[Characters] The Cursed Spawn of Huspantas

[Pendragon]

Please copy and paste your complete character write ups. Also keep notes on events if you like, but only post once, edit your posts to include more information.

Character Histories are not set in stone, if you want to work in other accepted players into your background feel free to reach out to them in the OOC.

Please follow the rules laid out in the advertisement for your character sheets. If you have any questions post in the OOC, that way we are all on the same page.

[Khalil]

Ulciscor Character Name: Ulciscor Race: Half-Orc Class: Rogue (Skulking Slayer) Alignment: Neutral Evil. The kind that does as he pleases when he pleases. Mostly he does what is most beneficial to himself. Appearance: Ulciscor is freakishly tall as he is wide. His black hair is unkempt and matted into dreadlocks that smell of rot and decay. His ugly face is only made bearable by the human traits his mother had spawned into him. His skin a dark brown green akin enough to pass as a human of those with dark skin. Character History: Ulciscor was brought into the world as a result of the unwelcomed union between an orc raider and his human mother. A common enough story, except instead of accepting him as her son she rejected him despite her beliefs. Those fickle morals and ethics held on long enough to give Ulciscor enough of a fighting chance in the world, but as he grew older his orcan lineage became more prominent. No longer standing the sight of him, and him no longer standing the verbal abuse, he was set out on the streets on his own. As a runt alone in the streets he was picked on, harassed, and humiliated enough that he soon learned that this world was rough. It was even rougher for those that didn't belong, being a half-orc he knew he belonged neither in the human world nor the orcs. But as the law of nature goes, only the strong survive, and so it was with Ulciscor. Everyday of life became a testament of his resilience, and everyday he took a breath was another day his heart became polluted with hate. He hated humans; their arrogant selves could not show respite or pity towards one as misfortunate as himself. But most of all he hated orcs. Those savages had no mind or manners that beast, pig, rat, or roach, could not best. If Ulciscor had a heart he followed it to his own delight. Despite his looks or reputation even the finest damsel in the world would fawn at the power and respect the riches brought. So he burglarred, robbed, and mugged anyone and anything that could hold any value to him. By the age of a teenager Ulciscor had become renowned and infamous in the streets he grew up in. Heartless and calculating, a menace not even underground kingpins would take him under their wing. Soon enough he became such a menace that the lawmen and criminals banded together to get rid of him. All to no avail. He escaped them sometimes barely, and with every day and breath he hated them more for it. Soon Ulciscor understood if he were to survive he would have to strike out into a different city. In his travels he found the wilderness relaxing and somewhat comforting. It even brought greater riches and success as traveling merchants and unsuspecting travelers soon fell victim to his ambushes. After a while Ulciscor started to see a trend. Some of the merchants of adventurers were loaded, and when questioned they would report of their exploits in hidden dungeons and old ruins. So he too decided to take this up, as more riches meant more power and fame. Some of these capers were successful, some were dead end. But in his last one, a freak accident of a collapsed floor had him wrapped up in darkness staring at a wall filled with skulls... Character Writing Sample:   It was as easy as the cliché saying; "Like stealing candy from a baby." In the shadows Ulciscor grinned. He had been sitting still for three hours now. The clearing by the river was an easy ambush spot. The waterway provided easy access to drinkable water, and traces of previous campers made it a welcoming spot. It was a good thing Ulciscor set them there. This was the third time pulling off the heist. It required patience and mettle. Unlike the previous two not all that passed by were just simple merchants or immigrants. Some, like this one carried the weapons and armor that marked them as adventurers. Dungeon delvers, bounty questers, or treasure hunters, it didn't matter to the half-orc that now spied on them from the reeds. Though he would hope it was the latter returning from success. Any noise his massive frame might have made was covered by the gurgling stream. Finally hey had settled in for the night. He nodded somewhat approvingly at the setting of a nigh watch. The other two hadn't been so smart. Lucky for them they barely had the time to register the falchion severing most of there heads. The one that woke up at the sound only had enough time for piercing scream before his weapon had lopped her head off as well. On this one though it wouldn' be as simple. Everything had to be calculated. The watch stood by the campfire their eyes scanning away from the river bed. Not too many are cautious about the beasts that dwell within it. Fools. Ulciscor knew that there more things deadlier than him in the river. But tonight... it was just him. The other two had gotten into their bed rolls, setting their armors caringly nearby. The fourth was off to the side just within the campfire. Thirty more moments. The half-orc told himself. Letting his patience take off. When the time was up the three in the bedrolls were asleep, and the watch was almost there. Must have been a long day... His tusked face grinned again. Quickly he dashed out of the reeds drawing his weapon. The watch had gotten off a Huh! and half turned by the time Ulciscor had impaled him. His slid off his blade with a loud thump and gasping for breath. The ones in the bed roll had awaked and stared wide eyed at Ulciscor. They reach for their blades as he charged. He cleaved into one's arm and sailed through and into the other's gut. The armless man let out a scream. Trenko pulled his blade from the gut of the other and sliced the man's chest to finish him off. As the strike flew the blade kept sliding in one swift motion and finding the other's neckline. With a "shlink" and a "plop" his head rolled. Ulciscor did not have time to relish the precision as he felt pain in his back. Heat licked and instinctively he rolled forward with it, hoping to dull the pain of the flames. On his feet he looked for the fourth and final. There! He said to himself. The man whom had thrown the flaming concoction was readying himself for another volley. Ulciscor charged him, his feet digging hard into the ground. The man gurgled gods knew what just as the half-orc reached him. Instead of letting his falchion do the work, Ulciscor brought hit leg up hard and fast into the man's groin. The man lifted about five inches from the air! Immediately whatever he had drunk, came back out catching Ulciscor in the face. Ulciscor growled at the man went at him with a fake blow. The man flinched and jumped back the other way right as Ulciscor had expected. He overhand chopped his falchion into the off balanced man, and sliced his front open. His entrails spilling onto the ground. Ulciscor was no fool though, thought the battle was finished, he gave another scan to ensure he missed none. Quickly he searched the bodies and the horses. There on the saddlebags he grinned as the moonlight reflected a hefty treasure.   