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Old Aug 4th, 2014, 03:44 PM
Ziether's Avatar
Ziether Ziether is offline
Re-Charging for 2022
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Last Visit: Apr 11th, 2023
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Applications Go Here

Please post your application below. If you have already applied in the recruitment thread, either copy/paste the entire application into this thread, or simply provide a link to the application. I will put a table in this post to organize everything.

Please do not post anything other than applications or links to applications in this thread. The OOC thread and the Recruitment Thread are both available for questions, comments, or anything else you need to say.

Please use the following format, or a close variation on it. If you wish to deviate from these, just make sure that everything I ask for is in there somewhere. Format is important. Please put a full line break between paragraphs. Please BOLD the title of each section. You may choose to use FIELDSETS or not. I like them, but I don't require them.

Application RequirementsName: Self-Explanatory
Race: if you're designing it, work with me
Class: If you have questions about Gestalt, as it isn't OFFICIALLY supported, ask.
Age Category: Please at least be Adult. Take stat changes due to age category into account
Alignment: don't tell me.
Pictures/Music: please leave them out of the application. If you must, you may use them in the Game Thread if accepted.
Description: don't go overboard
Personality: again, be descriptive, but not crazy
Background: here's your chance to wow me.
RP Sample: no more than 1000 words
Anything Else?: if you feel the application needs more, put it here.
Old Aug 4th, 2014, 04:00 PM
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Majestic Pyre Majestic Pyre is offline
Back from the Mundane
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Kerzumal Silver-Ring

Here's my App:

Name: Kerzumal Silver-Ring
Race: Gripplis Wight
Class: Monk Archetypes, Ki Mystic and Weapon Adept (Nunchuku) Mystical Nunchuku Adept 10 / Rogue Archetypes, Rake and ScoutRakish Scout 10
Age Category: Undead, died at 17. (I.e Adulthood for a Gripplis.)
DescriptionKerzumal scale hide is bleached with his twenty-some years of undeath. He has many scars where he has been injured during his fights, both before and after his undeath. Standing just above 2 foot, Kerzumal weighs 29 pounds and his desiccated flesh is stretched taut over his stone-cold arms. His eyes shine with blood. To the untrained eye, he appears unarmed, but anyone who has seen death knows differently. From his waist, a long skinny pouch serves as a holster for several wands. His clothing is dyed dark, and is wrapped tightly around him to avoid rustling. Around his neck an amulet faintly pulses sanguine from time to time. And on his finger rests a silver ring inset with a fist.

PersonalityKerz has become something of a free spirit, but he, like almost all of his brethren, considers himself the lucky recipient of a second chance. He is determined to pay it forward in any way he can. The most powerful force on his actions now is the Penance of Duty. If he is presented with an opportunity to do good, Kerzumal has a very difficult time passing it up. He often hates this compulsion, but considers it a necessary evil. Without the Penance of Duty, Kerzumal would never have understood true fulfillment.

However, his life isn't sunshine and roses. He knows that he is an abomination; and the constant hunger can leave him moody and angry at times. Kerz tries to make his life his own in many ways, some not necessarily sanctioned by the order. Many older members of the Order consider Kerz a bit of a loose cannon. Ready to maul first, and ask questions later. They can only trust that the magic of his curse will keep him from straying to far from the fold.




Role-Play SampleWhen Lothi finally stopped running his lungs felt thoroughly ravaged, but the smells of a city being put to the torch were still all around him. Ducking into an alleyway, he watched as a pair of soldiers dragged an obviously screaming girl out a door directly in his way. Her blonde hair fell bunched and matted, sticky with blood.

Voice quavering, Lothi stood his ground. He was hardly defenseless. Put her down! He stuttered it as best he could. He'd never really mastered speech.

Snickering, the soldiers looked at her, and they let go. Her head hit the pavement with a dull force Lothi felt through the soles of his feet. The one on the right drew his sword. He was saying something, but Lothi didn't even try to understand. He understood the man's posture just fine. Gripping the rod in his right hand, Lothi knew that his eyes were blazing. They always became more intense, when he cast one of his stilled spells.

The soldier with his weapon drawn wheeled about. His eyes glazed, he swung his blade at his former comrade. Bewildered, the man threw up his arms, taking the slash across them. He squealed in pain. Panicked, the attacking soldier dropped to his kneels, attempting to staunch the bleeding. Feeling sudden pressure, he turned his head. Lothi rested a hand on the soldier's shoulder. He completed his spell, and the soldier felt a change come over him. He didn't feel well. In fact, he could feel something, vital, fleeing his body. Abruptly, he vomited. Then he fell face down in the street.

Lothi watched the soldier crumple. The bastard would regret his attempt at crime, that curse would be damn hard to shake, with their crusade against magic. Lothi checked the other soldier. He was already unconscious from blood loss. He'd be dead in minutes.

Turning to the girl, Lothi placed his hand on her as well, but the effects were all together different. Color immediately began returning to her breathless features. He read her lips, as she awoke. What happened? Who are you?

He would have preferred to go it alone, but he needed the cover. Gnomes weren't native here. He'd stand out as magical, and be killed, if he wasn't careful. I saved your life... but now I need your help. Will you help me?

Her hesitance was palpable, she didn't want to commit to anything. Lothi brushed the hair from her face, using the movement to disguise his charm spell. Suddenly confused, she nodded. You will pretend to be my mother, I'll be your son. We're getting out of here.

As he helped her to her feet, he winked. I'll protect you... Mom.


Character Sheet:
I have taken the Oath of Sangus
Characters: Kerzumal

Last edited by Majestic Pyre; Aug 14th, 2014 at 02:48 AM. Reason: Added a signature weapon to: Anything Else?
Old Aug 4th, 2014, 05:16 PM
Reame Reame is offline
Old Dragon
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Name: Lyrith
Race: Aasimar
Class: sorcerer/summoner
Age Category: Adult
Standing at six foot four he is slightly above average height for an Aasimar but he is still taller than quite a few of the other races standing out not only because of his height but his almost reflective sliver hair. Hiss hair is generally cut short but he does have a beard that runs down about a foot before stopping. Due to the nature of his power he has a maze of tattoos covering his body which glow slightly when he uses magic. He doesn’t like having attention drawn to him so he usually covers up his body with robes or other baggy cloths. He doesn’t like fashion considering it a waste as it serves no use but will get dressed up in nicer cloths if he needs to, such as a larger meeting or a big event.

