[D&D-5e] Rime of the Frostmaiden

[Bjorgulf]

Backstory added, I think my app is now complete

[Kullervo]

Quite interested in this one! I very much enjoy stuff set in the north like this (well, and I liked Forgotten Realms, though my exposure is mostly from Baldurs Gate 1&2 (and ToB). Due to how new I am here, I can provide a writing sample without any problems - but also a question!

You said any published materials (barring, from what I saw, races and backgrounds from other setting) - what about something like Chronurgy Wizard from Explorer's Guide to Wildemount? Jeremy Crawford confirmed its official WotC product, but... Figure I'd ask just in case. If not, I've plenty of other ideas - a goliath druid I've been meaning to try, or a cleric I've wanted to experiment with.

[G in Japan]

Originally Posted by Kullervo

Quite interested in this one! I very much enjoy stuff set in the north like this (well, and I liked Forgotten Realms, though my exposure is mostly from Baldurs Gate 1&2 (and ToB). Due to how new I am here, I can provide a writing sample without any problems - but also a question!

You said any published materials (barring, from what I saw, races and backgrounds from other setting) - what about something like Chronurgy Wizard from Explorer's Guide to Wildemount? Jeremy Crawford confirmed its official WotC product, but... Figure I'd ask just in case. If not, I've plenty of other ideas - a goliath druid I've been meaning to try, or a cleric I've wanted to experiment with.

It's official WotC, but it's not Forgotten Realms. I'd prefer to just keep it to Forgotten Realms because I don't follow Wildemount, Eberron, etc. I only have a budget of so many materials, after all.

[Kullervo]

Originally Posted by G in Japan

It's official WotC, but it's not Forgotten Realms. I'd prefer to just keep it to Forgotten Realms because I don't follow Wildemount, Eberron, etc. I only have a budget of so many materials, after all.

Completely understandable! I'll stick to PHB and Tasha's then, since I think you mentioned earlier that you have that one. In fact, I think a Circle of the Moon Goliath Druid is what I'll end up going for... The other alternate idea for a wizard is a gambler (maybe a halfling, in my mind), a kind of tricky character who is a card cheat and ran off to Ten Towns because he got caught, as a Divination Wizard. I'm not altogether certain such a lighthearted character would fit into a horror module though... maybe best stick to Druid. I'll get to work!

[Ildrahil]

Name: Ildrahil Yewbow

Race: Half Elf

Profession: Ranger

Alignment: Neutral Good

Background: Soldier

Personality Trait: I've lost many friends in my short time and I'm slow to make new ones.

Ideal: I will willingly lay down my life in defense of others (Good).

Bond: I fight for those unable to defend themselves.

Flaw: After my time in the military I have grown accustomed to being around soldiers and I have little respect for those who haven't proven themselves as warriors.

Description: Standing at 5'9" and with no great physique, Ildrahil is nothing impressive to look at. Long hair as dark as night, Ildrahil never ventures forth without his armor and bow, a leftover trait from his time as a military scout. Slow to smile and slow to anger, but once aroused it takes time for him to regain his center. Normally, his visage is hard to read as he tends to keep to himself. He finds he has an easier time relating to plants and animals than to people. It takes time to gain his trust but once gained Ildrahil would gladly lay down his life for a friend. He has seen his share of abuse and tends to jump to defend those unable to fend for themselves.

Personality: Ildrahil is an enigma. He is often lost in his own thoughts while simply staring at something in nature. Although he doesn't look for trouble, he will jump to the defense of the defenseless or of his friends. He remembers his duty as a scout and tries to fill that role whenever he can, regardless of the danger and his ugly memories from his time in war. He has a hard time connecting to people because of his childhood experiences and his time in the military. But when meeting a fellow soldier, he immediately gravitates to that person.

History: Ildrahil tends to hide his past. He is the offspring of a human man and Elf maiden. His father, a soldier, had no idea his mother was pregnant, he just woke up one day and she was gone, which broke his heart. He eventually went home and settled down with his children, the result of his marriage to a woman who died in childbirth. One day, two elves appeared and thrust a into his arms. All that was said was, "Take this abomination, we want nothing to do with him. His mother named him Ildrahil." They turned and left. His father loved Ildrahil as did his brother and sisters. He was small and malnourished when he was handed over to his father. Ildrahil recovered from being malnourished but always tended to be smaller and weaker than his brother. When the other boys were playing games of strength, Ildrahil tended to lean towards games of stealth. He preferred staying away from the other boys anyway, since most taunted him terribly about his mother, until Ildrahil's older brother beat them into submission.

