[Characters] Students of the Academy

[MoonZar]

Character Sheet

 

Name: Princess Zerazad al-Sidan al Hariq ben Lazan
Race: Genie
Age: Look like 18, but actually is two hundred years old
Initial Class: Aristocrat
Alignment: CG
Traits: World-traveler (bluff), Princess (diplomacy)
Starting 15-point buy: Str 8 (-2 pts), Dex 12 (2 pts), Con 12 (2 pts), Int 20 (10 pts), Wisdom 8 (-2 pts), Cha 16 (5 pts)
Starting Equipment: Royal outfit (see pic)

Description and Personality:

Warm and wild like Fire, Zerazad can also be a destructive force with her boiling Efreeti blood. She is kind and affectionate, trying to do the right thing but get angered easily and moody at times. Romantic, pure and naive, she forgot most of her long life as a cruel princess in the city of brass. Beautiful like legendary genies of old with an angelic face, gifted with a delicious sexy body and a cunning mind that shatter mortal understanding.

Background:

Once a mighty wicked princess of the city of brass, she somehow began to change into a kind heart over time. Zerazad pushed her luck too far when freeing her slaves, and got banished for it. Discovering the world anew, she is doing her best to be a good person and to atone for all the cruel things she remembers doing as a powerful genie. After her banishment she appeared in sigil, the city of portal, confused and vulnerable. She was rescued from a bunch of devils who recognized her, about to bring her to hell to Asmadeus as a trophy. Her saviour is one of the teacher of the Academy of heroes, Rowan Elidyr, who invited her to apply for the trials. She succeeded in the first wave of trials and looking forward to a new life far from tyranny and blood lust of the other Efreeti and demons.

Does evil is born rather than taught? Zerazad like most genies, lived a decadent life in her opulent palace in the efreet's City of Brass for two centuries. Immortal, immune to the ravages of time and old age like her brethren she didn't really make many choices for herself. Killed her first man as a child, burned her first village as a teenager, tortured and rapped her first men not long after. The notion of morality and evil is not a question for someone born in one of the hearts of tyrannies of the multiverse, this is just how things are without second guess. Natural as breathing. The young princess had so much fun in those days, but she got her share of pain as well from her family and her husband, a 10 feet high Efreeti serving her grand mother Ayasellah Mihelar Khalidlah II herself. Her wicked relative is as mighty and cruel as any prince of hell and the abyss, but she is driven by a strict code of law that keep all the denizen of the plane of fire in line.

Things began to change for Zerazad when she began travelling outside the plane of fire to torment mortals. Been exposed to freedom, and qualities mortals share such as friendship, passion and love showed her a complete different path and meaning about life. The more she spent time outside the city of brass court, the more her heart became kind. Her behavior began to change and lead to serious conflict with her family. One day she pushed her luck too far by releasing thousands of slaves out of the city of brass. She got divorced by her husband, forsaken by her family and tortured and abuse beyond recognition for years. Her grandmother debated what to do with her for some time, as family is sacred she didn't want to destroy her and it was simply unproductive to have some of her best torturer spending time on her. She got tired of having her in her dungeon and decided to banish Zerazad to sigil and drain her from her powers and most memories.

Confused and powerless, she lived for some time as a begar in Sigil and did what she could to survive such as thievery and prostitution. She got killed on occasions and as a genie her essence always came back to the plane of fire, tortured, brainwashed and banished again. The cycle continued like that for decades at the great amusement of the city of brass court. Eventually luck smiled on her, maybe it was fate of the gods helping her, but she was saved by Rowan Elidyr. Seeing the infinite potential to teach goodness to an immortal genie and have her join the academy of heroes was just too good opportunity to pass. Zerazad with a good heart now proved to be a prodigy student and successfully survived the To be roleplayed. trials of the academy with her sharp mind and charming personality.

Regular Class: Wizard

Motivation / Aspiration / Goals: Regain her former knowledge and powers. Explore the multiverse. Atone for her past life.

Character’s Worst Fear: Afraid of her family, in particular her grand-mother. Her relatives are a bunch of Efreeti tyrants owning the city of brass and controlling the plane of fire.

Growing Up: At first her memories are limited, she only remembers the most intense part of her long life and has the immaturity of a young woman. She will slowly regain memories of her past as she regains her wizard knowledge as she levels up. Eventually, she will become a do-gooder and try to atone for all her bad actions as a princess in the city of brass.

 

Spellbook provided by Eliza Palino

Cantrips: Read Magic, Light
Level 1: Alter Winds, Chill Touch, Blend, Burning Hands, Charm Person, Obscuring Mist, Shield
Level 2: Burning Arc, Acid Arrow, Scare
Level 3: Quell Energy, Protection from Energy

[cottontailwind]

Goio (link to sheet)

 

Goio's Theme Goio's Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkuVw5EBUIE

Pitch Goio's self-concept. Gargoyles have feelings too. Goio the Gargoyle Name: Goio Race: Gargoyle Narrative Archetype: Wide-eyed and shy; gentle giant; fortune teller Mechanical Archetype: Support caster/tank Class: Adept 0, Seer (Oracle Archetype) 1 Mystery: Heavens Revelations: Guiding Star, Natural Divination Curse: Lame or Haunted Feat: Abundant Revelations Traits: Helpful, Gifted Adept (Sanctuary) Appearance: At his full height, Goio is about 6'8", though he typically walks at a bit of a hunch, at about 6'1" or 6'2". He sleeps in a perched position, around 4' high. His wingspan is comparably wide, and though he typically keeps them folded behind him, sometimes when he gets nervous, he'll wrap one wing around himself and fidget with it. His skin looks and feels like a worn stone - slate gray with patches of blue-tinted freckles. It's an odd thing to watch his skin as he moves, as one would think that he's crack and grind at his joints, but instead his skin moves like any flesh, if a bit rough. He doesn't have ay hair or human-esque features, as some gargoyle variants do, instead having a series of horns and spikes down the back of his head. His face is carved with a low, protruding brow and a draconic-seeming snout, giving a very menacing appearance. It's a sudden - but frequent - shift to go from that resting grimace to his oft-nervous raised brow and averted gaze. Goio typically wears clean robes of purple and white, though he finds them a bit stuffy. Background: Goio was the youngest of a meager gargoyle gargoyle clan or familywing, each created by a powerful arcanist known to them only as "the Sculptor". The Sculptor was wise. The Sculptor was powerful. But the Sculptor was also harsh; after senior gargoyles would swoop from the carved buttresses of their nearly-forgotten cathedral upon interlopers and would-be treasure hunters, the Sculptor would emerge from deep underground to collect their assailants' remains. He ripped their spirits from their bodies and bound them to his will, like so many others once-buried on the cathedral's grounds and in its catacombs. But how could any of their wing know a life any different? They taught little Goio their ways and fulfilled their charges to remain vigilant with utmost seriousness. For all the countless nights perched over the grounds overgrown with vines and weeds and daringly colorful wildflowers, Goio did not keep watch for prowlers, but rather, followed after the trails of small furry forest creatures going about their evening business. Where the other gargoyles fell into their stony slumber gazing downwards with grimaced and bared fangs, Goio slept with his gaze upwards, staring at the last of the twinkling heavens before they faded to dawn. He loved his elders' lessons in being dutiful guardians but there was so much more around them that he longed to understand. One such dawn, the Sculptor came and cast them into stony slumber with powerful magicks that lasted longer than a single day. Much, much longer. By the time Goio awakened from the enchanted sleep, he found the cathedral in even greater disrepair. And worse, the other gargoyles were either smashed into petrified bits or missing altogether. It was a sad time for Goio, to awaken after decades - perhaps centuries - and find himself utterly alone. He'd grown accustomed to the many wayward spirits that lingered in that place. But he'd never had to experience any sort of loss himself. After an unknown amount of time lingering there himself, hoping that the Sculptor or one of his wing would come back, Goio eventually decided to leave. Life beyond the cathedral was full of wonder. Creatures of all sorts. Some less than friendly, but not many could fly like him. Plants that twisted and wrapped, rocks of every different size (was he born out of a rock similar to these...?), rivers and waterfalls and deep lakes. And other buildings. Other places! His life would change again after his first experience, of all things, hearing music. Something plucky. Multiple voices. Not speaking. Not shouting. But... making beautiful noises together! Goio crept in the bushes nearby to see... a caravan of wagons standign still in a circle, and within them, a band of fleshy mortals strumming away at instruments, singing and laughing and dancing. Smiling! Goio was fascinated...! ... until something else crept upon him in return. One of their sentries had found him, and at the resulting threats and brandished spears, the music stopped. The caravaners detained Goio faster than he could fly away, but after he broke down and begged for his life, they began to talk to him. It wasn't often that one came across a lone, wandering, peaceful gargoyle peeping on a band of minstrels. Further, there was something off about this gargoyle. Perhaps it was the Sculptor's magical experimentation. Perhaps the many unsettled spirits of the cathedral had some sort of residual effect on him. Whatever it was, there was some decidedly otherworldly aura about Goio. They took him in, being the oddity that he was, and after a brief jaunt between towns (they didn't dare try to smuggle him in anywhere civilized), one of the caravan's resident magicians knew just what to do with him. They arranged for Goio to receive an invitation to the Academy of Heroes. The young gargoyle was somewhat heartbroken to learn he couldn't stay with the caravan, but quickly overcome with a cautious joy at the thought that a place would want him to come and belong there. Were there others like him? Others who'd lost their way, only to be rediscovered? Other gargoyles, even? It didn't take long for Goio to learn that many Academy students didn't share his softness and open heart. Point and fact, he became an easy target for some of the more, shall we say, domineering personalities. Still, he found a general easiness, if not a kindred spirit, in some of the other students. It was difficult, being so shy, but Goio began to make his very first friends there. When the trials went awry, Goio panicked and froze, but some deep, unrealized will to cling onto this place in which he could belong - to these new friends with whom he could belong - saw him react. His resolve in the face of imminent danger surprised himself most of all, but in it, found something new: the early beginnings of a purpose. He may not have had a cathedral to look after anymore, but he had his classmates. Personality Quirks: Goio is shy, gentle, curious, and friendly. Despite his nervousness and accustom to being judged as evil and scary for his monstrous appearance, Goio tends to like people. He wants to like people. He's very curious about the world, and in moments of great wonder, such as seeing a new place or phenomena for the first time, will often stare with wide eyes, before remembering others may also be staring at him, and may try to scurry away. He can be easily excitable, and takes great interest in bugs, animals, flowers, music, shiny things, sweet things, and food. He really, really likes food, chewing with his mouth open and often producing a lot of crumbs, even if what he's eating isn't inherently "crumby". Goio enjoys collecting obscure facts, obscure quotes, and secrets (though not maliciously). He can't help but somewhat-compulsively collecting things: flower petals, little trinkets or objects he can easily steal, odd-shaped rocks, seashells... Personality Flaws: Goio often sees life happening from afar before experiencing it firsthand or in the moment, though he often wishes he was more adventurous like others (and maybe some new friends would help with that...!). He's short on street smarts which can often make him an easy target for social predators. He can also sometimes be slow to realize when he's in danger if it's not already obvious, especially if it's just as easy to assume some big-fanged monster might actually just be friendly, or if there are any pretty things to gawk at nearby. Like any gargoyle, Goio doesn't like it when birds fly above him. It doesn't take much for others to embarrass him - he blushes easily. He's somewhat duck-footed and tends to waddle when he walks. Goio is particularly shy around strangers who display a natural confidence, and as a defense mechanism will often try to stand behind others or objects, or at the rear of a crowd, even though he often greatly overshadows others in size. Sometimes Goio wishes he was more like "fleshier" mortal races, but he doesn't dwell on it for too long. Goals: understand his powers and develop a sense of ownership over and identification with his powers; make friends and discover what friendship means!; continue collecting little trinkets and become a hunter of treasure and lost secrets; meet other gargoyles and divine spellcasters, develop a sense of confidence, and determine what being "normal" means. Motivations: continue to advance as a student to secure his sense of belonging at the Academy of Heroes; avoid losing his place in the world again as he did when he awake from his centuries-long stony-slumber at the cathedral. figure out what belonging means to him as it relates to making friends and finding a new "clan" to belong to.

