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  #1  
Old Apr 2nd, 2020, 06:25 PM
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Seekers of truth

If it be the truth you seek, record here your name.

Fortune may await those gathered here, or something more sinister. The ingenuity and resourcefulness of these would-be heroes will determine their fates.
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Old Apr 6th, 2020, 11:50 AM
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Enid WIPName: Enid Yevan
Race: Human
Age: 22
Class: Occultist
Alignment: Neutral

Appearance:
right-aligned image
Enid is a short woman, standing at about 5’1” and sharing the same slender build as her parents. A lifetime spent combing forgotten areas for relics and secrets has done much to tone her body, but never really added any extra strength to her. Enid keeps her hair short, preferring a style that doesn’t block her vision when she stoops over something or requires much upkeep. Her eyes, the same pale greyish as her father's, always have a vaguely tired look to them, brought about from years of staying up late into the night or day and squinting at old manuscripts. Enid prefers to dress decently, even when working in private, as she finds it helps boost her focus and leaves a better impression on professionals in the field.

Personality: Enid was born to a world of old words and artifacts, and much prefers the presence of dusty records. She doesn’t speak often, and when she does it’s in as concise and professional a way as possible, a habit honed from years of interacting with collectors and specialists in the field of history. One of the few times she drops her guard and truly smiles is when she gets her hands on a new piece of history to study, at which point she launches into long rants on the possible historical significance or purpose of a given item or record. Enid is a person who prefers the silence of study or the steady mumble of academic discussion, and finds more boisterous methods of communication awkward to navigate. Of course her time with the occultists has led to the honing of other, more martial skills, and although she is not the most competent fighter, she can hold her own with a crossbow if forced into such a position. Generally Enid is a person with a soft joy and passion for the world around her, marveling with an earnest curiosity at every new thing she comes across.

Backstory: Born to a pair of historians, Enid’s path in life was always going to be tied to the past. From her earliest of days, the young girl was surrounded by relics and records of days long gone. These things engraved themselves into the girl’s consciousness, and as she grew into a woman, dominated her thoughts. She looked into the past of the relics her family cared for, seeking a deeper meaning in what they represented. Her research paid off, and it wasn’t long before she attracted the increased attention of the Occultists. Her family’s work had always been of some interest to the house, so when she started delving into deeper things, she found herself walking the path of an Occultist. The house’s shadowy members taught Enid things she would have never thought of before, and she dedicated herself to her studies. Enid visits her parents when she gets the chance, and although she often can’t reveal what she learned with the Occultists she does help with the more mundane dating and placing of artifacts.

 



Last edited by Amarga; Apr 6th, 2020 at 01:45 PM.
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Old Apr 6th, 2020, 12:17 PM
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Name:Talisanti
Race: Human
Age: 20
Class: Celestial Sorcerer
Alignment:CG

Appearance: Average and Weight. His short cropped black hair is graying at the sides. He wears an azure blue cape over his doublet and a ruffled white shirt. Talistanti sports a short beard. He is always groomed in an immaculate way. His piercing ice blue gaze has been known to freeze many a scoundrel in their tracks.

Backstory: Little is known of the man except his clouded past. Born on Purgare of mercantile parents, the young sorcerer has had a quality education but has not made a name for himself. He seems quiet and subdued unless the situation calls for action. The color of his eyes and the manifestation of his power, suggests an 'otherworldly' bloodline. He is sometimes seen on Occult business around the city of whom he is an Initiate. He has many friends among the Celestial community and at times seems more at home there than with his own race.

RP sample: Talisanti grew up thinking that his life would be normal. That someday, he would take over his parents business, get married, have children and see the cycle repeat itself. However, It was not to be. For one night, in the early hours, he awoke to the sound of an angelic choir (or at least that's what he remembered the sound to be). Was it in his head or coming from the outside? It took him a while to understand what was going on and he still ins't sure but it marked the beginning of a new life. Either way, the visions he had were unforgettable and are as clear today as they were then.

It was then he realized that the growing unease he had been feeling of late was the POWER. He could sense that it was about to burst forth from within himself. That night it came...raw, uncontrolled yet not random. His face shown and his heart changed from thoughts of himself to ever after for the welfare of the people of the blessed city...Purgare.

Not knowing what to do with his newfound abilities, he sought out help where he could find it. Most shunned him because his strength was new and unpredictable but a few accepted him and helped him to learn to harness his talent. One group were the Occultists.