His eyes shine a beautiful gold and are always half closed as if he was always thinking about something important. Given the right lighting both his eyes and his hair will seam to glow by reflecting the light.

He is content with his life and sometimes distant to reality only realizing major events. His attention can never be held for long but he is none the less intelligent. He sometimes had mood swings causing him to either became saintly generous and kind or almost abusive. He has trained a bit to keep his mind from wandering and prevent drastic changes in personality but minor changes still exist from time to time. The cause of the mood swings and short attention span is the opposing bloodlines competing within him, a small price to pay for the ability to bring his wife back in his mind.

He has a wide knowledge of magic and is willing to teach others how to use it for little or no cost. He prefers to provide for himself and will try to turn down offers of charity but if someone refuses to turn down their offer he will take it gratefully.

Nothing means more to him than his wife. The both of them would do anything for the other and both are content with just spending their years together in peace. The big problem with just living in peace is the war itself and the problems caused by the new God

He was originally a middle class citizen with a wife and a job as a professor in magic, albeit not having magical abilities at that time, a small army of bandits attacked their town. While most were unharmed because of the towns defenses and a good number of citizens who fought back his wife, who was in the fields outside of town, was killed. The loss of his wife, the person he loved the most, drove him into sorrow. He eventually quit his job and used all his time for research into magic. One day, not only an angel visited him, but so did a demon. The two each tried to pull him over to their side, to get him to use their power. He knowing that a single angel or demon didn’t have enough power to bring back his wife chose a third option. He chose to gain the power of both the demon and the angel. They agreed with him and shared their power, leaving him soon after. With the influx of new power he was placed into a coma that lasted a month before he awoke with great power. Using rituals that he had found before his coma he used his new power to do the seemingly impossible. He brought back his wife from the dead. While she isn’t truly revived she is made out of flesh and blood and retains all memories and the soul of his wife. The only thing keeping her from being alive is the fact that she requires his constant power to stay in our world, or else she disappears. The city which he lived in soon became appalled by his choices and to prevent the citizens from harming him the city council sent him off for his own good and now he wonders the land teaching magic like he once had and living to together once again with his wife
RP Sample:
I woke up in the cot that I shared with my wife and lay there unwanting to rouse from slumber till I could no longer stay still and climbed out of bed. I found some cloths amongst our attire as I pulled back the curtain that closed off the wagon turning it into a room. I climbed down from my traveling house and bathed in a nearby spring before returning to the large camp to watch my newly woken wife feeding the horses and readying our own food.

While the two of us ate in silence I preened her wings, an activity she enjoys, she describes it like a massage but for her wings. She always had such pretty wings.

“Lyrith, I’ve been hearing strange rumors when we travel through town.” My wife spoke up ending the silence of the day. “People have been mentioning a new god that has been performing miracles. Do you think it’s true?”

“It’s not my place to say if it is” I replied leaning into her and putting my arms around her enjoying her company.

“I know it might just be nothing but I have a bad feeling about it, like something bad might happen.” She spoke leaning into me.

“I hope not, we’ve be through enough already”

Lyrith: Link
Wife: Link

Info about wife:


Last edited by Reame; Aug 6th, 2014 at 02:11 AM.
Old Aug 4th, 2014, 05:34 PM
spikehed's Avatar
spikehed spikehed is offline
Bone Head
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Posts: 1,333
ApplicationName: Voren
Age: Adult
Race: Alternate Racial Traits: Prehensile Tail, Scaled SkinRakshasa-Spawn Tiefling
Class(es): Mysterious StrangerGunslinger 11 // Trench FighterFighter 4 / Oath of VengeancePaladin 7



Life is a sexually transmitted disease and the mortality rate is 100%

Last edited by spikehed; Aug 5th, 2014 at 08:32 AM.
Old Aug 5th, 2014, 12:26 AM
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Schniderman Schniderman is offline
Goblin Slayer
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Posts: 2,072
HarukaName: Haruka
Race: Mutt (Kitsune / Lupos)
Class: Magus (Kensai) / Samurai (Sword Saint)
Age Category: Adult, 22

Description:Haruka is physically more imposing than most kitsune, often standing half a head or more over males at her height of six feet and one inch. A fairly well defined musculature fills out her build, keeping her height from making her seem too lank. Her fur is a golden brown hue, lightening towards her throat and chest. It seems less sleek and uniform than most kitsune, matted in some spots and stuck up in tufts at others. A thin scar runs along the left side of her muzzel, leaving a part in the fur there. Her eyes are a yellowy amber color, and widely spaced on her face. Her ears have a mostly triangular shape, and are quite near to the back of her head. Her right ear has a notch missing from the tip, about a quarter missing all told. The edge of the notch is cleanly cut, a wound from a blade.

Her usual wardrobe consists of a kosode, haori jacket, hakama, and straw zōri sandals. The fabrics she wears are generally single tone, and she favors oceanic colors: navy, turqoise, sea green, black and gray. The designs of her clothes are often simple, without many embellishments aside from her family crest, a stylized wisteria blossom in silver thread. She always keeps her sword at hand, stuck through her obi on the left side of her hip. When traveling, she wears a mino raincoat and a sandogasa straw hat.
Personality:Soft spoken and austere, Haruka often has difficulties warming to new acquaintances. To those that can accept her inflexible mannerisms and uncompromising morals, she proves herself to be equally unyielding in her loyalty and devotion to her friends and allies. She tries to live her life by a set of seven virtues: Rectitude, to perceive what is right and wrong; Courage, to be able to act upon what you perceive as being right; Benevolence, to display love and strength in equal parts, and to temper justice with mercy; Respect, to act with consideration to the sensibilities of those around you; Honesty, to be sincere in word and deed; Honour, to have a vivid consciousness of personal dignity and worth; and Loyalty, to strictly maintain fidelity to one's lord and one's companions.


RP Sample:Snow falls on the wooded hillside in a gentle flurry, adding to the already ankle deep carpet that covers the ground. A woman bundled against winter's nip trudges alone through the white landscape, leaving a trail of upturned snow in her wake. With the sun setting in the sky, evening is at hand. Overhead, the wind blows through the boughs of leaf bare trees, making them rattle like dried bones, and the woman takes her cloak and draws it closer around herself.

The crunch of snow underfoot sounds from steps she didn't take, and her gaze is drawn towards the noise, settling on broad tree trunk. A long moment passes with only the wind to break the silence, and she rests her hand on the scabbard of her sword, just beneath the cross guard. *Chkk* She pushes her thumb against the guard, showing the first inch of blade.

