This is not mandatory, but for easy reference, feel free to download the PDF of Hell's Vengeance Player's Guide here. Player's guides are free, so you should have no problem downloading this one.
History: Born and raised in Egorian, Percy Koska was the bastard son of a wealthy merchant and a serving wench. Abandoned by his father before his birth, Percy's mother tried the best she could to raise him but between her busy work schedule and her constant flings with local men, she was far too self absorbed to be an ideal mother for him. Learning early on that he was on his own, Percy became self sufficient and soon began stealing coin from his mother's lovers when they were otherwise occupied with her. He used this coin for his own purposes, buying food and other items he wished to have, and when he could not afford those things he simply waited for an opportunity to steal them. When he was about eleven summers old, he managed to get his hands on a set of fancy clothing so he began wearing it and trying to immerse himself into the circles of the upper elite. He would be vague about who his relatives were and simply throw enough coin around that the others took him at face value. He very much enjoyed his little game of pretending to be wealthy, but once he was recognized for what he was (a barmaid's son) the game was over and none of his "friends" wanted anything to do with him.
Seeking other opportunities, Percy joined the Chelaxian Army. He figured here he could at least get a uniform, gain some respect, and earn some coin at the same time. He quickly learned he had a natural talent for fighting, but Percy is inherently lazy and didn't like the constant hustle and bustle of army life. The only time he enjoyed his service was when they would engage in skirmishes with bandits in the Whisper Woods or clashes with greenskins along the border. Combat was immensely fun - drill and ceremony was not, and that made up most of his military career. After a lackluster enlistment, Percy did not reenlist but instead joined a roving mercenary company by the name of Wilfried's Wolves. The Wolves were run by a man named Alastair (Wilfried died the summer before from a disease he picked up in a brothel) whose purse was the only thing looser than his morals. Percy and he hit it off immensely, and soon Percy was a full fledged Wolf. Unfortunately last month Alastair cheated at a card game and got a dagger in his guts for his trouble, and the Wolves fell apart. As luck would have it, Percy heard that House Thrune was interested in obtaining sellswords, and managed to give a flattering oral resume of himself which has earned his way into their employment. He is now eager to prove his worth to House Thrune and is looking forward to the wealth and recognition it will bring him.
Personality: Percy is an opportunist through and through, and has no shame whatsoever. He is a rather likeable scoundrel who is out for himself first and foremost, but for the right price anyone can buy his loyalty. Although he favors himself a gentleman, he has little regard for things such as honor and chivalry, and will just as soon stab a man in the back as fight him face to face if he could get away with it. No job is too dirty provided the price is right, and nothing is off limits provided he lives to fight another day and gets ahead in life. He tries not to draw attention to himself through blatant lawbreaking or boasting, and would rather use his quick tongue and wit to avoid any trouble if there's no purpose to it. He also recognizes the value of laws and tradition in which he can use it to manipulate others to get what he wants. He is cautious around those more powerful or connected than he, and prefers to have more allies than enemies as that is one less knife pointed at your back. For this reason he tends to be immensely polite most of the time - better to have others both see him in a favorable light and to lower their expectations of him. He favors drink and women, usually in some combination thereof, and is a bit of a risk taker when it comes to gambling.
Appearance: Percy is a lean, handsome man of average height with olive skin and thick black hair combed over back. He has thick eyebrows and sharp brown eyes, with a thin nose and an easy smile underneath a well groomed horseshoe mustache. Each ear has a pair of gold hoops pierced in the bottom lobe, and on each finger he wears rings of different shapes and styles. He has somewhat of a subdued posture, and is slightly stoop shouldered. He favors bright colored clothing that is currently in fashion, often accented with necklaces and bracelets as he can afford them. His voice is cultured if a bit oily, and he likes to speak with a lot of hand inflections.
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02/26/24 - New position and personal real estate work is keeping me busy, please PM me if I am running behind.
Last edited by Grouchy; Dec 27th, 2020 at 08:50 PM.
