[PF-1e] Way of the Wicked - Hound Style

[Admin Dirk]

I so much want a game, and pathfinder, gestalt, and not level 1...sweet.

But... I just can't think of an evil character... or, I can, but they are similar to other proposals already made.

Maybe something cool will come to me.

[Drifter One]

Godammit!

Why oh why are there so many cool games!?

I have longed to play a LE character for such a long time, and this sounds so awesome! Unfortunately I just do not have the bandwidth and would be sacrilege if I attempted to join this game.

Good luck everyone, this sounds a total blast!

[Squeak]

Originally Posted by Admin Dirk

I so much want a game, and pathfinder, gestalt, and not level 1...sweet.

But... I just can't think of an evil character... or, I can, but they are similar to other proposals already made.

Maybe something cool will come to me.

Dirk, don’t try to be cool, just be yourself.

[Double or Nothing]

Originally Posted by Admin Dirk

I so much want a game, and pathfinder, gestalt, and not level 1...sweet.

But... I just can't think of an evil character... or, I can, but they are similar to other proposals already made.

Maybe something cool will come to me.

You could go for the classic Black Knight and play an Antipaladin, Fighter, Warpriest, or combination of the above.

Or an Alchemist who seeks forbidden knowledge and isn't above experimenting on people.

Or a Druid seeking to dominate the natural world rather than live in it.

Or a greedy deserter turned mercenary who's always on the lookout for the next payday.

Or a ruthless pirate who's just as dangerous on land as at sea.

[The Rat Queen]

Originally Posted by Squeak

Dirk, don’t try to be cool, just be yourself.

But...Dirk is already cool!

[Yas392]

Originally Posted by Imveros

This is from the advertisement right after forbidding paladins

I'm cooking a lawful evil barbarian/druid which will be a fun alignment class combo to play

OK, then I will go druid/monk. Poison Ivy esque.

[Hound]

Originally Posted by The Rat Queen

But...Dirk is already cool!

Dirk is definitely the coolest stamp collector I know.


@Everyone. Please keep in mind that everything I say during a review is a suggestion. You can re-imagine my suggestions however you like. I'm just trying to nudge you in the best possible direction to align you in the world for maximum connection and interaction.

Squeak


Double or Nothing


triedtherest


abc123


namo


The Rat Queen


No secrets for characters still WIP.

[MundayKnight]

Alrighty think Katalyn and Zel are ready.

[Imveros]

