[Characters] Goliaths of the Frozen Table

[Nasrith]

Get it? It's like Knights of the Round Table, but you're not knights? And the table is frozen cause it's super cold in the Windspire Range?



Anyway, post your characters here. Please put the original application in spoilers. Create a character sheet and make it public. I'd also like you to add 3 general types of magic items you would like your character to have, and why. Reasoning should lean towards OOC, specifically around how you want to build & play this character.

Character Creation Rules:
Starting equipment is first level for your class. Don't worry - you'll get better equipped soon.
27 Point Buy
Roll for HP past first level, reroll 1s

[krossingkhory]

Name: Galmath Bharakas
Race: Dragonborn (White Ancestry)
Class: Barbarian 8
Clan: Frostwalker

Mechanical Background: Urchin

 

Personality 1	I sleep with my back to a wall or tree, with everything I own wrapped in a bundle in my arms.
Personality 2:	I hide scraps of food and trinkets away in my pockets.
Ideal:	Change. The low are lifted up, and the high and mighty are brought down. Change is the nature of things. (Chaotic)
Bond:	No one else should have to endure the hardships I've been through.
Flaw:	People who can't take care of themselves get what they deserve.

Appearance: On the large side for a Dragonborn, Galmath stands at an imposing 6' 6" tall and weighs in at nearly 300 pounds. He has curved horns that wrap around where his ears would be, and his head is adorned with stark white fur that runs down the crest, in between the horns, down to his back. He has well-defined muscles that push against his brown and white clothes, while his feet are adorned with heavy boots designed for walking through the icy snowscape and through the cold caves the Frostwalkers call home. His preferred weapon is a great axe, capable of splitting blocks of ice and carving what saplings and trees grow in the northern wilderness into firewood, and he is almost never without the leather strap that lets him affix his weapon of choice to his back when it is not being used.

Instead of a backpack, he prefers to have several smaller pouches sewn into the inner lining of his fur-covered outer garments, as well as having multiple pouches attached to and hanging from a hard leather belt that he wears as a bandolier.

Personality: Galmath likes to play the "strong and silent" type, mainly because he is fearful that opening his mouth will reveal treasures and trinkets that the white dragon may wish to claim as his own. He's also not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he has learned that speaking will most likely lead to a disagreement, which then may lead to an argument, which may then lead to a fight, which might lead to him getting thrown into his tribe's equivalent of jail. Again. And so, he has decided to not speak unless spoken to, and even then to only say what is absolutely necessary, even if he comes off as standoffish or ambiva...ambigu...or whatever the word is for him to seem strange and not paying attention.

He has a tendency to hide things on his person. Small things, like scraps of food or animal bones or small trinkets. Things that he thinks may have value, whether they do or not, are most likely to end up in one of the inner folds or pockets of his clothing. With the white dragon taking nearly everything the Frostwalkers have, the clan has had to barter with one another - and the other clans - with whatever objects or foodstuffs they have. And this has taught him that everything may have value, and if it has value, then the white dragon wants it. So he hides it from everyone, taking pleasure in knowing that he may have something that someone else wants.

Beyond that, he is a capable warrior and tribal guardian, proud to call the warrens his home, the Frostwalkers his tribe, and their protection his duty. He may not look like he has much, and he certainly doesn't have much between his ears, but he has the bulk and mass to at least seem intimidating when he has to be. He never resorts to violence unless necessary...and so far, in his duties as tribal protector, it hasn't been. But he's ready for whenever that day comes.

Written Background: Sometimes, against all odds, something happens that should not. In the case of Galmath, it is his very existence.

Born to a Dragonborn female in the Frostfang clan, it was discovered that he was the product of a union between her and a Goliath from the Frostwalker clan, even though her lineage was due to be joined with one of the Goliath guardians who watched over the temple to Skaegor. This conception was seen as both unholy and as an insult; how dare the Frostwalkers interrupt such perfection by giving their seed to this woman! And how dare she turn her back on her clan and her duty, becoming with child of another clan! It was scandalous and seen as contemptuous, and punishment must be laid down. The Goliath man, the Dragonborn woman, and the Dragonborn child were all to be sacrificed in the name of Thalorgarax, all in the hope of restoring their honor in the eyes of the white dragon. They were all marched from the shrine to the ridge, and they were to all be forced over the edge to plummet to their deaths.

But it seemed, at that moment, someone or something else had plans for the child. For while mother and father were pushed over and fell to their deaths, the child was not. A moment of pity, or remorse, or even just kind-heartedness, took over one of the warriors, who prevented the child from being thrown over. "Let Skaegor decide what to do with it," the plea came. "Leave it here; it will not survive the harsh winter night." And so, instead of being thrown over, the child was left, standing on the ridge, barely enough clothing to be considered protected, no food or water. And were it not for his ancestry, Galmath would surely have died that night. For although it was cold, and a storm was brewing on the horizon, it seemed to have been one of the warmest nights in recent history. And with determination and resolve, the child walked from the ridge, in the cover of darkness, towards his father's ancestral home, hoping that they would be better to him than the Frostfang's had.

Days went by, Galmath's legs carrying him as quickly as they could through the cold and snow, but he grew weaker and weaker, his body aching for food. But he carried on, and he was able to make it to the glacier. Awestruck were the Goliaths taking up residence there; it had been a long time since a Dragonborn walked into the village, and a child no less! How could this be? How was it possible that this child, with little clothing, no food, and no way to protect himself, was able to walk across the frozen waste and into their village? Surely there had to be some reason, some divine intervention that this happened. And when he relayed his tale, short and quick, to the village elders, he was met with more questions than they started with. How, and why, and what did you do, and what will happen now?