Eventually, he and his brother joined the militia, where they both excelled, Ildrahil at being a scout and his brother in the infantry. That is until the last battle Ildrahil fought in. He found the enemy and went back to report it to his officers. Upon getting to the camp, he found it almost overrun, the enemy had come from two directions. Although they won the day, Ildrahil's brother was killed. Ildrahil took his brother home and together with his family he gave him a heroes funeral and then left, broken hearted. He left the military in good standing and went north, hoping to escape the thought that had he done a better job scouting, his brother would still be alive. He took the surname Yewbow while travelling. While at Ten Towns he has befriended an old soldier who has retired there he met at the local pub/inn. Through the soldier he has become acquainted with the owner and staff.

[Thesandwichking]

Posting my interest and a WIP!

A fur clad warrior trudged through the storm...   Name: Ruhn Gormson Race: Half Orc Class: Paladin Profession: Thane of the Griffon Tribe Background: Uthgardt Tribe Member Patron Deity: Tempus, the Lord of Battle Alignment: Lawful Neutral Personality: I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won't save you from a hungry owlbear. Bond: I am the last of my tribe, and it is up to me to ensure their names enter legend. Ideal: Honor: If I dishonor myself, I dishonor my whole clan. Flaw: I remember every insult I've received and nurse a silent resentment toward anyone who's ever wronged me. Description: A grim warrior, broad and strong, adorned in tribal furs and chainmail walked into the inn out of the howling wind and snow. A bit of frost had even begun to form on the edges of the battle axe, quiver of javelins, and kite shield slung across his back. He lowered his hood in the warmth of the room, revealing a mottled gray face, hardened against the cold. Small tusks protruded from his lower jaw, betraying his orcish blood. But he was obviously part human, and of Northern stock as well, evidenced by his steely blue eyes, thick black hair, and the intricate black tattoo that ran up from the left side of his neck up over his left brow. The tattoo depicted a mythic beast made up of interwoven knots and cords of ink which implied its shape. A lion's claws ran down his jaw, a vicious eagle's beak formed on his cheek, and an outstretched wing flared over his left brow. For those familiar with the Northern clans of Men, it was plain as day that this man was an honored son of what was once a mighty tribe. He was a Thane of the Griffon Tribe of Uthgardt. Ruhn is a solemn man with obvious martial prowess and a strong, stoic will. He isn't eloquent or long spoken, relying rather on the gravitas of his actions and determination to get his point across. He is slow to trust, but fiercely loyal, placing his own personal honor and that of his friends over all else. He still prays to his ancestors as he was raised, both Orcish and Uthgardt, as well as the Gods of Fury and their patron, Tempus, the Lord of Battle. To more civilized people his religion seems shamanistic and barbarous, but he pays them no heed. In the heat of battle, the gods reward fervor and zeal, not empty ritual. Background: It has been three generations since the Griffon Tribe fell from glory. Kralgar Bonesnapper had grand dreams of conquest, and was willing to do anything to seize the great cities of the North. He formed a horde of the barbaric northern peoples, even extending his alliance to several orc and goblin clans. Kralgar's ambitions were shattered however, and the Griffon clan fell out of favor, but their coalition with the orcs of the North remained. Three generations after their defeat and dishonor, only a few true heirs to the Griffon Tribe remain. Ruhn's father Grom the Tall was one of these, a stalwart warrior of the tribe who fell under the seductive spell of Krahzan, an orcish seer and woods-witch who came to treat with the Chieftain of Griffon's Nest. After their meeting, the witch told Gorm she was glad to have flown with the Griffons, and told him she would return to him with wings of her own when 'The Gods of Fury give lordship of the North unto Everlasting Rime." Krahzan returned to her clan and bore Gorm's child, a strong half orc she said carried the weight of his ancestors and had the bearing of a powerful shaman. Ruhn indeed grew up to be strong in arms and in will, becoming a leader among his peers on hunts and in veneration of their ancestors and the Gods of Fury. A few years after reaching his manhood, Ruhn determined it was time he met his father, so he set out for Griffon's Nest and the home of the rest of his ancestors. The half orc did not find the second home he'd expected, however. In days past the Griffon Tribe and the orcs of the Savage Frontier were comrades in arms, but since his birth what was left of those Uthgardt at Griffon Hill had lost what honor was left to them and were little more than marauders. He was greeted before their palisade of sharpened timber with drawn bows and raised spears, and no small amount of cursing of his heritage. Before leaving he yelled up to them, asking after the fate of his father, Gorm the Tall. The northmen laughed, and cursed him some more. Some 15 years ago, when their current chieftain Halric came to power, Grom was named a traitor to their Uthgardt blood, an Orc-lover, and was banished from Griffon's Nest. The once great Griffon Tribe told him his father had crossed the Spine of the World into the Far North, "where he may live in the frozen wilds like the orc cur he loved." Grom swore silent revenge upon those men who called themselves the Griffon Tribe as he set off for the Spine of the World, and vowed then and there to found the Tribe anew and return it to its ancient glory, beginning with his shamed and banished father. Ten Towns Connections: Eorl Farrunner- Hunter/trapper of Uthgardt descent (Grey Wolf Tribe) who lived just outside of Ten Towns. Upon arriving in Ten Towns, Ruhn asked the innkeeper if they knew of any Uthgardt in the area, and Eorl was the first to come to mind. The old Northman had sympathy for the young half orc, looking for both his kin and the honor of his Tribe. Eorl took him in for a few weeks, offering to teach him about this frozen land in exchange for help running his trap lines. It was Eorl that gave Ruhn his Griffon tattoo. Orrik Splitstone- Dwarven fur merchant. Besides Eorl, the only acquaintance he's made in Ten Towns while getting settled in the area. The dwarf has promised to keep his ears open for news of a tall, older Uthgardt man with Griffon tattoos.