Ulciscor smiled as he found it and looked down upon the parchment once more. The river...the hill... and the cave. He lifted his head once more as he saw the maw of the cavern. If the horses of his last victims were any indicators, this place was loaded. The journal of one of them even confirmed it. They had planned on coming back for more. He drew his falchion as a cautionary measure and carelessly stuck the map into his breeches, wrinkling it in the process. Ulciscor leaned his head forward and started stepping towards the entrance. Inside his eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness. He was already used to stalking in the moonless nights, and the lightless cave was hardly any different. He made his way inside, the walls getting narrower and the ceiling getting lower. Bah! They've taken me for a fool! He thought to himself. Despite the fact that the previous owners of the parchment had not known they would meet him. Or be dead for that matter. Ulciscor pushed onward though, always the hopeful one he was. Soon he found himself trying to squeeze through but finally couldn't due to the low ceiling and his large board chest. He shook his head in frustration and if someone were to light a torch nearby they would have seen the half-orc with his teeth bared in anger. I'll feed their bodies to the crocs! He shouted in frustration. The loud echo reminding him that fools often died, and loud fools more often so. He ducked his head though he could no move. His cheeks leaned on the wall of the cavern as he breathed, his eyes stared deeper, and his ears perked up. Ulciscor was trying to pickup on the tell tale signs that somebody might have heard there. Shite! He gripped his falchion harder. Sweat beginning to loosen it's grip. A glitter in the light had startled the brute, but it was there and then it was gone. Ulciscor stayed silent and unmoving for a moment longer. There! His mind screamed. His brow raised as if too allow any and all light to be sucked into his vision. Again he stayed unmoving, and barely breathing. He willed his heart to slow. Soon he heard it. Distant and whispering, like a breezy wind blowing on the leaves of trees. Water... a river! He deduced and grinned. So it does open up more. Ulciscor moved back until he was no longer squeezed. Then he sheathed his weapon and laid down on the floor. Slowly he crawled his way forward. Clawing his hands grabbed rock and pulled, helping him slide his. Way. So close the walls were now that he could smell them. Yes! YES!! It was as invigorating as it was intoxicating. The smell of his previous victims was matted all over these walls. They had gone through the same humiliating process. But in the end... in the end they had been successful. Triumphant in their find! He could hear it now, louder, even without him having to concentrate. It was near, and the closer he got the more glints he saw. The water reflecting in the darkness of the cave. The dancing lights were barely visible, but to someone of his heritage, they were undeniable. Soon he was out from the pressing walls and he managed to stand. A quick scan revealed no immediate threat. An underground river flowed slowly through a chasm. Across an almost dead torch barely emanated any light, but barely had been enough. As it hit the water it had reflected onto the wall. Ulciscor took it as a sign from the Gods. Which one he didn't care! Fortune at last! Now all he had to do was cross. He looked side to side examining the situation. It wasn't a wide chasm by any means, but it was a wide enough that he wouldn't normally risk it. Ulciscor was generally cautious, and he half turned knowing what he needed to do. But as he got on his knees to make his way back, he cursed himself! Damn! Goat horsing fool! His mind shouted as he realized he had left the horse with the rope and grappling hook. He rolled his yellow beady eyes in the darkness and stared at the hole for a moment longer. He looked at the chasm and then back at the hole. He disdained the idea of having to squeeze himself through and then ride all the way back to the camp just to reverse it and be back here. Greed is a funny thing. At least the gods always think so. The evil ones anyhow... Turns the most patient minds into slurry mush. Usually figuratively, often literally. So it was that Ulciscor turned wall still in hand. He nodded and pursed his lips as he stared down the chasm. He looked around once more, almost as if looking for an audience. Whether to ensure no one was looking or wishing everyone in the world was, only he would ever know. His hands gave another check onto his gear. He raised his pants by grasping the waistline, licking his lips as he did so. He winced momentarily, and cocked his head back. His meaty hand he shoved into his crotch, and after a quick moment of digging he recovered the parchment. The crumbled mess had somehow caused momentary discomfort. He grinned at it, sniffed, and chuckled. Don't need you anymore. He talked to it as if it were one of his previous lackeys. Then he threw it into the chasm. Goodbye! He smiled at his own joke, and again resumed the ritual. Finally after a last moment of checking his gear he lifted each leg individually and shook them around, as he limbered up. Then he squatted forward. One leg holding his weight while the other slid back. One deep breath he took. He let it out a steam snorting out his nostrils. Then he took another and held it there as his body tensed. He was off! Leather boots dug into the cavern floor. One step, two step, three, four, five, six, dip, heave, jump! The half-orc soared through the air his hands circling next to him. His eyes widening in fear, but his tongue sticking out in anticipation. "THUMP!" He landed it, rolling forward with the momentum. As he did a full spin he jumped up on his feet and slammed to the ground. FRAK YEAH! His arms pumped forward and back as he thrust his hips. That's right! Who's da bad ass? He asked no one in particular. Then his legs lifted and felled as he raced in placed after a few moments he jumped again and slammed hard onto the ground. His arms raised above him and thumbs pointed inward and down at himself. This guy! "SNAP! CRRAAACCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!" Loudly was heard inside the cavernous ruins. Ulciscor's eyes widened. The walls around him started rising. He began to feel lighter. Instinctively his feet pushed downward looking for the ground, but whatever he lightly felt was gone as his toes drove it away. His arms already half raised from the motion clawed out for anything, but to no avail. His eyes already wide from the fright threatened to bulge out of his head as a coldness started to rise through his leg. He barely had time to register the loud ruckus as his body was submerged in icy cavern waters. Suddenly where there wasn't a current, there was one. He felt himself dragged under. His hands and arms pumped and weaved through the fluid and he seemed to be making progress. Then a sudden a blow took the wind out of his body, and with it whatever useful breath he had. In the darkness underwater he could see it now. A boulder had pinned him from the waist down. He pushed on it with all his might, but soon the even his dark vision could not hold back the shadows. They over took him and enveloped him. Ulciscors's last thoughts before he lost consciousness? Frak!