Talisanti was aware from the beginning that they only helped him as they would expect much from him in the future but at the time it didn't matter. The other group were the Celestial's. One in particular, a Sorceress named Kandahar. Her patience and beauty earned his undying devotion as she helped him find community and peace amidst the chaos surrounding him. Then came the rumors of secrets found within the floating city....
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Last edited by Hyregoth; Apr 6th, 2020 at 05:14 PM.
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  #4  
Old Apr 6th, 2020, 05:34 PM
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Garidan Stark

Garidan Stark, the Exiled.
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Name: Garidan Stark
Race: Human
Age: 27 years old
Class: Rogue (Charlatan Archtype)
Alignment: CN
Appearance: Garidan is a young fellow, with a medium build and dark hair. Always dressed in his best attire, most would not assume he was a rogue at first. When stalking an enemy or gathering information, Garidan wears his leather armor and is usually armed with his best daggers. Hailing from one of the farther off countries near Purgare, Garidan has a slight exotic feature to his facial structure.

Backstory: Born the oldest child of the Stark merchant family, Garidan hails from a far off country with mercantile roots. His father, a wise and powerful merchant, had made much of his money through dealing magical items and artifacts. With a large family before him, Garidans childhood was filled with good times and many youthful challenges. However, the prospect of having to take over the family business always weighed heavily on his mind. Not into the world of math or merchants, Garidan fought with his father plenty of times throughout his youth. His younger brothers were more suited for that work, but his father refused to see that logic.

Unable to sway his father to his cause, Garidan figured the best and easiest way to force the issue would be to leave. Gathering a small amount of things, Garidan lit out of his small town the moment he could, and never looked back. He would continue to speak with his mother through letters, getting updates as he goes through his life. Once he left his hometown, Garidan floated through settlements, doing odd jobs and gambling his gold.

Eventually, the roguish youth found himself in the floating city known as Purgare. With an ear to the ground, Garidan has started gaining some info on the Knaves and a few of the occultists as well. He hasn't immediately jumped for one of the groups to be loyal to, and instead is waiting for the best opportunity to present itself.

RP sample: The tankard sloshed with ale as it was brought to the half-orcs lips, his fetid smell wafting across the table to Garidan. Why did it always seem like the ugliest people had the most information? It was a late night in the tavern, and Garidan had been attempting to gain information from this miserable lout for hours. Tankard after tankard had been poured throughout the dusk, and yet the only information Garidan had learned was the half-orc was not happy with his home-life. Rubbing his temples as the half-orc continued on, Garidan took a deep breath as he half-listened.

"I mean, it's not like I expect dinner immediately when I come home. I just expect something better than maggoty bread, y'know?" Garidan nodded slightly, barely registering the information as anything useful. Garidan took a sip of his drink, which was just watered down wine, and grumbled into his cup. He had spent more than enough time on this guard, and had learned exactly nothing that would aid him. Unless Garidan decided to become a marriage counselor in his off-time, this had turned into a big waste of time. About ready to finish his drink and call it a night, the half-orc finally stumbled into good territory.

"I'm not even sure our child is ours! She's always had eyes for that city councilman down the road from us!" the half-orc sputtered. Garidan perked up at the mention of both infidelity and councilman. Waving over a wench to get more ale for the table, Garidan barely cracked a grin. This was something he could definitely use, and the night had almost immediately picked up. Pouring more ale from the wenches brew into the orc's tankard, Garidan soothed the half-orc with honeyed words. "Tell me all about this councilman please. Such a scandal must be brought to the light, my friend..."
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Old Apr 7th, 2020, 12:43 AM
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The 'Good' Doctor
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Name: Jude Holland
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class: Alchemist (Chirurgeon)
Deity: None
Alignment: Chaotic Good

---
Appearance: Jude used to joke that the sign of a good physician was the general state of their hair. The better you get, the more your hair tends to suffer. Whether his disheveled mop of blonde hair was a good sign or not, it was hard to deny it was slightly charming.

The pale-skinned, bespectacled man beneath the doctor's coif maintained an otherwise neat and urbane appearance. He was fond of collared shirts and double-breasted vests, usually sans cravat, but he usually had one nearby in case he had to make himself extra presentable. He wore mostly utilitarian shoes when in about town, neither When he needed to travel for any reason, he usually donned a heavy dun leather greatcoat and stout boots.

---
Backstory: Jude was a fool. A young man, still not out of his twenties, had the temerity to think that he'd make a name for himself as a fancy city healer. The greater nerve was to come to Purgare to attempt to do so...and he wasn't a priest! The gall!

That general feeling permeated Jude's first few years as he struggled to find his footing in this gilded cage. With the pressing amount of faith healers, clerics and otherwise skilled holy men that flocked to this city barely left any hope for a faithless physician. For a while, his only income had been working as a shop's clerk for another alchemist who'd specialized in mundane creations. He'd have been doomed to stay a tindertwig peddler if not for a bottle of wine drank on the wrong side of town.

It was that one drunken night that he found himself looking deeper toward the edge of the city. The rich and haughty clung to their lofty towers in the core, but they never could hide the poor and sick. Refugees, hopeful immigrants with barely a copper to their names, robbed and forgotten children of the holy light; All of them began to appear if you stopped holding your chin so high in the air.

