[PF-1e] Academy of Heroes

[Imveros]

Aww sorry to see you go Kaylara. I'll keep my fingers crossed that your schedule clears up in the next month before selections are made.

It would have been fun to adventure with a mermaid cleric

[dalarangreen]

@Kaylara: Sorry to see you go, but thanks for sharing your interest Kaylara!

@Everyone Else: I know we got a ways out before the deadline. Thanks for waiting! I just finished posting up the faculty in the game thread. Obviously, none of your characters will have met the faculty yet, but just to stir up your imagination, if you want to take a gander, you can read all about the Academy of Heroes faculty here!

[Exhibit A]

This sounds like a really unique concept. Count me in!

Bekkel Name: Bekkel Race: Grippli Age: 14 Initial Class: Adept Description: Bekkel is tall and lanky, by grippli standards at least, standing just over two feet tall. He has bright green and yellow skin, topped with a pair of huge golden eyes, constantly darting back and forth so he doesn’t miss anything. His clothing is simple hide, covered in all the bits of bone and charms you’d expect from a shaman in training. Personality: Think of your typical ‘farmboy with big dreams’ type, except instead of a farm, he’s from a swamp, and instead of a boy, he’s a frog. Bekkel has big dreams, and almost all of them revolve around slaying some sort of ferocious beast and possibly rescuing a beautiful princess. Although books are rare in his village, he reads any he can get his hands on, eager for tales of might, magic, and monsters. Given the lack of reading materials, the young frog has taken to composing his own stories, scratching images out in the mud of his swampy home. Bekkel is cheerful and outgoing, although his more traditional friends often roll their eyes at his dreams of heroism. Background: Bekkel comes from a grippli village deep in the middle of nowhere. For thousands of years, his people have lived in that swamp, far from the grand struggles of the human kingdoms. That, most of them will tell you, is exactly how they like it. Their existence is a peaceful, if somewhat boring, one. Occasionally, meaning once every few generations, some human hero happens by the village in the course of some noble mission or another, and the gripplis give him some small help getting through the swamp and send him on his way, determined to stay uninvolved. This seclusion has helped the village stay more or less unbothered by the near-constant upheaval of the outside world. Bekkel was the son of the village shaman, and was expected to take over the role when his father retired. The shaman plays a critical role for the village, communing with the spirits of the swamp and the sky, protecting the people from all sorts of natural hazards. In his early years, Bekkel was fine with this arrangement. He had a bit of a knack for the shaman magic, and he loved the swamp more than anything; between the muck, the everpresent smell of decaying vegetable matter, and the general dampness, it was heaven for a young frog. He often spent his days exploring his marshy homeland along with his friends, eager to see all the swamp had to offer. On one such excursion, young Bekkel and his friends encountered something quite unexpected. They had made their way near to the edge of the swamp, where the river flowed in from the open fields beyond. Although they knew they weren’t supposed to venture beyond the swamp’s boundaries, the sounds they heard in the distance drew them to the very edge of their domain, peeking out into the world beyond. There in the fields they saw a gigantic demon, locked in combat with a group of human heroes. The others with him quickly ran off in fear, urging Bekkel to come with them, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the battle unfolding before him. He watched in stunned silence as the heroes defeated the mighty beast. The show over, his friends were finally able to pull him away, but the things he had seen occupied Bekkel’s thoughts for some time afterwards. The powers those humans had possessed made his own magic, and even his father’s, pale in comparison. And that demon… that was beyond anything he had ever seen in the swamp. Did the rest of the world really have creatures like that? What could even a shaman do against such a monster if one attacked the swamp? For that matter, what would have happened with that one if those heroes hadn’t been there? The gripplis had always said they had no need of heroes, but was that just because someone else did the fighting for them? With all these thoughts running around in his head, about demons and heroes and epic fights over the fate of the world, the day-to-day life of the swamp village began to feel decidedly dull and somewhat pointless. Even his shaman studies didn’t feel important; what did it matter how well he could bring rain, or fend off crocodiles, if a demon or a dragon or something even worse could come along and wipe out the whole village? His father and the other elders told him such things were none of their concern, that the gripplis had always had peace by staying away from such things. Bekkel wasn’t buying it, though. He had seen it for himself; the gripplis had peace because heroes like the ones he had seen fought to protect them. How could they be content with sitting by and doing nothing while others fought for them? As the years passed, Bekkel became obsessed with stories of heros and adventures. He wanted to know more about these people; who they were and why they did what they did. There wasn’t a great deal for him to find, but the village did keep records of the adventurers that had passed through in years past, and he scoured every bit of those records. He was surprised to find that many of the heroes weren’t that different from him, coming from humble beginnings until an adventure fell into their laps. This, of course led to the impressionable young frog fantasizing about being a hero himself. These flights of fancy soon began to drive a wedge between Bekkel and the rest of the village. His father was disappointed that he was wasting time he should have been spending on his studies. His friends, at best, tolerated his fantasies, and at worst, made it clear they no longer wanted anything to do with him. Dreams like his, they said, could only bring trouble. Never one to let go of an idea once it was in his head, though, Bekkel didn’t let it bother him. If his friends and family wanted to live their lives the way they always had, hiding buried in the mud, let them. But he couldn’t just ignore and forget the things he had seen. Maybe they were right, maybe he’d never actually be a hero. Maybe this really was all life could be for a little grippli. If that were true, if stories were the closest he’d get, than he’d at least treasure the stories. And he’d keep an eye out, because the one thing all those stories taught him was that you never knew when an adventure was about to fall in your lap.   Bekkel Bekkel could scarcely believe the letter was real. For one thing, the village didn't have mail. It was too small; if the gripplis wanted to talk to someone, they just walked to their hut. And yet, someone had delivered this letter, slipped it under his door early enough in the morning that it was sitting there when he woke. At first he assumed it must be a prank; his friends always did like to ride him about his dreams of being a hero. But that didn't hold up when he thought about it. Most of his friends couldn't write, and none of them that well. Nobody in the village did. Well, except maybe the chief and Bekkel's dad, but neither of them were exactly the joking type. So... that must mean the letter was real! It was possible, with magic... probably. Beyond any of his simple shaman trick, maybe, but a real wizard could do it. At least, the ones in the stories could. Whatever. If there was a chance it was real, he had to take it. If it were somehow a prank, he'd take the humiliation. Grabbing the stick of charcoal he used to write down the villager's prayers (part of his shaman training), he scribbled his name on the line. The young frog's eyes widened as the rest of the message magically appeared. Any doubts he might have had were now totally gone. He was going to be a hero! The letter said to follow a stream or river to a large body of water. That was easy enough, a bunch of streams ran through the swamp, and they all led to the big lake, only a couple of miles away. Throwing a few essentials into a bag, Bekkel ran to the door but paused before leaving. Dad would not be happy about him leaving like this. Bekkel was supposed to be the village's next shaman. Should he tell him? No, he wouldn't understand, and Bekkel didn't have time to argue. Who knows how long they'd wait for him if he didn't show up. Instead, he grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a note to his father, explaining the situation. He hated the idea of leaving without saying goodbye, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He left the note pinned to his door where someone would be sure to find it, and hopped out into the swamp. He passed a group of his friends but didn't stop at their calls. "Can't talk now, I'm off to the Academy of Heroes!" he shouted to them as he passed. The other frogs just shook their heads, thinking him to on another flight of fancy. Wouldn't they be surprised?