 

Heroic: Roll 2d6 and add 6 to the sum of the dice. Record this total and repeat the process until six numbers are generated. Assign these totals to your ability scores as you see fit. This is less random than the Standard method and generates characters with mostly above-average scores.

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(4, 4)+6

Total = 14

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(3, 4)+6

Total = 13

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(3, 5)+6

Total = 14

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(4, 1)+6

Total = 11

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(5, 6)+6

Total = 17

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(6, 6)+6

Total = 18

[Togot]

 

Name: Puck
Race: Tielfling
Class: sorcerer-infernal bloodline
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral Evil. Puck is more of a trickster and con artist than a villain, though he feels no compassion for others and is a selfish creature.
Appearance: Puck has deep red skin and spiny horns on his head, chin, elbows and knees. His hair is as black as midnight, and his eyes have a fiery glow to them, especially when he uses his power. He often tries to hide these features with a cloak when in towns as most people react poorly to his heritage.
Personality:
To most who interact with him, Puck seems like a jovial prankster, but this is mostly an act to disarm the hostilities of those he meets. Puck is actually a very blasé individual who cares for little other than his own desires and self-interest. The needs or troubles of others are simply not his problem, and it’s not like anyone ever showed him any kindness. The world is a harsh, cruel place, and Puck accepts this. He simply wants to get the most out of it that he can.

Puck has a very pragmatic view of things, more concerned with what he can or cannot do, what the most efficient solution to a problem is, and what course of action will cause him the least amount of trouble. Morality never factors into any of it.

Despite this pitiless view of the world, Puck isn’t needlessly cruel or sadistic…most of the time. He does occasionally take pleasure in the suffering of lesser creatures, but such moments are rare and subdued. Mostly he is a greedy, lustful being, though he has yet to meet a woman that would have him willingly and his interests are strictly short term relationships. His impulsive nature has gotten him into trouble in the past, but he simply wants what he wants.

Background: Puck knows little about his own origins. His mother was a human slave to a devil who used her for pleasure and discarded most of the children that resulted as a byproduct of their activities. Puck was discarded on the material plane in the woods near a human village called Jukes where a madwoman named Mad Maud found and raised him, apparently naming him after a character in some book she’d once read.

For years Mad Maud raised her little devil child in secret, but as Puck grew, more and more people caught glimpses of the Jukes devil running around. Eventually they formed an angry mob and burned his home and adopted parent alive while he survived thanks to his resistance to flames. He felt no sadness at his mothers passing. To him she was simply gone. He was more upset by the disruption to his living conditions.

Orphaned once again, Puck lived for a time in the woods, surviving anyway he could. He would occasionally encounter travelers, but they never treated him kindly, and so he felt no remorse in stealing from them whenever he could, or worse if he found someone alone.

As he grew older, he began to discover he had unnatural abilities which helped him to survive, little tricks that allowed him to misdirect others and hide when he needed to.

Eventually his lifestyle caused him to run afoul of the wrong people who killed him, though it seems fate has other plans.
Quote: No one ever showed me any kindness, so why should I show any to others?
RP Sample:

 

Puck sat upon a branch watching the travelers below as they made their camp. He was well hidden by darkness, and they were unaware, a fact that always made him feel a thrill of power. He delighted in watching the oblivious; they seemed so…helpless.

His eyes lingered lustfully on a young buxom woman. Oh the unspeakable things he would do to her if not for her protectors.

He pulled his gaze away from the maiden to watch the men as they went about their business of cooking food, cutting wood and laying out their tents. This was always Pucks favorite part. He studied the humans, making up stories about them in his head, catching bits of their conversations as he got to know them in his own perverse way.

He took note of who was in charge, and most importantly, who had money. The two were often one and the same, but not always. This time it was the very maiden Puck had been watching wistfully. Apparently she was a woman of some means who had hired some help for an expedition, though for what reason Puck had not heard them say. She had the largest tent in the center of the camp, and as they began turning in, puck desperately wished he could see through clothe to watch her undress.

Alas, that was one power he did not possess. He could, however, make himself unseen, and he did so as he hoped down from the tree. He would have to move quickly as the spell did not last long, but the two men on guard were far too oblivious to notice him as he snuck through the camp.

Normally he would have waited longer for everyone to drift off to sleep, but he just couldn’t help himself. How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? Granted she hadn’t been willing, or conscious, but he hadn’t actually hurt her. All things considered, she should have been grateful.

Sadly he couldn’t have that kind of fun with this one; not with her guards about, but surely a little peek wouldn’t hurt before he relieved her of some valuable. A small toll for passing through his territory.

Puck peeked through the tent’s entrance and spied the woman’s bare back. His heart raced as he fought against primal urges. Moving slowly, quietly, he eased the flap open for a better look.

The moment his fingers touched the fabric, Puck felt a strange yet familiar tingle. At the same moment, the woman raised her head and looked directly at him. Puck froze, uncertain if his spell was still working, but the woman’s eyes were searching, not focused. She hadn’t seen him. Then she spoke words in draconic. “Dispel!” she said in a commanding voice.