His humbling epiphany gave him the much-needed sense of purpose he'd lost in the daily grind. While he couldn't treat everyone, he knew that he was at least appreciated here for what little he could do. He eventually had to abandon his day job due to his excursions into the dark corners of the city; this city had a tricky reputation curve.

Without a source of steady income, he knew he would slowly slide into destitution as well. Luckily there were rumors beginning to stir about the city around this time. The call for adventure would draw outsiders; Adventurers, daredevils and lore hunters would start coming to Purgare hoping to find their fortune. He didn't know if there was much use for him amongst the brawny and noisesome crowds that scrambled for trinkets, but he knew the clumsy ones got hurt easily. Jude just needed an in...
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  #6  
Old May 17th, 2020, 03:43 PM
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Purgare Wildlife Preserve
 
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Torgric CoalshoulderName: Torgric Coalshoulder
Race: Dwarf
Age: 107
Class: Fighter (Phalanx Soldier archetype)
Alignment: NG

Appearance: A stout fellow at about 4 foot and 3 inches, Torgric is a hefty fellow with a wide figure with the muscle to back it up, much needed to support the weight of shield, armour, and an "exotic spear" (To most, to another Dwarf it is merely a traditional Giant-sticker) with weight enough on its end to break itself were it not of Dwarven craftsmanship. (Or so he tells himself, it's likely just the reinforcements within the pole that any race could figure out). Upon the front of his shield is an unskilled depiction of a grinning, bearded face above the clouds in celebration of his family history in the floating city.

Hair grey before its time grows long from his face, neatly braided with metallic rings - almost looking more like armour than a decoration - though the hair upon his head is more sensibly managed out of his eyes as any hopeful soldier should be. Frosty blue eyes watch the world with hope and suspicion, and rarely is he seen sat without a mug of ale in his hand.

 


Backstory:
The Coalshoulder name holds little renown in Purgare nowadays - large trading guilds having taken the role once served by the family - but they still remember it fondly. Many centuries ago they had been the ones to bring coal and ores up to the city by sacks across their shoulders (hence the family name, given to them by the people and not themselves for their blackened right shoulders). Those days have long since passed, only the eldest in the city having a memory of them in their prime. The most withered Dwarves and those Elves that even their own kind would refer to as decrepit (Though in far nicer words). Such was the fall from power and profit that a reasonable life has been taken by their progeny, Torgric among them. Unlike the others who became smiths, miners, guildsmen and traders, Torgric sought excitement and, perhaps, something to bring the family name back to relevance from the dark corners of dusty business parchments destined for the bonfire. It was to this end that he became a man of fortune, a mercenary by unkinder terms, with his morals and his steel behind him. Though in recent times there has been little demand for his work, and as such he has been dirtying his shoulders lugging coal and ores as his ancestors once would, for a fraction of the coin.

In the city he has little to want - A bed in a hostel run by the mining guild - And friends enough to cover his back if the law comes knocking for him for all the wrong reasons (Usually a false accusation by someone wanting him out of the hostel for long enough to search his lockbox, leading him to keep his coin on him at all times). Favours are exchanged, and a comfortable symbiosis found. An array of local taverns find him as a regular, so long as they can keep the pipeweed and ale coming and keep on taking his coin that is.

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Last edited by PainterOfMinis; May 17th, 2020 at 04:29 PM.
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Old May 17th, 2020, 10:50 PM
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Character Concept
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Name: Selael Greenbrook
Race: Halfling
Age: 22
Class: Unchained Rogue
Alignment: Neutral with strong leanings towards Neutral Good.

Appearance:
Selael is a tiny, thin young woman with large green eyes and rust red hair that she keeps trimmed as short as a boy's. She is pretty in a youthful way, with a dusting of red freckles on her face and an easy smile. Her loose clothing is of good quality but worn, as if it has seen better days, with a tawny colored shirt and loose dark brown breeches. A gray cloak with a hood is thrown over her shoulders, and around her waist is a thick leather belt. A short broad-bladed sword is strapped to her right side and on her left side is a brace of daggers. Looped through her belt next to a leather pouch is a humble sling. Like many halflings, she is barefoot with thin curls of red hair protruding from the top of her feet.

Backstory:
Selael has lived on the streets of Purgare for many years now. She was barely ten winters when a fire claimed the humble home and leatherworking shop where her parents lived, taking the life of her father Janver and badly injuring her mother Wiora. Once comfortable in life, the two were now reduced to begging on the streets and sleeping in doorways. Selael quickly learned how to survive - stealing food from vendors, picking pockets, selling geegaws at the market, and even hunting rats and pigeons with her sling. Wiora only lasted two years of that harsh lifestyle before her poor condition overtook her and she died of natural causes. Selael, however, continued to survive and was fortunat enough that at age 17 she unsuccessfully tried to pick the pocket of a mid level manager of the Purgare Thieve's Guild. Emmaeus Raneufort was in charge of a group of ambitious young pickpockets, and used this opportunity to recruit Selael into a more lucrative business opportunity than eating roadkill and sleeping in stables. Selael proved a natural talent for all manner of thievery, and Emmaeus filled the role in her life for a father figure that she has for so long wished to have. Life was suddenly much better than it had been in years. Selael celebrated her newfound wealth by getting all of the things she has finally wanted in life, but in moments of compassion she has filled the coffers of temples, orphanages, and beggar cups when the mood has struck her.

