distasteful. And this one was a good deal more charming than most. "Let me be clear," he said. "If you take this job, you're to work with the team, not hare off on your own seeking revenge. You'll have to show up tomorrow and prove yourself against the other archers that have applied. And one more thing," he said, looking straight into her feline eyes. "If you steal from me, you won't live to regret it. I know the weaknesses of Fae."

He looked away, then.

"But I also know that yours isn't the only home Gnashtusk has destroyed, and I know pixies aren't known for being malicious. Show up tomorrow, prove you can use that bow, and I'll consider it."

* * *

A day later, Desiree was sharing a drink with another archer. She hadn't been the absolute best - his last three shots had narrowly beaten hers - but she had certainly shown that she knew her way around her weapon.

"Might I see your instrument?" he asked. Somehow she knew that he meant the bow, not the lute. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and drew it forth. "Darkwood. I thought as much. This is remarkably well made. Where did you buy it?"

"I didn't. I made it."

The archer seemed impressed. "There's nothing that can quite take the place of a bow you make with your own hand," he said. "It's not up to me, but Tosker listens to me... I'll put in a good word for you."

"A good word... for the job? But..."

"I'm not here for the job. I just came for the competition. It's the chance to see if there's anyone around who understands the art... and I think you might. You show promise, and I hope you'll stick around... because I'd like to teach you."

"Teach me..."

"To become one with the bow. To make it part of you. To aim with your eye... to shoot with your mind... to kill with your heart. You need some seasoning... but you've got a gift, and in time I think I'll want to sponsor you."

"I'd ... I'd like that."

The archer handed her bow back, and stood with a nod. He left without another word. If he spoke to Tosker... she never saw it.
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Old 07-09-2019, 11:28 PM
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Mrjoegangles Mrjoegangles is offline
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The Warlock
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Kebert Xela

Age: 17-200?
Race: Human
Class: Warlock
Progression:Warlock 20
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Role: Face, Arcane Knowledge, Magic Crafting
Background:
 

 


Personality: A life among the Feyfolk has left Kebert with a capricious and mischievous personality. Prone to pranks and tricks he uses his bond with the Fey Wild to deceive and confuse his opposition rather than battle straight out. Most tight spots can more easily be talked out of then forced through, or so the charismatic young man thinks. Underneith his confident and youthful exterior though lives the juxtaposition of a (nearly) immortal child: His bright, clear, unlined eyes carry the weight of untold decades, and yet for all the knowledge and years behind him he is still just a young man looking for signs of his mother.

Last edited by Mrjoegangles; 07-10-2019 at 02:50 PM.
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Old 07-10-2019, 02:00 PM
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Mason Mason is offline
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Application
Name: Kalador Carnesir
Race: Moon Elf
Alignment: CG
Class: Duskblade
Level: 6
Progression: Duskblade 20
Party Role: Melee, Ranged and Arcane goodness

Description:
Kalador stands at a respectable height, at least as far as elves are concerned, of 5'3. His body is lean, but not muscular as a fighter's. And is as graceful as any of his kin. He prefers light armor, something that offers protection, but doesn't interfere with movement. He wears a silken cloak of the darkest blue when in the city, but trades it out for one made of sturdier cotton of the same color when he's on the road. By the good graces of Corellon Larethian, all of his battle scars have long-since been healed, leaving only smooth skin. Otherwise he would make the toughest dwarf take a second look.

Personality:
Kalador has a surprising light heart for an elf. And not just towards his kin. He truly likes the companionship of the other races. He is equally at home discussing arcane lore with a human wizard, shooting dice with a scandalous halfling or destroying a keg of ale from the inside out with a dwarf. He is by no means passive and is passionately loyal to his homeland. He will, and has, taken up arms in it's defense in the past and would do so again if it was threatened.

Background:
Kalador was born in the northern city of Silverymoon. It's considered to be the Gem of the North and accepted all cultures, as long as they were not evil. His father was a member in good standing with the Spellguard, the arcane organization charged with the protection of the city as well as it's rulers. From him, he was taught the elven tradition of blending magical might with swordplay. He was a quick study and truly enjoyed the skills that he was developing.

At a fairly young age, as far as elves were concerned, he was enlisted into the Argent Legion. The army of Luruar was drawn up from the various communities of the Silvery Marches that included elves, humans and dwarves. It patrolled and protected the area against threats from orcs and trolls, even the occasional drow raid. While not exactly free to do what he wanted on a whim, Kalador did enjoy the freedom found while out on patrol. Even better when he had the chance to his abilities to the test.

When his conscription was up, he chose not to reenlist. This caused some friction with his father who had hoped to groom him into a position the Spellguard. His loyalty would always be to Silverymoon, but he wanted to see more of the world. So he travelled. He wanted to see the places that he had heard all the great stories and adventures from. He went as far west as the Dalelands to gaze upon the Tower of Elminster in Shadowdale. Kalador even travelled north into Icewind Dale, but never understood why anyone would want that much seclusion in that much cold. He stopped his southern journey in Baldur's Gate. But he always returned to the area of his home.

Character Sheet: Kalador

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