[Kullervo]

Completed!

Application Name: Razrush Skybreaker Kolakavia* Race: Goliath Gender: Male Age: 21 Alignment: Chaotic Good Class: Druid Sheet(If necessary): https://ddb.ac/characters/42757506/1OlE1F Background: Acolyte Personality: "I see omens in every event and action. The gods try to speak to us, we just need to listen." Bond: "I owe my life to the priest who took me in when my parents died." Ideal: "Change. We must help bring about the changes the gods are constantly working in the world." Flaw: "I am suspicious of strangers and expect the worst of them." Description: Razrush stands at a bit under eight feet - the average height for a goliath. His bald head is decorated with the symmetrical designs of his fate-marks, which zigzag their way across most of his body; they are jagged and oddly clear-edged, akin to lightning-bolts. His mentor Kranoth Stormbearer had often said they reminded him more of rays of the sun - though how the blind shaman saw this, he did not know. Razrush's has a black beard and moustache, and a single steel ring in his right ear. His body has a decent amount of scarring on it that is plainly visible - a part of his left ear missing, a large claw-shaped gash on his chest, and several scratch-marks on his face, which are only visible as they are a bit paler than the rest of his grey visage. He usually dresses in thick furs - especially since the Unending Winter began - his clothing is fairly roughly crafted but very sturdy, bearing no decoration apart from several fangs of various wildlife. His physique is visibly that of a warrior, muscular and lean - but then, that was expected of a goliath - though somewhat strange from the apprentice of a shaman. Razrush' nose looks like it'd been broken at least a few times, and from under his usually furrowed brows he looks on at the world through a pair of slightly mocking steel-blue eyes. Personality: Razrush usually possesses a calm and thoughtful demeanor, and approaches most subjects in much the same way. He typically does not offer prompt responses, preferring to think over what he offers to the conversation. He is also immensely curious about just about everything, and his inability to stick to the frame of tradition grated on his mentor severely, as tradition was his role in the tribe. His apprentice, he would admit, is a bit of an odd duck among the tribe - not so far as to be a pariah, but his thinking is different. The goliaths are a nomadic people with a role-based, merciless society that relies on how useful the individual is, dependent on competition and thirst for strength and honor. Razrush is more centered on efficiency and what is 'right', and didnt have a single competitive bone in his body. He is relentless and merciless - but more to himself than to others. He is paranoid and suspicious - but that is because he didnt know how to read people had had been severely disappointed before. He is single-minded in his focus, and he can be quite stubborn, especially when it comes to reading omens. His calm is also eerie and bizzare to some - and it takes a great deal of effort to piece this mask of his - only earned by trust. History: Razrush’ story began with a tale he’d been told of his father's last hunt - his stand against a great white beast. Goliath honor decreed the others could not leave unless he demanded to challenge it one on one, which was death – but that is what he did. The hunting party reported back to camp, led by the other Captain – Gravhal Rootkiller, his father’s rival. It was also he who discovered the grisly scene of battle after and informed his mother of it. Quietly, ignoring the Chief’s orders, his mother took him, picked up her spear, and left the tribe. Interestingly, she did not get branded with an Exile’s name(Kinless, Lonestrider, and so on) – and the Lamentor was silent when she left(which meant she wasn’t ‘honorably leaving’). The child Razrush was later found in a cave in his swaddling clothes, inscribed with his name, by an old goliath priest of Amaunator named Dolgrim Shattershield who was deemed too old and was sent away from his tribe to die. Of his mother, no traces were seen beyond a broken spear (which he now wields as a staff), the signs of struggle, blood, and unsteady tracks going over the nearby cliff. With his life now having purpose – to preserve the child’s life – Dolgrin made his way to the Ten Towns, as he could not go to the tribe; there was too much dishonor in it. The child had no second name nor chief, so he gave it the name ‘Iceveins’ for the eerie calm in such a cruel fate. The child did not sniffle or cry out – merely studied him with its steel-blue eyes. The one-armed, near-blind priest made his way to Easthaven with the child on his back, where he managed to eke out a living by selling his services as a healer and unlicensed apothecary. He was extremely sickly, so one of the first things Razrush learned was herbalism, to take care of his foster father. Dolgrim had made it a habit to eat less than he should and feed his son more, claiming he already ate or wasn’t hungry. The boy didn’t quite understand this until a bit later – he was trying to fit into the loud little groups kids formed and failed. He was just too large, didn’t know how to control his strength, was easy to bully, and when he responded in kind, healers were