Sample Give Me a Sample: linked here. Premise: The PCs have 2 turns to outrun a coming dust storm in a desert, and can make any actions or skill checks to achieve this. Dunyazad, an elderly former-nanny/governess bard, doesn't expect to outrun the storm, so when she is picked up by a faster ally, uses her actions to help in ways besides running, and her bonus action to grant bardic inspiration. This post captures some inter-PC interactions, the results of some inter-player collaboration, and narrations of those problem solving choices

Super Secret Notes for GMs Only   No peeking!

[GeneT]

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Name : Alojz Bozidar

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Race : Orc
Classes : Commoner 0 - Paladin 1
Alignment : Good
Oath : Loyalty

Physical Description/Personality:

Alojz is big, a towering Orc as is uncomfortably common of his race. Most can't see past that face and tusks. His arms. The size of his fists. He doesn't come into town much. Too many wanting to test themselves against his arms and those fists. Usually it's bluster and Alojz can convince to look for sport elsewhere. But not all the time. Once their down in the dirt bleedin, Alojz uses the soft part of his hands to get them back on their feet and walk'em home. Unless there's more than one of them, in which case he sides out and gets back to the droving.

He doesn't like hurting them or how often it is necessary. It's better to stay with the cattle and the sheep. Move from farm to farm, job to job, cattle drive to cattle drive. Alojz is a drover, a second-hand blacksmith, and an animal tender. Cattle and sheep don't test his strength in the way people do. They test his patience, his balance, and his wits but never doubt his calm voice or spirit. Chickens though, they be a different matter altogether. Willy lizards with feathers. And geese, heck, he learned long ago just to stand his ground and bleet back at'em. They'll listen eventually.

He was born poor. Poor of family. Poor of place. Poor of belonging. But a few cattlemen and farmers and tenders have come to know him and he's found a quiet living even if it is lonely at times. It beats the ring or stadiums or other fighting places. He could do that but it's not in him. Not one bit. At least not that kind of fighting for coin and adulation.

Thing is, his massive hands are softer than they look. Warmer than you'd think. And, he can mend a colt's broken leg as well as an eagle's wing. He's done both and nursed them to the finish. The eagle was easier. He didn't have to carry it everywhere on his shoulders for the three months it needed to heal like the colt.

But no matter how soft I say his hands are, you'll forget it when Alojz has a falchion or great ax in them and a flat face. He may squirrel away from a fight on his own account, but not when others are threatened, even if they be just geese, or horses, or cattle. He wouldn't walk away if your the one in danger from raiders, or mean spirits, or things best left to the dark. There's a different light that lines him then. Something just beginning to shine.

[SpatulaOdoom]