"Whoa, hold on now!" came a startled voice from behind the tree, its owner soon to follow it as he stepped out into view with his hands above his head. The speaker was old, and looked to be a wood cutter. His fur was fully gray, his whiskers were long and crooked, and his eyebrows were so prodigious they threatened to completely thwart his vision. "I didn't mean no offense, no need for violence." He smiled disarmingly, his black lips pulling back to show yellowed teeth.

Relaxing her shoulders and sliding her katana back into its sheath with a click, Haruka reached up and took off her hat, bowing her head to the old kitsune. "Forgive me, I took you to be a bandit at first. These woods have been dangerous as of late."

The old man relaxed too, lowering his hands to his sides. "Don't I know it! Too many hoodlums wanderin' here and there. Actually, I was a might worried you were one of 'em." he said, chuckling as he walked over towards Haruka. "Why don't you come with me to my cabin, it's as safe a place as you'll find in these parts." he offered, gesturing in the direction of a nearby strand of trees. "It's jus' over yonder."

Considering the woodcutter's offer for a while, Haruka smiles and bows her head again before giving her answer, "Well then, thank you for your kindness." Straightening up and putting her hat back on, she followed the man on his way. "My name is Haruka, niece of Hiroshi the silk merchant. Might I ask the name of my gracious host?" That drew a wheezy laugh from the woodcutter. "No one important enough to need such formal speech. I'm Kotaro the woodsman. Ah! We're here."

Before the duo stood a small wooden cabin, no more than a dozen feet on a side. Surrounding the little building on three sides were split logs piled three feet high. By then the sun had dipped below the horizon and darkness was beginning to fall. Kotaro ushered Haruka inside and cleared a space by the hearth for her to unroll her bedding. He himself stoked a low fire before bidding his guest good night and crawling under his own blankets. With the warmth of the fire and the surprisingly snug shelter, it didn't take long for Haruka to fall asleep.

She was roused by the sound of someone moving about within the cabin, and when she opened her eyes they fell on Kotaro, crouched beside her with a long, thin knife. When he saw her eyes flutter open he drove the knife downward, narrowly missing her neck as she twisted out of the way. Reaching for where she'd left her sword next to her, her fingers closed around air; it had been moved.

"Die!" Kotaro snarled, moving to stab at her again, only to have his wrist caught and twisted painfully. Haruka hissed five rolling syllables and thrust her palm against the old fox's face. The sharp tang of ozone filled the cabin, and a flash of blue-white light bathed the walls for an instant before Kotaro slumped to the ground lifelessly.

Breathing hard, Haruka's brow furrowed and she glared. "...Why?" she murmured to the woodcutter's corpse. Disturbed by his betrayal, she searched for some answer among his things in the cabin. Hidden amidst the logs of the kindling box was a hollowed message tube, and inside was a letter.

"Our informants tell me that the woman who ruined my plans at Akanagi is on her way here. Prepare a proper welcome for her."

Scowling at the letter, she tossed it into the embers of the night's fire and watched it slowly burn.

Anything Else?: Character Sheet here

Last edited by Schniderman; Aug 8th, 2014 at 03:24 PM.
Old Aug 5th, 2014, 09:05 AM
Kshnik Kshnik is offline
Great Wyrm
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Name: Jai'jii
Race: Arthrop
Class: Monk 11//Fighter 6 (Lore Warden), Ranger 5 (Skirmisher, freebooter)
Age Category: Hard to tell unless you look at the coloring on the joints and have knowledge on the Arthrops. (Six years into adulthood - roughly 24-26 in the now extinct humans age)

Description: Jai'jii is an Arthrops which is a bipedal insect like humanoids with four arms and two legs with skin that has a carapace look, especially on his shoulders and joints. Jai’jii’s head and the back of his torso, arms and legs coloring is a muddle of dark purplish-blue and deep green. The coloring of the underside of his torso, arms and legs is a mixture of pale blue and deep green. His four hands, two long fingers and an opposable thumb, and his feet, three long wide digits, are a blend of light and dark brown. Along his torso, arms and forearms are hair like structures that provide sensory input of the surrounding area. Jai’jii is normal for a male Arthrop standing at 3 and half feet in height.

Jai'jii wears a piece of durable clothing, one might call it a robe, made out of some animal skin, that covers his shoulders and connects to his waist via a thin strip along his sides. The robe continues from his waist down to the middle of his thighs. Atop of this robe is a segmented belt holding a single scabbard containing a one handed saw like blade. On this thighs and two of his forearms, the lower ones, are sheaths containing a mixture of wooden stakes and iron spikes. Arthrops are a Crepuscular race; they are most active during the twilight hours (dawn and dusk).

Personality: Jai’jii understands and supports that the Arthrops structure is matriarchal and enjoys the freedom this allows for males. Within the male structure at very young age Jai’jii was taught that the role of Gentry was desirable but took individuals with discipline to obtain. Jai’jii set up goals for himself and worked hard to achieve them. His training paid off and he was quickly noticed and upon reaching adulthood was soon given the role. Jai’jii was ecstatic at reaching his goal but upon becoming a Gentry he soon found that this was not for him. Once his first rotation of breeding came to an end Jai’jii goals changed. He started to work hard at not being seen, hopefully ignored, and began to reveal nothing about himself to anyone but very close friends. Jai’Jii strived to excel in the skills he found attractive, while, at the same time, kept them hidden from others.

Jai’jii had learned that other races do not know much about Arthrops and what little they do know they do not take serious. Jai’jii believes it is his destiny to reverse this notion. Those of other races that have become acquainted with Jai’jii are still attempting to figure him out, as he is likely to see humor, as well as grief, in any situation. Jai’jii feels that his words are what defines him and will make every attempt to keep them.

Jai’jii character is similar, from an outsider’s perspective, with the average Arthrops. He enjoys working, laughing, singing, climbing, and playing. He is quick to pick up objects others do not cherish. Where he differs now from his fellow Arthrops, and a slight change from his younger self, is he does not avoid conflict; at these moments, Jai’jii does not care if he is noticed and if it comes to battle he is a whirlwind of fury.

Background: Jai’jii family is part of the vessel guild that made the skiffs and wagons for their settlement clan. Normally the Arthrops move with only what they carry on their back but during large migrations these vessels are used. As Jai’jii entered his young adult life, a member of his family, a male, invented the first amphibious vessel for the clan. This vehicle was a combination of a skiff and a wagon called a Scowdray. On land the wagon was pulled by Dark Cavy, rodent like creatures about four feet in length, while on water the vessel was moved by poles, oars, and, if no trees were around, a single kite-sail was launched. Jai’jii worked with his family on building, driving and sailing these new vessels.