Name: Drevan the Cold Race: Human Class: Monk (Hellcat Archtype) Trait: Scion of the Nine Circles Alignment: Lawful Evil
History: Drevan, only 10 years old, stood in the back of the unruly crowd, constantly getting jostled by the ebb and flow of the eager masses. The carnival atmosphere of the event sickened him but he had no choice but to watch the travesty of justice as it unfolded. The midday sun's dappled light danced across the axe blade as it cut silently through the air and the neck of the bound prisoner. Drevan watched as the head of his brother rolled in the dirt and was then paraded through the streets of the capital city of Galt, Isarn. Accused of crimes against the state, of being a spy for the Chelaxian empire, his brother's trial was a political charade. His brother had dared speak truth to power when truth was considered a state secret. Drevan swore he would learn the secrets his brother had died for.
Drevan, secreted away by his parents, barely escaped the inevitable purge that followed his brother's execution. His family paid for the sins of the son and in the eyes of the state were deemed expendable. Drevan fled as far from the reach of Galt leaders as he could. The Grey Gardners were a fanatical brotherhood and Drevan knew that once they caught his scent they would never stop until Drevan's head too, was rolling in the dirt.
Drevan found shelter with fellow refugees and dedicated himself towards working his way back to Galt. Channeling the rage and anger he kept repressed, Drevan found solace in physical training and meditation. It was a therapeutic outlet. At the time, he did not know that his newfound talents would lead him down the path of the hellcat and straight into the embrace of Asmodeus.
Personality: Drevan carries himself with a quiet confidence born of years of training. His slight build has made many make the mistake of underestimating his abilities, much to their demise.
Appearance: Drevan has cultivated an unassuming appearance. He does not make any effort to stand out in a crowd and he prefers to melt into the sea of humanity. He prefers to wear loose fitting, muted earth tones and usually can be found wrapped in a tattered brown hooded robe. The only distinguishing feature the man possesses is twin, deep, self-inflicted scars that run down both of his cheeks.
__________________ Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception. I have taken The Oath of Sangus Most people are not just comfortable in their ignorance, but hostile to anyone who points it out.
Last edited by Begon Ugo; Dec 27th, 2020 at 05:39 PM.
Looking pretty good, @Grouchy. I'm looking forward to see what you've got in store for him. Also, looking forward to see your monk in action, @Begon Ugo.
Would you be open to rolled stats as opposed to stat buy? I'm just a sucker for randomness. In any event, I've got a really fun idea in store that I'm working on.
Would you be open to rolled stats as opposed to stat buy? I'm just a sucker for randomness. In any event, I've got a really fun idea in store that I'm working on.
I'd rather have the characters of this story have their stats standardized. Sorry about that. I only accept point buy for now.
I'd rather have the characters of this story have their stats standardized. Sorry about that. I only accept point buy for now.
No worries, it was worth an ask. Anyway, here's my (hopefully not too wacky) character. I'm channeling my inner Trashcan Man, I just realized, and I'm strangely okay with that.
STR 12 / DEX 15 / CON 14 / INT 20 / WIS 12 / CHA 5
Erratic Malefactor
Chaotic Evil
From a distance, one might be mistaken into thinking that Theodosius "Bombs" McCracken is like any red-skinned tiefling male. Of course, as soon as one gets closer, they start to note the... odor. You see, Bombs is an alchemist. He's also a maniac who never showers. Oh it's not intentional, not really, but Bombs has worked around noxious chemicals for so long that his sense of smell has effectively been destroyed. Still, who needs to smell when you've got explosives! Oh, that's the other thing. If one can make it past the smell, they will soon notice that Bombs is covered in scar tissue. In fact, it's difficult to say whether his skin is covered in scars, or vice versa. That's the thing about alchemy - sometimes it works, and sometimes... sometimes it just leaves you with horrible burns. Still, Bombs doesn't let it get him down. He's always on the hunt for that next formula which will REALLY pop, and if he has to lose a finger or two, or singe off his one remaining eyebrow in the process? Well that's just science, bro!