Puck felt a wave of energy pass over him as if peeling away his spell, and he realized what he’d felt as he’d touched the tent; magic! The woman was a spell caster just like him, and she’d revealed him.

Now that she could see him, the woman’s eyes went wide with a mixture of surprise, panic, and anger.

Puck smiles sheepishly and said, “Can we talk about this."

“Guards!” the woman shouted in response as she wrapped a sheet around herself.

“Guess not,” Puck said with a sigh as he turned to see several very big angry men charging at him with sharp pointy things. “Well this isn’t going well,” he said to himself as panic began to set in. “Time for you guys to go to sleep!”

As he said the words, he waved his hand, and three of the men collapsed to the ground. Sadly that still left three more which were more than enough to kill a lone tiefling.

The closest man swung his sword at Puck as the tiefling tried to backpedal. A few of the strikes glanced off an invisible disk of force, and Puck thanked his lucky stars he’d remembered to cast his defensive spells before entering the camp. Fearing for his life, he used his trump card. Clapping his hands together, Puck created a sphere of pure darkness that no light could penetrate. Puck, however, could see just fine.

The men glanced around blindly as their quarry carefully made his escape. Puck stepped away from the men and out of the black sphere, but the moment he did so, something caught his eye. He turned to see the woman standing outside of her tent, and a spear floating in front of her outstretched fingers. She flicked her wrist, and the spear launched itself into Puck’s chest and out his back with enough force to pin him to a tree.

Puck looked down at the shaft sticking out of his chest and knew that he was finished. He looked up at the woman who slowly approached him. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no pity. They were cold and merciless. Puck found that oddly attractive despite his impending death.

Unable to do much else, he managed a small smile and said. “How about a kiss goodbye?”

The woman arched an eyebrow at his bold final request, but to Puck’s surprise she leaned forward. Rather than kiss him, she brought her lips up to his ear and whispered, “Go to hell.”

She pulled back and as Puck felt the life leaving him, he managed in a raspy voice with his last breath, “Tease.”

 

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(3, 2)+6

Total = 11

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(5, 5)+6

Total = 16

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(2, 2)+6

Total = 10

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(4, 4)+6

Total = 14

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(3, 5)+6

Total = 14

Dice * Roll:

2d6+6

(5, 1)+6

Total = 12

[Jarl11]

 

Character Name: Tira Visuña
Race: Nagaji
Class: Dark Paladin 5 - Dread Vanguard archetype
Trait: Extremely fashionable (diplomacy)
Alignment: CE, the best kind of evil. She is charming and subtle in order to sow chaos, fear and death. She understands what good folk want to see and knows how to get close to them. Unfortunately she does not always think the plan through completely and can find herself in trouble. As long as she drags others down with her, her God will grant the strength to continue. Her attitude is to strike first, strike hard and do not give mercy. She will however listen to companions with sense but easily finds other people's habits and mannerisms disgusting or repulsive and will continually trying to better people she has to spend time with so she can avoid attracting unwanted attention in public. There's nothing wrong with saying please and thank you, even if you happen to slaughter their family along the way.

Appearance: Heavily armored, the figure gliding towards you could be of nearly any common race at first glance. Its skin shadowed by steel and mail, a cloak and the pommel of a greatsword protruding above the left shoulder, leaving only the shape and movements to be studied from this distance. Thick, powerful legs and a broad middle hold muscular shoulders with long arms and a short neck. There is a bit of a curve to the being's posture, as though the heavy shoulders are hunched forward slightly or there is a bit of a bend in the long torso, which is probably accentuated by its fluid movements. The graceful stride is not light and sliding but smooth and powerful, slightly hypnotic all the same. Approaching closer now, the muscular person can be identified as a female with small mounds for breasts and hips that compliment the wide stature with a thick pillar shape instead of the "V" shape common in males.
Stopping in the sunlight about fifteen feet away, she removes her horned helmet and pushes back her cloak, revealing herself at last with beautiful green-brown scales glittering under the light and lidless red serpentine eyes calmly staring back. Yellow scales form a small ridge across the brow and down the back of her head along the spine. The same color can be made out at her fingertips where most races have nails. No hair or ears mar the smooth contours, even her nose is flat and blending. Flat lips curve in a knowing smile before parting to display small, sharp teeth. "Yesss, there you are," she breathes deeply, a forked tongue teasing the air between you.

Character Writing Sample:

 

It has been a long four days. Four days of hard riding since receiving the news, she has barely slept or eaten. Finally, another journey is near its end as she dismounts and strides towards the door she dreads to open, puffs of dust billowing from the dusty land with each purposeful step. Stopping in front of the closed portal, the heavily armored paladin closes her lidless eyes and bows her beautifully scaled head. No words come to form a prayer though, she only feels empty and tired with thinly concealed anger simmering in helplessness.

My Lord, let this not be what I fear, she finally murmurs before raising a mailed hand to bang on the chipped wooden door.

Nothing. The proud Nagaji waits only a moment more before reaching for the latch, her strong hand easily manipulating the lever. It was not barred so she swung the door inward and confidently strode in, relying on her status and noble appearance to sway any of an intrusion. Truth be told, she didn't care whether she was intruding or not. The last of her family may hang in the balance. [I]Attacked by Orcs[I] - the message had read. She hadn't recognized the hand but it clearly indicated that her aunt was in peril. Scanning the empty room, Tira notes the line of tables with two bundles, the unoccupied desk and two other exits. Various drapes adorn the otherwise barren chamber, light streaming in from the open door she stands in gives more than enough light to see by. She strides in three paces and hisses in frustration. Their home had been empty as well with only light damage to the main structure and a burnt shed. She had hoped the village healer could tell her more, but old Rath didn't look to be here anymore. Her eyes suddenly flick back to the bundles, paralyzing her limbs in recognition of two bodies wrapped in clean cloth.