Upon reaching adulthood Jai’jii began his training within the guilds militia focusing on tactics to defend and attack on the Scowdrays. The main weapons taught were boarding pikes, axes and grappling hooks. Jai’jii excelled and quickly became the top in his class and his family. He was awarded the role of Gentry and was stationed with another family within the same guild as a breeder. The first few days within this role Jai'jii was full of excitement, however as the days became weeks, Jai’jii became dissatisfied and was relieved when his time as a breeder came to an end.

Jai’Jii outlook changed, he still excelled at his martial skills but, kept them hidden, not wanting to be pulled into breeder status again. During one of his guild’s travelings they came across a Halfling in a robe battling goblins. Jai’jii was hypnotized by the movements and fighting style of this Halfling. The Halfling made short work of the goblins and Jai’jii introduced himself. After a few days he was able to convince the Halfling to allow Jai’jii to travel with him and teach him his style. Jai’jii eventually ended up in a monastery where he has spent five years training and fighting. After this time Jai'jii was informed that his training with the Monastery was completed and he headed home to rejoin his family.

Warmth had spread across his body as he stepped into the swamp for the first time after these many moons. Jai’jii hadn’t realized how much he missed the swamp; the sounds, the smells, air flow and the chemicals. He easily moved through the swamp, passing from branch to branch, jumping from one tree to tree, and gracefully across the ground. It took him a bit before he could determine the location of the family and guild within the clan. Upon arrival as tradition dictated Jai’jii approached the Mothers. They assigned him security detail with the Scowdrays.

Jai’jii enjoyed this work since it allowed him to move around the swamp. It also provided him the opportunity to train; training which brought forth a few inquisitive male relatives. Jai’jii began to include them in his training. The days passed peacefully outside of the few attacks from various swamp denizens.

Jai’jii, even a few times, took on the role of Gentry, but on his own terms; which caused a bit of a stir. However, his females could sense something about him, something they couldn’t pinpoint, and decided to allow him this freedom.

Presently, Jai’jii is working on various battle tactics with his students and other males within the detail of the Scowdrays.


Last edited by Kshnik; Aug 8th, 2014 at 02:42 PM.
Old Aug 6th, 2014, 12:33 AM
Winter Wight's Avatar
Winter Wight Winter Wight is offline
Old Dragon
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Last Visit: Dec 13th, 2014
RPXP: 432
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Posts: 525
Basic InformationName: Vatarin
Race: Kobold [Day Raider, alternate racial trait]
Class: Sorcerer 11/Monk 11
Age Category:Middle Age, 26

Current Character DetailDescription: This aged kobold's green scales and yellow eyes contrast strongly against his tan vestments: a simple shirt with breeches that might be found on any commoner hiding the body wraps adorned beneath. A rust orange sash is tied about his waist and he wears specially tailored "sandals" to fit his draconian feet. He has a vertical scar over his right eye. A plain disc adorns his neck, fastened by a leather band. His stance is precisely balanced and eerily still except for his tail which alternates between resting to his left and right. Occasionally it curls, grasping at one ankle or the other. Vatarin walks softly; the effect of years of training followed by a life as an operative for the council has left him with the instinctive habits for remaining unnoticed.

Personality: Less industrious than many of his younger brethren, Vatarin enjoys time in solitary meditation. Of course he's just as likely to fall asleep on a pleasantly warm and sunny rock as well. Having lived longer than many of his race, Vatarin has a justified sense of self-contentment many others lack. His age has also made him more far-sighted than usual and because of this he can often come across as arrogant and uncaring of temporary or minor setbacks. Vatarin would say this patience is the result of his draconic parentage. Of course that would only be partially true. Suggestions that the source of his particular talents may actually stem from a more unexpected source are one of the few things that can make him lose his temper.

HistoryBackground: Although born in the city of Pontun, Vatarin would never live the life of most kobolds. His initial years were spent in poverty, even for a kobold, and his clan's den was in one of the buildings made above-ground instead of the vastly preferred caves and tunnels. Despite the harshness of the sun, life in the desert suited Vatarin and he soon adjusted to the bright light. His proclivity towards spending time in the sun was only the first sign his blood ran thicker with magic. Soon the elders of his clan began to notice strange lights bounding through the den and the occasional hammer, gem, or other small objects deciding to defy gravity and chasing the lights in incomprehensible patterns. It did not take long for them to identify Vatarin as the source of the trouble. The moment he was discovered he was sent to the elder council, as are all kobold children born with sorcerous talent in the three cities.

The elders had Vatarin trained through the rest of his youth in a special den alongside other young kobolds with similar gifts. The hope of the den was that the sorcerous talents of the young could be better controlled and enhanced by disciplined training. Unlike many of the other children, Vatarin excelled in martial training in addition to manifesting spells. He was an exemplar tribute to kobold industry almost assured of an eventual place on the elder council. At least, if not for an issue of blood.

Kobolds are prideful of their relationship to dragons and it is no surprise that they value evidence of strong draconic lineage and also to be expected is the obsessive way they record the signs of such heritage. In this way, Vatarin was promising at first. Like the green dragons whose coloration he shared, he had a propensity for the use of acid in his magic but as he grew into his power and showed no other signs it became clear to the knowledgeable that any dragon-blood was as thin in his veins as any regular kobold. This meant that his blood was tainted, as the Elders saw matters, by another source.

Since the discovery of his bloodline, Vatarin has been employed as an agent of the elder council in many tasks, often involving stealth and blood. He naturally excelled at these tasks. Despite the quiet nature of these operations the elder council knew that if he continued to prove himself he would undoubtedly find a way onto the council in one way or another. So it was that they gave him the impossible task of being the kobold to destroy God.

MiscellaneousRP Sample: Finally there was silence. Vatarin opened his unmarked eye. A few scant yards away was a statue of ice glittering in the moonlight. The grass was cool with fresh dew under Vatarin's feet as he crossed from the small boulder that had been his resting place. Keeping a cautious distance from the deadly ice Vatarin listened. The sound was faint but it was definite. His mark was still breathing.

Vatarin frowned. He had modified the ice prison with acid and while it was impressive that an outlaw could survive even a single minute while ensnared within it was also damned inconvenient. Perhaps his information concerning this particular outlaw had been wrong. It would not be the first time one of his marks had unexpectedly had some item that enabled them to resist the spells damaging effects. With a quick bark of magical energy and a small rune traced in the air, Vatarin concentrated. It took only a moment. Three auras. Three?