Unfortunately all that changed almost eight months ago. Emmaeus didn't show up for his nightly meeting and was found floating in the canal the following morning, so torn to shreds he was only identifiable by the clothing he wore and his trademark Y-shaped facial scar. No one knows who killed him, or why. Selael suspects his main rival in the thieve's guild, an ambitious halfbreed elf named Dresden, is responsible but she has no proof whatsoever yet. Only a gut feeling. Until she gets more hard evidence Selael is content to keep herself busy. Through her new boss Mokazur, a no-nonsense half orc with a penchant for snapping fingers of late paying merchants, Selael learned that the Guild was requested to look into a strange murder where some adventurers had been framed. She is not sure who their contact is, only they didn't feel these individuals did the deed and that they needed assistance. Selael sees this as a good opportunity to get on Mokazur's good side and make some serious coin at the same time.
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Old May 19th, 2020, 04:04 PM
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Kenshin OrquailName: Kenshin orquail
Race: Kitsune
Age: 17
Class: Bard
Allignment: Neutral good
Appearance: Kenshin has allways had a natural talent for shapeshifting, so talking about his form is like talking about the weather today: Pointless. That said, despite his skill, he's not so far as not to have a true form. This guise is the only one where he actually displays his fox-like features. Much like the man's body, Kenshin's face is fox-like, bright red fur covers his slim, pointy nose which sits between a pair of angular eyes. They're coloured blue like the tropical ocean near which he grew up, in fact Syname often joked that his eyes are so blue 'cause he was allways staring at the sea. They have a childlike, genuine, lust of life to them, and going by the eyes alone one might think him but six years of age. The most striking feature of his is his ears: Overlarge, equally orange to the rest of his body and allways expressive, they are quite the eyecatcher. While one might presume the ability to glean the kitsune's thought from them, he's in fact quite adept at willingly manipulating them to use these feelings to his advantage. When stripped of armor, one might notice the darker streaks of fur on his back, Kenshin doesn't care to show these, and allways covers his back in cloak and shirt to hide this insecurity.

Cultural norms concerning antropomorphic animals are less defined than those governing humans and their like. After all, if one has fur to cover their delicates and keep them warm and protected: Why wear clothes. Kenshin doesn't think like this, he observes clothes as a status symbol, as a consequence he often prefers to dress finely, allthough his budget doesn't allways allow it. Most commonly he can be seen wearing lighter shades of clothing, with a preference for loose-fitting apparel. Beyond that, Kenshin has a particular fondness for long cloaks and large hats.

Despite his shapechanger nature and his fluid perception of identity, the fox still shows a theme or preference for assumed guises. There's a stark division based on gender, and the two genders have differing themes. Men he impersonates often depict impressive musculature and often some subtle scarring around the face or arms. Specifically he doesn't tend to be modest when it comes to displaying his illusory muscle. While he does enjoy the idea of having war scars, Kenshin doesn't tend to think through the consequences of a wound that'd leave such a scar. As such he might have a seeing eye sitting in the middle of a large facial scar, or perhaps one circling the full wrist but with the hand ultimately still attached.
For women, he mostly lets his own lust guide himself. Invariably beautiful, his disguises show little in the way of imperfections or modesty. Here also he doesn't tend to think about why a person with a certain build would wear specific clothing. As such one might find Kenshin passing off as a muscled amazoness wearing revealing fineries. His personal preferences tend to vary, but it often shows skinny models, with a curvaceous figure.
For ease of recognition, the shapeshifter tends to keep imagery of a setting sun somewhere on his person, be it as a tatoo, pendant, sigil or whatever else.

Personality: Childlike and overjoyous are words often used to describe Kenshin. Beyond that one might recognise a certain wanderlust in him, like he doesn't know where he belongs and can't truly find rest until he does. This manifests in a strange curiousity, a general want to find out small, random things: To see over that hedge, past that corner or in that tavern. Many people would liken him to a gnome in that regard, though he doesn't appreciate that simile. His restlessness also manifests physically, another trait by which a disguised Kenshin can be identified: he's seemingly incapable of sitting still, allways tapping his feet and playing with something in his hands. When someone remarks on this tendency the shapechanger tends to respond allmost instantly "Fingers are for fidgetting", a keyphrase he's agreed on with Syname over the years. While many would simply dispell it as an emotional tendency, those close to him tend not to notice the behaviour at all, since it stops when surrounded by people he's intimately close to.
To get Kenshin angry is quite a feat, he tends to try and maintain a childlike positivity, believing wholeheartedly in the indeniable innocence of children, and looking back fondly on his own childhood. As a consequence he tends to make time for small children, often helping, listening or playing with them when invited. When around older fellows the kitsune tends to divulge into storytelling, which is leads to his favorite game: "Two truths and a lie". In this game the kitsune tels a story with three key elements, and after the story will ask which of the three the listeners thought was a lie. He never actually divulges the lie, instead challenging the listener's arguments.