needed. He was also gruff and contemplative, not outgoing like the rest – infinitely curious, but more than willing to find these secrets out for himself. Eventually, he simply stopped trying, much to his mentor’s chagrin – he tried to explain how goliaths needed to compete but what would Razrush compete with? Even the rare half-orc kids had trouble with him. He found he liked listening to Dolgrin’s lessons on lore and druidic arts, but quickly decided he liked learning lessons on his own – that, along with his foster father’s worsening health was how he met Anya the half-elf. Anya was a short-haired, strict woman with a lithe build who never treated him like a kid – he was thankful for that. She offered him money for information he could ‘accidentally’ listen in on in and pointed out where he could hear it. It was an honest offer, and one he accepted – except changed it so she gave him food and medicine, which he in turn slipped into the donation box on their shack’s porch for Dolgrin to find. His heart hurt when he lied to the old man, but the sight of him sinking to his knees in tears, thanking Amaunator for this bounty was enough for him to continue. Regardless of how rewarding it was to seek out secrets, Razrush always felt stifled in the city, which made him cynical and paranoid – he yearned for nature’s freedoms: - the gentle sway of the snows, the howl of a blizzard, the way the trees whispered and water practically spoke as it flowed by... In every motion, of every animal, everything had meaning, purpose. It was not here. His father – and the secrets – were all that tied him to this place, so that when he passed, quietly, in his sleep… He prepared to leave, only to be stopped by Anya and a goliath he didn’t know. The woman offered membership in her organization, repeating its goals, which appealed to him, and as a token of her appreciation, introduced him to the goliath who apparently knew him by his fate-marks, and led the boy home, where he was taken in by Kranoth Stormbeared, who recognized the beginning of a druid in him. He’d like the Skywatcher, but try as he might, he didn’t fit in here, either. He didn’t understand how the Dawncalled could glorify the ancestors while handing them over for exile to the Lamentor. He was confused at the intricacies of volok-thea, the Shunning, and how games were not games, or you had to show off how good you were. All of this was explained to him patiently by a grumpy Kranoth, but the worst was when Auril’s Rime descended; nobody cared about it. They were content to sit and watch, just survive; nobody thought to mention that the cycle was disrupted, that nature’s balance was ruined, that this would not pass them by regardless how little the cold bothered them. Perhaps they were merely afraid? He recalled once more the teachings of all three of his mentors… and turned his back on the camp, gathering his things. As he crossed the threshold of the camp, he saw Kranoth, sitting there and staring into the blizzard. He paused out of respect for his teacher, and waited until he spoke. "You are like a son to me. The chief will... Likely exile you should you leave of your own will. Instead, I give you a task. Go. Find the reason for this curse. I am the Skywatcher - I can do no more and no less than watch, for them. You... are Iceveins no longer - the frost in your blood has thawed far too much. I name you Skybreaker, for that is what you will seek. Farewell." As Razrush had bowed and turned to leave, not saying a word, he thought he heard his mentor begin a quiet song of lament over an exile - but such a thing must have been the blizzard playing tricks on his ears, however keen they had been. After all, it would be dishonorable for the Skywatcher himself to indulge in a Lamentor's task, no matter what he'd felt. Thats what he decided, wiping a stray frozen tear from his eye.   The boy who would later be given the strange title 'Skybreaker' before he'd left the tribe behind had begun his life as the son of parents he'd never truly known, so it was difficult for him to miss them. He'd only known that old Kranoth Stormbearer had took him in for apprenticeship, and what the old Skywatcher had told him - which wasnt much; his father, Varagal Brightstalker, one of the chosen Captains for that day, had assembled his team with the help of another goliath, Gravhal Rootkiller, chosen for the rivarly he and his father shared and gone off on a hunt from which his father would not return. The remnants of the group would return later, announcing that a great white beast attacked them, and Varagal demanded he be permitted to fight it one on one (the implication had been that while it would be cowardly to retreat, leaving a kinsman, if the kinsman demanded this and called it a challenge, it could be obeyed without dishonor). Gravhal took the others away but returned later to find a grisly scene that left, as he said, no doubt that Varagal died. Navea Mistwalker, his mother, had vanished from camp the very same night, taking her child with her and disobeying the chieftain's order. Razrush knew that such an act would have resulted in her being granted an Exile name, and no Lamentor's Songs could be sung - strangely, no such acts followed - everyone in the tribe who he could get to speak on the matter referred to her as 'Mistwalker' not 