"Draconic- "Ashes!"Vignari!"

The kobold spit the expletive in disgust but held his concentration upon the spell for another moment before releasing the magical energies back into the cosmos. Sure enough, one of them had been abjurant in nature. False information could get operatives killed and the information on this particular criminal made no mention of any magical ability or relation to someone with magical talent and certainly it was not expected that he could afford any magic. Vatarin sniffed. Something was wrong and he had a few ideas why.

"I know you can hear me so here's what is about to happen. I will drop you into a pit and that magical ice around you will shatter. If you're lucky you'll die from the fall. If not you answer my questions. You can probably guess what they are. Who do you work for, where did you get those pretty magic auras about you, what did they ask you to do, and how did they know I would be hunting you. If you don't answer I'll see if whatever abjuration magic you have also protects against an old fashioned fist in addition to my signature acid. My bet is it won't. If that doesn't work we move onto this little blade I have here. Now a kama will take a while to kill you but I can make sure every moment is unpleasant. Then I'll drop you into another pit followed by a death cloud. The choice is yours. Die, answer, or die. You'll have one minute to start talking once you hit the ground so make it count or I'll just find out what I need from your blood."

The silence was broken as the outlaw in the ice began to wail even as Vatarin stepped back and pulled a tiny shovel from his pocket. He barked another phrase of magic, striking the ground before him with a heel and mirroring the motion with his free hand. The ground beneath the ice prison dropped away as if it were putty being struck by some giant fist and the wailing became a shrill of terror as the figure dropped from sight into the darkness below. His fingers twitched. The chances of this intruding elf recovering enough to answer the questions before the pit reverted to normal ground was slim. Vatarin almost hoped the elf would run just so he could show how vastly superior he was in every way.

Vatarin followed the sound of breaking ice down into the pit, slowing his fall by bracing against the walls. People never expected much from kobolds. Vatarin rarely found it useful to correct that thought process. However, he might have a few choice words with the Elders later concerning a possible internal threat. He could never implicate them directly, of course, but as long as they knew he knew they'd be less likely to hire a foreigner to kill their most effective agent.

Anything ElseLink to character rolls.
Character Sheet *Note: Temporary ability scores are as adjusted for items.*

Last edited by Winter Wight; Aug 10th, 2014 at 12:01 AM.
Old Aug 6th, 2014, 01:18 AM
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dpbj602 dpbj602 is offline
Death Hand
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Last Visit: Mar 12th, 2022
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Posts: 4,073
Application RequirementsName: Adachio Janus
Race: Elf
Class: Ranger//Druid
Age Category: Adult
Dice Roll:
10d6+110 (6, 5, 5, 6, 2, 2, 5, 6, 4, 2)+110 Total = 153
(153) years old.
Description: Adachio stands at a meek five feet tall, wearing onyx black hair freely down his shoulders. His face seems to have adopted some of the features of the wild beasts he morphs into, his eyes seem to almost (not quite) glow with a cat-like quality.
Personality: Adachio seems to many like a kindly person, fiercely loyal to his friends. He fights to preserve the wild, being a bit of a jokester in social situations but a fierce warrior in combat. His proclivity to drink is a bit dwarven of him but it is largely ignored as part of who he is.
Background: Adachio was born in Lohannel to the family of the High Druid, leader of the druidic conclaves of the nation. His ancestors had always been High Druids, raising their eldest sons (or daughters) to be the second to the High Druid and successor to his titles. His family has been a bit aloof from the goings-on of the world of the "civilized" folks, preferring to live as their ancestors did: in the trees or forest havens. It has been a half century since Adachio's release from his parents and dedication as his father's second. He is most comfortable going along with warrior entourages offering his magical support as needed.
RP Sample:
Most likely to be active in the evenings US Eastern Time.

Lost laptop charger, posting from phone.

Last edited by dpbj602; Aug 7th, 2014 at 02:48 PM.
Old Aug 6th, 2014, 12:04 PM
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Drakeblade Drakeblade is offline
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Last Visit: Apr 15th, 2023
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Posts: 858
ApplicationName: Durzo Voidrunner
Race: Darkling
Class: Summoner x11 / Cavalier x11 (Beast Rider Variant)
Age Category: 86 Adult


History/RP SampleBackground:

Character SheetsDurzo

Vel'kor - Eidolon

Cora - Animal Companion

Last edited by Drakeblade; Aug 10th, 2014 at 06:57 PM. Reason: Added detail
Old Aug 9th, 2014, 05:07 AM
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kedcoleman kedcoleman is offline
Sauceror Supreme
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Last Visit: Dec 30th, 2019
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Posts: 7,456
Name: Irakli "Ira" Vakhtang
Race: Felinus (Catfolk)
Class: Mysterious Stranger (Gunslinger) | Gunsaint (Samurai)
Age Category: Adult

Description: Standing at 5'6", Irakli is of average height, with a lean build. He wears heavy, well-worn leather riding boots, brushed steel spurs attached at the heels. Dusty brown trousers and a pale, washed-out green shirt cover the rest of his body. Over his shoulders a darker green poncho, faded by dust, and trimmed with blue thread. A wide-brimmed leather hat sits atop his head, shrouding his face in shadow. Across his hips a thick leather belt from which hangs a holster, faded by age, containing a oiled and polished pistol.

Personality: Quiet and pragmatic. Living rough on the range has made Irakli understand that there is little time for niceties, especially when dealing with those who would do you harm. Justice must be swift and decisive. And justice is one thing Irakli values above all else - he has been taught, and believes, that law and order is essential to a functioning society. Because of his upbringing, and the society he grew up in, he values freedom almost as much as law. Irakli tends not to waste time and energy on unnecessary talking or action, keeping a tight rein on his emotions.


The Hyertine Plains. An arid, grassy, scrub plains dominated by the semi-nomadic Gnoll Clans. They are, however, not the only people to call the plains home. Some choose the plains for the freedom, the lawlessness, the ability to do what they choose, without the threat of reprisal. The Felinus who have carved out a home on the plains, however, are not those people.

Centuries ago, they lived among their brethren in the distant land of Caruthia's Rest, the ancestral home of their feline race. There, the people lived their lives peacefully, troubled only by the neighboring Goblins. Still, the Felinus enclaves' clung to the worship of the long-dead Caruthia. There were some among the Felinus who chafed under the ever-present religion, resenting its influence over the people. Had they not fought and died to be free from overbearing "Gods", and the chance to determine their own fate? The ultimate schism between the Felinus and those who left was painful and lingering, though bloodless.