Ready for review Name: Israfel Nalio Race: Elf Age: 150 Crime: Arson Concept Idea:Elven Supremist and Eco-terrorist General Appearance: Israfel's sharp features cut the air as he moved. His pointed ears jut from a mane of jet-black hair flowing to his mid-back. His pointed smile was sharp as a sword, and his aquiline nose and towering height were perfect for looking down on others. He kept his bulky arms and legs contained by the tight leathers he wore every time he left the house. Israfel flaunted his muscles and expertly crafted weapons and armor, eager to show off his Elven superiority to every beast and plant. No holy symbol graced his neck. His devotion to The Great Mother was etched onto his very skin for all to see. He took great pride in keeping them fresh, even going so far as to gather the pigments from areas of significance to his clan. Story:   Elves filed into the civic building of a small elvish village near the border with Bryrwatch. "I know why you are here, and the answer is still no, Israfel." The elderly elf chided the man before him as if he were a mewing infant instead of a man with fifteen decades to his name. "And when will enough be enough, father?" The last word spit from the young man's mouth like a curse. Israfel locked eyes with the elder as he paced the room like a caged animal. "We've lost dozens of acres to the humans this year alone! This forest is not infinite." The assembly's crowd murmured mixtures of agreement and rebuke. "The situation is complex, and we do not wish to risk military confrontation." The elders on the raised stage nodded toward each other in agreement. "The Victor..." No sooner had the words left his mouth than Israfel interrupted him. "Has been dead for decades, father. By The Divine Mother, I have a dagger older than his kingdom." The young man scoffed. "You can not tell me you take his latest runt's pleas for unification seriously?! You would have us bend the knee like the once proud dwarves turned human playthings?!" "ORDER!" The head elder slammed his staff on the stage. "We did not convene here for debate. We are here to announce the establishment of a border town with the hopes of eliciting trade." The crowd gasped. "You do wish to beg at the human's table for scraps just as the dwarves did!" Israfel cried in disbeleife. All his worst fears laid bare. His children would be the slaves of men and be happy for their captivity. The savage forest that had been a second family to him would be hewn for homes and ships, and the primal animals he called friends hunted to extinction for food and sport. "NO! WE WILL NOT BE SOLD OUT BY SPINELESS BAGS OF WIND! THIS LAND HAS BEEN OURS SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL! THE HUMANS ARE THE DOGS! THEY SHOULD COWER IN FEAR OF OUR MIGHT!" He bellowed. Israfel drew a dagger and embedded it in the floor before his father's feet. Several others in the crowd did the same, and the mob left the long hall and melded into the woods. It was time to take matters into their own hands. "Flames." He said to the faithful he'd collected. "Flames remove the sick and the dead, leaving furtle ground for new growth. So shall we burn this human outpost from Talingarde so the great forest may grow anew." His co-conspirators nodded, loaded their torches and oil, and slinked off into the night. Arrows hissed through the night air, silencing the pitiful lookouts the humans had posted on the forest's edge. Elves slunk into the shell of the future outpost. Palisade, thatch, and crates of supplies roared under the oil and flames as night turned to day. Bells rang, and more guards surged from tents at the far end of the camp. The elf to Israfel's left took a javelin to the chest as his battle cat took the throat from a carpenter stumbling from his tent. There was still so much to do and at least a dozen more pints of oil in his pack. He moved from tent to tent, leaving them in flames, until he came upon a man wielding two swords shielding a family from a beheaded elf at his feet. Israfel sprang at the man. "SHE WAS WORTH TEN OF YOU!" His frantic swipes deflected off the man's armor or slid effortlessly from his swords. A cut opened on the elf's leg, then arm, then torso, and he felt the lifeforce leaking from him to the ground below. He fell to his knees as consciousness left him. He awoke sometime the next day bound to a pole. Israfel quickly scanned his surroundings before seeing his remaining allies in a pile not far off. The fires were out, and the area swarmed with human dogs. The ruts in the ground serving as a road already laden with new wagons full of supplies. He'd accomplished nothing, less than nothing. His conspirators were dead, and the humans dealt a minor setback. He'd thought too small, and all he'd done was make things worse. If he were to repel these dogs and put his countrymen in their rightful place, he'd need to burn it all. The elves would not be safe until he'd tossed every last mewing dog onto the pyre. The forest could not regrow until only ash remained of their kingdom. Israfel smiled as he knew which dog he'd like to burn first.

 