But for all their questions, they could not turn the child away. This had to be the will of Skaadi, surely it was. Why else would the Frostfang clan simply let one of their potential warriors just leave? And to have him come here? This is a sign of the gods, and the clan took every step they could to make sure they would benefit from Galmath's presence. Dragonborn are normally to be the warrior-guardians of Skaegor, in service to Thalorgarax. But this good fortune could not be wasted, so Galmath was given every opportunity to train as a warrior, to protect the shrine to Skaadi, to protect the glacier, to protect the Frostwalkers.

30 Minute (or less) RP Sample:
Galmath sat in front of the fire, his back to it, facing the tribal elders. To both sides sat a few other tribe members who had also just completed the Winter Trials, and like him, were ready to tell their tale of survival in the harsh storm that had passed. He listened intently to their stories, all similar to his, told in their own words. He stared straight ahead, his eyes never wandering very far from the scribe who sat just off-center of the head elder, semi-watching the Goliath write down every word that was said. None of the elders had spoken up during any of the tales, waiting until each was done before asking the next to speak. And then, after some time, his back warm from the fire, he was asked to recount his own tale.

"By the grace of Skaadi, I was able to build shelter from several fallen trees, just beyond the second clearing," he began. A murmur or two went out, but nothing disruptive. "It was good fortune, for the storm was upon me, and the snow was wet and cold. The branches were thick with needles, and so they were able to be meshed together and sat upright, allowing me to climb underneath and into the relative dryness of the shelter."

He reached forward, taking a small stick that had been whittled to a point and coated in ash, drawing a circle in the ground, then a rough "x" in the middle of it, while he recounted his words in Celestial. He then set the stick down before continuing in the Common tongue.

"Fire was next. The ground was wet with white snow, and new flakes were falling rapidly. Even though by my own ancestry do I understand that the snow is our ally, I still needed warmth. And once again, by the grace of Skaadi, did I find what I needed. A large rock, made of iron and flint, jutting out of the ground just inches from my feet. I pulled some branches off the trees, setting them in a circle and striking the stone against my axe. Sparks flew, and I had flame."

He picked the ashen stick up again, drawing another circle next to the one he had already drawn, this time carving what was to be a flame in the center of it, all while recounting his tale in Celestial. He put the stick down and continued.

"Now was the time for food, for I was hungry. This time Skaadi provided no assistance; my luck with our god had run out. But when I was sufficiently warmed through, I ventured out of the shelter, the fire dying down so as to not burn everything, and I crept my way beyond the clearing into the trees. For many hours I waited, leaned against a tree, covered in snow, until a few rabbits made their way from out under the brush. My axe was too large to take them that way, so I quickly crafted a small sling from a piece of cloth hanging from my belt. Two quick stone-throws, and I had enough rabbit to last the night."

Once again, while recounting the story in Celestial, he used the stick to draw a third circle, this time drawing a crude rabbit in the center.

"For 3 days and 3 nights I sat in the shelter, praying to Skaadi, warming myself with the fire, and eating whatever food would come along. I took no more than I needed, and I gave back every bit that I could when I was done. I stayed there until the tribal guardians came to collect me at the end of the trial."

He put the stick down, gently and with purpose, just above the 3 circles. The elders stood up when he was finished, for he was the last to go, and they turned towards one another in a circle of their own, their silent voices not carrying words but sounds to his ears.

"You have, all of you, done well with your trials," the head elder spoke up after they were done conversing among themselves. "Tonight, we feast in your honor. By Skaadi's name, we welcome you all into adulthood."

[Elanir]