the pitch Character sheet: here Name: Lady Minya Isabella Esiard Wainraith A plain woman Race: I'm going to be using half-elf for her. “If you really must know *huff* I'm one quarter drow, one eighth fiend, one eighth normal human, and one half oracle bloodline human. My mother's side of the bloodline might be overpowering dad's blood a bit. I don't know. Does it matter?”It's complicated Home realm/universe: Aheka and The Nine Realms Age: 16 Alignment: Neutral Good Initial Class: Aristocrat Later Classes: Bard. Family: It's REALLY complicated. Appearance Minya is surprisingly tall for someone with a strong elf bloodline at five feet eleven inches. Despite her height and exotic blend of drow and human features Minya seems to be someone uninterested in standing out, or perhaps unsure of herself. Her silky white hair is straight and unadorned, and her clothing, while fine of material and manufacture, is of muted tones and lacking in froofery or embellishment. She does wear some jewelry, fine silver earrings set with pearls, silver and onyx rings, and a very This amulet is made of an unknown substance, looking something like flawed quartz or crazed glass, but weighing far less. It's wondrously tough, and feels something like smooth ceramic. The amulet has a jet back spider emblem on it with no details. interesting amulet outlook and personality Minya is usually a pretty level headed and personable person. She's friendly, nice, and a great storyteller. She's also empathetic to the problems and needs of others, although being empathetic doesn't always translate to being sympathetic. She has an affinity for spiders, which is not much of a surprise to those that know drow, and also cats, and would very much like to be able to have a pet if at all possible. Unfortunately she's also profoundly negative when it comes to herself. She's not quite as bad as she used to be, but she's always considered herself to be nobody of importance or even interest. background Minya comes from a high powered, but isolated, world known as Ahkea. It was isolated in that had been separated from the rest of her universe, it's planar connections to the rest of the cosmology severed for over a thousand years. Her family are heroes of Ahkea. Her father, Morgan, is an archmage and oracle who has the ears of kings and queens and has his fingers in meddler is a common accusation thrown at him from his detractors, or a helper of worthy causes if you're feeling more kindmany pies. Her mother, Zilira, is a former goddess older than human civilization. Once a slave bound by chains of cosmic magics and hidden from most of the world, she has been freed, and recently burned out her divine spark along with other gods in re-connecting Ahkea to the rest of their reality. Her eight brothers and sisters are mostly extraordinary people who were born to her mother before Zilira burned out her goddesshood. Having been born to a goddess, her sisters and brothers had natural gifts and talents that Minya frankly lacks. Even the friends of the family, their “aunts and uncles,” are more likely to be accomplished and extraordinary people, like the inventor of the warforged, a rebel princess who deposed her evil father, or the adoptive son of a legendary warrior. And here's Minya. No innate ability to leap through shadows, see past the boundary of time and space, shapeshift the way most people walk and breath, nor is she even particularly gifted in body or mind. That's not to say she's a cripple, she's just annoyingly average. To her thought, that IS a cripple compared to the people she grew up around. It seemed Minya was fated to lead a sadly normal life while everyone around her had grand adventures and influenced the path of nations. Admittedly “Normal” meant a pampered member of the local nobility, and her parents never treated her as lesser, in fact they said that the lack of expectations thrust upon her meant she was more free than any of them to choose her path forward. Unfortunately her father went missing several years ago while doing meta-planar research on Vaguely named because research on the boundaries between worlds rather than planes is a subject in it's infancyThe Between, and although they have evidence he's still alive, nobody has yet been able to contact or locate him. Needless to say, receiving a letter from some otherworldly school of heroes from beyond The Between was a bit of a shock.   Minya stares down at the letter, confusion writ plain across her young face. "... … What?" She sputters for a moment before looking up at her mother. Zilira, to all appearances a statuesque drow woman over six and a half feet tall lounges in a thronelike high backed chair near the fireplace. The study is a small comfortable room off the library in the family estate. Zilira looks up from the fireplace, swirling her wine glass gently. "What what darling?" "Is this some sort of joke? Uncle Valen again? I mean-" "No daughter. It's not a joke. The unimaginatively named Academy of Heroes is exactly what it says in the letter. I've spoken to Nallaul and some people at the Nine Realms embassy. We've also done some divinations. They are somewhat mysterious, but everything I've seen says that they ARE known and it is what it seems." "O-OK... But me? It must be meant for Seiya. Or maybe Bastion? It can't be for ME." Zilira sighs and sets aside her glass before gesturing Minya towards the chair opposite hers by the fire. It's a high backed old leather armchair. Oxblood red. Smooth and shiny with age. It's her father's chair. Empty now for six years. Minya comes over to the chair, but hesitates before sitting. It seemed somehow wrong to sit in dad's chair, not without him there to hold her in his lap. "Sit. Please Minya." She does. It's actually a rather comfortable chair. "It is for you. There is magic in there that's keyed to you. Nothing bad, just things that only you can do with it." Using her mental powers Zilira floats another wineglass and bottle from the side table. This one is a simple Riven Red rather than the weapons grade hooch her mother favored. "But why me? I'm not a hero. I'm just... me. What would be the point? I don't have the talent-" Zilira holds up a hand cutting her daughter off. "Your strength and natural abilities don't matter. There's always someone stronger. Always. I was a mortal when I assassinated a god to achieve godhood. I was the weaker of the two. Your father was just a gobby wizard hurling bat #$^t when he tricked The Great Betrayer into sticking his neck out. He was far the weaker of the two. Your uncle Bane when he settled the Archgate. Syltar and the trolls. Humility's last dance. Now daughter mine. Pause. Read the letter again. And think, don't talk." Minya takes a hasty gulp of her wine, not really tasting it, then sets the glass aside to read through the letter again, taking her time this time. It almost sounded like something dad would write. Not the first bit, that seemed kind of silly, but that last bit. Your path is your own; our mission is to support you in getting there. Minya looked up again, but her mother had not yet lowered her hand. She bit her lip, and read through it a third time. The only noise in the room is the crackle of the hearth beating back the winter's chill. She squints at the paper. She had no real skills, at least not compared to everyone else around her. Sure she could dance and sing but there were plenty better than her. She knew the local gossip and got along with her peers, but she was no Vulcar the Second to spin nations of enemies into allies. And uncle Rhyse had taught her the basics of self defense, but the less said about her talents in that arena the better. She had no divine spark to give... No, no woe is me spoiled princess bull. Her mind supplies her mother's teasing tone with that oft repeated turn of phrase. Classes and training and exercises. That she could get at the Dragonblaze Academy, or with the Children in the Dark. Could this ever compare to them. They were from past The Between, so how could she know? The Between. The writing. Father? Could Father be involved with this Academy? No. He'd never abandon them. Not like that. No notice, nothing. He loved his family more than life itself. But... "Mom." Zilira lowered her hand, noting her daughter's thoughtful tone. "Do you think they could help me find dad?" "I have no idea. But is that what you really want to do?" Zilira sighs, her serene composure slipping for the first time, making the immortal woman seem tired and sad. "What do you mean?" "Finding Morgan and bringing him home is a worthy goal. But it's just a goal. One thing. It's not your entire life daughter. What is the question that letter asks?" "Do you have the will to become a hero?" "What the letter is really asking is do you want to be a hero?" "But you and dad always made fun of that hero stuff. You said that was all a bunch of garbage." "Then you weren't listening. People that talk about heroics tend not to be heroes. They are the ones that idolize someone else, or they just want to be known as heroes. “Real heroes-" Zilira raised a snowy eyebrow, obviously expecting her daughter to remember the quote. "Just do what they think is right, and don't worry about what it's called.” Yea." "Correct. It was your namesake, Esiard Emlyn the Last Knight of Halva, who said that, and he's about the most famous hero you'd care to name. Not because he was worried about being a hero, but because he did what he saw as right. So. What do you want to do with your life daughter?" "I... don't know. I want to do something. I'm tired of all the... I like the people my age, and the parties, and all that, but it all just seems so pointless. Are you saying I should go to this academy?" "Nope. I'll never try to live your life for you. Or make your decisions for you. You know that. Your father would say the same, although he might have had second thoughts when you started spending time with the Kigo boy." Minya's dusky cheeks redden slightly and she instinctively ducks to put her face behind her long bangs. "You uhh. You knew about that?" Zilira chuckles. "I'm a little insulted you thought I didn't. But we're getting off topic. What are you going to do about the letter?" She could go. She could. Anything could happen. Fear wells up in her. She could die, she could fail, she could wind up stranded far from home in some hellish place beyond hope. She might never see her friends and family again. But. She could also be the first. The first from Ahkea to go to this academy beyond The Between. She could learn stuff that nobody around here had ever even heard of, let alone already knew how to do. She could show up Seiya and uncle Valen, and all the other oh so special ones. Her. Plane ole Minya. She could find Dad. Before she could second guess herself into oblivion, Minya bolted up from the chair, strode over to her father's big battle-scarred oak desk, slapped down the letter, grabbed an inkpen, and promptly knocked the inkwell over, spilling ink across the desk. With a shriek Minya snatched the letter from the rapidly spreading pool of ink.   ”OK I think I'm ready auntie Cipher.” Minya stood at the city gates. Beside her Cerberus, the clockwork defender stood lashed into a small cart carrying her effects, and a pair of Wainraith house guards flank them. A pair of large steamer trunks filled the bed and several satchels sit strapped to the tops of the trunks. A fine tea set caps the conglomeration. Several gently glowing weapons and a suit of very fine mithril armor are sandwiched between the buck board and the trunks. Minya herself is wearing a fine set of noble's clothing in her traditional muted colors, and a parasol rests on one shoulder. Cipher of the Children in the Dark is not technically Minya's aunt. Technically she's Minya's niece, but even Cipher's children are older than Minya. The confusions of having an ageless mother meant that they didn't really worry about being correct on those sorts of things. Cipher acted as Minya's aunt, so that's what the tall woman was called. Cipher favors the girl before her with a single raised eyebrow. "Young lady. What do you think you're doing?" "I uhh. I thought you were supposed to take me to the coast? Mayasoris, so that I can go to the Academy of Heroes. Mother told you about that, right?" "She did." Minya hesitates. "Then... That is what I think I'm doing?" "And Zilira knows you're taking a veritable wagon train of... things with you?" "After the going away party there was some business up in the Eight Peaks to deal with, so she had to leave. This is all my stuff though. I haven't stolen anything." Minya can't help but feel insulted that Cipher would think such a thing. For her part Cipher pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "It's not that Minya. None of that stuff is going to help you become better at anything. If anything it will make you worse. Bastion. He spoke to you about training with the Children in the Dark. About his sword wright. Right? Earning the right to carry a sword?" "Yes, he's told many wonderful stories, but I'm not going to train with the Children." Cipher snaps out a simple spell and spends a moment scanning the cart and Minya. "Judging from what I can see, you and the contents of your cart contain enough magic to buy an estate house in the golden circle, yes?" Minya digs a toe into the ground. "No. Like, maybe one outside the circle. Half of one." "You're going to learn how to be a hero, not how to let a bunch of borrowed magic let you be a hero." "But. I might need them, and I can't come back for them." "They're crutches. We can ask your mother, but what do you think she's going to say?" Minya sighs. "Leave it behind. I'll sort out one of the trunks for the magic stuff." "You'll sort out all the trunks, and anything else you can't fit in a backpack and maybe a hand bag. You're going to have to carry it all yourself. Cerberus stays too." Minya's eyes widen. "But. The tent. My dresses. The tea set. I even got a big coil of rope, you always need rope." Cipher just crosses her arms. "You have a quarter hour to be ready, otherwise it's going to be a very long walk to the coast."

 

Minya's ageless mother. A supremely self-assured and impish woman of vast personal experience. One half drow, one quarter fiend, one quarter human. Former goddess. Daughter of Lolth(deceased).Zilira Wainraith
Dad. Missing for the last 5 years. A seer in the vein of an Oracle of Delphi, and a few family dinners have wound up with dad suddenly face down in the soup due to a particularly powerful vision. While a powerful wizard, Morgan is more known for his clever schemes, surprising people skills, and talent for building connections between people. Also known for audacity and lack of caution.Morgan Wainraith
Mortimer. Morgan's cranky aging familiar. A big black tomcat. Blunt, crude, and wiser than most give him credit for. Can transform into a massive tiger for brief periods of time.Mort
Tiefling Halvan noblewoman and diplomat. Not actually Minya's auntie, but close enough. In a committed and open relationship with a monk named Misa.Didina
Uncle Nallaul is a drow wizard who started up an orphanage on the surface after a massive upheaval that included the death of Lolth killed a decent percentage of drow in the Underdark. While not exactly a paladin himself, he is trying to bring the Drow to a better, less self-destructive, path. Minya sometimes helps out at the orphanage.Nallaul
Plain ole human. Soldier. Morgan's adoptive brother and former bodyguard. Uncle Rhys is considered one of the best, though not the best, mortal warriors in Aheka.Rhys
Auntie Cipher is one of the Children in the Dark. Technically she's Minya's half-niece or something like that, but because Cipher is old enough that her own children are older than Minya, and because that's basically what their relationship is, Minya calls her aunt.Cipher
Auntie Kala. The Silent Seer. Morgan's adoptive sister. An abandoned infant that turned out to be the daughter of a pair of entrapped gods. Eventually rose to goddesshood herself, but didn't let it go to her head. Mute.Kala
Naleti. Aheka's greatest seer and a friend of the family.The Oracle
Two possible people.
Either King Vulcar Halva the Second. The current ruler of Halva. Known to be a shrewd diplomat, and a hard but fair man, he was one of the people that were instrumental in saving the world during The Second Betrayer War and the Against the Stars event.
Or King Vulcar Halva the first. The founder of the country and started first Halvan empire nine hundred and some odd years ago. A thoroughly detestable man. He bound Zilira with powerful magic to serve the Royal line, a royal line that started with his and Zilira's children, making Minya distantly related to her current king.King Vulcar Halva
Uncle Valen is Morgan's best frienemy. A very talented abjurer and spell researcher known as “The Lord Bastard.” Valen has a very caustic personality due to a somewhat tragic background, but has managed to find happiness with Queen Aldamil, the ruler of Sharak. An unrepentant ass and prankster.Uncle Valen
Queen of the country of Sharak. Known as The Sparrow, and the Rebel Queen. She dragged her country back from the edge of darkness and fiendish influence. Spent 7 years training at the prestigious Dragonblaze Academy in Halvanna as a teenager, where she and Uncle Valen fell secretly in love. Years later after many trials and tribulations they were able to actually begin a proper romantic, if somewhat fiery, relationship. For political reasons Valen isn't technically the Queen consort, or has any political standing in Sharak, but neither are bothered by that.Queen Aldamil

Minya's siblings in order of eldest to youngest: Twins. Both are members of the Children in the Dark. Tinker is a well known smith and inventor as well as a powerful arcanist. Lady in the Light is a psion with a gentle demeanor. Minya idolizes both.Tinker and Lady, Rosa, Another Child in the Dark. Minya considers him a hero.Bastion, Apparently has interest in a position in some arcane order. Twin to Dancer.Hacob and Another Child in the Dark, twin to Hacob.Dancer, Valen, Minya does not like or get along with Tracy, thinking of her as a “humourless hag”Tracy, Minya.