Backstory: To talk about Kenshin, one must also talk about Syname: His oldest companion and the shoreborn half-elf he grew up with. Kenshin was born on the docks, so to speak and as long as he can remember his fur's been soaked with seawater. His parents were sailors, peddling merchandise over any sea that'd carry them in their own little boat. The fox would've grown up in wealth and luxury had everything gone according to plan, but everything hadn't gone according to plan. Kenshin's parents were more than sailors, they were fanatics to an old drowned god withd devastating eldritch powers. Their son, however was never inducted to these rights. The fox' luck prevented that from happening, while he was but three years of age the crew mutinied. Having grown tired of their captain's religious tendencies, the leader of the crew threw Kenshin's whole household overboard.

The kitsune would've died there and then, by the rain of arrows or the gentle caress of the sea, were it not for Ayname. A beautiful sea-elf who saw the ordeal from beneath the waves. She herself was but a recent mother of her own, Syname the half-elf. Syname, borne from a human sailor, was Ayname, greatest shame and reason for banishment, but also her greatest love. On holding the tender life in her hands, and seeing the floating, flailing dying bodies of Kenshin's parents Ayname realised what she had to do. Ayname left the sea for a seaside cabin. Here Kenshin could breathe and Syname could breathe easier. The pair grew up mostly in solitude, lived off of fish and greeneries and were generally well provided for. Everything was sufficient in their coast cottage aside from entertainment.

From time to time Aysname took the children to the nearby town to trade goods and make money. Here, the twosome learned a lot about society, money and it was generally where the two went for mischief. Eventually, Syname came with an idea for thanking their mother, as well as get out of her hair. They'd get a job, and build a better house. Fortunately for the pair of them, a band of merchants was hiring hands to carry and load goods onto their skyships. The pair came up with some excuse about taking Syname to some wizarding college to harness his inborn skill at magic.

Once the skyship arrived at Purgare, things went sour. What looked too good to be true turned out to be just that. The port authorities claimed the pair was transporting illegal contraband. The younglings protested ofcourse, but when their casks and crates were opened, illegal weaponry spilled out. For a few days the entire crew was incarcerated. But after a few days worth of prisons the pair of them, along with the rest of the hired muscle, were let go with a warning. The pair, for the first time alone and in a big city, were left awestuck at the oppertunity. After a few days worth of festivities, the pair sought a place in the city they might belong. Syname allready had the answer to that question: The occultists were difficult to find, but Syname showed promise and was found instead. She joined their conclave willingly, but not without keeping in contact with Kenshin.
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Last edited by Sirviantis; Jul 2nd, 2020 at 03:42 PM.
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Old Dec 15th, 2020, 09:40 AM
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The Golden Caretaker
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Name: Noelle Sternshine
Race: Human
Age: 20
Class: Paladin
Alignment: LG

Appearance: Clad in gold-painted parade armor, Noelle is a petite young woman with blonde hair, standing at 5'4", and underneath her armor, she wears a blue dress that encompasses the entirety of her figure. Always with a gentle smile on her face, and with her soft violet eyes, Noelle can be quite a soothing and relieving presence to those who are sickly and needy.

Personality: Soft-spoken and gentle, Noelle considers herself a defender and a nurturer, the one who defends those who are weak and poor. She often defers to those with higher ranks than her, but she isn't afraid to stand her ground if she has to. She considers herself a good talker, having trained herself in the arts of diplomacy as a paladin. As a paladin, she is aware of the eternal question of 'be lawful or be good?' and will always strive to do good despite knowing that she can never reach such a beautiful ideal of being a beacon of justice and goodness. She acknowledges her flaws as a person and will always strive to improve herself whenever she gets her chance.

Backstory: Noelle does not know who her parents were, and she spent most of her childhood at the orphanage. Growing alongside other orphans, Noelle had no great plan for herself in the future, as she planned to become a caretaker in the orphanage once she grew up. Living most of her life in Purgare, she had no idea what it was like at the lands underneath it, and for a time, Purgare was her whole world. She thought that she would be living like this for the rest of her life, like most other people, but fate itself seemed to have a design for her.

At the age of sixteen, while helping the caretakers at the orphanage, Noelle was suddenly visited by a divine vision, a revelation of sorts, and for a time, she thought that she had gone mad. She passed out after experiencing such a vision and was in a coma for two days. Once she woke up, she felt something different in herself, and she felt some kind of unfulfillment in her initial plan for her life. She became restless and erratic, and she spent most of her time praying, hoping to find the answer to the vision that she had experienced. The caretakers were worried of her, thinking that she might be possessed.