Ungalu the Darkseer Ungalu Darkseer Name: Ungalu Darkseer Iceheart Race: Variant human featuresGoliath Class: I know, but rare isn’t the same as nonexistent, right?Wizard (School of Divination) Clan: Iceheart Mechanical Background: Hermit   from Ungalu’s perspectiveAppearance: Why do you stare, child? Have you never seen one who is as old as me? One whose skin has the sheen of the deep ice and wrinkles as great as chasms? I have been walking in the bowels of the Windspire Range since your mother and father were still unborn, not even a spark of desire in the loins of their parents. Know that I saw the Frostreaper when he arrived, though my eyes still had the color of the stormy sky back then. It was the crystals that turned them to gold, the light they give off and the things they have revealed to me. You think me sickly and weak, but I was as tall as the chieftain in my prime, my arms as thick as the columns of his hall. I see you wonder at my hair, long as the dragon’s tail and white as his breath. You think the sons of the Clans grow no hair, don’t you? Shows how much you know about the truth of things. I grow weary of your insolent eyes. Speak your question and be gone. And don’t forget about my payment. I prefer gold, if you have it. I love its glint, even in the dark. Look at the gold paint that marks my skin. Look at the diadem that rests upon my brow. Aren’t they marvelous? A gift from the chieftain’s daughter they are, my reward for revealing her future. I see your future too, but what will you sacrifice to learn what it holds? from Charuk’s perspective, Ungalu’s apprenticePersonality: I have to warn you, seeker, always be respectful in the presence of the master, for he is quick to grow angry. Don’t expect the same from him, however. You may find him brash and offensive, but that’s simply his way. I think that he has lived so many years alone in the crystal burrows that he no longer knows how to properly deal with the ones who come to ask for his knowledge and advice. It is true, he knows many things, things that were and things that will be, but don’t think that he will reveal them to you for nothing. Flatter him and fill him with gold and he might consider it. Even then, don’t be surprised if he ignores you for hours before answering your question or if his response doesn’t make any sense. The magic of the crystals is mysterious and one must be patient with it and its wielder. But it never lies. Neither does the master. He might send you away, tell you something you never asked for or insult you for no apparent reason, but everything that comes out of his lips is true. Accept it for what it is and go. No amount of begging will make him change his mind and threats will only get you cursed or worse. How come I serve such a man? Who else can do what the master can? His words cut deeper than a warrior’s blade. They undo reality and shape the future. I would be a fool not to stay by his side as long as he will have me. Written Background: As far as memory and song stretch back, the Clans’ history has always been written by warriors, men and women willing to fight to turn their will into truth. But Ungalu was always different. He was born different. He could have picked up the sword, the mace or the spear. He could have braved the deep snow and the slippery ice, the howling wind and the shaking earth. He could have fought the beasts living high up in the mountains and those of the Clans who would see him bow his head before their might. He didn’t. Instead, he listened to the earth. In the dark, silently, patiently. And one day, as he knew it would, the earth spoke to him. It guided him. Traveling through the passages his Clan-brothers and -sisters had dug and traversed before him, through chasms the earth itself had shaped and holes he opened with pickaxe and sweat and even his own bare hands, he found the secret that was meant for him. He found the crystal barrows. There were pools of boiling water and a multitude of growing fungi, blind fish and crabs as white as freshly fallen snow. More importantly, he found the crystals, growing out of the flesh of the earth, as smooth as ice and glowing softly in the dark. Crystals of many shapes, of many colors, of many powers, the gifts of stone, ice and dark for the Iceheart Clan. For him and him alone, for only he was worthy. As chieftains came and went, as children became warriors and the warriors fell to sword or treachery or natural hazard, Ungalu studied and experimented, harvesting the crystals, putting them to the test, borrowing their powers. When the Frostreaper arrived and brought destruction to the Skyreach Clan and slavery to the rest, Ungalu saw the great white in the shards of the crystals, broken and scattered as the children of the Clans were about to be. He didn’t cry out in rage, didn’t weep or curse the spirits that had failed to protect them. Instead, he made a promise: he would see the dragon fall. Not through shards or reflective surfaces or in the scalding steam of pools. He would see him fall with his own two eyes. He would bring about this fall with his own two hands. His lips had spoken the prophecy. Now all he had to do was live long enough to see it fulfilled. to be honest, it took me 37 minutes to write it30 Minute RP Sample: What was the moment you became a hero in the eyes of your clan? "Wh- what did you say, Master?" The apprentice, at sixteen years of age already taller than most members of the Iceheart Clan, stared down at Ungalu, whose bent back made him appear much shorter than he actually was. He wondered whether the elder Goliath had made a joke, though this had not once been the case in the three years that Charuk had been in the diviner’s service. The youth, trying to make the most of the soft glow of the crystals growing in the vast chamber, studied Ungalu’s face. The fire in his golden irises was unmistakable. Not a joke then. "Did you grow deaf in the endless silence of the crystal burrows, boy, or have the spotted mushrooms you secretly eat finally robbed you of your senses?", the wizard replied, his voice thick with annoyance. Charuk, cheeks burning with embarrassment, lowered his gaze, like a child berated for being naughty. He should have known better than trying to hide something from his master. He always found out. Always. "N- no, Master. It’s just that I never thought…" "You are not here to think", the old man interrupted, giving Charuk no chance to apologize. "You are here to serve me and I don’t enjoy having to repeat myself." The youth kept his eyes lowered and the angry retort safely behind sealed lips. He remembered their agreement differently. Charuk had sworn to serve Ungalu unquestioningly and in return the Darkseer had promised to share with him the secrets of the crystals. It was strange how the one who claimed to make no mistakes didn’t seem to recall the second, and for the apprentice most important, part of the agreement. Still, this was not the right time to argue about such things. If he had learned something in the years he had spent next to the Darkseer, this was it. "Yes, Master. I will gather all we need for the journey to Refuge." Ungalu shook his head. "You will gather everything - the crystals of power, the seeing shards, the powders, all my belongings. I will not be returning to the crystal burrows." This time, the shock was so great that it stole Charuk’s voice. Still, the question was obvious in his eyes and for some reason Ungalu deigned to answer it. "This place is now yours. Once I have addressed the chieftain and all members of the Iceheart Clan, you will return and spend the rest of your life here, learning, just as I have. You will be the new Darkseer." Charuk’s eyes grew blurry with unshed tears. It was true what they said - the less one expects a gift, the greater it feels. "But why now, Master? Do you deem me worthy?" Ungalu chuckled. There was no kindness in the laughter, only irony. "I do not, nor will you be worthy for many years to come. But I have no choice in the matter. What I have seen must be shouted across the Clans. Nothing will ever be the same afterwards." Charuk ignored the bitterness in his mouth. "What have you seen?" This time, the wizard smiled in earnest, exhilaration making the golden lines that marked the skin of his face glow. "I have seen the dragon fall. I have looked upon the faces of those who will slay the beast. I intend to find them, bring them together, shape them into a weapon." The Darkseer’s eyes grew dark and luminous at the same time. "I have to see my prophecy fulfilled."   To be honest, I have little preference. As long as the items have a story behind them and aren’t simply +x items, I welcome anything you find appropriate. I especially like mysterious items that don’t instantly reveal all of their secrets, but might be influenced by the wielder (and influence the wielder in return), growing stronger as its owner grows stronger. If I had to choose, I would pick items of utility and defense over items that simply deal damage. I know this isn’t much help ti you. Please tell me if you need something more specific!

[Torack]