Aheka once belonged to the fiends. After the fiends were banished from the mortal realm to the nine hells they took a swath of mortal playthings with them, and continue to try and drag mortals to hell. The Children in the Dark were born of those who were able to escape their imprisonment and hide out in the Shadow Plane in order to continue the fight to free the rest of their kin in secret.

The Children in the Dark have an odd naming convention where they are born with a given name, but upon reaching adulthood and undergoing something called a Swordright they receive or choose a second name, often something like a phrase that has particular meaning. EG: Teaches Humility for a Child that struggled to learn humility. Often used in a short form, like simply calling them Humility. The Children in the Dark

Minya's patron goddess. A goddess of the moon, her areas of influence include artists, family, love, and secrets. She teaches people to live life to the fullest even in dark times.Laftiil

Also known as the Halvan Empire in darker times. Minya's home country. The capital, Halvanna, is her hometown. Halva has not always been the good guy, on more than one occasion having attempted to conquer the world. Recent generations, centring on Vulcar the second, have done a lot to repair their international reputation,Halva

[Solid Snek]

Character Sheet

Opal the Outcast Name: Opal Race: Frost Fiend (Tiefling) Class: Expert Description Opal is a frost fiend from Zcerneboch. Her skin is a tough, chitinous layer of white speckled with blue. Her eyes - for which she is named - look like their namesake, dark gemstones with a rainbow of tiny sparkles and specks that shift and glimmer in the light. Her horns are crystalline and translucent violet, and branched like antlers. A long, slender tail trails behind Opal's body, and it moves with a mind of its own, often being more expressive than Opal herself. Her body is small and slight, built for squeezing into tight places and agility. Violet, crystal-like claws similar to her antlers extend from Opal's fingers, but they are meant more for climbing than as weapons. Her ears are wide and stick straight out from the sides of her head, similar to a goat's, while Opal's posture is bent and compact like a monkey's. She tends to walk on all fours when she can, reducing her already diminutive height. History:   The frost fiends are the dominant species on Zcerneboch, humanoid creatures with gangly limbs and short, scrawny bodies. Their skin feature speckled hues of blue, white, and violet that blend in with the technicolor crystal-and-ice caves, and their eyes are reflective, multicolor lenses that sparkle like gems. Their horns and claws sprout in prismatic patterns like the crystals around them, and they possess long, slender tails. The frost fiends live in nomadic clans that hunt the caves for small creatures that live in the pools and cling to walls in dark crevices. They scavenge the deepest caverns for remnants of a long-dead civilization, built from materials that can no longer be made after a distant apocalypse. In addition, the fiends possess some tolerance to the cold and the lightning of their surroundings, and can even harness power from certain magic crystals, feeding off the energy or utilizing them for their own ends. However, they have no use for dead weight, and those who suffer injury or misfortune are cast out. So it was with Opal, who became lost as a young child and left behind, her clan unwilling to risk lives for only a single member. For months, Opal barely managed to stay alive, constantly on the verge of starvation, while searching for her former clan. In this endeavor, she does not succeed... but by chance alone, she makes a greater discovery. Or rather, she is discovered. Explorers descend into the caves. They do not look like her. In fact, they do not look like each other. Some have pale pink skin, others dark ebony, others tinged with green. Some have round ears, other pointed and long. One looks like a large rodent, another is short with a beard long enough to reach his ankles. Despite being strangers, they manage to survive the caves. Despite being strangers, they find the stealthy Opal and manage to coax her out of hiding. Despite being strangers, more than one of them can speak her language, but only after making strange gestures with their hands. After many weeks, lots of food and water, and several nights of sleep, Opal finally learns to trust the strangers. She tells them what she can about the caves, and they answer all the questions she has for them... although they cannot always give answers she understands. The strangers are explorers - called Voidfarers - from another world, sailing through different realms on a Planar Vessel. In this case, something had gone wrong. Normally, a body of water, open to the stars is necessary for the ship to sail in once it has hopped from one dimension to the next, but the innate magic in this realm had interfered with interplanar travel, and the ship became logged in ice, underground upon entry to this world. Oh, it could see the stars above... but through a sheet of crystal-clear ice almost a quarter-mile thick and only when the storms lightened. For the time being, they were stranded, but they had provisions to last for months and impeccable survival skills and arcane knowledge. It was only a matter of time before they could find a way to return to their world. In the meantime, the captain allowed Opal to stay, and even offered to take her with him when the ship left, an offer which Opal was all too eager to accept. Some of the crew protested her presence, suggesting it was dangerous, but Asoza Camiña - the captain - had the final say. For the next several weeks, Opal was shown around the Planar Vessel, shown its operation, as well as taught survival skills, language, and - of course - given food and a place to sleep. In exchange, Opal guided the explorers through caverns, showed them how to determine dangerous water and crystal from safe ones, and led them to ancient ruins. The captain was the one who gave Opal her name, in honor of her eyes, and the two became close friends. It wasn't long until a solution was found, and the Planar Vessel could leave, with only a day or two of preparation needed to get underway. Opal was excited to leave, but it was not to be. Shortly before setting sail, a clan of Frost Fiends raided the camp, killing several crew including the captain. Other members of the crew who suspected Opal as a spy or a traitor for some time believed her to be involved in the attack, and in the commotion she was left behind as the Planar Vessel disappeared into the stars. Opal was forced to flee the other Fiends deeper into the caves, and back into solitude once more. It remained this way for years, although between her own skills and those taught to her by the explorers, Opal managed. She made we way deep into the caves, where other Fiends were afraid to go, and survived among the ruins. With the captain's notebook in her possession, she tried to continue his research... not that she knew what he was looking for or what to write down. It didn't matter... the act of taking notes was comforting, and helped her feel close to him. When the letter came, the Frost Fiend knew where it had come from. She didn't even bother reading the entire thing before drawing blood from her arm with her own claw and writing "yes." All that mattered was that more explorers would come... by some arcane method, they had sent the letter, and by a similar miracle, they would find her. They would take her away from this place... When the letter changes in accordance to her answer, Opal reads the addendum, and begins to panic. They would send a ship? Another? What if it became trapped? What if Opal's answer killed even more people?! Frantically, she digs her claws through the word "yes", scrawled in blood, then jabs herself again and writes down "no." ...nothing happens. Nothing to suggest that her new answer has been received. Thankfully, her worry is for nothing. Opal makes her way to the nearest underground lake that is both safe from curses and large enough for a Planar Vessel. It doesn't arrive, however... instead, a woman who later introduced herself as Mrs. K rowed a canoe from the dark, water tunnels and into the lake, offering Opal a ride. She was clearly an outsider like the others, but not quite friendly. An ally, yes, and she did indeed take Opal away from her terrible home... but not friendly. After a brief, surreal journey through passageways Opal did not know existed, and waterways surrounded by glittering stars, they two arrived in an ocean, where the planar vessel was waiting...

 

Zcerneboch A world of constant lightning storms and freezing temperatures, the surface of Zcerneboch is a barren wasteland. A crimson, poison-filled sky hurls electricity down on mountains of ice and crystal like an angry god, and tempestuous whirlwinds erode the surface. Anything of note - particularly life - lurks in the myriad of cave systems that snake below the frozen surface.         While the surface is inhospitable in every sense, the caves are only slightly safer. Poisonous air leaks into the shallowest caves, leaving invisible pockets of death that can instantly kill a creature without warning. Deeper in the caves are underground oceans of water. Some are filled with microbes that turn the water into caustic acid... others are charged by the lightning storms outside, and can intermittently electrocute those in contact with it. Some lakes form over underground vents, and are boiling hot. Other lakes are infused with magic that can curse a creature with malformities or insanity. The ice walls of the cave will melt from the storms outside and the vents below, resulting in avalanches and cave ins. Interspersed with the multicolored frost are crystals, almost indistinguishable at times, which can retain malignant magic that curses and kills, or retain electricity from the lightning storms... all of it can discharge at the slightest touch.

[Maghnuis]

Name: Bryan Lundgren

Race: Human
Age: 18
Initial Class: Expert
Trained Class: Paladin 2, Sorceror 0
Home: Minnesota, USA, Earth 1975


For his classmates.:

Bryan was some kind of smart military guy on his own world. Or was at least training as one. The details are kind of confusing.

