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Old May 22nd, 2012, 07:32 PM
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Aosaw Aosaw is offline
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Besmara's Locker

The Root of the MatterName: Nemat Cailean
Race: Human (Heart of the Fields)
Class: Paladin
Tropes: For the moment, Nemat fulfills an ectype of Chosen One. He has a destiny, which everyone around him assumes will be something spectacular and great. The prophecy itself, however, is less than optimistic. Nemat is a good person, but largely because he is young and has not yet been jaded by exposure to the world. "Give him time," says the Lord of Darkness (whoever that is). "In the end, he'll turn the world to ruin - and he won't even realize it was him."
Trait Post: Besmara's Blessing
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The journey to Port Peril was long and somewhat less exciting than he had hoped; but then, Nemat had been expecting nothing but adventures and sea monsters when he'd boarded the Murkblade. Merchant vessel or no, there was no reason to hope for anything less than constant swashbuckling on his first trip at sea. The relatively easy passage from Varisia, the calm waters and clear skies, had bored him almost to distraction. He couldn't wait to get off at Port Peril and find a ship that would guarantee more interesting adventures.

"Port Peril is a dangerous place," the captain told him as they were disembarking, carrying crates of goods from the ship to the dock on their way to the Fairly Maid. "Keep your wits about you, and don't make friends with the wrong sort of folk. Pirates make frequent stops here, and they'll sooner skin you alive than hire you onto their crew."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Nemat replied. He had, of course, heard stories of pirates setting sail from Port Peril. If he was being honest with himself, it was part of what made him so excited to be there.

The evening was full of drink and song, some less savory than others; but before long, the captain was asleep in his chair, and Nemat was alone at his table. The wench passed by and smiled at him, as if to say, Looks like you're free to do as you please.

Nemat smiled back, as if to say, Why yes, yes I am.

A night in a bed was a delightful and unexpected luxury, and sharing it with a woman whose name he couldn't remember was an extra piece of luck. They tossed about in the sheets for a bit, then lay in each other's arms for an hour, Nemat talking about his hopes for the future, the wench not talking at all. It was strange; although he had just met her, and although he wasn't sure if her name was Nancy or Isabel, Nemat felt comfortable in the wench's presence, as though he could tell her anything and she would hold it in the highest confidence.

He should have realized that something was amiss when she suggested tying him to the bedpost; even as young and unworldly as he was, Nemat was familiar with stories of sailors being robbed by prostitutes. It was a financially viable tradition, and one that he was inclined to support, at least in spirit. But Nemat had come to Port Peril without any money, and his only belongings were a cutlass that was a gift from his foster father, and a deck of cards that he had apparently always possessed. He didn't think there was much money in old harrow decks, and swords were easy enough to come by in a town that serviced pirates.

It was when the other five men opened the door and surrounded him, each armed with a billy club, that he started to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "I don't suppose you're here to turn down the sheets?" he said, attempting to sound more flip than he felt.

The thugs didn't answer; but one of them grinned, as the other four beat Nemat senseless with their clubs. When they were done, and Nemat was feeling sufficiently 'roughed up', the grinning thug spoke. "Congratulations," he said through a tragically severe underbite. "You've been recruited. Welcome to the crew of the Wormwood."

Nemat looked for the wench; but she had already gone. Taken his sword with her, too, although she was kind enough to leave his harrow deck. At least with his cards he wouldn't be bored. "So, you're not here for the sheets then?"

Underbite grinned wider. Then he brought his billyclub to bear, and the world disappeared.
Thoughtless Ramble: As a follower of Cayden Cailean, Nemat's devotion is to the wind, and the world, and the sea. He also gives offerings of drink to the Accidental God, and never turns down a good dare if he can help it, so long as the terms of that dare endanger only Nemat and no one else. He believes in "going where the wind blows", which more often than not means walking dead into a trap for the sheer adventure of it. Whether it's his personal charm, or the favor of his patron, Nemat always seems to come out on top. Unless we're including the incident with the tavern wench and the bedpost in this summation; but we're leaving that part out, right?

Nemat grew up on the coastline with a foster father who ran a tavern catering only to sailors. The "Heart of the Sea" alternate trait reflects this nicely, granting a bonus to Profession (Sailor) checks that scales with his level - which means that despite his relative inexperience, Nemat will eventually become such a skilled (I dare say "talented") sailor that he might be a smart choice for captain.

Of course, that same concept could be demonstrated with Skill Focus (Profession [Sailor]), or just by using his bonus skill point per level to take ranks in the skill. Heart of the Fields (which I translate in my mind to "Heart of the Sea", in this case) just makes it that much simpler for him to be not only skilled, but talented. Particularly with a low Wisdom score, I'd like it to be clear that his talent for sailing is despite his relative shortsightedness. Of course, this might also be a good use of Besmara's Blessing; but "Heart of the Sea" has a nice ring to it, too. Nemat is a sailor at heart, and in fact it's this devotion to the sea and Hemlen's religious affiliation that makes him a good paladin of Cailean.


Editing: As long as you let me know when you're doing it, I don't mind as much. You can view the change history to see what's been changed (in your own posts, at least), so there's some transparency there; but if you don't let us know that you've made changes, we don't know to look. Further, I would say typographical correction is one thing - but content changes I would definitely have a problem with.
Massive Damage: Sounds interesting - but it also sounds like it could very easily ruin someone's character build. If you've got something in place to compensate or account for that, then I'm fine with it.