Tabral Kask Name: Tabral Kask Race: Goliath (human variant stats) Class: War Domain Cleric Clan: Crystalline Keepers Mechanical Background: Fisher Appearance: Tabral stands at 7'3 with a thin, but well muscled and wiry frame. He has the face of an individual moments from simply giving up, with sunken eyes, that are an eerily glowing blue, a constant frown on his brows, and down-turned mouth making his dour looks all the more severe with his greying beard. Grey shoulder-length hair frames his face, that he keeps well maintained. Personality: Despite the life he's had, and all the strife he's been through, Tabral remains an idealistic individual. He believes the Clans will eventually be free from the tyrannical rule of Thalorgarax, that it is only a matter of time, and he hopes it's sooner rather than later. Many of his clan call him naive for this line of thinking, that a dragon should suddenly disappear when it has been around for six grueling decades. But he remains hopeful, if a little optimistic. Perhaps one reason he clings to his idealistic view is because of his sheer stubbornness. Once Tabral gets an idea, ideology, or thought in his mind, it is almost impossible to dissuade him from it. Especially the ones that have long since stayed in his head. He is as stubborn as they come, and then some. Set in his ways, and refusing to expand whatever bubble he's set for himself. The joke the Spirits played on him by making him their cleric has forced that bubble to expand, despite how much he hates it. He refuses to acknowledge them, and the powers they've granted him, rationalizing the powers as mere sorcery. He is also a compassionate and selfless individual. His stubbornness won't stop him from going out of his way to help those in need if he has the means, and sometimes even if he doesn't. It was that very careless attitude that got the attention of the Spirits, and he curses his compassion for making his life more complicated than it needed to be. Living a life of self indulgence before the Spirits burned it all away. The cravings still exist, and he still indulges himself. Mostly in drink and in gambling. A coping mechanism that began after the death of his two sons at the hands of the Frostfang Warriors. He drowned the pain with drink, and spent whatever money he had gambling and paying off debts--or sometimes not paying them off so the collectors could beat him within an inch of his life.   Background Tabral was born to a family of fishers, and ever since he could think for himself, he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. To go out into the lake by himself, without any supervision, and fish. A simple life and a simple dream for a young man like himself. But it was tradition, and he was content with that. His father taught him the trade, supervising and training him, teaching him little tricks to have a better catch. Tabral was a quick study, by the time he was fifteen, he was out in the waters by himself, hauling in a wide catch every evening, and giving a portion of the fish to the collectors that waited by the docks. He wasn't a violent young man, but he would fight against them when they thought to take most of his catch, and he would get a black eye or a bruised rib for his efforts. Oft times returning home with no catch at all. It had happened several times before his father stepped in. He wasn't seen again after that. A hatred grew in his heart for the tyrannical dragon ruling over them, and his cruel enforcers that languished in the other tribes' misfortune. He despised them, but he was also hopeful a time would come when they would finally be driven away. He didn't know how, but he often daydreamed, while fishing, of smashing their ranks and sending the dragon fleeing, as if he were some hero from a folktale. He was eventually married several years later, and had two strong boys. A pair of strong and riley twins that drove his wife mad. They could both see the two would turn into powerful warriors, and Tabral dedicated his time in training them to fight and defend themselves, instead of following in his footsteps. He figured if his boys were good at fighting, their clan would be the better for it. He trained them, until the clan warriors saw their potential and took over, turning them into a fierce pair. By the time they were in their mid twenties, the warriors of the clan decided they would no longer let the Frostfang Warriors walk all over them, thus when the collectors came, the warriors slaughtered them. Tensions rose between the clans, and Tabral was urging for peace, but the warriors nor his own sons had patience for his efforts, keeping up with their constant raids and minor skirmishes. Things took a turn when his sons came up with an insane plan to destroy the Frostfang with a night-time raid. They waited until the sun had set and took two dozen warriors with them, and invaded the Frostfang territory. Tabral had only learned of this mad and desperate plan the next day, and although he wanted to go after them, was stopped by the clan leaders. A week later, Hearing wailing and shouting, Tabral awoke that morning to a crowd surrounding a cart. He approached and there, he saw the heads of the two dozen warriors, and among them the heads of his sons. His life shattered at that moment. And he was dragged away, screaming at the gods and spirits for their cruelty. 30 min RP Five men men and women was all they could spare. His wife begged him not to go, pleading with him, cursing him and insulting his family for his stubborn nature. But he had to go. What choice did he have? Some part of Yolonda knew that, it was why there was no fierce bite in her words. He was doing this not only for them, but for his sons. Answering a wrong that needed righting, or he would go insane. Too long he'd been in the drinks. The moment the plan had come up near the docks, he was already on board, and had packed a month's worth of strong ale for the trek. He'd finished half in the first three nights, before the others hid the spirits from him. That only made him more miserable. But now, they were standing in front of a force almost two dozen strong, facing their demise. The deaths of their sons and daughters needed answering, and perhaps their blood would be enough a sacrifice to the gods to finally get off their asses and do something about the dragon. "They send their best against us," Nesrila said, standing from a crouch. She wore heavy hide armour and had a grim look on her face. "Standing there, waiting because they know we'll walk to our deaths." "And it will have more courage than they'll see in a hundred years," Rodell said, his voice like gravel. He was wearing the same, his head bald and clean shaven, marked with the tattoos of a future elder. "We will make the cowards bleed," Tabral said, "five of us will be a match for their numbers. Let us show them the true meaning of vengeance. And let us show our cowardly gods the meaning of courage." He roared, putting the pain of seeing his son's heads into his war cry as he ran towards the enemy. Not at all caring if his companions were following him or not. They raised their shields and held their swords towards him. Raising his own, he crashed into the enemy and used his hammer to swat away and parry their attacks. Then he began swinging. He felt the crunch of bones. Tabral had little experience in warfare and fighting, save for what little Rodell taught him on the way to their deaths. At that moment, however, he felt his body moving on its own, acting on instinct. Elements fell before him. He parried and swung, smashing his enemy's face into a bloody mess. He swung again after blocking with his shield, sending another toppling with a dented helmet. The others fought fiercely beside him, dropping bodies with their wild swings. Two of their five fell, arrows piercing their bodies. But they kept fighting, and Tabral kept pushing into them. Swinging madly and dropping bodies around him. He felt something change in him. His eyes changed from their normal brown into a glowing ice blue, and his hammer began to drip with ice. With every following strike, a toll was sounded over his enemy, before they shattered as if he were hitting warriors of ice. As he fought, he heard a deep, low laugh in his ear and he answered that laugh with a roar of pure rage. More bodies were shattered, and by the end of it, it was only him, Rodell, and Nesrila, standing over a field of broken bodies. Sublimated waves of ice wafted from him like steam. He realized they were staring at him, and when he turned to look at them, he found himself, instead, within a strange, white, snowy field with a sheer black sky. Directly in front of him was an icy throne, upon it was a figure, strong and massive, holding an equally massive icy blade. "You would show us our cowardice, then, mortal?" The figure spoke. Tabral snarled. "I would. You and the others have shown your true selves when the dragon came. Cowering in fear, hiding away and leaving us as the dragon's playthings." The Spirit was silent for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. "You are indeed spirited. Fine then. Show us our cowardice." He leaned forward, baring his teeth in a mad grin. "Defeat the Frostreaper, Thalorgarax. Present his head, mortal, and you will have showed us your courage. But if you cannot bear this task, then know your soul will be mine to do with as I please. And I can imagine a few things I can do to the little man who slaughtered my worshippers." Before he could respond, he was back on the field of battle. The other two were looking standing right in front of him with concerned looks on their faces, shaking him. He felt power flowing through him, and realized just how much of an idiot he really was.