A few days later, a few men arrived at the orphanage, seeking Noelle. They introduced themselves as the members of the House of Oracles, one of the Houses in the Council of Houses that ruled Purgare. They told the caretakers that some of their paladins received a divine vision, telling them that a girl with golden hair and violet eyes would be joining their ranks as one of their own. Noelle stepped forth and told them everything that she had experienced. The men whispered among themselves, having a brief discussion about her before they told her that they would extend an invitation to her to join the House of Oracles. They told her that they would teach her everything about becoming a paladin, and while the caretakers hesitated, Noelle agreed right away, knowing that it was her calling to join their ranks. She thought that by joining them, she would be able to make sense of what she had experienced, and she would finally be able to figure out what she wished to do in her life.

After a tearful farewell with the caretakers and other orphans, Noelle left the orphanage to begin her training. For years, she would serve as an acolyte, an initiate of sorts where she would learn about the inner workings of the House of Oracles. She learned to respect her elders and would always defer to those above her. She also started her martial training, honing her body so that she could one day become a stalwart warrior who would serve Purgare to defend it from all sorts of harm. Of course, her main concern was helping those who were weak, sickly and poor, and she didn't entirely abandon her dream of taking care of orphans. She knew that it was her calling to become a paladin, but she wished that one day, she would be able to open her own orphanage.

RP Sample:
 


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Last edited by Arjuna332; Dec 15th, 2020 at 09:46 AM.
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Old Dec 15th, 2020, 01:43 PM
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A Puckish Rogue
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Name: Magnus Malum
Race: Human (with the wayfarer alternate racial trait)
Age: 25
Class: Arcanist 3
Alignment: CN

Appearance: A dashing and garish figure swathed in fine clothes of various bright and blinding colours. Magnus is a technicolor marvel in a world of dark greys and blacks. With green eyes, a dashing smile and a wit that'll cut to the bone Magnus looks, and act, like the picture perfect cad and gadabout.

Backstory: Magnus began life very humbly and filled with sheer despair. His father was a farmer, but a terrible one, and his mother died in child birth. Working the land took a toll on Magnus' father and when the harvest wasn't good, or the weather took a bad turn, his father took it out on him. The lashings mixed with the back breaking farm work instill a hatred of honest labor in the young Magnus. He resolved to find a way out of poverty so he'd never have to work again. He began to hide away books and scrolls so he could learn to read and write but it was his thirteenth birthday when he discovered his could use arcane magic.

It was just after his birthday when, after a terrible harvest to round out a terrible year, his father went to town on him. During the fight Magnus summoned up a translucent barrier to that surrounded him and blocked his fathers blows. When he was older, he'd recognize this spell as mage armor, but the young child was simply awed by the phenomenon. His father was taken aback and quickly redoubled his efforts to punish the child. The spell didn't last as long as his father attack, and in the traumatic conflict Magnus was given a chest wide 'X' scar. But it didn't matter to him, Magnus now had an out. Over the next week he secreted away supplies, something he was well used to by now. In the dead of night he made his escape and left this home behind. He vowed that night that he'd never live in poverty again, that he'd make something of himself regardless of the cost and ensure that he'd only taste the fine life

Unfortunately it wasn't to be. Magnus developed his magical power but it wasn't enough to ensure the life he wished. He tried his hands at academia but was promptly laughed out of universities for the audacious prices he charged for his so called "world changing lectures." Even his attempts at crime failed miserably thanks to his squeamishness at using violence. Magnus did develop some skill at illusions but that alone couldn't pay the bills. Soon he became a destitute drifter, travelling and making whatever meager copper he could rub together to get by. There were many times when he wished to be back on the farm, actually working the land with the potential for gold as opposed to huddling under a buildings gutter to try and stay warm. But then he'd remember his father and suddenly his resolve would harden into steel.

It was desperation that brought Magnus to Purgare. Desperation to make his worth and finally rise above his station. To find something, anything, that would allow him to be somebody. He found The Occultists. The secretive non-house of the city council, an organisation dedicated to studying the city and the arcane. Magnus could use them to further his own goals and aims, and in the meantime actually make some money so he didn't have to sleep in the local park.



RP sample:

The flames were already in the distance and Magnus still didn't let up. "Its finally done and I'm free from them. All the pain and suffering they caused me, done with. I've managed to cut them loose and now only glory and fortune await me in the future" He thought of his father trying to fight the flames in the barn as they grew ever higher, he thought about what could possibly happen to him in that scenario. "I sincerely wish that man no good and no mercy for where he ends up. He should know no peace or rest for the rest of his life for the misery he has visted upon me"Magnus thought. To calm himself he imagined the riches he could achieve with his magical talents, the illusions he could conjure and the wonder's he'll create. "They'll chant my name in the streets, celebrate me in the halls of universities and venerate my intelligence" He continued this day dream as he made his way further and further from his home and parents. He found the road and ran north for what appeared to be hours.