'Lonestrider' or other such Exile names. As for the child Razrush... He'd been found in a small cave by a priest of Amaunator, one Dolgrin Shattershield, who took shelter in the cave from the blizzard - the only signs that anyone had been closely were the distinct patterns of a fierce fight outside, frozen blood, torn fur, a broken spear, and tracks leading over the edge of the nearby cliff. As the goliath repeated later, the strangest thing about it all was that the child did not so much as sniffle, simply stared at him with cold, steel-blue eyes. His name was on his swaddling clothes, and he was too young for a second name, but he'd no chief to give him one - nor had the old Dolgrin had one. The priest had been exiled honorably from his clan, sent to die - he was deemed too old to take care of his duties; as a 'purposeless one', his duty was to find a good death and not become a burden - finding Razrush absolved him of that and required he care for the child. He could not return any tribe as he had been sent away and going back would bring dishonor. Instead, he'd undertaken the journey to the Ten Towns - how the old goliath made it, Razrush would never know. One-armed, half-blind, carrying a child on his back, he'd arrived in Easthaven; though he did not find as friendly a welcome as he hoped, the services of a healer were just as useful there as anywhere. It is likely that a youth spent in Easthaven had the strange results that Kranoth spoke of. He'd had few real friends among the children, and with his size and the rate at which goliaths aged, coupled with the physical prowess, he only needed to teach a bully a lesson once. However, while some are charismatic enough to turn such foes to friends, the boy was far too quiet and gruff to act in that way. Most steered clear of him - Kranoth had tried his best to explain goliath culture to the boy, but with the stubbornness of youth, he far happier absorbed other secrets - after all 'what does the old fart know?' competitiveness with humans, or even the rare half-orc child were not 'true' contests, according to them, so he left them, in favor of 'secrets'. Razrush's natural inquisitiveness and keen hearing had him learning many things that were likely to be best left alone; for a brief period of time he'd also been a blabbermouth about these, until the day Kranoth took him aside and explained sternly that some things werent meant to be stated out loud, even if true. He also warned him against getting too friendly with people he didnt know - but what did that matter to Razrush? He knew that the priest fed him most of their food, leaving only a barest bit for himself, saying he'd felt ill or ate already - he could see through the gentle lies. That was why he'd taken the offer he was given, by a woman who claimed to represent an important organization - she would not name it, as he was too small - but she promised him money if he'd managed to bring her interesting pieces of information and suggested where he could get it. She made the offer honestly, and so he accepted it the same way - only stipulating he didnt want gold but medicine and food; that was how he managed to get supplies for his ailing foster father. If he'd given him gold, he would know - but simply supplies like this, he could slip somewhere for the man to find and claim it was well-wishers and those who would donate to Amaunator. Though his heart hurt every time he had to tell such a lie, the sight of the old man sinking to his knees and muttering, through tears, a prayer of thanks to Amaunator... It was enough to fortify his resolve. The woman's name was Anya - thats how she called herself. No other nickname, title, or anything of the sort; a half-elf with short hair tied back in a ponytail and a lithe build, she smiled little and never treated him like a child. She taught him how to be observant and trained his memory, while Dolgrin had taught him what he could - the druidic arts, and gave him the name - Iceveins, for how the child had been utterly unaffected by the blizzard when he found him, silent and calm, as if ice flowed in his veins. Nature had always given Razrush a feeling of freedom - the gentle sway of the snows, the howl of a blizzard, the way the trees whispered and water practically spoke as it flowed by... In every motion, of every animal - that was how things should be. And Easthaven... The more he learned of it, the less childlike his face became - the furrowed brows, the cynical look. He'd grown disillusioned with it - but the secrets always drew him in; that was why he'd been trapped between two realms. His foster father, and the secrets were here - but out there... Who knew what was beyond the horizon? Old Dolgrin had said the goliath were nomadic, and the call of the blood was only natural. When Dolgrin passed away peacefully, in his sleep, that was when Razrush had felt he needed to leave - but before then, Anya approached him again, and offered membership in her organization, repeating their goals and aims. They made sense - at least for now - and he agreed, restating he intended to find his clan. It so happened that a Goliath had been staying at Easthaven - the very man who'd been his father's rival; Gravhal Rootkiller. Anya originally approached him so he would guide the young Razrush to a tribe of Goliath so he would learn their ways - but was in for a shock when the man recognized the young druid; it was true, the last he'd seen him he was but a child, but the distinct fate-marks upon his head did not change, and every goliath had their own. Seeing the hand of fate at work, Gravhal took the boy back to his clan, where he stayed, becoming apprentice to Kranoth Stormbearer, who recognized the beginnings of a druid that Dolgrin had taught him, and considered them of worth to the tribe. Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried, Razrush simply could not fit in here, either. They were his people - and knew his father and mother even - but even given he absorbed knowledge like a sponge, he did not feel like he was one of them. He would get up every day to the Dawncaller's songs, hearing the valorous deeds of his ancestors, and then frown, as he always did, in confusion, as he remembered that the same ancestors they regaled with song they exiled to die in the snows. There were much strangeness that Dolgrin had never even mentioned to him - such as the intricacies of the volok-thea, or Shunning, the complexities of how honor worked, and why simple games were treated with such intensity. Even their competitions - as he discovered later, Gravhal did not bring him back out of a desire to do good but to, effectively, show off just how good he was - it gave him an edge over his rival. It shocked and hurt the young druid when Kranoth patiently explained it to him; the Skywatcher himself was not so bad, he reminded him a bit of Dolgrin, if far grumpier. As he reached his 19th year, the Eternal Rime descended upon them. This was when he truly understood that a part of his education could only be obtained by himself. Nobody here had cared much for what Auril had done - she was a goddess, Kranoth explained, smoothing his beard - and gods do as they wish. Mortals simply... watch and survive. Razrush was not content with mere 'survival'. He wished to know why - a great many 'why's'; what happened to his father, why nobody would speak of his mother, why everyone so readily accepted the reign of winter that Auril imposed upon them. Did they simply not see, or were they afraid to see, what endless winter would do to their lives, to everything around them? They certainly were less vulnerable to the cold, but what of plants that needed sun? What of animals that relied upon them? Everything would be disrupted, changed... perhaps destroyed. It went against every notion of fairness and balance that he'd been taught. He recalled Anya's curt words on the subject of balance in the world, and how evil must never flourish - then the teachings of the kindly Dolgrin, and finally, the traditions of Kranoth. No. None of these people he trusted had given him reason to believe he was wrong - and so, he gathered his gear and supplies, and went to leave. At the edge of the camp, just beyond the borders, sat old Kranoth, staring into the blizzard. He paused out of respect for his teacher, and waited until he spoke. "You are like a son to me. The chief will... Likely exile you should you leave of your own will. Instead, I give you a task." He paused, chewing his lip. "Go." He finally uttered. "And find the reason for this curse. I am the Skywatcher - I can do no more and no less than watch, for them. You... are Iceveins no longer - the frost in your blood has thawed far too much. I name you Skybreaker, for that is what you will seek. Farewell." As Razrush had bowed and turned to leave, not saying a word, he thought he heard his mentor begin a quiet song of lament over an exile - but such a thing must have been the blizzard playing tricks on his ears, however keen they had been. After all, it would be dishonorable for the Skywatcher himself to indulge in a Lamentor's task, no matter what he'd felt. Thats what he decided, wiping a stray frozen tear from his eye. Ten Towns Connections: Mostly, he knows of Easthaven - but the assumption is his travels could have lead him anywhere to where the story begins. Only real contact is Anya the Half-Elf, who at the very least was in Easthaven several years ago. Apart from named people... Its likely he's remembered - a goliath child outside a tribe is very rare, and this one tried to get everywhere with his 'secrets' obsession. When he grew up a bit, the local apothecaries probably knew him better than most as he took on the herbalism skills from Dolgrin as he tried to make him medications himself, with varying degrees of success. He's also almost certainly left a grudge or two between the information he'd accidentally spilled and the things he'd delivered to Anya. NPCs: Anya the Half-Elf(agent and friend), Kranoth Stormbearer(mentor and father figure), Dolgrin Shattershield(adoptive father). Father, mother, and father's rival's names removed as it felt they were unnecessary, they are still in the old history. Misc: *I'm not actually sure what the goliath tribe/tribes in the area are though I know there have to be some. If possible, I'd like to be from an established one - if Razrush is picked - so it ties him a bit more into the setting. Of course, if its easier to work him into the story by being from some small tribe, then that works just as well. Music Themes: [Totems of the Grizzlemaw - WoW OST], [Fields of Ard Skellig- Witcher III OST], [Tristram - Diablo 2 OST]