Many long years the caravan of Felinus people crisscrossed the lands, looking for a place to make their home. Many died, never knowing rest, many left the caravan, never to return. Much diminished, the band of Felinus finally came to the Hyertine Plains. Ostensibly ruled over by the Gnolls, the leaders of their caravan negotiated a truce with the Clan Elders of the Gnolls: they could settle in the eastern ranges of the plains, in exchange for preferential trade agreements on farmed goods - something the nomadic Gnolls were in short supply of. And so the Felinus began the task of building houses and farms on the open land. Centuries later, that small village has become several, scattered across the eastern range connected by a network of dirt roads.

A land so expansive and populated by such an unpredictable people as the Gnolls is not easy to protect. Thee Felinus do not have the easy, peaceful lives of their distant kinfolk. Here, on the plains, life is hard, often brutally short. Wild Gnolls often roam the fringes of the Felinus lands, raiding farms and ranches for whatever they can make off with. Most Felinus young can shoot a bow before their 10th birthday. But bows and farmers are no match for the raiding Gnolls - and others, some perhaps worse than Gnolls - on their own. For that reason, the Felinus maintain a force for the protection of their lands and peoples; a highly-trained, dedicated, troop of soldiers trained in the mastery of firearms. The Marshalls are the best of the best - trained to shoot, ride, and enforce the laws of the Felinus lands. They spend their lives riding the plains going from town to town, keeping an ever watchful eye on the horizon for new threats.

This is the life that Irakli Vakhtang was born into. The third son of a Felinus rancher, he was taught from a young age to ride, shoot, and handle the animals on the ranch. Though they lived in untamed wild, Irakli was always taught that law and order was what separated them from the raiders, that without the structure of laws their society would dissolve into complete chaos. Anytime a Marshall came through the area, his father would point them out, telling stories of their amazing prowess and how important their job was. When he was old enough - barely 15 years old - he, inevitably, left the ranch to become a Marshall.

The training was intensive; morning to night, training, learning, riding, shooting. Irakli had never handled an actual gun, before joining the Marshalls. Within a few months he could strip, clean, and reassemble his pistol blindfolded. The gun was the most important tool in the Marshall's arsenal. The enforcing hand of the law - a Marshall without a gun was just man, no more or less. The recruits were taught to keep their weapon on them at all times, always prepared for danger. Drills would be staged at any time, day or night. Recruits would be expected to be up and alert at the drop of a hat. When they weren't training, they were learning - the letter of the law, geography, survival techniques. For four years this went on, until Irakli was given his badge, a fully-trained Marshall of the Felinus Range in the Hyertine Plains.

Irakli spent the years that followed living the life he had trained so hard for. Riding alone across the plains, keeping the peace. It was a hard life, one that demanded constant vigilance and alertness, and he only had the chance to see his family perhaps a handful of times over the course of those years, but it was a life he enjoyed. Perhaps he lived in discomfort, in constant threat of death or worse, but his perseverance meant that others - his family, the people in the towns, the livestock, travelers through their lands - could known at least a little peace and freedom. When the word reached the leaders of the Felinus in Hyertine, their decision was quick. They, the Felinus of Hyertine, had travelled across the lands, endured hardships for centuries, to be free of religion - for a new "God" to try to force itself on the people of the world would not stand. They picked one of their best and brightest - Irakli Vahktang - and sent him out from the plains to represent their interests to those who would put a stop to this unwanted religion.

It's a god-awful small affair

Last edited by kedcoleman; Aug 13th, 2014 at 11:57 PM.
Old Aug 12th, 2014, 04:18 PM
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Battlechaser Battlechaser is offline
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Last Visit: May 2nd, 2023
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Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser Battlechaser
Posts: 12,624
Name: Jorth
Race: Dwarf
Class: Monk (sensei, qingong) 4 - Inquisitor (spellbreaker, spellkiller) 7 // Druid 11 (menhir savant)
Age category: Old

What has come before"Focus!" The voice of his master drifted through the nothingness and shattered Jorth's meditation.

Almost. The young dwarf's face sagged with disappointment. His sensei sighed. "If you get distracted that easily, how can you expect to join the Mountain Wardens? Again."

Jorth assumed the Lotus-position - although he looked more like someone dropped a sack of bricks on the ground - closed his eyes and started to slow his breathing. As his meditative state deepened, Jorth's spirit expanded until... It met something else, no one grand conciousness regarding the little dwarf with mild curiosity. He could almost feel the benevolent smile upon the entity's face.

Wha.. Jorth started.

What am I? It replied. I am the ground you walk upon, the tree you chop, the mosquito that stings, the eagle in the sky. Well, you get the meaning.

By Bjornstadt's smelly breath.

You're right. He really needs to brush his teeth. There was a distinct feminine quality to the chuckle that followed.

Jorth's eyes went wide open and his eyebrows almost rose to the top of his skull. The first thing he saw was the grinning face of his master who said. "She does have a peculiar sense of humor. Welcome to the Wardens."

Thus began Jorth's training for real. He learned the unarmed techniques from the Wardens. His connection with Earth deepened and he was at peace. Until that fateful day.

HuntThe sun beat down relentlessly on the grizzled old dwarf's bald pate. His skin had taken on the hue of darkened aged leather - the effect of spending most of his time outside exposed to the elements. Twigs and dust stained his pepper-and-salt colored beard and a passing sparrow used his left shoulder as a temporary resting place. Jorth didn't notice - well, actually he noticed, but he didn't mind. His attention was focused on the small assembly before him. Jorth had been following their trail after finding the mutilated corpses of a few ElvesLongears.
MassacreThe area of the slaughter was utterly devoid of life and animals and vermin gave it a wide birth. Jorth could almost taste the foulness that clung to this deadened stretch like a thin film of oil after a spill. "Necromancer." The dwarf gritted through clenched teeth and snapped his knuckles. "No bloody mage will do this in my mountains and live." After studying the tracks Jorth corrected himself. "Sort off." A bloody farruking lich. Why would he leave two good corpses behind?... He wouldn't. Swiftly he looked back at the remains - at least where he expected them to be. The cadavers shambled towards the stocky dwarf. "Idiot. Bloody idiot. Always check for undead. You should know better by now." Jorth did not wait for the zombies to reach him. He rushed towards the nearest one and punched his fist through the undead's skull - instantly snuffing out its animating force. The other one needed a few more blows before it finally stopped moving. The dwarf wiped the gore from his fists on a rock. "I'll get the bastard who's done this to you." Jorth vowed. He did not like elves, but no one deserved to be animated as a freaking zombie.