Early in the morning, tired and exhusted from running. Magnus came upon good luck in the form of a farmer bringing his stock to trade. "Why hello there boy, what are you doing here? A little early for a run ain't it?" The farmer called from atop his card. "dull witted man fool" Magnus thought derisively. "oh thank ye gods you've found me. I've been running all night, wolves have been chasein' me good sirrah" Magnus said trying and partially succeding in affecting an accent. He also cast a minor illusion to make the farmer hear wolves in the distance. "Well, gosh darn. Get in boy, I'll take ye to the next town. Don't ya worry bout nuthin. Me horses can out any wolves that live around here" The farmer boasted as he mushed the horses along the road. "Now my journey truly begins. To glory and riches beyond the likes I have never seen!"


Last edited by Preacherwolf; Dec 15th, 2020 at 02:05 PM.
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  #11  
Old Dec 28th, 2020, 08:49 PM
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https://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=86782
Name: Jett Dragomir
Race: Dhampir
Age: 110
Class: Unchained Rogue
Alignment: CN
Appearance: He stands at 6 feet even, dark brown eyes, jet black hair down to his shoulders, sometimes tied up in ponytail. He is of medium build, athletic. Dressed in all black, with studded leather for armor and high boots. Bow at his back, a sword sheathed at his left hip. A dagger sheathed at each thigh and at each ribcage.
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Backstory: Growing up, he never knew his parents. All he knew was that some young lady looking like a noble claiming to be his aunt, came and got him but a week later, brought him back. He became an orphan, although he was adopted, he was soon given up, then another couple adopted him, then found what he was. was quickly given him up as well, back to the street, when word spread what he was, no other family came to him, he was not wanted. If that wasn't bad enough, he had trouble making friends as well. For a child, that's rough as it can get. Unable to fully play outdoors on a bright and sunny day with the other children because of his skin reaction to the sun. He had to either wear a hat, hood or just stay in the shade and watch the others play. His face exposed in the sun alone kept others away, shunning him, while others bullied him. He was living on the street like a common urchin, however, he had met another misfit, Ghaun, a half surface elf, half drow. Ghaun was the only one Jett could trust. As he gotten older, he found he was much more agile than the others and on occasion, his ability frighten others. Jett finally found what he was later on and that gave him another question about his mother, not knowing if she was dead or alive, now he wonders if she gave him up because of what he was? Later on, he managed to get invited to the Beggers Guild he tackled the prejudice, understanding the fear others may have but since he doesn't have the full abilities of his father's tainted blood and pose no real threat, why did the people continue to treat him as an outcast?

He grew up to adulthood in the big city, with his abilities, his quick learning of the trade, he was a force to be dealt with. His reputation was spreading, The House of Knaves, a Thieves Guild, came a calling, accepting him and teaching him more skills to better himself, thriving. Jett learned a lot at the guild, besides the art of thievery, he learned how to strike and when to strike, they also learned to fight, though not warriors, even thieves need to know how to defend themselves. As his skills grew, he still had his troubles. His skills and abilities, surpassing his peers has added jealously besides bullying and being shunned. The young thief's teacher, Larald though, thought differently. He saw the young man as exceptional thief that could only make the guild more powerful as he has been around for a long time, the elder knew as well as did Stoberam Hillthor and Regulus Grant that Jett will be a huge boon for the guild in the near future.

RP sample: (From another game) Three men were sitting in a room in the Thieves Guild, discussing a certain individual and what to do about him.

“He killed Ty, he knew he worked for us, I don’t know how, but he did.” The first man spoke.

“Damn right he did, he is not going to forget us, it be only a matter of time before he decides to come after us.” The second man chimed in.

“Hah, let him, he’s only one man.” The Third man exclaimed.

“Don’t be a fool Haro, have you heard about him? His reputation? He’s grown in skill, he’s become a powerful man. I sent some assassins after him months ago and never heard back of any updates except from the Assassin Guild, who themselves haven’t heard back and assumes they are now dead.” The 2nd man Beehha, man replied, looking at the Haro like he was an idiot.

The first man Kale, nodded. "Well, it was a bloody mess, but at least half-drow is dead and we gotten rid that human vampire. Never liked those two, creepy. We still have to deal with the drows, but we'll get through it."

Beehha nodded as well. "Aye, they still only come up at night, both Guilds has men at watch, so they won't try anything. Not sure why we have to deal with them in the first place, they can't be trusted, worse that the half-drow bastard."

A 4th man, named Tarek, entered the room during the conversation. "Wouldn't worry about the drows, they're leaving. For good too I think."

The other three men turned to him with shocked look and Kale spoke. "Seriously? What happened Tarek? Drows don't back down from nothing. So what got them to leave?"

Tarek let out a deep sigh. "That brings us to another problem. Vampires. Two of the drows are dead, one claimed it was from a ripper."

Beehha looked confused. "What's a ripper?"