Slow breaths, ten times, as her training had indicated was the method to overcome shock and terror. Nothing seemed to cause her fear these past few years, Paladins aren't supposed to be easily cowed. This message had brought back horror from her childhood however, night terrors of being alone in the world, of being made fun of for being different and hunted down and killed like she suspected her parents were. And probably the rest of her blood family as well. Aunt Felice had taken her in and raised her from a young hatchling. She was a kind old Half-Elf that had seen her share of persecution but managed to still care for a freak like Tira on the outskirts of town.

Tears began to well in her eyes and quickly trail down her beautiful dust covered little scales, no lids or eyelashes to hold them back. Her Aunt had been her rock in life, her sounding board in this cruel world and her voice of reason. It had been her that secured Tira the chance to study at the temple of Lispin in the city, promising her a good future and the power to take care of herself and others. Well the only other that ever cared for Tira had been her aunt. Even in her years at the temple she had been the constant figure of suspicion, the one that must have cheated or used a trick to best her opponent in the yard through the dark trickery in her venomous blood.

Finding her legs propelling her forward, Tira looks down at the two small figures. The smallest must be the latest orphan that Aunt Felice had told her about in her letters. They had not been well acquainted but the site of the little body fueled a sickening rage in the pit of her stomach, similar to the rage she used in the practice yard fueled by the whispers and pointing laughter she knew came from the acolytes and servants. Even some of the holier-than-thou elder paladins gave her suspicious glares and frowns when they would congratulate the others on the same accomplishments. Small drops quietly pelted the cover on the bodies as she lowered them both reverently to the floor and drew her greatsword, placing it on the floor between her and the cold figures. Last, she pulled back the cover on the larger figure to gaze upon the features and justify her tears, though she knew the truth in her crumbling heart. Tira let out a small wail of gasping sorrow as the only person she ever called family looked back at her, pale and lifeless, ragged marks of violence marking her left cheek. Why would you do this to me? After everything I struggled through for you!? Why take the only person that ever loved me? she pleaded with her God though no answers came.

Reaching out with her hands, the forlorn paladin futilely tried to heal the corpse with the powers of her supposed God. Nothing. Silently she berated herself and the one she called her Lord, Why have you forsaken me? Why allow me to serve you if you won't allow me to protect those I love!? How can you call yourself godly and righteous?!

"Its about time you arrived." A low voice spoke from nearby. She had not heard the man approach. Could he not leave her to her misery? From the corner of her eye, it appeared to be a Half-Orc in robes. Tira did not stand or move, remaining with her hand on her loved ones head and her own serpentine visage bowed.

"They have been cold for a couple days now." They - have names. Orc.

"There are things that need to be taken care of now that you are here... The house and her belongings, a few charges need to be settled and my fee, of course." Her face a mask of calm to cover her despair and indignation, Tira finally removes her hand from her Aunt after another prolonged moment and grasps her sword with both hands. After another unblinking moment to memorize the face, she turns her head to regard the speaker. A large Half-Orc stands about three feet to the side, pouches adorning his waist and a tablet in his hands with parchment that he must have gathered from the desk behind him. "Of course, allow me to settle everything," she softly responds.

With only a cursory glance at the woman before him, he goes on. "What kind of burial do you want for them? We could - " he cuts off in a gurgle as blood pours from his throat and cascades down his robes. Eyes gaping, he collapses in spasms as life drains from him.

Retracing her movement, Tira brings the sword back in front of her and pivots back to face the shattered pieces of her heart on the floor to her other side. Removing her cloak with the symbol of her forsaken God, she cleans her sword with it and then wraps the two bodies in it to form but one bundle, away from the pooling blood behind her.

Tears are soaked up in the dry earth as she shoulders the bundle and walks out, closing the door firmly behind her.

Character History:

 

Tira was orphaned as a young hatchling. She doesn't remember her blood family only the family that raised her, which consisted of her Half-Elf Aunt and the small community on the edge of the great waters. As a primarily human settlement with a few elves and half-elves, the young Nagaji was viewed with suspicion and generally treated as an ill omen. They lived on the outskirts of town and Tira had a few other "cousins" over the years, other children that her aunt took in, sometimes until they could fend for them and other times for only a few months. Her Aunt Felice was very kind hearted, running a small kind of orphanage and never discussing the circumstances or past for each of them. It was a fresh start for the children and the only start that she knew of in Tira's case. Growing up, she was very physically active and tended to be stronger than the boys, adding to the local distrust of the young one Felice protected. Her chores around the farm were not difficult and she enjoyed the exercise and animals. She learned her words and about the gods but did not enjoy reading or study times like some of the children that came through the house.

Once she was of a size and capability to fend for herself, she was given a choice by her Aunt: join the local militia and prove her good name or take the offer to study in the temple of Lispin at the city Fladale, only a few days away. It turned out that her aunt had pulled a few strings to get Tira in at the temple, although how she knew the Nagaji would choose that route she hadn't figured out. However, she had never gotten along too well with the other children and had very few to call a friend. Sometimes she had been cruel to the weaker kids when they played and sometimes she had responded to threats and taunts with malicious outbursts, but so did all children at times and she wasn't so different it seemed. The idea of working in close proximity to several people that didn't like her though was not very appealing, so off to the temple she went.

As talented as she became with the blades, it still didn't win her many friends at her new home in the barracks of Lispin. It was lonely there and studying the symbols and histories was tediously painful. The knights saw that the young Nagaji preferred to skip sessions in the library for sessions hacking at straw men, so they held her back a year and forced her to maintain her studies or be kicked out. Tira didn't want to disappoint her aunt primarily, and life wasn't so bad as the others here could not take their mean pranks too far or they were harshly dealt with by the paladins and clerics. In fact, it was the order of the paladins that took interest in her and her raw talents. They inquired about her past and were happy to hear that there was little malice in the one that raised her. And so she was trained as a paladin and given the opportunity to prove her worth and make her aunt proud.