At the Academy, he has been training hard as a Holy Warrior, a Paladin. For those who keep track of such things, he seems more focused on doing the good thing, than following the rules. Still he seems to follow them himself. Anyone who follows the rules in order to abuse another student will get his chops busted... at least verbally.

He is a good friend, but not someone you would want to piss off. Bryan is a hard ass core kind of guy. His wit can be sharp and his sarcasm thick. He seems to unleash these tools on only two types, 1. People who really deserve it, or 2. Friends that he thinks can take it, possibly even return his serve.

Most of his time has been in Martial training or in the Chapel, but recently he has recently taken up an interest in spellcasting, the spontaneous kind. He is not really there yet, but if that is added to his martially trained toughness, he could become even more formidable.

With his Naval background, the discovery of voidships began to turn his focus. Back home, flying jets iff the deck of big ship was one of his target goals. With his paladin training, he could defend a voidship, or when command one, but he was unlikely to actually fly one.
In the meantime, he is doubling down on his studies of engineering and magic in an attempt to form a fighter fighter group to escort and defend the voidships, no matter what sphere they operated in. There were rings rather could be done with magic, that Earth engineering could not accomplish. But... if you combine the two.

Skills test gone wrong. "Down!" said a booming voice, as the blue haired girl felt herself tackled and driven into the tall grass by a force from behind. Compared to that, the sound of the spring loaded tree branch with envenomed spikes was rather quiet. Bryan had been rather quiet himself till this point, but it was time to update these plebes. Dusting himself off then lending a hand to the student he had just tackled, he begins slowly. "Didn't any of your mothers teach you to look both ways before crossing the street?" All three of the others had their eyes firmly planted on the big blonde man at this point. "All the more reason I have to watch everything else around us." Bryan thinks to himself. "In addition to this stupid curse, wild animals and whatever opposition they have dropped us in to counter, the forest is out to kill you as well." "This is not a Bryan doubts that any of them have ever seen an arcade game.board game, where you can just sit out if you loose your turn, this is real."[/B] "Its like this; I have been trying to guard your backs and look out for what's ahead, but with your chatter and heavy feet, It is a miracle I wasn't too distracted myself to see that trap. From this point on, just talk when it is something we all need to know. Watch your feet, and keep your other eye open for whatever people, monsters or things are gunning for us. If you don't, the teachers are going to have to interfere and pick up your bodies." "What were these instructors thinking? Dropping a bunch of half grown up kids into a severe skills test, before even trained in any skills. There has got to be some kind of simulation they can run to wash out the week links without having to kill or maim them. Sure they probably have some healing magic or some such but still... // By the time the group of newbies were pulled out and the curse was lifted, two of the others had gotten pretty good at spotting things, and the big guy with the nubby little horns had recovered from having to be nearly carried around on Bryan's back. Why that beaver had tried to gnaw thru his leg, Bryan still doesn't understand. Some boy scout training, and a little bit of common sense, had meant no permanent casualties. OK, it helped that Bryan could shoot a bow, and that the blue haired girl was even better with one. The homemade spears and the standard issue short swords were definitely not up for the mission. Still all fought bravely and despite injuries, most made it out safely. But Kenna, injured and brave to the level of foolish, she probably saved the rest of our lives by delaying that cursed rodent when she was unable to retreat. We never found a body, neither living nor dead. The teachers could do no better. She is presumed dead, but she will remain Schrodinger's Kenna until that box is opened, "I'm going to try to be respectful, but whoever is running this "test" is going to get an ear full of ass chewing." "I might lose points in my diplomacy class, but they are going to get a report on their own idiocy. They better have some darn fine explanations, of they are going to be missing another "Hero in Training" or whatever they think we are." Even after all that, it is hard to say if any of the others liked Bryan. They did however respect him and learn a few things, all without finding their own death, so that has got to be the take away.

[CatCanCook]