[DemonSlayer]

Uthal Oretamer Iceheart Name: Uthal "Oretamer" Iceheart Race: Goliath Clan: Iceheart clan Background: Clan Crafter Background Born in the vast caverns of the Iceheart clan, Uthal grew up accustomed to the quiet and the dark. As a child he would be given toys of stone which, as the adults slaved away in the mines or nursed their exhaustion in solitude, were his best friends. This instilled an appreciation for good craftsmanship in the Goliath from an early age; after all, the best toys lasted longer, and bore more detail to elevate them above simple rocks. As Uthal grew into adulthood, his appreciation for the arts led him to become a craftsman. Labouring in the mines- a duty all Icehearts must fulfill to dig up treasures for Thalorgarax- Uthal was always on the the lookout for the most choice materials. These he brought back to his cave, where he would smelt ores to fashion tools and weapons, or chisel slabs of stone into exquisite statuettes. Uthal's talent was evident in his work, and he quickly garnered a reputation as an esteemed craftsman among the Iceheart clan. Uthal accepted the praise of his kin with dignity, always caring more about the work than about the opinions of others, even when word of his skill reached other clans. But the demands of Thalorgarax weighed heavily upon the craftsman. More and more of the clan's heirlooms, some of which had been crafted by Uthal himself, were demanded as tribute by the avaricious dragon. The loss of such priceless artefacts filled the Goliath with anger, a resentment which grew with each tribute. Then one day, when the Goliath returned from him work in the mine, he discovered that a particularly ancient suit of armour, used by many craftsmen as an example of what they should strive for in their work, had been surrendered to the collectors of the Frostfang tribe. Unable to contain decades of frustration, Uthal declared then and there that he would no longer suffer the dragon's theft of their most sacred heirlooms. He swore an oath, vowing he would not rest until the dragon was slain, and that the dragon's scales and bones would serve as materials for the clan's new heirlooms. With those words he packed his belongings, and set out to hunt the beast and its lackeys. Appearance Tall and lanky, Ulthas's chest and forearms are riddled with tiny scars and burn marks from his many hours at the forge. His features are sharp, with sparkling blue eyes underneath a deep brow, and a thin, hawkish nose. His skin is a very light grey, a stark contrasted to the dark grey, almost black lines running along his body. Uthal prefers to wear fine clothing, never going against what is considered the traditional garb of his clan. When he must wear armour, he wears only those suits he himself crafted, claiming any smith unwilling to wear their own work is not to be trusted. Such armour also follows a traditional style, and often bears inscriptions in the runic script of giants, or the markings symbolizing creation and strength in the Primordial language. Personality Uthal is quiet, for a Goliath. He is sociable, but prefers a relaxed evening of conversation to the wilder, less restrained gatherings his kin seems to prefer. His chosen profession demands a meticulous mindset, rendering him unsuited to the competitive nature of Goliath society. For the only person Uthal seems to compete with is himself. No matter the endeavour, Uthal ever strives to be better than his last attempt; an inclination which sees him pore over details others would not concern themselves with. Because he is quite serious, Uthal tends to socialize with older Goliaths, who have lost some of their inner fire to time. As Goliath society is quite unkind to whoever cannot provide for themselves, Uthal has grown accustomed to enjoying these friendships for only a short while. As such, the craftsman has come to appreciate the things which endure even more, such as ancient heirlooms, works of exquisite craftsmanship. These things, he claims, will outlive any of his kin, and it is those treasures which determine the culture of his clan. The loss of such artefacts greatly pains Uthal, and he considers it his personal mission to replace or retrieve whatever was taken by outsiders. Uthal much enjoys knowing a little bit about everything. He has studied the traditions of his clan well, and over many years of working in the mines learned to recognize the tell-tale signs of nearby veins of ore- as well as the hollow sound revealing pockets of gas produced by tapping a seemingly innocuous wall. He enjoys the heat of the forge as much as the cool touch of stone, and takes pride in his knowledge of both. Uthal sees beauty in the natural world, ever looking for materials to fashion into lasting treasures for the clan, be they hide, stone or metal. Indeed, he will often get lost in thought, thinking about his next project- considering how the world around him can be shaped to best express the culture of his clan. RP Sample Ulthas hurried down the roughly hewn granite steps, reaching the vault-like chamber where he found his kin, huddled together. They regarded him with fear, mistaking his heavy footfalls in the dark for those of a Frostfang; only when they recognized his tall form did they sigh of relief, though worry remained writ large on their faces. Behind Ulthas, more Icehearts filed into the chamber, hoping the dark room would provide some sanctuary from Thalorgarax's collectors. A fool's hope; the dragonborn were nothing if not meticulous in their duties. As if to emphasize their hopeless situation, the Goliaths could hear the sound of footsteps above them; shouted orders in Draconic, which those who could understand them flinched at. Ulthas did not understand the dragon's tongue, but it mattered not. The fear he saw on the faces of his clanmates was reflected in his own heart. The dragonborn were fierce fighters, but so were the Goliaths. No Iceheart would avoid a fight with a Frostfang, but the Frostfangs were backed by their draconic master. Any insult or injury done to the dragonborn would be repaid tenfold by Thalorgarax. The dragonborn knew the Goliaths would stay in line to avoid the dragon's wrath, and the Frostfangs had grown cruel by the lack of consequences for their actions. 'They'll be here soon,' Ulthas muttered. His words had been a mere whisper, but in the silent vault they carried far. 'We are trapped here,' the Goliath added. He looked around, at the faces of his kin. Many prepared themselves, whispering among themselves of taking a final stand against the Frostfangs. But Uthal's concern was not merely for the living. He looked around the vault, and while much had been taken in previous raids, some heirlooms remained. Galthok's hammer, a marvelous tool which had never broken, despite being used to shape metal on the forge for centuries. It was now only taken out of the vault for ceremonial purposes, but it served the Icehearts as it had done when their clan had been young. Eglah's nail, a pickaxe which had carved out many of the clan's tunnels, including this very room. Despite continuous use over many years, its tip had never dulled. Paavu's mantle; woven from the hides of white wolves, this cloak had kept warm the ancient elder and her children when they had found themselves lost on the mountain during a freezing night. Yet none were so valued as the suit of armour which stood in the center of the room. Despite the darkness Ulthas cast a loving gaze at the suit of iron and stone. He knew well the many runes inscribed along the plates; indeed, he himself had restored parts of the armour which had fallen to time. It bore the history of the clan, their culture. The loss of lives was common among the Windspire range- but to lose these artefacts to the dragon's hoard was an insult Ulthas couldn't bear. 'That wall,' he spoke, his eyes drawn to the back of the room. 'We are close to the new tunnels, no?' Not waiting for a response, he pulled Eglah's nail from the hands of one who had wanted to use the artefact as a weapon. Ulthas paid no mind to the Goliath's protests, and walked to the back of the vault. Placing his hand on the cold stone, he closed his eyes, and walked along the wall, tapping the stone with the pickaxe's edge. Bidding the others to be silent, Ulgath listened as he tapped the stone, until finally he found what he had hoped to hear. 'There,' he spoke. 'A weakness in the wall. Grab a tool, grab anything, and bring it down. We'll disappear into the new tunnels; the Frostfangs will not follow us there, for fear of losing their way.' There was a moment of stunned silence, but then one of the Goliaths picked up Galthok's hammer, and took up position at the wall. Ulthas nodded his gratitude at his clanmate, then the pair began to hammer at the wall. In mere moments more of his kin joined, while others cleared debris as it fell. To his relief, Ulthas had been right- the stone was brittle in this place, allowing the Goliaths to dig a small opening leading into a dark, rough-hewn tunnel. 'Go!' he urged the others, taking a few steps back to take one last look at the vault and its treasures. He was the last to leave, casting a sorrowful look at the magnificent armour in the center of the vault. It was too heavy to carry, too important to leave behind. With bleeding heart, Ulthas tore his gaze away from the heirloom, and with one final strike against the ceiling, collapsed the newly opened passage into the mines. He knew the Frostfangs would find the vault, find the armour, and take it to their master as if it was nothing more than a shiny bauble for his collection. One more insult the dragon would soon answer dearly for, Ulthas thought as he led his people down into the safety of the mines.