 

How many times did he dream about this? Walking in here again and attacking Devargo? Now that it happened, things of course didnt go as expected, starting with Gregory's fall. Still, it wasnt without some gain, as he made certain to warn them about spiders. Hopefully, there werent too many; he didnt think there would be, anyway - if he wanted to kill his 'guests' quickly, he'd have just put a spike trap down below. Which meant that they had time... Though not a lot of it. The alchemist glanced around the room, his cold blue eyes glinting behind the eyepieces of the plague doctor mask.

'Could debilitate most of the thugs - but Elsbeth is already on that.' Eleazar let his fingers stop over the smoke bomb before moving to his dagger. 'Can help Eris with Devargo - Abadar, but I do want to slit his throat myself - but she seems to be doing fine.' The tiefling's tail twitched slightly, ready to remove the rope from his pack. 'Could drop Gregory a rope - but thats too slow. But if we get a runner...' He glanced towards the exits of the room and grit his teeth, coming to a conclusion. It was best to get this fight over with quickly after all - then they could commit more to help to their spokesman.

There were other options, too, of course - like drinking a mutagenic elixir in order to bolster his defenses, or an extract in order to enhance his bombs, but at this point, that would only serve in prolonging the fight. Something he wanted to avoid. So, taking a step back, he held out his left hand with its palm up, a soft 'click' and the hiss of steel on steel announcing that his spring-loaded sheathe pushed the dagger out for him to retrieve. As Eleazar grasped hold of the dagger's handle, his eyes darkened, as they always did when he recalled the events that transpired in Talingarde. He wanted to say something impressive, intimidating, maybe scare Devargo... But his tongue was as if glued to the roof of his mouth. Thin tendrils of black mist billowed from where a bit of the dagger's steel was withdrawn from the sheathe, blindly latching onto his arm. The alchemist concentrated on the most painful moments of his life, reminiscing on the terror, pain, and hunger he felt back then, bringing back every sensation as if it was yesterday: the cold, unfeeling stone of the streets, the warm blood on his hands, the sound of the dagger, clattering to the cobblestone, and the disbelieving, innocent, open yellow eyes, staring into a darkened sky but not seeing it. Without realizing, he pulled the rest of the dagger free, the blade stained pitch black:

And then, the darkness within him was suddenly all around him.
(Its Pathfinder, character was an Tiefling Alchemist, who cast Darkness SLA, for clarity's sake)

 