[Quick Ben]

Oh geez, Everett is just going to assume all the teachers want to eat him...

[Bio]

Name: Merida NicUrsis
Race: Coldborn Skinwalker
Age: 15
Initial Class: Warrior

 

Silence clung to the air, stifling even movement amongst those at the Gathering. Only the tongues of flame and a loud *pop!* that sent sparks into the night sky from the bonfire dared breach the unnatural still that had quenched the (relatively) mirthful atmosphere. "You heard me!" Hadran snarled, his jaw visibly teetering on the edge of Wilding.

Old Bjorn, though those that knew him could see the anger rising precipitously underneath his remarkably calm exterior, refused to react in kind. His regal visage undiminished by the ravages of time, the king leaned back into his hide and bone throne - the only chair in the entire Gathering. The throne groaned and creaked as the old man scowled at his upstart rival. The uncomfortable silence bore on, as cold wrath juxtaposed itself against hot rage. At length, it was Bjorn that broke the uneasy silence. "What then, Lord of Wolves? Would you have joined with the orcs? You would be with them still." The rumor going around in children's circles was that those who lost in battle were forced somehow to join with their former enemies. To hear the king insinuate that Hadran would have lost wasn't just an insult, but confirmed to them that the tales were terrifyingly true.
"They would have been defeated! And you would now be celebrated a hero instead of cowering here-!"
"If you are challenging me, come out and say it, dog!"

A small smile ticked at the corners of a teenager's mouth with the sad memory of that night what now seemed so very long ago. A night not so very different from this one. A clear night when all the stars were out, and the crisp air spoke of cooling weather and heralding the soon coming winter. On this night though, there was peace. No blood spraying through the air, no Wilded roars or snarls of rage. No suspicions of poison nor brooding mistrust would follow. There was only peace. To the south, a breeze rustled the trees and sent a cloud of dry leaves invisibly crackling into the deepening litter of reds and yellows that blanketed the forest floor.