 

Uthal "Oretamer" Iceheart, Goliath Oath of the AncientsPaladin (

• Personality Trait: I have great respect for the elderly and for what's ancient.
• Personality Trait: My calm, peaceful demeanour sets me apart from my more bellicose kin.
• Ideal: Legacy. Lives are fleeting; our heirlooms endure.
• Bond: Many of our treasures were stolen by the wyrm. I will slay the dragon for this affront, and from its hide and bones I will fashion armor to replace what was lost.
• Flaw: My mind is fixated on creating something beautiful; as a result, I am easily distracted by the promise of resources like hides, materials or gems.

Clan Crafter)

HP: 77/77
AC: 19
Speed: 30
Senses: Passive perception (13)

STR	18	+4
DEX	8	-1
CON	16	+6
INT	12	+1
WIS	10	+3
CHA	14	+5

Stats & Saves |

Athletics	+7
History	+4
Nature	+4
Religion	+4
Smith's Tools
Leatherworker's Tools
Common
Giant
Primordial

Skills & Languages |

• War pick: +7, d8+4 piercing
• Javelin (5): +7, d6+4 piercing, thrown 30/120
• Chain mail: AC 16
• Shield: AC +2

Combat |

• Spell Save DC: 13
• Spell Attack modifier: +5

Lvl 1	Ensnaring Strike, Speak with Animals, Bless, Command, Wrathful Smite
Lvl 2	Moonbeam, Misty Step, Aid, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond

Magic |

• Explorer's pack
• Holy symbol
• Smith's tools
• Maker's Mark chisel
• Traveler's clothes
• Pouch w/ 5 gp

Equipment |

• Feat: Resilient (Constitution)
• ASI: +2 STR
• Little Giant: Proficiency in Athletics; count as one size larger for carrying/push/drag/lift.
• Mountain born: Resistant vs. Col; acclimated to high temperatures.
• Stone's Endurance: As a reaction when taking damage, reduce damage by d12+Con. May be used [prof] number of times per long rest.
• Respect of the Forge: Artisans recognize you for the works of high quality you have produced, and will gladly offer room and board in hopes of picking your brain for new insights. They may also ask you a position as apprentice, or request that you write them a recommendation to another renowned craftsman.
• Divine Sense: Sense location of celestials/fiends/undead/hallowed/unhallowed within 60' which are not behind total cover. May be used [Cha]+1 times per long rest.
• Lay on Hands: Pool of points. As an action, heal (1:1) or cure disease/poison (5:1) touched creature.
• Fighting Style (Defense): +1 AC while armored.
• Divine Smite: After hitting an opponent, expend a spell slot to deal an additional 2d8 radiant damage (+1d8 for each level above 1st).
• Divine Health: Immune to Disease
• Extra Attack: When taking the Attack action, attack twice.
• Aura of Protection: You and allies within 10' gain a bonus equal to your Cha on saves.
• Channel Divinity: You may use one of the following once per short rest.
  * Nature's Wrath: As an action, a creature within 10' must succeed on a Str or Dex save or be restrained. It may repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns.
  * Turn the Faithless: Each Fey or Fiend within 30' must make a Wis save. On a failure, it is turned for 1 minute (or until it takes damage). A turned creature must spend its turns moving away from you, and cannot willingly move to within 30' of you. It can only Dash or, if it cannot Dash, Dodge. If a turned creature's true form is concealed by illusion, shapeshifting etc, its true form is revealed.
• Aura of Warding: You and allies within 10' have resistance to damage from spells.