Lorga Quoam Lorga Quoam Character Sheet   Lorga’s Background Lorga’s Background Lorga Quoam was born by gnawing his way out of his mother’s belly. This hideous secret was mercifully kept from him, until he discovered the truth much later in life when he had gained the strength to bear it. He is a qlippoth-spawn, the kind called “motherless”, a child formed by his mother’s exposure to the supernatural energies of some species of dreadful, anarchic and vile outsider. His mother, Thenia Quoam was an adventuring empyreal sorceress of modest fame who had explored and conquered many a dark and dreadful place. She was a true hero, and naturally so. Thenia had herself attended and graduated from the Academy of Heroes. The warm hearted and wise sorceress was well known in both the Arcanists Nest and Library. Lorga's father was a barbarian, ox strong and bull-headed; no Academy graduate, but just a seeker of thrills in battle. Their tryst was unwisely at a place of cursed supernatural energies – upon defeating some hideous monster, in an overflow of emotion they fell for each other. Unfortunately, his father was a wanderer who had no interest in raising a child, especially not one so inherently monstrous. Callously abandoned as an infant, Lorga was rescued by priests of Shelyn. He inherited his father’s brute bodily strength, and his mother’s spiritual perceptiveness and insight. As the Shelyn faith requires its adherents to find the hidden beauty in everyone, they raised the tainted little child, bringing out the very best in his nature. They taught him to use empathy and spiritual discipline to overcome the otherworldly savagery that flowed in his blood. They exemplified compassion to tame his villainous tiefling inclinations. He thrived, living contrary to most expectations one might have of his polluted blood. (Though frankly, he has never been able to quench his ravenous hunger, and the chaotic essence of abyssal yearnings never leaves him.) His mother’s estate left a generous bequest for the Academy, and enough funds for a message to be sent across dimensions. The Academy saw fit to admit him. Now Lorga is a young adult. Physically he is very strong; a big brute of a lad. His skin is green and striped two-tone, dark and light. Human-like in build, he deviates from the human form in having a flat, noseless face, and thick tentacles in place of hair. Ropey and sinuous, these tentacles express all the qlippoth yearnings that the lad has laboriously suppressed. It is fortunate that his hair tentacles are mouthless and almost completely powerless; they are an untamed chaotic evil. As a novice without any talents, his week in the woods exposed to the horror, power and sometimes beauty of animals struck him deeply, and served as the catalyst to unlock his ability to summon animals. His first summons were vile and horrific beasts, drawn from Outside by his qlippoth blood. He struggled to find mentors, but eventually he gained one in G'sakirak -- a wizard of considerable talent, but whose incredible laziness has been a challenge for Lorga. But under the mentorship of faculty, he is in the process of turning his focus toward summoning predominantly celestial animals: creatures of elegance, beauty and refinement. A faithful follower of Shelyn, he wields her favored weapon, the glaive. Following the goddess of beauty, he dresses as elegantly and fashionably as he can afford. As a devout inquisitor of Shelyn his call is to: Promote and defend art, beauty, love and music Honor artists, poets and lovers; promote and defend those who exemplify arts Be peaceful, lead by example, see beauty in all things. These mean showing care and concern where others may not, giving second chances, offering encouragement to the hopeless, finding the best in all kinds of situations).   G'Sakirak of Ul-Angorn For a mentor, I'll reuse https://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=90751 -- G'Sakirak of Ul-Angorn. He is a sin-wizard of Sloth; laziness is like a religion with him. He is a bit chubby, going prematurely bald, and from a northern barbarian tribe but elevated to culture ... which he now takes with quite high-minded seriousness. G'Sakirak aspires to be Puluran Stargazer: https://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/pre...s-z/stargazer/ . NOTE -- this is a preexisting attribute of this character from when he was in another game (which sadly did not last too long.) Appearance: G’sakirak, like his mountaineering and whaling kin, is hardy and robust, though short of stature. In his scholarly studies he has gained a bit of a paunch. Where his hair is not prematurely receding in the front, it falls around his shoulders black and lengthy. He also has a foul brand -- a symbol of an evil deity birth-marked into his hand: though sometimes it moves to other parts of his hands or arms as he sleeps. This drawback is a hated remnant of his trace supernatural heritage. He tries to conceal it as best he can but it creates a slightly off-putting air about him that others sometimes notice. He dresses upper-classed and for comfort when he can. Raised among tribals of the north, he includes fur trim on his garments, but now it is more for comfort and style than practicality. Personality: G’sakirak is curious and amiable, but his soft spoken voice does little to command or influence others. Others tend to first spot his lazy and self indulgent side, which mostly describes his physical preferences. However as a scholar he is intensely focused and motivated. He loves knowledge for knowledge's sake, both practical and esoteric. He is secretly ashamed of the hint of tiefling blood he possess. He has experienced occasional discrimination -- and so he conceals select elements about himself. He is earnest in his faith toward his patron -- and aspires to learn the ways of the Puluran Stargazers. He omitted gaining a familiar as an apprentice wizardd, but he can feel premonitions that one day his spirit guide will come. He foretells that a clever rat will become his guiding spirit once he achieves his next stage of initiation. The Stargazers are a mystery cult dedicated to combating and thwarting the demonic. He feels drawn toward that calling, in repudiation of his well-suppressed but still present darker impulses. Relationship with Lorga: G'sakirak is only a mediocre mentor, as he tends to exert the least effort necessary to discharge his duties. On the other hand, he has frequent requests for Lorga to aid and serve his conveniences. When he does teach, he is quite scholarly and knowledgeable. He tends to speak very slowly, and considerable length, sometimes pausing in his speech by hmm-ing or ahh-ing. He is curious, intellectual, acts elite despite his humble beginnings, and constantly asks rhetorical questions. Despite his quirks, G'sakirak is good intentioned, and sympathetic to Lorga's many trials and the boy's tiefling ancestry ... especially since he has a very minor dash of that himself. G'sakirak does not know what kind of tiefling Lorga is; he is one of the rarest sort and it just hasn't crossed G'sakirak's mind as relevant.   Lorga's Daily Life at the Academy Lorga's Daily Life at the Academy He lives in a humble spot in the Lightwell dorms. One of his favored places to study is a balcony toward the top of the Lightwell dorms, facing inwards. Being adjacent to a deep pit feels intuitively soothing to him (he does not realize this is an Abyssal affinity.) Lorga frequents the Arcanists Nest often. That and the Library was where his mother Thenia spent much of her time, and it is there where he has learned spellcraft, arcane knowledge, and practiced the use of Summons in combat. But the best reason to go is that is where Qixia lives; she is the young woman who loves with an ardent but necessarily platonic passion. (Frankly, as Lorga is a young romantic he might well work his way through many “true loves,” but Qixia is his focus for now.) Grandmaster Thumpkin’s lectures of often past him. He humbly admires Mistress Sequoia – who was very fond of his mother Thenia. Lorga has benefited greatly from her teaching and mentorship. He has a constant crush on Raisa Montashew – but is a lousy student at what she teaches, and daunted by her grows tongue-tied around her. His second most favorite place are the gardens of the Cathedral; he reverentially appreciates their beauty. As a polytheist and follower of Shelyn, he strives to see the beauty in all faiths – even those others find difficult to admire. Those that are both strict and harsh in self-interest or cruelty are farthest from his nature, but he is philosophically and morally obliged to seek beauty even there. He spends as little time in the Library as he can manage. He prefers to learn through intuition, conversation, and hands-on experience: he is indifferent at best at book-learning, and impatient to be up and at life’s challenges, not stuck in musty rooms of old tomes. He enjoys exercises at the Hex, being a fair combatant himself. He also enjoys it as a place to socialize, mingle and people-watch. He wishes he had the gift to sculpt the handsome and beautiful athletes … but he can patronize and help sell the work of artists who do. The commercial practice of being an art deal is a form of Shelyn-worship after all. As for the The Stonetree Building – well his skills and aptitudes have little in common with what is taught there; but the craftwork and artistry he much admires – and so some of his free time goes toward the commercial work of buying and reselling what objects of art and beauty may be crafted within. And he acts, often enough, as an errand boy fetching materials for, or body-guarding, those who make art. It pays to win friends and serve Beauty in even simple and humble ways. He has often volunteered his service to Kilthanneth Usali, and those who study under Mr. Usali. Forward looking: someday-- in gaps of time between hero-ing -- Lorga will be capable of making a modestly good professional living as a patron of the arts; supporting artists by promoting and reselling their work throughout the academy and surrounding community.   Sketch of the Trimester from Hell and a Philosophy of Heroism Sketch of the Trimester from Hell and a Philosophy of Heroism Did it go poorly? Did it go well? Overall, how do you imagine this experience to have gone for Lorga? Pre-level 1, with low charisma and lacking the Conversion inquisitor ability -- his start at school was hellish. It was hard to form friends, he was constantly the outsider and social reject. But under wise faith mentorship, he achieved a break-through in dealing with people (hitting level 1). The lessons of his past training with the Shelyn clergy settled in and began to transform his personal relationships. But his race and magic was still a problem ... his flawed summons have triggered both prejudice against him, and self doubt. With a goddess of beauty his inspiration, that he produces ugliness is heartbreaking. He's done well enough with the physical trials where he can rely on strength, sight, hearing, etc., but even if he succeeds at magic it feels like a failure. In taught by Rowan Elidyr's philosophy of heroism -- "Heroism starts in the heart. The decision to love finds beauty in the Other, and creates beauty in the Self." This phrase roughly captures the major lessons learned going from level 0->1, and 1->2. To overcome is social ineptitude and replace it with burgeoning skill, he has to genuinely appreciate, empathize with and discern others. To overcome the darkness inside himself and start summoning Celestial instead of Fiendish he needs to discover his inner beauty -- which is his ability to love others: the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it The Trials Outline: - Lorga was sent out with a group of 3 others. - Being intuitive and perceptive, he is one of the first to notice that the compass has two distinct functions. - But Lorga turns out to be so unpopular and ostracized that he was kicked out of his group - and ended up tagging along behind the group that had booted him out. - In his terrified blunderings through the woods, he developed an obsession with the strength, wonder and fearfulness of beasts. This was the gateway-emotion that would lead him to become a summoner. - He switches groups by coming to the rescue of another group when they are attack by animals. Not a trainer fighter, his brute strength wins him some respect and a place. - The more harmonious relationships between the people of this second group inspires him with hope.   The future date when Lorga will meet Qixia and Learn His Mother’s Fate The future date when Lorga will meet Qixia and Learn His Mother’s Fate Qixia was an elven blooded arcanist graduate-student. She was pale of skin, slender, delicate of frame and constitution. Qixia was youthful despite being several decades older than Lorga. She had a manner of both mystery and allure; she dressed in all manner of tassels and beads, and she entertained herself and others by casting Tarot readings. Lorga found her first in the Library, in the Planar studies division, in one of the Lower Planes aisles. The students there were a mix: paladin-to-be sorts who tended to glare and him suspiciously, and a motley variety of students of the more dubious sorts. Qixia stood out as a lotus might growing in a muddy field; and he bowed to her. His voice had changed of late to a low rumble. "Respectfully, Miss Qixia, Mistress Sequoia sent me and suggested I ask you for help –" "Wait, wait … don’t tell me, "she commanded, imperiously. She bounced toward him, the tassels of her garb fluttering around her, offering glimpses and then concealing. Immediately his hair-tendrils responded, beginning to elongate, twist and reach. He brushed back his thick, ropey mass, embarrassed, but she did not notice. "I’m working on my divination with master Faeshu Filander, and I must have new subjects. I’ll cast a Tarot reading of you. Sit, sit!" She commanded. She sat crosslegged in the aisle, and so he did too, and rather more clumsily. He was not built for small spaces or agile movements. He watched admiring and fascinated at her delicate hands the fey lady delt out cards in rows and arcs. Swords, and landscapes, and robed figures, and monsters. Jars and cups and stars. Cards upside down and sideways, and such a beautiful eagle drawn in exquisitic artistry, what did it mean? "You are on a quest of self-discovery, seeking your unique path to greatness…" she began with a tone of portentous declaration. Involuntarily he rolled his eyes and sighed in disappointment. "But that’s true of all the students here." Qixia reached out and slapped his hand, "Be silent! Don't be impertinent!" Immediately he wished she would touch him again, and longer. She blinked as his hair tentacles stirred, seeming to notice them for the first time, and how he loomed over her, even sitting, massing perhaps four times as much as she did. "Hmm..?" She returned to her reading. "The darkness of these lower planes echoes within you, and you steadfastly resist its call." "True enough," he admitted. He had only to close his eyes, and could see an endless falling, spinning, churning darkness. It was always in his dreams, every night: that and endless rage and hunger. He reopened his eyes, replacing the abyssal vision with the solid reality of books, orderly rows, matter that stayed in one place and didn’t seethe. She had cute, pointy ears. The goddess Shelyn must have hand-crafted such beauty. ‘ "But though you came to the academy seeking self-discovery, you are actually here to learn about your mother." He grunted, as if gut-punched. That was unexpected. He knew only a little about his mother Thenia Quoam; she had left him an orphan; she was a true hero, with great deeds to her name. She had left him a small inheritance. But he never knew her, and the Priesthood said so little about her. He’d grown up with an empty feeling, that the faithful in their kindness could only half-fill. "No," he protested. "Mistress Sequoia wanted me to look up the word ‘Qlippoth’ and write a 500-word essay." He hated composing, it was no strength of his. The last was with a slight whine, which he immediately regretted. He did not want to appear in any way weak before Qixia. He tried so hard to be a good student, but frankly so many at the Academy outshined him in book-learning. She sighed, sadly, resuming studying the cards. "No, let me finish the tarot reading. What does this say here. Eww. Your place is to serve, and not be master. Is that, is that – alright with you?" She sounded offended on his behalf. Qixia was no servant, she was proud and plainly without a master. He thought of Shelyn – goddess of beauty and love in all its subliminity. The teachings of self-sacrificial love were plain. "A servant is exalted by the greatness of what is served." He declared with tranquility; his hair folded back flat. He steepled his hands in a posture of meditation and smiled with warmth; an expression some people found shocking on a monstrous noseless face, but all his friends knew the smile had found a home there. "For example, I could serve you in some kindly way, and be well pleased with that," he offered warmly. She laughed. "Oh, that sounds so sweet. But, as an organizing life-principle, that does not sound right to me, but what else do the cards say? A man of peace, will be plagued with violence. To seek a thing, he shall face its opposite. Though he may fall, and sacrifice without end, he may yet rise again as a true hero." He remembered a fancy word he had just learned in composition class. He tried it out. "Again, you speak in … tropes," he murmured, discontentedly. "It sounds like every other story." "Always a critic, are you!?" She leaped up and glared, at full height she was now a head taller than him sitting. "Look, the sword goes across at a forty-five degree angle, against the eagle. Nothing could be plainer. That is unambiguous!" He found the beauty of the carefully drawn tarot card showing the eagle immediately enchanting, and picked it up to stare at it. "I can summon eagles. Always my favorite. Celestial, and anarchic," he mentioned. She laughed delighted at the change of subject. "Oh, I too am a conjurer: eagles are de rigueur as the base of the pyramid of summoned carnage, swift, easy to augment, and readily placed to flank or frenzy. But I can do better, I command the second degree of summons as well. Anarchic, Celestial, and well, you know, the other sort." His emotions churned: she was more advanced at magic than he, she did not shy away from the darker fiendish sort either. How should he feel about that? They fell into a conversation of the minutiae of summoning, and he could readily see that she was a master of the arcane lore about it. His admiration for her grew. He was delighted when she agreed to meet him again at the Hex: they could send summoned creature against summoned creature in practice battles. It was a date, his first since the spring of last year, his second, well, ever. (His hair swirled about.) "Well, the reading is done," she declared. But a greater sadness had come over her. She pulled several tome off their shelves, dust sifting to the floor. "I can answer your questions about Qlippoth by referring you to this book, and this, and … uh here’s a ratty old one you may need a translator." The books were heavy in her arms but near weightless in his massively muscled ones. "You’ve not heard of Qlippoth? At all?" Held tilted up, she met his eyes soberly. "By all misers across a thousand dimensions, who neglected your education, that I should teach you this?" Suddenly, the books felt heavier. His heart sunk as she spoke. "The Qlippoth inhabited the Abyss before demons. They are a deadly, devouring sentient hunger, an enemy to all, even to their own kind, a plague even to demons, and to all living things. They exist to devour. I think you know that." "From time to time, their essence … infests mortals. If the essence of a Qlippoth grows inside someone, she will give birth to a kind of tiefling. They are among the rarest of tieflings, so very few ever even hear of them. The Qlippoth spawn are known as ‘The Motherless’ because they act like certain insect larvae do when implanted like a parasite. They chew, and tunnel and burrow. They invariably devour their way out of their host, slaying their mother." She met his eyes, anger, pity, sadness - a variety of emotions warred in her eyes. "I knew Thenia Quoam … I knew your mother. We studied together, but she .. she outshown us all. She was the best of us. She graduated, went immediately off on countless adventures, while I just stayed on here as a student, then graduate student, then post-doc. She lived at the quick bright pace of humans, while I lingered, the slow elven way. She wrote back, from time to time – to me and the faculty and her friends. Maybe, maybe sometime I’ll show you her letters. So, I heard you were coming. I … asked Mistress Sequoia – and she gave me an earful of lectures before agreeing to send you to meet me." Tears ran down her face, and shining anger in her luminous eyes. He stood aghast. He had absorbed her words, but could not get in his imagination past the imagery of that horrible, terrible birth. Qixia studying his face, softened in her expression. "I can see you, now". She ran to him, and hugged him. "It's not your fault," she breathed into his ear. He closed his eyes. As always, with his eyes closed he saw the swirling bottomless void – the ever present reality within him. Black horror filled his heart, at the thought of his mother’s death. He was stunned with confusion. He was young, and dreadful of appearance, he’d never actually been with a woman. And this one who he had frankly been lusting for, well, she was as old as his mother? The mother he killed? As she embraced him, the delicate little arcanist nestled in his arms, seeking to comfort him: well, his hair tentacles reached out to embrace her. Few people imagined what that meant: people knew his tentacle-hair rose with his emotions, but he had never explained to anyone what the tentacles felt. They were hungry, greedily yearning. If they had claws, they would rend, if they had mouths, they would bite. If they had any strength at all, they would constrict and kill. But … thankfully … they were completely powerless. Lorga's Qlippoth nature wanted to literally devour her body and spirt. That she was a feeling, soulful being made him … them … only hunger for her that much more. And so the clinging, stretching, soft hair tendrils could be misinterpreted, as Qixia now did. "That tickles," she said, as abruptly light and inconsequential as moments before she was serious. "Affectionate, aren’t they?" She pulled away. She was back in her prior mood. Compassion toward others, a seriousness of affect: they were moods just as alien to her as they had been imprinted by endless repetition by priests of Shelyn into him. A proud, flirtatious, fey spirit was her resting mood, the innate balance to which she always returned: with a pang of disappointment, he could read that. A lifetime of teachings from the Temple of Shelyn were coming into focus. Hadn’t he been raised on tales of platonic love, of those who, though truly, madly, deeply in love, withheld from all physical expression of it? Hundreds of stories told to him in his youth suddenly crystallized within him into an iron-clad determination. All his life, his whole life, they had prepared him. He would love but only from afar. The evil seed of the Qlippoth, he would take to his grave, and it would bear no fruit. Not once, not ever. No woman would ever suffer needlessly as his mother had. By force of will he smiled slowly, gallantly, stepping back. Two hour ago he did not know a life of chastity lay before his feet, but now that path … what did she say about the sword crossing the eagle … "Unambiguous," he murmured aloud. He had possessed vague imaginings that someday he might, not anytime soon but eventually, have a family of his own -- and by resolute commitment do one better than his parents, and undo the hollow emptiness of his own life. But any such aspirate had in the crucible of realization of the truth, burned away into cold ash. "Dear lady, thank you for the books. I thank you for the burden of knowing the truth, and that you chose to meet me. Can we still meet at the Hex, to practice summoning arts?" The tarot-student finished regathering her deck. She laughed, "That we can! If I lost against the mother, I can defeat the son." Class: https://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/bas...tor-archetype/ Traits: Unnatural Presence - Your Intimidate skill works on animals and vermin. Extremely Fashionable - Whenever you are wearing clothing and/or jewelry worth at least 150 gp (and you're clean), you gain a +1 bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Intimidate Alignment: Chaotic Neutral -- but converting to Chaotic Good as he learns to swap Fiendish summoning for Celestial, and as he fully internalizes the teachings he has been receiving. Patron: Shelyn [NG goddess of love and beauty] For Inquisitor domain, the Conversion Inquisition, which is Wis => Cha for Diplomacy, Bluff, Intimidate. So his social skills are very solid. Despite being an unnatural monster that terrifies animals by his mere presence.