WIP Name: Ranort Neves Race: Human Age: 20 Crime: Attempted Murder General Appearance: Though frequently hunched over or on all fours, Ranort stood a full hand over his peers. An alarming number of scars accentuate his hard-won physique. Kill or be killed is the antithesis of a sedentary lifestyle. His long dark hair was often filled with dirt and filth, framing his tan, almost leatherlike face with a savage flair. Only his piercing steel gray eyes betrayed the keen intellect that separated him from the beasts he surrounded himself with. Concept Idea: Druid/Barbarian: front-line during combat; warrior poet / natural philosopher outside of combat Story:   The weak are the meat for the strong to eat. Ranort repeated the mantra over and over while he struggled against his bonds. He gnashed his teeth behind his muzzle and rattled the manacles and fetters. The fetters were a new addition. He smiled as he remembered the brutal kick to the militiaman's midsection that had resulted in a satisfying crack. His ribs still hurt from the retaliatory beating, but it had been worth it. Ranor's brutal smile slowly turned to a grimace, and the grinding of teeth overpowered the din of the other prisoners beside him. The savage refused to rank the wounds inflicted upon him in the last week. The numerous physical wounds were nothing new. Most living things were not fond of being eaten and didn't go down without a fight. No, the mental wounds were new and dug into a place the man was unaware he had. "Sir Balin." He growled. The other prisoners moved further away from the caged beast. That was the name of his tormentor. "MOTHER!" Hid words distorted to a howl that ended with several heavy thumps from the front of the carriage. A slot opened "Quiet back there! I'd hate to have to rob the headsman of such a mangey prize." Lyndra, the humans had called her, a creature of pure rage and maternal love. Ranort had been minding the den. The fresh litter of brothers and sisters required constant minding lest they wander somewhere they shouldn't. Mother was out hunting. New prey had stumbled into their woods. Huntsmen and poachers tasted better than merchants, but meat was meat. He tended to the pups as night fell. The hairs on Ranort's neck rose. Mother was never late with dinner. He growled at the pups to stay put and bolted out into the night. A strange scent clung to the air of the merchant's den. "Praise be the divine that Sir Balin and his men were here to protect us from that beast!" The savage heard from beyond the bushes. "I know, right? I'd thought those werewolf sitings were an old wives' tale!" Another voice echoed. "Eat your vegetables or Ol' Lyndra will getcha!" The first voice mocked. Ranort had heard enough! His blood boiled, and his teeth and claws sharpened as he burst from the bushes and clutched the first man's neck in the teeth. Blood splashed on the second man, who screamed out in shock. The savage moved to silence the second man when he found the source of the smell. It was his mother's smoldering corpse. The man blacked out and awoke sometime later, covered in gore and viscera. His sanity returned. He had a grim thought. "The den..." He whispered to the camp of merchant corpses. He moved to all fours and rushed back to his home. The now familiar rancid sent reached his flaring nostrils as he surged into camp. His siblings lie strewn about the clearing as a man tossed them onto a pire. "How does he find these monsters? Sir Balin must have a nose for evil filth." Two men chuckled to each other as they threw his younger brother into the flames. "Silence you two. We aren't here to celebrate. It was grim but necessary." An armor-clad man wearing a strange symbol on his chest scolded the men as they worked. "Sir Balin only did what was necessary to protect this forest and those that travel through it." Ranort charged the man. "MONSTERS!" His claws deflected harmlessly off the man's armor. "You kill a mother and her children for the crime of survival, and dont even consume them out of respect?!" The savage spat as his fist loosened a tooth from the man's too-perfect smile. "You dare defile the beautiful face of the scion of house Roffimeur?!" "I'll do more than that!" The savage yelled as he drew a long, sinister dagger and drove it into the armor's gap at his shoulder.[/B]" A warm spray of blood covered Ranort as the sound of two blades leaving scabbards echoed through the clearing. "Sir Balin, destroy this beast as you did that abomination in the merchant camp!" The noble cried in fear Ranort spun just in time to see the ornate leather armor, brown hair, and magical blades of his tormentor before he crumbled to the ground under the weight of the knight's skill. The savage fought for consciousness. "Well, finish it off!" The noble demanded. "I tire of killing." The newcomer's silken voice lilted toward the savage's ears before darkness took him. The man snapped back to the present. That is what hurt the most. He was weak and yet still breathed his shameful breath. He was left to suffer. Ranort struggled once more against his bindings. "Too weak to save my mother!" He growled. "Too weak to protect my siblings!" He yelled. "Not even worthy to be eaten as prey." He cried. A calmness overtook the man. Strength is earned, not given. He would make that knight regret taking him so lightly. A deluge of revenge scenarios flooded his mind, each ending with him in shackles. The knight was too strong. "Too strong for a man, too strong for a beast. A voice whispered into his mind. Hope kindled in Ranort's eyes as understanding bloomed. "Both. It takes both." He whispered in awe. "The cunning of man, with the strength of the pack." He unhunched his back and placed his hands calmly before him, and Ranort smiled.

[The Rat Queen]

Application updated!

[abc123]

Thanks for the feedback, application is now updated!

[Classic Gamer]