To know Theodosius "Bombs" McCracken is to know chaos and destruction, and perhaps... love? Okay, well, definitely not that last part, unless you count Bombs' love for explosions. Life for Bombs is all about making things go boom, and the bigger the better. Some people might describe Bombs as single minded, and those people would be very polite indeed. Everyone else describes him as a raving lunatic who's going to blow himself up one of these days. Bombs would be quick to assert that he in fact is very careful, and has only blown himself up a handful of times. To his fellow members of the Special Forces unit of Army of Cheliax, he's the best goddamn walking arsenal of destruction they've ever seen or worked with. If you need a foxhole bombed out, or an bunker busted, or some troublesome orphans disposed of, there's no one better. But don't get the impression that explosions are the only thing Bombs thinks about. He also writes his own poetry, which he likes to share with his friends. 1
1. Poetry may or may not be about explosions.
"Damn it Bombs, that's too much gunpowder! We just need a hole, not the whole foundation to collapse!"
The man speaking is a soldier with the Cheliax army who has been assigned as a partner for Theodosius "Bombs" McCracken, a tiefling with a deathwish, according to those who don't know him. Bombs is in charge of demolitions for a secret mission to kidnap someone or rescue someone. Bombs wasn't exactly listening in at the briefing, but when his lieutenant hollered his name and asked if he was ready to blow something up, Bombs "siryessirred" as good as any of them. He didn't mind the army. He was paid well to do what he loved, and if you love your job, you never have to work a day in your life. That was what was so great about being an expert in demolitions with the special forces - he got to tinker all day by himself, and for the most part everyone left him alone, citing not wanting to "die that day in some freak accident." That suited Bombs just fine; he wasn't a big fan of oversight anyway.
"Relax, Scooter, I've been doing this for longer than you've been alive, there's nothing to worry ab- oh, whoops. Okay, yeah, you're going to want to start running now." Bombs was already hurrying away from the façade of the building, in front of which was a large vial which was quickly foaming and turning orange. The soldier, whose name was not actually Scooter, but Corporal Shaw, did not have to be told twice, and started to book it double time away from what looked to be a fairly substantial explosion.
The two of them dove into a ditch just as the chemical concoction which Bombs had put together reached critical mass and detonated in a cacophonous explosion. When the debris finally began to settle down, the two finally poke their heads out of the ditch and beheld the destruction.
"Woo, that was a good one." It certainly was, depending on your perspective. What was once a brick and wood building was now a pile of dust and debris in a wide radius. The door was gone. The foundation was gone. The building, which the team had been commanded to enter, was gone. Bombs whistled. "See, I told you I had the formula right. Here you were all worried that I wouldn't be able to destroy the whole building with one bomb. Well, take a look at that, Skippy. You owe me ten gold!"
Corporal Shaw, who almost certainly was not named Skippy, stared with incredulity at the stinking, scarred tiefling who now held his hand out awaiting payment. He was at a loss for words.
"Are you insane?! I - we - YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BLOW IT UP! And I certainly NEVER bet you ten gold to say you could or couldn't. For god's sake, we were just supposed to breach the door and capture the insurgents inside. Instead, you vaporized them!"
Bombs looked at Corporal Shaw in confusion. "Capture them? Wiggles, why in the world would we want to capture them?"
Corporal Shaw began to sputter, but whether this was because he was affronted by being called Wiggles, or whether he could not fathom how wrong the mission had gone so quickly, he could not have rightly said. "We were supposed to capture the insurgents because they were reported to have knowledge about other, higher ranking members of the insurgency. How are we supposed to track down the leaders if our only source of information is now a fine mist in the air?"
Bombs started to think for a moment. "But capturing them? Ehhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrmrmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhmmmmmmmnnn n… no. No, I don't think so. It's much quicker to just, you know, blow up the building they're in. I tell you what, Millie, you just head on back to base and say we captured them, but they didn't know anything. Or they did, and we killed them anyway. Or just make some other lie up, because really, it's soooo much easier to just blow them up. Hahah, capturing them for information, that's funny." And, still laughing, the best damned demolitions man this side of Cheliax walked off chuckling, while Corporal Shaw, whose first name actually was Millie, watched him go, mouth agape.