Special

Expendables
* Hit dice: 8/8 d10
* Stone's Endurance: 3/3
* Divine Sense: 3/3
* Lay on Hands: 40/40
* Channel Divinity: 1/1
* Javelins: 5

 

I realize you asked us to consider which magic items we'd like mostly from an OoC perspective, but I will say that I feel magic items are more interesting when they add new possibilities, rather than strengthen what's there.

I also feel that any magic items Uthal would carry are treasures he saved from Frostfang raids, taking whatever he could carry and disappearing into the mines with it, before the dragon's lackeys could run off with it. I realize that doesn't say a whole lot about about what type of items they should be, but I thought I'd mention it anyway .

That said, if you're asking for categories, I'll do my best;

• Protective; I think it safe to say that as the paladin, Uthal will be busy supporting, buffing and protecting his fellow Goliaths. Something that'd help with that would be appreciated!
• Summoning; I absolutely love 70% of the reason I took the Ancients oath is because they protect the beauty in the world, which is what I felt fits an artisan best. The other 30% is them getting Speak With Animals :Phaving little critters/spirits/helpers around. I feel having something like that around opens a ton of possibilities, both in utility and in roleplaying.
• Crafting; Having the means to create things from scratch adds a lot of utility!

Hope that helps !

[EMIW]

Palu Name: Palu Icepiercer Race: White Dragonborn Class: Cleric (Light) Clan: Crystalline Keepers Mechanical Background: Acolyte   Personality: 1. I idolize a particular hero of my faith, and constantly refer to that person's deeds and example. 2. I've spent so long in the temple that I have little practical experience dealing with people in the outside world. Ideal: Faith. I trust that my deity will guide my actions. I have faith that if I work hard, things will go well. (Lawful) Bond: I will do anything to protect the temple where I served. Flaw: I am suspicious of strangers and expect the worst of them.   Written Background: 18 years ago, Thalorgarax came to Crystal Waters. They didn't know it was him, initially. He came in disguise, transformed into a handsome male Goliath, tall and strong. Lirael's chief priestess in the village fell in love with him, by his design. He came and went, as he moved between the other clans, but she felt that he always returned to her. She became pregnant, and gave birth to a daughter that she named Palu - a daughter covered in pure white scales, and a face of a young animal, nose and mouth beginning their projection into a snout, already full of tiny, razor sharp teeth. It was at this time that the Winter's Herald finally revealed his true self. Now that she had borne him a child, she and the village would be under his thrall - Goliaths would be more than willing to fight to the death, but he knew she would not risk the life of her child. He told her that Palu belonged to him, and that in time he would take her to Frostfang to join his warriors. But to keep them loyal he would visit once a year to check on his daughter's progress. She grew well, happily eating meat caught by the village's hunters. But on his fifth visit, the priestess led him to the catacombs dug into the stone of the mountain, and showed him Palu's tomb. She had died, she explained, after a brief illness. He sniffed - she was in there, he knew, he could smell her faintly. In anger he flew out of the caves and destroyed the closest thing the village had to a temple, a swipe of his tail bringing wood and stone raining down. After he had flown away, the priestess ran back to the tomb - she pulled aside the stone revealing packed ice, and beyond that was Palu, hiding quietly in her own tomb, the ice dulling her scent. Several more times in her life she had to hide as Thalorgarax returned to the village, but he never discovered her, and no more dragon-children were born there. Palu was raised by her mother in the worship of Lirael, and became enamoured of the idea of the beautiful goddess of light and reflection. She was discouraged from taking part in the rituals that would fully mark her as a member of the clan, though, her mother concerned that with her scales and dense, Draconic body the Mirror Walk would end in tragedy, and given who her father was that any Vision Quest would reveal aspects of Palu that nobody would want revealed. However, not too long ago, Palu took matters into her own hands...   30 Minute (or less) RP Sample: To be written - What was the moment you became a hero in the eyes of your clan? No longer would she stay hidden among the stone cottages of the village, or lurking in the tombs. No more watching as her friends in the Crystalline Keepers pledged themselves to Lirael, taking the Mirror Walk across the frozen lake to prove their faith. Wasn't she faithful? Wasn't she loyal to the Lady of the Lake? So she was not Goliath, at least not fully, did that a make a difference? She was tired of being told no. Well, not this time. At first light she sneaked from the rooms she shared with her mother, those attached to the temple, reserved for the use of the Chief Priestess of Lirael. Quietly she made her way down to the lake. It was so beautiful, the gentle glow of sunrise turning the frozen water into a sea of gold. It had been frozen for barely a day, but would remain frozen now for several months. Mirror Walks were usually held at least a few days from the first freeze, but the earlier your walk the greater your faith. And Palu had a point to prove. Now at the edge of the lake her determination fled to the edges of her intention, and uncertainty set in. Was this foolishness? Perhaps her mother was right, that undertaking a Mirror Walk would not be possible for her - Goliaths were large and heavy too, but she was scale-clad, and all but the strongest in the village struggled to lift her. But then, wasn't this a test of faith? If she was beloved by Lirael, the Lady wouldn't let her fall. Probably... "Palu? Palu! What are you doing? Stop!" Her mother's voice called out behind her. She was standing in the doorway of the temple, gripping the edge of the doorframe. No, Palu would not be told no any longer. She began to walk forward, slowly at first, then picking up speed until she was walking almost at a normal pace. She was doing it! She would cross the Lake, proving her faith to Lirael, then her mother would have to stop coddling her, stop treating her like a child. K-KEW - KEW - KEW - KEW A Lake echoed as the ice cracked in a web of lightning around Palu's clawed feet. She stopped suddenly. Alright, more slowly now. It was a test of faith, but also of personal insight, and she knew she had been going too fast. She tentatively put one more foot forward, down, down, let it rest on the ice... there. All good. And then ice gave way beneath her, and the clear water took her down into its frigid depths. Her muscles clenched in the cold, and she grasped for the edge of the broken ice, but it fled from her, seeming to fly upwards as she sank deeper, and the light seemed so very far away. At the edge of the Lake a crowd had gathered, drawn by the shouting of Palu's mother. There was silence now, after a pained shout of "Palu!" from the Chief Priestess as the Dragonborn went through the ice like a spear. The Priestesss tried to run out onto the ice, following her daughter, but was held until she stopped lashing out. Those present spoke nothing, but bowed their heads. Lirael had taken another to her bosom. The Priestess sobbed, and the others felt ice in their hearts. Palu had been born of the Winter's Herald, but she was one of them, had been one of them. Just as they began to turn away, the ice barely ten feet from the edge of the Lake burst open, scattering shards as far as the waiting mourners, and a white-scaled claw gripped the frozen floor. Palu pulled herself from the water, dripping wet and shivering, but she managed to stammer out "I saw her, I saw her... Lirael, she, she said I had to go to him, to my father, and, and... destroy him..." Her eyes glowed with the light of the dawn, the sun's light on the ice, and they knew that something important had occurred here. Palu was changed, she radiated a power she had never known or shown before. And in her heart she felt something else new - a purpose. A destiny. (Maybe 35 mins?) Character Sheet