Lorga Quoam   Lorga Quoam Stat Block Character Sheet. Monster Tactician. Qlippoth-spawn tiefling. Inquisitor of Shelyn. Conversion inquisition. Str 18 (+4) Dex 12 (+1) Con 14 (+2) Int 10 (+0) Wis 18 (+4) Cha 7 (-2) HP 27/27. AC 11 (ff 10, tc 11). Fort +5 Ref +1 Will +7. CMB +4. CMD 15. cold, electricity, fire resistance 5 Bluff +6, Diplo +10, Intim +12, Perc +8, Sense Mtv +9. Summon Monster I - 7/7. Init +5. Darkvision 60'. Detect alignment. Unnatural Presence. Extremely Fashionable. Prehensile tail.

[Exhibit A]

Name: Rhys Wildeye
Race: Ifrit (Solar)
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Former Occupation: Monastery Initiate
NPC Class: Expert
PC Class: Paladin (Chosen One archetype)

My concept for Rhys is basically a guy who has found himself in a totally new situation and is doing his best to adapt. He was raised with the belief that violence, for any purpose, damages the soul. They serve a deity, the specifics of which I have not worked out just yet, that represents peace, community, and all that. Probably a sun god of some kind for a flavorful link with his race. Anyway, he never fully saw eye to eye with the older monks about the philosophy of nonviolence. While their god did favor peaceful coexistence, it never seemed to Rhys that things like self defense, or more importantly, defense of others, was forbidden. He felt that any philosophy that valued community and compassion, yet lacked the will to protect the community from threats, was lacking. In particular, he grew frustrated with watching bandits and the like prey on the innocent who couldn't defend themselves while the monks did nothing beyond providing shelter and healing for the victims. They were, as he saw it, treating a symptom but ignoring the disease. So he gets the letter from the Academy, and at first didn't know what to make of it. The idea of a 'hero' was so far removed from his upbringing and philosophy; the idea of a person being lauded for violence was strange, even to his (comparatively) radical ideals. As he thought more about it, though, and considered the pain brought into the world by evil men, he determined to accept the invitation. Not for the honor and prestige that comes with being a hero, but to do what he had been raised to do: serve, even at a great cost to himself.

From a standpoint of the discussed party needs, Rhys is definitely fits the "socially-competent front-liner" type. As far as his personality, he's about as socially awkward as a guy with good Cha and ranks in Diplomacy can be. He's basically the type that knows how to talk to people, but doesn't have a ton of experience dealing with people beyond the monks and other novices and initiates. In particular, as I mentioned earlier, the monastery is all male, so he had pretty much never had a real conversation with a girl before coming to the school. For a seventeen year old kid, that's obviously going to lead to some amusing complications when dealing with his fellow students. His big arc, as I see it now, is going to be about finding the line. He's accepted that violence is sometime necessary, but he needs to learn how and when to use it. As someone who was raised with a hard-line zero violence philosophy, he doesn't have much of a basis to figure out how much is enough. As things develop, he runs the risk of shrinking back from using the force that is needed to stop a tragedy, but at the same time, there is every chance he will take that one too far; giving in to anger and doing something he may regret.

For his class, I settled on the Chosen One archetype because I like the idea of his having a companion sent by his deity to guide him on the path he has chosen (also I honestly just like the archetype). Having a semi-direct link to his god telling him that what he's made the right decision spares him constant questioning. Rather than wondering if he's already gone completely off the rails, he has a certain level of assurance and can focus on finding that "line", and discovering his particular role as a hero. Obviously I don't want to overplay this, having a direct line to the divine constantly telling him what the right choice is would devalue his own agency. I see the familiar as more of a guide or mentor, deliberately not giving his all the answers, because it's more important that he develop the ability to make those determinations himself, even if it means making a few mistakes.

Anyway, that's the basic idea, hope it wasn't too rambly. I will have a writing sample soonish, probably a scene with Rhys, something from his first few days at the Academy, since we're jumping in later.