It took him three days to finally track the necromancer down. It was accompanied by a score or more zombies and skeletons of different origins, even some giants. Learning from his earlier mistake Jorth extended his senses in all directions insearch of the walking dead. Except for the undead posse ahead of him nothing beeped on his radar. Good. Now what made you come here, by Bjornstadt's hairy but? The dwarf followed the lich, taking care to remain unseen. His mountains still held way too many secrets. If this necromancer led him to one, Jorth would make sure it continued to be secret. He had learned the hard way that some things are better left forgotten.
Remembrance"Come on!" Yrsa yelled as she dashed over the narrow mountain path with the elegance of a mountain goat, her long red braid flapping behind her. Huffing and puffing the young Jorth followed his love. "We...we shouldn't be doing this."

"What? Are you scared?" Yrsa looked back over her shoulder.

"Scared? No." Jorth reacted indignant. "Nay, girl. It's called common sense. The Elders warned us to stay away from Mandril's Tower."

"Elders schmelders." The girl teased. "Now move it, beardling. We're almost there."

A few more turns and they came upon the vista of a bloodred tower cleaving the sky like an upright middle finger at the Gods. Rumors had it that Mandril was partly responsible for banishing the Gods, but had gone mad in the process. Having withdrawn in his tower, the hermit-mage tolerated no visitors. Everyone coming near Mandril's refuge was either blasted to smithereens or turned into a statue. But the last centuries no one had been killed and there were talks of some explorers even entering the tower.

"We should turn back." Jorth put his hand on Yrsa's shoulder, who gave him a look he knew all too well. She would not stop until she had tried it. Sometimes you need to let go of the one you love the most. And that was what Jorth did -hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

Each year at the same day he goes to visit Yrsa's statue and repeats his vow. "One day I will find Mandril and force him to release you."

More than a century had passed and Jorth had killed scores of mages but Mandril had eluded his hunt until now. His hatred had led him astray from the Wardens, yet he continued to protect his Mistress.

The undead group took a twisting path through a narrow ravine and ended in front of a small cavern. The lich sent three zombies forward into the waiting dark, only to be be showered in various body parts after a series of muffled explosions. Ah, fodder. As the walking bag of bones started for the entrance, Jorth thought Now. He called upon his connection with the natural forces and created a chasm underneath the feet of a very surprised lich. An astonished "Oh sh.." was followed by several dull thuds as the undead connected with the spikes at the bottom of the pit.

The druid knew this would not be enough and followed through with a pillar of bright fire that seared the contents of the pit before changing himself into a rough-crusted earth elemental. Sinking into the ground Jorth ploughed on, erupted into the chasm and started to pummel the lich into oblivion. The foul creature cast malicous spell after spell but Jorth just shrugged them off and continued to punching it, every hit crushing multiple bones until only pulp remained.

Panting heavily from the exertion the - once again - dwarf sat on his hunches in front of the cavern entrance. After he regained his breath Jorth said, his voice weary. "I'm getting too old for this." Yet he knew he could not stop, no he would not stop even if his life depended on it. He would continue to protect his mountains, his land, his world. And threats just kept on coming.

Last edited by Battlechaser; Aug 13th, 2014 at 03:16 AM.
Old Aug 13th, 2014, 02:17 PM
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Panthas Panthas is offline
Great Wyrm
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Last Visit: May 27th, 2023
RPXP: 3106
Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas Panthas
Posts: 2,687
Name: Farash the Ebonhunter
Race: Tengu
Class: Ranger 11/ Wizard 11
Age Category: 30(Adult)
Description Piercing eyes look out of a ravenlike face, the eyes are an odd, deep red shade that take in all they see, shifting as they look over the object before them. The beak is a sleek black shade, sharp and wickedly looking, capable of piercing flesh with ease. His body is slender and atheletic, covered in wiry muscles honed for athletic ability. His feathers are sleek and well kept, a glossy black that seems to soak up the light. He stands at the short height of 4’5”, having to gaze up at most people.

His clothes are travel worn but still in good condition. Sturdy dark green leather breeches reach down to his ankles, stopping just above his black clawed feet. Across his waist is a belt with several pouches on it, holding unknown items within. His shirt is tucked into his breeches and is a deep burnt orange color. Across his back is strung a lovingly carved bow, well taken care of, with designs running up and down its length. His quiver of arrows is usually slung from his hip, but sometimes it is across his back with his bow.

Personality Farash tends to be an odd individual. Having grown up in a rather secluded part of the world, he grew up to like the quiet and smell of the forest. He was tutored in the ways of nature, though he learned more the knowledge of it more than the skills. He is thoughtful and often quiet, with much of his focus being turned to the heavier questions of philosophy. Having spent his life contemplating the heavier subjects of arcane mysteries he does enjoy a good laugh and lighthearted fun. He isn't afraid to let his hair down and enjoy a night out, and he also is more than happy to argue, though if it is holding up progress he has been known to do what needs doing for the greater good.

He is hopeful, hopeful that at the end of the day people think hard about their lives and what they are doing. They do not live in a perfect world , but they must strive, as a country, as a continent, as a world, to do better, the only question is one of how? Don’t mention his race though, he is touchy about other people talking about them, and he is touchy about them, due to having many an unkind thought towards their way of life.

He is accepting the quest to end the rise of the church of God because he sees the danger in such a church. The Heroes of Old were right to end the old gods, they were the cause of war and hatred between people when there was enough of that with just racial tensions. The rise of one God could lead to more, and that must be stopped, and that is why Farash’s bow is read to fire.

Background: Farash is a ranger's ranger. His father was a ranger and he started to training Farash to be one from an early age. His mother was more a gatherer than a hunter, she liked to wander the forest for berries and mushrooms and she also helped keep the communal garden that their community had in the sunnier spots of the forest. Farash spent his youth out in the forest, hunting with his father, learning in whispered voices the way of nature and the role of the ranger. His father spoke glowingly of nature, of its beauty and elegance, but to Farash it was an ugly thing. He saw its blood and violence, and though he could see the beauty as well, he didn't ignore the rest. He was also very happy to learn gardening from his mother, who was quiet and thoughtful, but she loved plants and showed him much about them.