Barely passing the tests for knighthood, Tira was at the bottom of her small class. However at the end of it all she was blessed and Lispin found her heart worthy of his power despite the frequent discipline she had received along the way. The elder paladins of the order were silent on the manner of her acceptance but Tira suspected she was watched by a couple of the old mentors as they saw an emotional boldness in her that needed to be overcome, or so they said. It was likely bias due to her rare race, yet again.

One day while she was away on a diplomatic assignment to deliver letters for the priesthood, she received a summons from the head priest of the town. He had received a magical communication about her family - her aunt and cousin had suffered a raid by Orcs. She left immediately to attend to their estate and lend what aid she could. Upon arriving, she found their bodies and was overcome with helpless anger and the most excruciating emotional pain she has ever had. She lashed out at the insensitive comments of the caretaker and was abandoned by Lispin as a result. Tira lost her paladin abilities when she acted on anger but she found a new purpose of revenge when she sought out the small band of thieving Orcs, killing them mercilessly.

Tire took the body of her aunt and visited the wizards tower, posing as a knightly envoy and inquired as to the location of one that practices necromancy, to ask for specifics on their death and the killers with the real intent of wanting to raise them. Eventually he found one of the dark powers that he had heard of but the Nagaji was unable to be helped by the necromancer. She lashed out and was quickly stopped by a cold power. Tira was taken into confinement and abused, tested upon. An evil entity probed her consciousness and she was tortured, forever marked with scars on her thighs and back. Eventually she escaped with the help of another, an unknown cleric or holy agent of darkness. After her body recovered somewhat it was discovered that negative energy could be used as a means of healing if she opened herself to it, as she eagerly did at the desperate time. With the note that was left by the dark cleric, she was seduced by the raw power she had felt and the promises of using it to unravel the plans of Lispin and the other gods. No more studying. No more serving people that just looked down on her anyways. Now she was going to take the power she was entitled to and use it spread the proper respect that was needed in people. They needed to respect those with the power to cause their death, the power to bring about the void. Death was not the answer, it was but a means to find the void. It was a tool. She was going to work for the shadows now and help bring a better understanding of the void and death to the people. One self-righteous soul at a time. The one that had helped her led her to a new master, one powerful and strong, not requiring such meaningless penance as the last God she served. Now she followed Huspantus.

[Plodi]

 

Name: Marrik Gaolborn (http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=52668)
Race: Human
Class: Cleric, Domains: Darkness and Death
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Evil.
Appearance: Marrik is tall and stick thin - his robes hang loose from his spare frame. His skin, long denied sunlight, is sallow and pale accentuating the dark circles that ring eyes in a face almost completely devoid of hair long since fallen out from malnutrition.

Personality: Marrik doesn't understand why people in the realm complain about fairness, luck, and fate. These are constructs of frail, powerless beings - not worth utterance. The world is a simple place - there is only power, pain, and the hierarchy created by the two. Those who have power are the creators of pain. It is the role of the powerful to challenge those without power - for as the chaff must always be weeded from the grain, so must the weak be culled from the world. It is for those without power to receive that pain and revel in it - for in pain comes experience, rebirth, and, for those who are found worthy, power. The cycle is simple. Those with more power are to be respected and obeyed for the pain they can distribute. Those with less power must be forged on the crucible of pain into something greater. Death is inevitable for all, and should a life be claimed by lord Huspantas during a trial of pain, then the god is surely showing mercy to one unworthy of continuing on the mortal coil. For Marrik, dispensing pain to the less powerful is a virtue - the highest form of servitude to Huspantas - and Marrik is unquestioning in his devotion to the God of Death.

Background:

 

Marrik's mother was a tavern serving maid in a small hamlet in the south. As a young girl working in her father's tavern, her bright smile and cheerful personality caught the eye of Marrik Farenson, the tax collector, and his guard escort. Under the pretext of examining the tavern's accounts, Farenson emptied the tavern one morning. With the tavernkeep, his wife, and his daughter in attendance, Farenson falsely accused the family of cheating the crown and ordered the tavernkeep and his wife arrested. He offered the family a simple bargain - their daughter's virtue or their business. The tavern keep and his wife struggled, but against armed guardsmen, they were helpless to stop Farenson from satisfying his depraved cravings.

In payment for their unwillingness to accede to his demands, Farenson ordered the family condemned to a life of labor in the salt mines for tax evasion and fraud against the crown. The tavern keeper and his wife quickly succumbed to the conditions in the mines - but the young girl, impregnated by Farenson's depravity, persevered, swearing revenge on the blood of her unborn child. Her determination to endure attracted the eye of another inmate - Gangro Jessim - a devotee to Huspantas, himself sentenced to life in the mines for sedition. Gangro swore to look after the child should something happen to the girl - a likely prospect in the salt mines - and promised to ensure that the child knew to whom his childhood surroundings were due. Almost ten months after the girl's incarceration, she found Huspantas' embrace in a filth covered prison cell of the salt mines having just given birth under Gangro's ministrations. With her final breath, she named the child after the man who had violated her - Marrik.