Roleplay Sample "I should have done something." The thought had been swimming in Rhys’s mind since it happened, although this was the first time he spoke it aloud. He should have done something, anything, instead of standing there uselessly. If he had, Father Toran might still be alive. "There was nothing you could have done, child," one of the monks said. Brother Gareth, he thought, although he didn’t raise his head to look. "The man was beyond reason." "I wasn’t thinking of using reason," he replied, knowing the others would understand his meaning. It was a shocking statement to the pacifist monks, and there was a moment of stunned silence. Even with the best of them lying murdered in the next room, they flinched at the mere thought of one of their own committing an act of violence. "Do you understand what you are saying, Novice Rhys?" the monk asked, "That man possesses a spirit, one no less valuable than that of yourself, or Father Toran. In harming him, you would damage your own soul. Is that what you wish?" This time Rhys did look up, staring Brother Gareth in the eyes. "Yes," he said softly, "That is what I wish. I would rather I had lost myself if it meant keeping the Father." It wasn’t the first time he had had such thoughts. Many times, when the monastery had taken in men and women injured in bandit raids, he wondered. When evil came to their doors, these people fought to protect their loved ones. Could they really call such actions wrong? Would the goddess Olwynnë truly disapprove of people protecting their community? He had spoken to one of them once; one of the men who had been wounded fighting for his home. He wasn’t supposed to. Novices of his rank weren’t allowed to speak to outsiders unsupervised. But he had to understand, had to know how good honest folk could bring themselves to take a weapon and strike and even kill. The man, grievously injured, had a simple answer, one that stayed with Rhys from that moment on: "When good men do nothing, evil prevails." And now, years later, he saw the full truth of it. He had done nothing, and evil had prevailed. The monks had done everything right. They found a man hungry and cold in a mountain pass, so they took him in, gave him food and shelter. They knew from his weapons he was likely a bandit, but it didn’t matter. The monks’ gifts were, as always, given to any who had need. Their generosity, however, was not enough for the brigand; as soon as he was healthy enough to walk, he decided to help himself to the monastery’s holy relics and icons. Rhys and Father Toran happened to be walking into the sanctuary at that moment and caught him in the act. Toran never raised a hand, or even his voice, he merely asked the man calmly to return the stolen items. The bandit, however, knew only violence. He did not understand that the monks would have allowed him to leave with whatever he wished before even thinking of harming him. He launched himself at Toran and buried a dagger in the Father’s chest. Blood soaking his hands and the stolen relics, he ran outside and fled the monastery. And though it all, Rhys… did nothing. ---------------------------------------------------- Rhys took a deep breath, clearing the memories from his mind. The letter had come not long after that incident, promising him the very thing he had wished for: the ability to protect. Everything had happened in a blur after that, and now here he was, at the Academy, ready to begin his training. He looked down and once again beheld the sword laying before him. Determined as he had felt when leaving the monastery, this was still difficult. The sword represented everything he had been raised to reject. As he reached out to grasp the hilt, his hand shook. Apparently his discomfort was obvious, because before he could take the sword, one of the instructors approached him. "Are you going to be able to handle this, Rhys?" the scarred dwarf asked, "We understand your backgrounds and beliefs. You know there are other paths at this school; classes in diplomacy, healing, and the arts. You do not have to train as a warrior." "With respect, sir, you are wrong," Rhys replied. He raised his face to the sky, feeling the warmth of Olwynnë on his face. A thrush flew overhead; was that the same one he had seen by his window that morning? Taking another deep breath, he closed his fingers around the sword hilt and raised the weapon. The polished steel reflected the sun's rays, turning the blade into a shining beacon of light. "The school may not require it of me, but this is what I have to do. Does that make sense?" A smile crossed the instructor’s face. "Aye, lad. That it does."

If it wasn't clear, that thrush is (or rather will be) his familiar, scoping Rhys out before formally bonding him.

I also did a quick writeup of his deity, Olwynnë, mostly for my own reference:

 

Olwynnë, The Shining Mother

Alignment: Neutral Good

Areas of Concern: The sun, peace, charity, healing

Domains: Sun, Community, Good, Healing, Protection

Subdomains: Home, Cooperation, Redemption, Restoration, Revelation, Day, Purity

Favored Weapon: Morningstar

Symbol: Gold sun on a red disk

Sacred Animal: Golden Eagle

[Squeak]

Sizwe Sizwe of the Longazi Name: Sizwe of the The Longazi is his tribe, but there are many tribes of The Folk in his regionLongazi Char Sheet Race: “The Folk”, half elf, half halfling (elfling?). Stats as Half Elf Class: Oracle of Lore (medicine man) Oracle Curse: Haunted (some spirits are mischievous and even evil) Concept: Shaman/Oracle with a native american inspired persona. He comes off as wisened beyond his years, but he feels he is doing little more than quoting the wisdom of his forefathers. He is looking for wisdom and using the spirits as a guide. He has joined the Academy of Heroes as part of his vision quest. Description: The heavily tattooed face, pointed ears and bulging muscles of this strange man make it obvious that this is no shire halfling. If his massive longspear convinced you this man was a warrior, his eyes certainly did.. His eyes seem to be in a perpetual state of readiness, absorbing all of his surroundings as he watched with an almost constant sense of anticipation. The movements of this strange mix of halfling and elf seem awkward, but at the same time, each movement he makes appears to have a purpose. His discomfit and obvious disdain for the trappings of civilization were evident in his demeanor, leaving you to question why he had come here, obviously far away from his home. Sizwe of the Longazi "It is time." the chief says with a nod towards his son, struggling to hold back his concern over his son. "I am ready to listen to the wisdom of the spirits. I will find my own place among The Folk father. I will make you proud." the youngster replies as a shiver of spear runs down his spine. The young brave moved awkwardly in his ceremonial garb, the heavy bone plates of his armor bouncing against his thighs. He walked with purpose, using his long spear as a walking stick as he makes his way towards the ceremonial tepee. He bows as he steps into the smoke-filled tepee, his eyes barely able to make out the chanting form of the ancient medicine man. Sitting down heavily, he crosses his legs and stares into the smoke as he patiently waits. The droning chants of the wizened man and the herbs used in the smoke cause the eyelids of the youngster to droop and relax, until he is shocked out of his reverie by the wizened man's words. "I introduce Sizwe, child of the Longazi. He is first among the folk, son of the cheiftain. We have come to you, noble spirits." the medicine man says aloud, introducing him to an empty room. But it isn't empty! Sizwe realizes, noticing for the first time that the tent was now filled with the smoky forms of animal spirits. These are the spirits that will show me my true purpose!!! he realizes as he studies them in order. "He is clumsy, he does not have the grace necessary to become a hunter." the spirit of the wolf barks, the painful words like a lance through the young man's heart. "He has some strength, but does not possess the skill needed to be a warrior." the spirit of the bull grunts, sending another lance of pain into Sizwe's soul. "He does not have the patience to become a trapper or gatherer." the spirit of the raven caws. "He has neither the speed nor the fortitude to become a messenger." the spirit of the horse neighs. The tepee becomes quiet as the remaining spirits study the youngster, studying and critiquing him as if he was a piece of meat. Sizwe felt their gaze pierce into his soul, judging him. They do not know where to put me!!! I'm not good enough for them! There is no place for me among the folk, I have no future! He knew he was supposed to remain silent as the spirits continues their discussion, but the youngster simply could not contain himself. "There are none who care more deeply about helping The Folk more than I do!!! I have seen how the others have used their abilities to help our tribe grow and thrive and am willing to do whatever it takes to do my part or more. You may be right that I do not possess the grace, speed or talent of my brothers. But where I lack in ability, I will make up for in passion. What I my birthright has denied me, I will make up for with effort. Please, please, spirits, do not reject me. I could not live with myself knowing my destiny is to be a burden to our people. Anything but that." he wails as he clenches and unclenches his fists nervously. The medicine man's eyes open wide as the younger speaks out of place, fear filling his eyes. It was not the way for a younger to tell the spirits what to do, they were supposed to remain silent. Fear for the youngster fills his mind as the mist filled room remains quiet for what seemed like an eternity. "Oh, I like this one. He can see when it is the proper time to speak and also when to remain silent" the spirit of the eagle finally screeches. "And his tongue is as smooth as a rolling stream." the spirit of the serpent hisses, his head weaving in agreement. "Then his place among The Folk is clear. He has passion, but has yet to learn the wisdom or the knowledge that is required. If he is to become a medicine man, he must need to learn new magics, he must learn new stories and grow in wisdom. He must learn when to acquiesce, when to argue and when to fight. It will be his task to take care and guide The Folk, to show them the best path forward, while never letting them forgetting the ways of the past. If we agree on this, then there is much he would need to learn before he is ready. It is not something he can do on his own." the spirit of the owl warns. "WE WILL TEACH HIM." the spirits all reply in unison. "There is much that he will need to learn that he cannot do here. He must leave the people to find the enlightenment." the owl hoots. "WE WILL GO WITH HIM." the spirits once again respond in unison. "Then we will send him into the great beyond. There he will learn the ways and skills of people from other lands. He will bring to us stories of distant lands, new magics and skills." the owl adds. "BUT WE WILL NEVER LET HIM FORGET WHERE HE CAME FROM" the spirits reply. Confusion fills the Sizwe's face as the smoke begins to clear and the herb-induced trance fades, returning his facilities to him once again. It was then the young warrior realized he was no longer in the tepee. He was no longer in his lands, but in a strange grove. He was... somewhere else. He glances down and notices for the first time that he was clutching a letter in his left hand. He knew even before opening it that it would contain instructions from the spirits on what he should do next. "I will not fail. I will do what it is you ask of me and then return to our people with all that I have learned. I will not let you down." the young warrior vows, unsure of whether or not his promise would be heard. AND WE WILL BE WITH YOU. the spirits reply in his mind.