Two years older now, Merida was well on her way to womanhood. The girl may yet have an inch or two to gain in height, but since her clan were already taller than these 'humans,' she was often mistaken for being several years older than she was in her un-Wilded form. Lean now and well toned from her time in the practice yard had done the lass well - she would have done clan Ursis proud with her honed fighting prowess.

She remembered that night when everything came apart, musing with some sardonic humor at the strange turn of events that had brought her here. She gazed down upon the School of Heroes so far below her as to simply be the brightest star on the cloudless night. The weeks after Hadran's assumption of the throne. Memories of how he'd marshaled the clans for a counter-assault against ... The girl shuddered. Even now, years later, the images still haunted her.

The destruction had been so great. So terrible.
Hadran's assault had been brutal. Fierce. At first they had made a good showing of themselves; many of the Mindless fell - their pungent bodies tearing into thin strips of putrid flesh across the battlefield. But as the sounds of battle and the scent of blood carried, more and more of the Mindless orcs were drawn. They feasted on the bodies of her kin. The terror of seeing their own being eaten by orcs - former orcs.
... a vision of dead Orion MacFelis' arm moving, reaching, grasping. His head shifted, once beautiful face twisted and horrid. His remaining eye opened, milky white and dead-! She forcibly pushed the image away - a trick the Masters had been working with her on.

Scattered, leaderless, and decimated, the Wilding people had gathered themselves into small enclaves. Huddled in caves and clefts against the coming winter. It was under the promise of a deadly snow season that Merida had found the letter. Writing. she recognized the strange patters scrawled over the face of impossibly thin leather or 'parchment.' Of course she had no idea what it said - but the notion of 'drawing the sound of speech' wasn't completely alien to the girl, even if she had no idea what speech would look like drawn on parchment. Curiously, she flipped the sound-drawings over and over, this way and that, their meaning lost upon her. With a start, the meaning became clear to her. A voice, her voice, audibly sounded itself as the parchment read itself to her. Follow the river.

She'd gone of course, hoping for some great revelation, some great weapon with which to drive back the Mindless from their lands. From all lands. For enough food to save some more of her people. What the then 13 year old found was that things didn't quite work that way in the multiverse. Things were so much more complicated!

"I'll come back for you." she promised. Though they were on a different plane of existence, she would find a way back. It will have been years since she'd seen any of them, and who knew how many would be left. Whomever was left ... had to be rebuilding their society now. And with her strength and growing wisdom, she would help them.
It was said that the heroes of her people could hear the world, the earth, the ground, speaking to them. Guiding them. Granting magical powers with which to defend and to heal. It was times like right now that Merida could believe the stories might be about someone like herself. Here in the peaceful night, she could almost feel the world talking to her. "I will come back for you." she promised again. For now, the Wilding girl laid back against the ground to watch the celestial dance of stars drifting slowly through the sky, and let the earth whisper her to sleep.

Ready for review!

[dalarangreen]

@Quick Ben: I wonder who will be the one to convince him otherwise! :P

@Exhibit A and Bio: Welcome good to see applications from you both! I have to finish some reviews from previous applications. If you want a review for your applications, it will probably have to wait until next weekend!

[dalarangreen]

Next round of Feedback for: Quick Ben, Zazaq, and Vaerdis, is finished! Let me know if you have questions!

[Krow Nest]

What about me? :o

[Imveros]

Originally Posted by Krow Nest

What about me? :o

Your application is too perfect! Any feedback would be a waste of time!

[Krow Nest]

Originally Posted by Imveros

Your application is too perfect! Any feedback would be a waste of time!

I'm told that constantly but I'm never chosen so... Rather Dalan tell me if its fine

[Arthilian01]

There have been times that I haven't been chosen either, Krow and I wonder, 'What am I missing?'. When this happens, I often reason that I have all that's required but my character just isn't quite the type of character that the GM is looking for or perhaps a good personality that will work well with the others. Your character's personality is a big part of group dynamics.

I hope this makes you feel better about your application even if you don't get chosen.

[Imveros]

Originally Posted by Krow Nest

I'm told that constantly but I'm never chosen so... Rather Dalan tell me if its fine

I was just joking

I'm sure dal is just busy!

[dalarangreen]

Originally Posted by Imveros

I was just joking

I'm sure dal is just busy!

True!

@Krow: I'll give you some more feedback next weekend. Wanted to give everyone a first pass at reviews before I did a second pass!

[Framm18]

Imber is making some process (updated some things, though far from finished)... I hate the disconnect from my brain to hand when it comes to writing...

[Demonlord Steve]

I'm definitely interested in playing! Will post application tomorrow night.