Kel Storm Name: Kel Storm aka “Hellstorm” Race: Human Age: 22 Class: (Side 1) Sorcerer My mother was a witch, she was burned alive. Class: (Side 2) Antipaladin I'll split you to the bone, help set you free. Intended Role: Walking Evil Am I evil? I am man, yes I am. Alignment: Lawful Evil Crime: Heresy Traits: Seeker, Heresy crime trait Description Kel stands six feet tall and weighs in at two hundred pounds. He is a muscular man who is most imposing in his armor, especially the blood red accents in homage to Asmodeus. His hair is jet black and his eyes are sapphire blue. In combat he is all threat and menace. Outside of combat he is the congenial sort and can even be charming and persuasive. Background In Talingarde, they profess justice and morality, but it is really about might. Kel’s mother Circe was a sorceress and a student of magic, until Balin and his Alerion thugs accused her of witchcraft. She was burned alive while Kel was forced to watch. The Church of Mitra made sure all of her books were burned as well. It was the helpful villagers who burned the house down. Kel was young and alone at the time. He had no survival skills for the woods, and little street smarts for stealing in the city. Kel came across a group of men at arms professing to be a secret order of knights. They agreed to take Kel in as a squire, mainly so that they could use him for drudge work. One night one of the men got drunk, caught Kel alone, and tried to get too friendly. Kel resisted, was beaten, but managed to escape. He ran off into the night only to stumble across someone conducting a secret ritual. Kel tried to run again but a man with fiery eyes cast something that froze Kel in his tracks. The man said he knew Kel’s secrets, that he could see the power beneath Kel’s surface. The man, Arlen, began to tell about the might of Asmodeus, and how Kel could learn to use that might and Kel’s own power to get revenge. Kel’s psychic bloodline allowed him to cast while inside armor, so he was trained as an antipaladin for Asmodeus. As an eager soldier, Kel began to draw in new adherents. That is how Balin found him. Charged with heresy, Kel was imprisoned, branded, and sentenced to be burned alive just like his mother. If Kel can find a way to escape, he will make all of his tormentors pay and usher in a new regime throughout all of Talingarde.   Kel once began to wonder if he had made the right choice. Mitra’s servants were heralded for bringing peace, prosperity, and health to Talingarde while those who served Asmodeus could only meet in secret, hardly able to change society for the better. Until Kel learned that not only had Asmodeus once been worshipped openly, but so had other gods. Also, there were other knightly orders which had been squashed by the Order of Alerion. It all began with the reign of the oppressive House Darius. Kel learned of Markadian the Mad and Markadian the Zealot. And how for years, no generations, the Church of Mitra wielded its iron fist, hidden as it may be in a velvet glove. While continuing his duties as something greater than a knight, greater than a priest (antipaladin), Kel discovered more and more children whose lives were displaced because their parents were accused of witchcraft, heresy, blasephemy, and whatever other so-called crimes the Mitran church proclaimed, issuing death sentences at the hands of the Alerion knights. Children who would not have lost their homes, their parents, even their futures if religion and society were not monopolized in Talingarde. Kel began to gather these orphans and other disenfranchised individuals, teaching them of Asmodeus, teaching them of freedom, telling them of how it was truly might that ruled in Talingarde. But there came spies in their midst, and Kel was again crushed by Sir Balin and his ilk. Stripped again of everything. Branded like lowly cattle. Not even allowed to hold on to a shred of dignity. This was the benevolence of the so-called righteous. Kel swore that somehow, some way, he would find the might to rule over others, rather than be ruled over by such scum. Even if he had to rule in the pit of despair in the afterlife.

Theme Song:
https://youtu.be/b9pSS7s6nGo?si=eswLggOeluyNVRts

[mightymconeshot]

Name: Sastran Shadowbringer
Race: Dwarf
Age: 300+ (I want him to be an ancient dwarf from before the time dwarves bent knee to humans and a young child or born shortly after the first humans arrived. If this isn't workable, please let me know. The best I found was they arrived several centuries ago)
General Appearance: Satran is an ancient dwarf that seems to glare out at the world in a everchanging mix of senility and hostility. He spends look moments staring and murmuring to himself or his pets until something catches his attention and it is like the smoldering fire of decades of rage roils to the surface. His hands and arms are heavily calloused and scarred from a lifetime of working at or near a forge but while the iron in his body is still strong, his mind has started to rust. He wears old patched and repatched clothes that are decades out of date. His bread seems to be constantly trying to escape a set of braids. He keeps a treasured but much battered set of carved armor oiled and stowed when he isn't preparing for a fight.

 

Concept Idea: Loose Idea of an anarchist who wises to destroy humans to return the world to before they came. He doesn't have a vision of the future, but he wants to turn time back. Going in your face scary

Class Side 1	Class Side 2
U Barb 1- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 1
U Barb 2- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 2
U Barb 3- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 3
U Barb 4- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 4
U Barb 5- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 5
U Barb 5- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 5
U Barb 6- Mounted Fury	Evangelist 1
U Barb 7- Mounted Fury	Evangelist 2
U Barb 8- Mounted Fury	Evangelist 3
U Barb 9- Mounted Fury	Evangelist 4
Mammoth Lord 1	Evangelist 5
Mammoth Lord 2	Evangelist 6
Mammoth Lord 3	Evangelist 7
Mammoth Lord 4	Evangelist 8
Mammoth Lord 5	Evangelist 9
Mammoth Lord 6	Evangelist 10
Mammoth Lord 7	U Barb 10- Mounted Fury
Mammoth Lord 8	U Barb 11- Mounted Fury
Mammoth Lord 9	U Barb 12- Mounted Fury
Mammoth Lord 10	U Barb 13- Mounted Fury
U Barb 14- Mounted Fury	Hunter? 16