He lived with them in the forest for well on 16 years as he trained, and it was not until he reached that age that he ever saw the outside world. On his 16th year, his father and mother were the chosen of the community sent to trade the community’s fur and goods in the Halfling Enclave. On that journey he saw so many things it felt like his head would burst with all the different places out there. He saw mountains and lakes, caravans and other races, and most of all, he saw the city. It was beautiful to him with its tall buildings, marketplaces full of all sorts of objects, belching clouds of smoke, and most of all….magic. He hadn’t seen much magic, only nature magic, plants and growth, but this, this was fire and light, thunder and cold, invisible forces moving things, transformations, it was beautiful. He left that city with a stack of books, precious magic books bought for him to read. He tore through them, even taking them on his hunts, and he and the natural world were very surprised on the day he was fooling around and suddenly bright light started pouring out of his bow. From then on he strove to become a mage, something vey few tengu ever did.

He left the forest soon after, going out to see the world, to travel it, to tear down the world’s idea of a tengu. He first apprenticed himself to an elven wizard and learned with him for several years to increase his knowledge before he struck out on his own again. During that time he was exposed to the prejudice of other races and he learned of the elven hatred of their darker skinned brethren. He left his elven master very thoughtful, the information of the Drow and their fanatical devotion to their evil deity.
Over the years his power grew, one of the most thrilling moments of his life was achieving flight by spell. It was something his people dreamed of constantly, and he now knew why when he swooped along the currents. The feel of the wind through his feathers, of being lighter than air, spinning through the air with the other birds, that was a day of much happiness and laughter in the lonely wilderness.

His deeds and exploits as a wizard did filter back to his country, though he didn’t return there often, finding the forest to be a heavy, stagnating presence to him and very boring. He did return on his 28th birthday and found that his father had died after being gored by a bore and his mother was following soon after in her old age. That was a very trying and touching time, and not one he likes to talk about.

His constant companion in life is his Roc Ialdo, he saved him as a chick, the nest had been robbed and the mother had been shot, her bloody, broken body had covered his egg, keeping it warm and Farash had found the nest, fuming about having not been able to catch up with the pack of poachers had been following. He had taken the chick with him, keeping it warm through magic and when the chick hatched it had bonded with him. They soared together now, sometimes with Farash riding Ialdo, sometime alongside each other, though Farash had a hard time matching the magnificent roc’s speed.

Lately Farash has become an avenger of sorts of his people. They know how to contact them in times of stress and if the situation is beyond them he has been known to help out. He has become like a black shadow, stalking those that prey on his people and using his abilities to right the wrongs where his people cannot. Now if only they will learn to believe in themselves and draw strength from that to become more than victims.

RP SampleRain still dripped from the trees, though the drizzle had stopped half an hour before. Farash sat upon a strong, thick limb, wet with the remnants of rain. He was huddled under a forest green cloak and his widebrimmed hat had drops of rain hanging from its rim. On a limb several yards behind him sits Ialdo, his friend and ally in life, his confidant, silent though he usually was. The roc had his eyes moving here and there, taking stock of the forest around him as Farash waited. In his clawlike hands was his bow, his thumb claw gently caressing the body of the bow, feeling the carvings he has worked into the wood over many years. He smiled, listening as he waited and he looked for a moment down at the arrow laid along the bow. "Death comes to us all, on silent wings, today it comes on swift ones." He said softly, just barely a whisper murmured to himself as he sat patiently.

His prey would be approaching soon, the moment he had spent a week planning for, learning the habits of this one, its general path, habits, places it went. He was ready though. He raised his fingers in the air started to whisper, arcane words flowing from his tongue, carving a pattern in the air with his claws and that air seemed to shiver where his claws passed. His beak clicked softly as he spoke and then with a final word spoken with power the air shimmered and the condensed into the form of a cylinder that slid down and wrapped around his bow, making it vibrate and seem to swell slightly in his hand. He smiled and nodded before looking up even as Ialdo let out a soft call for him to hear, just loud enough, and he nodded and fell into his next casting holding up a small symbol of a target which pulsed for a moment as he uttered the syllables of the spell and then traced his finger along his arrow, causing it to shiver for a moment and then it was ready.

As he looked up his target walked into the clearing. He smiled and drew his bow, feeling it in his hand, the bow flexing, the sound of the string pulling taunt as it held the arrow, ready to leap into action. As the figure moved to the center of the clearing he breathed out, his focus narrowed in on his target, seeing only it and the path to it. As he let out the last of his breath he let loose, the bow thrumming as the arrow slid against it and then it was off. Winging through the air, spinning and flying straight for its target, if it had had a voice it probably would have screamed out with glee. It cut through the air, zipping past branches and starling a bird in its nest as it went swiftly past. With a thud it sank into the neck of the prey, causing it to let out a gurgled not before it fell to the forest floor, blood running down its neck as it gasped out its last breaths.

On the branch Farash nodded and whistled to Ialdo. The roc leapt off of its branch and came to Farash with heavy wingbeats. He leapt onto the back of his companion and they lifted up into the air. The throbbing sound of large wings pumping through the air made the air around him as he grinned and punched the air. He slipped his bow onto his back and let out a long breath as Ialdo brought them to the clearing and landed on a fallen log. He leapt from his back onto the log as well and then moved towards the body. His shadow fell across the body, the body of a male tiefling. He crouched down next to it, feeling for a pulse. He felt nothing and he looked down coldly at the corpse. Shaking his head he patted down the body, taking anything of value before standing up. " Those who prey on the weak and the different because of their race should be wary, for not all are weak, among them lurks defenders, with swift arrows." He turned and moved back to Ialdo, moving lightly so as to not leave prints. He leapt from the log onto the roc’s back and with a whistle they set off, flying onward on their journey, leaving behind the body of the cooling tiefling far below.

Anything Else?: if you feel the application needs more, put it here.

Last edited by Panthas; Aug 14th, 2014 at 01:02 AM.
Old Aug 13th, 2014, 10:59 PM
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Nevrend Nevrend is offline
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RPXP: 1666
Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend Nevrend
Posts: 1,408

Xavier WeirlindName: Xavier Weirlind
Race: Tiefling
Class:Summoner(Synthesist Archetype)/Fighter(Polearm Master Archetype)
Age Category: Old (-3 physical stats, +2 mental stats)



Other: I have always wanted to play a fun character with an extreme split personality.
A good GM permits shenanigans. A great GM encourages them.

Last edited by Nevrend; Aug 14th, 2014 at 02:57 AM.
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