Under Gangro's tutelage, Marrik Gaolborn grew, feeding on a steady diet of Huspantas' Cannon. A child in the salt mine would normally be a high valued commodity for the depravity, debauchery, and wickedness of the inmates. But other inmates were reluctant to disobey the devotee Gangro and his ability to wither flesh with a touch. In the salt mines, a useless arm was a death sentence - and child or not - crossing Gangro was avoided. Marrik's childhood was spent with the word of Huspantas as companion and the sharp hand of Gangro as playmate. Early in his life, Marrik began to sense the favor of his god. For twenty years, Gangro taught him his devotion to Huspantas, his understanding of the elements of the world - pain and power - and endlessly told him of his namesake, Marrik Farenson. For Marrik Gaolborn, there was no anger, no rage. Only understanding. Farenson had power. His mother's family was found wanting. They were not worthy to continue living. But Marrik would not be held in the salt mines forever - he was already more powerful than the guards. With the favor of Huspantas, the salt mines were no longer powerful enough to restrain his departure. It was time, to test the guards, to see if any were worthy of passing through the crucible of pain. With the power of his deity's favor, it was time for Marrik to go see how his father was still worthy of respect, or if he needed to be tested on the crucible of pain.

RP Sample:

 

Marrik sighed, disappointment plain on his waxen face. The corpse of the aged man on the table in front of him had lasted only 15 minutes under his ministrations. Marrik had expected more of his namesake - but such was the frailty of the truly powerless. Even with brief stints of power, the scales balanced in the end.

Wiping his instruments of pain on a torn piece of shirt, he intoned a prayer to Huspantas - a prayer of thanks for revealing the unworthy. Marrik felt the shiver of pleasure take him - it was always thus after a subject was found wanting - a sign of approval from his god.

Still, he thought, his bloodline should have been worth more than this. He retrieved his shoulder bag and replaced the small roll of torture implements before shrugging into the bag and settling it over his spare frame.

Gripping his katar, he turned to depart the manor of Marrik Farenson. Six years after leaving the salt mines, he had finished his quest. He had found his father. He had tested his sire. And his parentage had been found wanting. His namesake had been weak!

He kicked the withered corpse of a servant in frustration as he stepped into the hall. "What does this portend for my place in the crucible?" he mused aloud striding down the entry stairs of the small manor. "Does the frailty of my father taint my blood?"

Reaching the door, he could hear rushing footsteps from the local guard - a motley collection of three constables in mismatched boiled leather armor puffing from the run to the manor house. Marrik smiled, "I see that the maid reached the guard post. Excellent."

He set down his shoulder bag, gently propping it up against the wall, and shook his katar loose in his right hand. He smiled as the guards pulled within thirty feet of the dais,"I am Marrik Gaolborn," Marrik intoned, "servant of Huspantas. I have judged you to be wanting. I shall serve as your crucible."

The guards slowed, uncomprehending the speech from the emaciated figure before them. This figure did not match the description of a bloodthirsty villain that the breathless maid had described after her flight from the manor. "Crucible?" one of the guards scoffed. "Drop the knives, Slim, and tell us where Lord Farenson is."

Marrik closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of the crucible - the impending battle. This was power. Service to Huspantas. His eyes remained closed as he surged towards the guards and total darkness descended.

[Fragmaster01]

 

Character Name: "Oh, that's me! Hello me!"
Liskart, Lisk for short, Moon Moon pejoratively.
Race: "I can tell you're a good person, because you don't run away screaming! So nice."
Werewolf
Class: "I hugged him, but something popped and he stopped moving. Is that bad?"
Monk(or another unarmed fighty person)
Alignment: "What's a 'moral quandary'? I've never met one before."
Chaotic Amoral. Not actively malicious, but has nothing wrong with eating people and such.
Appearance: - Not pictured: Blood of the Innocent, Hat of the Werewolf
See left. Liskart is an attempt to combine all sorts of wolven creatures into a single, bloodthirsty package. Liskart is also a horrible failure, and is unlikely to amount to anything monstrous. The only traits that truly show in this magical meddling are the fact that he's not bound to any one sort of wolf when changing(though they all end up runty and with the same sort of stats), though he's generally a brown/beige sort of mutt, and if he winds up as someone different, don't scare people when they're shifting, it's rudeit's probably an accident.

Character History: "Well, when a momma wolf and a daddy wolf love each other more than society says they should..."
Image would have been served from http://i134.photobucket.com/albums/q90/Fragmaster01/wolf_small_zpsed15b553.png but is not HTTPS. For more information, please see IMG bbcode help.Mortricia the Ever-Queen of the Night, Bane of Hunters, and Scourge of the Local Feed Market was truly a force to be reckoned with. She could hunt anything, a gorilla or a bear, whatever. Humans definitely, as she loved the way they squirmed when they ran. Knights were especially good: crunchy on the outside, and chewy on the inside with a nice gooshy filling.

This is not her story.

It was pity that lead to adopting Liskart. Her... brother meant well, but he had a terrible problem in that he came home one night with a baby and a silver spear through his chest. He declared that this was "Rude.", and died right in the middle of dinner. Ruined the whole night, blood everywhere, it was gross. Liskart, for his part, did not mind this state of affairs, because he did not mind anything. The poor child was very light in the head, and highly optimistic via a refined sense of foolishness. Unwilling to stomach the idea of a child of hers, even an adopted one, being the worst of the pack, Mortricia politely asked Liskart if he wanted to try out a few experiments.

Liskart did not know what an experiment was, but it sounded tasty.

While he did gain some semblance of fighting prowess, as well as a supernatural resistance to pain, Liskart is not the dire monster that his mother hoped for. He is a happy little wolf who likes eating things, making new friends, and eating the enemies of his new friends. Order is not important. Some people might say his new friends are evil, and not to be trusted. This is a damnable lie. They give him people to eat, and scritch him behind the ears, and sometimes let him sleep on the sofa. How could such people be evil? It's impossible, I tell you.

Character Writing Sample: "C'mere you!"
Bloodscar was concerned by the sounds of muffled, existentially terrified screams. Not worried, mind you: this sort of thing was par for the course in his line of work. No, he was concerned because most of the party had left to go 'procure' a few horses, and that meant the only person around was...