A soft voice... Volrukh groaned, finding his face and rubbing at his forehead, trying to collect his thoughts - for a moment, he assumed this was merely the continuation of yesterday's 'festivities' - of which he recalled not much at all. A local beauty with a sharper tongue than a boatswain, and a ringing, infectious laughter, a drinking contest, then heading upstairs (following her, of course, why miss the view), then... Not much at all, apart from a woman's scream and a revolting cackle followed by a 'thump' on his head and being dragged somewhere. Gorlan must've disappeared somewhere partway through the 'party' leading up to this - maybe around when he caught his opponent cheating at cards and slammed a chair into the side of his head. Thankfully, the chair was just a half-rotten barrel, so it was more of an embarrassment. The inquisitor swore somewhat weakly, mumbling the words: Why couldnt he have retained the memories of the second half of the night instead? When he was prodded again, the pirate assumed this was just more of yesterday and simply grumbled a foul curse in reply, to the effect of 'go away, let me sleep'.

The harsh words that came after had been somewhat of an eye-opener for the seascarred, and he grasped at his forehead again, his scarred hand not finding what he expected: the cool touch of steel from his lucky coin. At this point, Volrukh's fingers curled into a fist which he leaned on, raising himself above the floor and peering around in the dim light, narrowing his eyes, attempting to adjust, steadily growing angrier. It felt like one hell of a hangover - except that in this case, it was more like the tried to headbutt a bull. As soon as he rose to one knee, his hand darted to his boot, where he knew one of this many knives would be, but it was gone. Naturally, the more visible ones were, as well. His free hand reached towards the his chest, where Besmara's holy symbol would have been, but neither it nor a dozen other, cheaper ones, were there. The creak of the floor, and the way it shifted from time to time told the pirate all he needed to know about his current predicament. Were it slavers, he'd have already been chained to a seat and it wouldnt be a woman's voice or prodding that awakened him, however cruel - but a taskmaster's whip.

Press-ganged, then. By pirates, more likely than navy.

The annoying voice piping up after made the woman's cursing seem like a nightingale's song, and the things it said left little room for doubt on what had really happened. Scourge. Plugg. Conchobhar. Rosie. I'll remember those, and then sort out who is right and wrong. But someone will pay for this. Volrukh rose steadily to his feet, determined not to look shaky or lean on anything - first impressions, right? He had to make a good one. Drawing himself up to his full, considerable, height, he looked around at his would-be crewmates, spotting a few faces from the Formidably Maid and noting them. They would be useful. One in a field - or sea - was no warrior. Besmara teaches to leave all troubles on shore... But this cant count, right? No contract was made, didnt give no one my word.

Having taken a look around, Volrukh placed his hands in his pockets and grinned in the direction where the voices were coming from, baring his sharper-than-usual teeth. "Volrukh Corvinus. Mind tellin' me which poor sap stole the holy artifacts of Besmara from her loyal cleric? Knives I can replace, but my book of prayers and those?" He sucked in air, shook his head, and smiled wider: "Brave lad or lass, to wanna bear Besmara's curse at sea." He made a show of searching his belt and shaking his head, chuckling. "I dont bloody believe it... they took me cursed idol too. Well! My sincerest thanks for that." Another woman's voice on his right - one of the ones he'd recognized briefly from the tavern - her question was a good one, but its not as if he'd take a dive off the ship and swim back... No, that wasnt gonna work. Besides, as infuriating this was, it was an opportunity; he'd wanted to get onto a ship once more and build his reputation. Starting like this was disgusting, and it infuriated him to no end that someone would treat his freedom in this way - but for now, all he could do was grin, bear it, and remember - he was good at that. And when time came and opportunity came again, well, fixing a shank was pretty easy.

[G in Japan]

As I have more than enough applications for a group, I am going to close the applications on January 17. I live in Japan, so this will be Saturday in the US.

[Kullervo]

Sounds good; I'm glad I finished my character early, then! Razrush is complete as far as I can see at least, though I could probably keep cutting down his backstory, its likely better I leave him be.

[Bjorgulf]

Good luck to everyone!

[Seekr34]

should be fun! My goliath will handle the cold well.

[ElvenMaiden]

Good luck everyone! I will be nervously biting my nails and counting down until Saturday!

[Woland]

Lots of great apps! Best of luck to all!

[Ildrahil]

Originally Posted by ElvenMaiden

Good luck everyone! I will be nervously biting my nails and counting down until Saturday!

As will I.

[Kullervo]

Good luck to everyone! Regardless how it turns out seems like there's to be a lot of interesting interactions between characters based on what I read of other profiles.