Crime: Arson

Story: Sastran was a small child when the first humans landed on the island. Of course, the occasional ship wreck survivor or a random pirate and ship would dock for a few days before leaving again but none of it was ever coordinated. This was different. They didn't leave, setting up a camp and expanding. He watched them through his youth shaping the land and building outward. He remembers the clashes with them as a young man, watching dwarves come home on their shield or patrols failing to return at all. The decades of crisis and hardship as he started his apprenticeship and the clans kept coming into conflict with the so called savages and the new humans. As he learned to forge the iron, he felt his soul forging into hardness at the new species. They were upstarts, children with no respect for their elders. More decades passed and despite the early promises, the dwarves were dimming. The clans grew weaker, more and more family halls stayed dark each night. His hard had turned to steel in the long process of watching his people weaken but he could do nothing about it. He was no warrior, a simple smith decades from being promoted to full smith and even longer before he could catch the ear of the chiefs. He simmered in the drinking halls with the rest, grumbling about the plight of the dwarves and the rest of the world according to the disgruntled.

It was worse when his leaders finally gave in and bent knee. Of course it saved his people from going extinct on the island at least as a power but having to watch his leaders bend knee to the upstarts broke something in him. He left his clans with his tools, gear, and little else. While he could survive his people being driven into extinction, he refused to take orders from the people who had broken his people. He retreated into the wilds and slowly retreated as the humans continued to reach and expand beyond their holdings. Many had been compared to a dwarf and their love of wealth, but to him, a human was on a different level greedy. Nothing was ever enough. They always had to take the next hill and then the next until every place on a map had a banner or flag on it. When they hit the ocean, they build massive ships and pushed out to seize more. They were an inexorable wave of greed and destruction fashioned with a will to drive it on.

After an uncounted century of wanderings, he finally decided to return home and it sickened him. To see his proud people embracing the ways of humans. Crafting fast, ready made pieces instead of the slow methodical magnificent of each piece of his youth. To see the old family halls converted into human guild houses, mansions, and squalor slums. It was worse than he ever had imagined and he fled as quickly as he had returned. This time wasn't going to be a self imposed exile. He had felt his life grow thin over the years and his body was failing. He creaked in the morning, ached in the cold, and groaned before bed. He knew his time was short, but he became obsessed with freeing his people. He started to work to destabilize them. Joining a wandering tribe of mercenaries/bandits, he started to raid caravans, traders, towns, and whoever he could. Some battels he won, some he simply survived however despite either, it seemed the humans were no closer to breaking. In fact, they seemed to unify despite the hardship so he became more sullen. He grew desperate and decided to start attacking the one thing they all seemed to have, their religion. Attacking churches and leaving burning wreckage in his wake, he fled across the frontier pursued by the humans like a swarm of bees. For a year he lasted, staying on step ahead until it all came crashing down in an ambush late one evening in a canyon.

He was surprised to wake up, sure that they would slaughter him and walk away, but he learned they wanted to make an example of him. The shame trial didn't take long, but he memorized each and every face he could if he somehow managed to survive.

[mightymconeshot]

Sorry if I missed it, but do other divine characters need to also worship Asmodeus or must simply be okay with it/willing to follow?

Dual Prestige classes or only one at a time?

I have only played through the first part of the first chapter. Are there any restrictions on animal companions? And it is completely fine to say no, I have always wanted to try a Mammoth Rider but I know Huge can be difficult so I am okay with going another route.

[Hound]

Table has been updated.

I will do another round of reviews tomorrow for the newly completed.

@mightymconeshot

Divine casters are not strictly limited to Asmodeus, but it would help. Choosing a god other than Asmodeus may cause conflicts of interest as there will be times you will need to sign contracts or perform acts in the name of Asmodeus. Most evil gods don't like to share or work together. It could lead to some interesting conflict, but it might also mean eventual PVP.

Animal companions or familiars - you can either have had them run away and hide, picking them up after you break out or get new ones after the break out.

Regarding specifically mammoths, there are in fact mammoths in the savage north. It would be a really cool story idea to want to go into the savage north and find the best beast to be your newest ride.

There will certainly be times where a huge animal companion won't fit, such as inside a castle, but there will also be times where charging down the field on a mammoth will be super cool.