Last edited by Aosaw; May 22nd, 2012 at 08:40 PM.
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Old May 23rd, 2012, 12:32 AM
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Last edited by kenneth; May 23rd, 2012 at 12:41 AM.
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Old May 23rd, 2012, 03:00 PM
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Old May 24th, 2012, 08:09 PM
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Name: Hyrald
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Tropes: I'd prefer not to categorize at this point, and let my roleplay characterize Hyrald instead. I'm not trying to be contrary, but I don't believe in specifically aiming to fill archetypal roles. I'm the kind of guy who would prefer an unbalanced party instead of the thief/fighter/wizard/cleric standard combo pack. If anything, I hope to avoid falling neatly into any given trope.Two cents.

How did I get here?Opportunity. It's always been about opportunity. In some ways, that's been a problem. Life in Port Peril is... well, perilous, frankly. Ma and Fa were poor, but they were honest and anyone will tell you that an honest man in The Shackles is a poor man. So I've always been hunting for opportunities to advance. It's been hard, but it seemed like I was making headway... until recently.

I am not a boastful man, but I'm pretty smart. Fa left his materials to me when he died. I lacked his gifts with wood. He was a cooper by trade and a carver by desire. I was a capable salesman and an adequate assistant in the shop. Ma had long since passed from red fever. I was alone.

No, don't worry. It's been a long time and I've grieved my losses, but thank you for the offer of sympathies. So what could I do? I sold what I could of my father's tools and materials and whatever remaining stock we had, finishing the last barrels by myself and even pawning some of Fa's art. I used the money to buy up the stocks of a sea captain who had some hefty gambling debts and a need to get whatever money he could as fast as he could. It worked out well enough. I sold the captain's haul for far more than I bought it. I had enough to afford rent for a small shop just off the docks. I won't bore you with the business details but I made out okay.

It was a good couple of years, then. I turned a fair profit, made a bit of a name for myself, though I'm surely forgotten by now. All it took was one night of bad judgement. I've been five years in prison and would have seen more years inside that damned place if not for these pirates.

And it was all over a woman. Isn't it always?

Her name was Inga. She was a fine woman. Hair like honey silk, tall, and a mind as keen as a paladin's sword. She was the daughter of an iron monger. Inga had caught my eye long before but I only got hers after many months of trying to be noticed without being noticed at the trying, if you catch my drift. I can't tell you how many chance encounters I orchestrated with her before I finally got up the guts to even talk to her. She was nicer than I'd imagined. Kinder, more... inviting. We became friends quite quickly, and then soon more. To think of her now, keeps my heart afloat as surely as this tub keeps my body from the cold, black depths below.

Inga's father did not approve of my advances, but we were young enough not to be overly concerned by that sort of thing. Who thinks of marriage at that age? My intentions may not have been entirely wholesome, you understand, but I did like Inga and hoped there would- could be more between us. What I failed to understand was the depth of the vitriol Inga's father held for me.

One night, at a bar, I had a few too many drinks. I had met some new friends and the night was warm and festive. It's no crime to have fun now and then, hmm? My new friends were also fairly generous, but not so much that I was tipped off to their ultimate, sinister intentions. It was only when the sun began to rise and we decided to make our ways home, and a glancing blow of a sap across the back of my damn fool head dropped me to the ground that I began to put the pieces together. In my stupor, I only understood half of what they said, but their beating spoke ample volumes far more clearly than I might have preferred.

When I came to in that filthy alley, I was mortified. My clothes and hair were soaked with blood. What terror filled me that day I cannot even relate in words. There were many days since when I wished it were my life's blood spilled across that damp street, and not that of some prostitute that I had never laid eyes on in my life. I was framed. My business was closed up and seized by a merchant's association which just happened to include Inga's father, of course.

I went to jail and there languished for five years. It has been hard and I've had many dark days but I've never given up hope for my freedom. My plan was to walk free and march right to Inga's father, confront him with what I knew and then show him that I'm the better man by walking away without laying a finger on him. I made my way up from poverty before; I would leave town and do it again somewhere else.

These pirates, though, have other plans for me, though. I suppose you know this part from your own experiences. You drink something foul and wake up here, in this hold? Or maybe they knocked you out in the dark, like cowards. That I was taken from a prison is the only odd part of my story, in that respect. They must have known a jailor and had arrangements for recruiting felons now and then.

And now I'm in another prison. My grey walls have been replaced with the sea, bars with cutthroats and thieves. But I'll do what I can, find an opportunity, make my way up. You'll see. Maybe I'll even take you with me.
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Old Nov 16th, 2014, 04:54 AM
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Mal Radagast Mal Radagast is offline
Just learning to lose.
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Besmara's Locker

Characters lost to old Bess, and others lost to time, which she might have found and kept.

“The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.”
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Old Nov 16th, 2014, 04:59 AM
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Mal Radagast Mal Radagast is offline
Just learning to lose.
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Besmara's Locker

Characters lost to old Bess, and others lost to time, which the Wench might've found and kept.

“The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.”
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