"A ripper is a vampire that can't control himself, goes into a frenzy. Worse type of vampire."

The other three just stared at him. "Bloody hells, you think that Jett brought his vampire friends?" Beehha asked?

"I don't know, where Harrel and Kory? They should have been here by now."

Then a knock came at the door, Tarek got up and went to the door. "Finally, maybe it’s them." He leaned against the door. "Who is it?"

"A message!"

Bit steamed, figuring the other two wasn't going to make the meeting, he opened the door. "What's the message?" His eyes then went wide when he saw the messenger. "J-J-Jett!!"

Jett stood there with a cold dead smile. "Message is, your turn to die." he said with a calm even but gravel voice.

The other three quickly stood up as they heard a sound of a blade swoosh and their friend's head flew at them. They screamed out as Jett dove after them. There was a ruckus and sounded like a tornado was inside the room. Then a sound of a window breaking. A few minutes later, the door burst open and the other guild members entered the room to find the 4 men, dead and decapitated and a breeze was coming in from the broken window...
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Leaning against the wall, watching the others rush by him, he grins. "Go ahead, go get that treasure that's laying there. Be more for me after you die."
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Old Dec 29th, 2020, 11:53 PM
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Name: So-called because it's closest to the sound he makes. It's either this or 'The Frog'.Robert
Race: Grippli
Age: but definitely adultUnknown
Class: Ki MysticMonk
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
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AppearanceThis anthropomorphic frog with dark swamp-green skin is always stylishly dressed--typical attire includes a pair of fashionable bluish-grey trousers, a loose-fitting ivory shirt adorned with ruffles, and a flashy crimson cape--though he eschews footwear, preferring to feel the earth directly beneath his splayed webbed feet. Brilliant orange eyes boldly stare out from under a jaunty feathered cap that still leaves him under two feet tall. He strides--or rather, hops--with a quick, bounding gait and self-assured bearing, and speaks in a friendly, aristocratic manner, but in a thick froggish accent that pronounces his given name as 'Ribbit'.


BackstoryOh, how Robert wishes he knew! His earliest clear remembrance is of waking in his present amphibian form, about a year ago, inside a nobleman’s outfit that was three times too large. After crawling his way out of the copious fabric he noticed a signet ring dangling loosely from one knuckle, threatening to fall off. This is the only concrete evidence of his past life—everything else is conjecture, based on powerful but inexplicable feelings and hard-to-recall snippets of fuzzy dreams. As far as he can tell, he was once a human noble—perhaps even a prince given how valuable the ring is—who was somehow cursed and transformed into a frog.

For a while he was bitter and vengeful, obsessed with finding the witch who did this to him and making her pay. But the practicalities of life intervened. It’s tough surviving when you have nothing to your name—not even your name. (Understandably, he refused to hock the one connection to his past.) It’s even tougher when you’re a frog. Thank the gods for the House of the Folk.

They accepted him, as they do everyone. They helped him find work, respect, and most importantly, peace. Robert still has no idea who he is, despite visiting the Oracles and Occultists and anyone else who might be able to help—no one recognizes him or his signet ring. But it doesn’t matter so much anymore. Yes, he would abandon everything in an instant if he found a lead to his past, but nowadays he accepts what he can’t change, and has even learned to embrace his new body. When one has naught but lemons, one makes lemonade.

These days Robert makes a humble living as a messenger and errand boy. In his spare time he likes to train with one of the Champions, an elderly human, well past his prime, who specializes in esoteric techniques and exotic weapons.


RP Sample “En garde!” Robert cries as he bounces high into the air, somersaulting into a leaping attack against his mentor and friend, Nampi. With a flamboyant flourish the grippli twirls his rapier—once, twice, thrice—before lunging wildly at the spot where Nampi was two seconds ago. He spins, but too late—a precise flurry of blows pinpoints his pressure points, and the frog collapses into an awkward heap.

A few moments later, after he has recovered enough to stand, Robert enthusiastically congratulates his white-haired friend. “Jolly good show! Never thought your fists could better my blade. Well done old bean!” He flashes a warm, toothless grin, not bothered in the slightest by his defeat. What matters is the duel itself—the outcome is just a consolation prize next to the thrill of competition, and the chance to better oneself.

The elderly human kindly shakes his wrinkled head. “Rapier not suit you. Why you use?”

“Tradition, old chap. Every distinguished nobleman use a rapier.”

Nampi gently takes the blade and turns it over in his hands. “Maybe for human. Too heavy, too long for frog.” Indeed, the smallest rapier Robert could find was one sized for a halfling at least half again as tall as he. “Hands, feet, always right size. Come. Show you better weapon.”

Robert gazes wistfully at the rapier, but eventually nods. By now he has learned to adapt to his new body. He will find the witch who cursed him someday, but for now he will enjoy what he has.

Last edited by ekidnu; Dec 31st, 2020 at 12:41 AM.
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