"Bloodscar, look what I found! Can I keep him?" Oh no. Him. Indeed, the young werewolf was busy... grappling? Hugging. A small pooka. No taller than 2.5 feet, the rabbit fit comfortably in Liskart's arms, and was being simultaneously squashed and petted by the runt. Various screams were coming out in Gnomish, but for all the two understood it might have been the squeals of a concerned pet. That, he supposed, was the problem.
"No, you cannot 'keep him'. Do you even know where that's been?"
"But... but he's right here..."
"Can't you just eat him?"
"I already ate! Besides, he's so adorable. He's like a bunny, but a person too! That means he's litter trained, and you can take him on walks, and teach him to fight paladins, and..."
"I sincerely doubt he has any desire to join in on our quest. Besides, pets are expensive."
"Really?"
"You need a cage, and rabbit food, and all sorts of ball gags to keep them from screaming to the authorities."
"You could train that out of him... besides, look, he likes me!" Liskart held up the Pooka to the gnoll, which caused the poor rabbit to become even more frantic. The werewolf, at least, had not tried to murder him. This did not exactly qualify as 'liking' in Bloodscar's book, though.
"Look, just a quick backstab, he'll never even feel it."
"No! I found him, he's mine. You can go find your own to backstab. So shoo-" The retort was ruined by the pooka's head exploding quite vigorously. The psion had returned, it seemed, and needed to work off some steam. Best that she explode the heads of random travelers than her 'friends'. "Sorry, was I interrupting something? Liskart dear, you need to be more thorough." Seeing the tears welling up at the loss of this glorious exotic pet, she became very confused. "What? What did I do?"

Liskart gave up trying to put the rabbit back together after a few hours. He was missing a few pieces, and no one offered to make some new ones. Resurrection spells were expensive, and he would have to save up if he wanted a zombie pooka for a pet. Necromancers didn't grow on trees, even the fleshy kind.

Character Notes:

• Moon Moon is the party tank. Highly impervious to darn near anything, but he's not very strong, nor is he very focused on ending fights quickly. He prefers to play with his food, you see.
• He tends to eat chunks that are larger than his mouth, and leave bits dangling out. Also likes chewing on things while doing something else, as comfort.
• His hat is a floppy cap with little poking-up bits for his ears. He found it on a merchant, and loved it immediately.
• Preferably, he'd be a Monk that runs on CHA instead of WIS(because he is a doofus, but spirited). In such case, he wouldn't take anything spiritual or magical because that's way beyond him. Otherwise, some other unarmed nommy class.
• Most likely, he was following around one of the other party members when they got recruited, bringing him for the ride. Now they will Never Be Rid of him.

[kedcoleman]

Shaktol Zuul
Male Hobgoblin Barbarian (Scarred Rager) 5
Neutral Evil

[Mithias117]

Name: Vail Morgan (Pronounced Veil)
Race: Vishkanya
Class: Sorcerer (Draconic - Black)
Alignment: Lawful Evil: Good turned bad, his code twisted, Vail is the kind of evil that seeks power within a system, not to cast it down. While his code still contains some things that could be seen as neutral or even *shudder* good (Example: Harm shall not come to children by his hand, or permission/No *excessive* torture) he is undoubtedly evil, and out for power, and blood.
Appearance: Vail is slightly unusual for a sorcerer in that while he is tall, he's not to terribly lean, and in good shape. With pale blue-green, fine scales covering his body, and dark golden eyes, it's obvious at a glance what he is. He carries himself as if he is just tired of the world as it is, and ready to change it, but unlike goody-two-shoes revolutionaries, he seeks to rule what he can, and rule it in a way he thinks is best for this world. He dresses simply, keeping his traveling clothes on over his armor when he can, and his sickle safely at his side. Behind his eyes those, lurks a fury, and intelligence that isn't to be scoffed at.

Character History: Born to two unremarkable Vishkanya clerics, Vail was raised to revere Jaria as his primary deity. At one point he even aspired to be a paladin for her, and despite not being the strongest of children, pushed for it. While he was studying (and actually learning a little) he met a young human girl he came to know as Aria. Where he was lacking, she was superb, and not a dumb kid either. They became fast friends, and as most kids do, they both changed goals quite a bit, he migrated away from being a paladin, though he had already become a goody-two-shoes in his own right, and became fascinated with the mysterious world of magic.

As they grew to become teenagers, he unlocked the power hidden in his blood, and she started training to be a fighter. They saw less and less of each other as their studies kept them apart, but they shared what time they could together. That is, until Vail's parents died in a fire. With only his uncle in a far, far away town left to go to, he said his goodbyes, packed his things, and joined in with a caravan headed out that way, happy to have a spellcaster, even an inexperienced one, helping keep them safe.

About halfway there the caravan was ambushed by a group of bandits that proved to much for the guards, and young Vail. Captured for his spellcasting ability, he was taken back to their camp, and handed over to their cleric, a servant of Huspantas, who, for the next year, and a half, invaded Vail's mind, and tortured his body, only insuring the sorcerer wouldn't scar. By the time the ordeal was over, Vail had lost all hope of good in this world, if good truly existed, then how could people like this exist. Hateful, and vengeful, he eventually managed to kill the cleric while he slept, and then set fire to the bandit camp.

Abandoning truly worshiping Jaria (Though he can't bring himself to outright hate the goddess, he no longer finds her worth worshiping) and taking up the symbol of Huspantas, he began a series of attacks around the bandit camps. Hitting Caravans, and Bandits alike, gathering information about the world, and expanding on his talents. He hasn't forgotten Aria, and searches for news of her when he can, but now he only has two purposes in this world, to change it, whether with fire, or iron rule, and to serve his new lord, Huspantas.

With this in mind, he gathered together everything he had collected in his raids, and set off as Huspantas directed him, ready to serve his new master.