[cappucina]

“Ekaitza Torrentsdottir" 50x25 Race: Goliath (variant human stat block) Class: Tempest Cleric Clan: Living amongst the Stormreach Clan, ancestry is from Skyreach Clan Mechanical Background: Acolyte   Chaotic because Storms are Chaotic, Neutral because she isn't good and she isn't evil. She's that in between. Personality Traits I idolize a particular hero of my faith, and constantly refer to that person’s deeds and example. Nothing can shake my optimistic attitude (ie belief in myself and my religion). Ideals Power. I hope to one day rise to the top of my faith’s religious hierarchy. Aspiration. I seek to prove myself worthy of my god’s favor by matching my actions against his or her teachings. (Any) Bonds I would die to recover Skyreach territory, that was lost to the dragon 6 decades long ago. We would then resettle it with hand picked from Stormreach and I would be the Chieftan. Flaws My piety sometimes leads me to blindly trust those that profess faith in my god. Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life. I am inflexible in my thinking.   Appearance & Personality: Ekaitza is a tall and athletic Goliath with long white hair she wears in a braid. She has white eyes and blueish gray skin. She wears a perma sneer, she's not all that likeable but she's fierce AF. She is super charged with energy and ambition. Ekaitza has distinctive staircase birthmarks, starting on her right hip and going across and up her back to her left shoulder then twisting back to spiral up her neck and over her face to the top of her head. Many Goliaths believe their fate is written into their marks. Ekaitza is a believer - she believes it is her destiny to climb, to ascend, to rise up. Written Background: Ekaitza’s grandparents and all her family were of Skyreach Clan. Some of her family’s young were too young to fight the dragon and immediately fled once the battle began. There was nothing to go back to at Skyreach but death, so they never turned back and fled to Stormreach. There they all settled, at Stormreach, they stayed and integrated. Like all Goliaths, Ekaitza is competitive - she hunts, she fishes, she trains for fighting, she does sports and games, and she wins enough that she can easily keep up with the others when it is her turn to list or retell all the times she bested or conquered or won. Ekaitza is also a true believer. She believes in herself and she believes in the Gods. RP Sample: Ekaitza and the others watched the sky darken and felt the wind pick up. A beautiful, sunny day was quickly changing and it was obvious a storm was approaching. There was a consulting conversation, and all the other worshipping acolyte climbers wished her well in her final trial and turned back. Ekaitza, a true believer, did not turn back and go down as the wind picked up and the rumbling of thunder got closer. She believed the staircase pattern going up was her destiny. She was once asked how could she be so sure it was not stairs down, she scoffed at that and never thought about it again. She believed otherwise, it was something she felt she knew in her bones. She reached the top of the ruins of Skyreach as the icy, slushy rainfall started. Instantly, the ground became treacherously slick. Her crampons kept her from sliding and slipping as she crossed toward the remains of the temple to Aurora. Here is where her ancestors prayed, here at the very top of one of the highest peaks. The view up here was a view of a world below - when it was clear enough to see. Now it was just gray, swirling mist and sleet, no sign of the sun, no sign of the stars but Ekaitza thought the view was still magnificent - a magnificent view of a storm. The beliefs of the Stormreach Clan had rubbed off. She was a believer in the God of Thunder, Thalor - Spirit of the Thunder. Ekaitza participated in the Thunder Drumming, in the Lightning Forge, and this here today was her Storm Trial. Ekaitza unrolled a bundle of lightening rods from inside a tapestry of patiently woven goat hair of the symbol of the God of Thunder. She hung the snapping cloth on the wall of the temple, banging 4 pitons with small hooks into the rocks especially for the holy cloth. Then she took measuring steps in a spiral pattern all around a central point facing the holy cloth, and every five paces she would stake and hammer in a lightening rod. She did this until all the rods were set and then she knelt at the center of the spiral and started chanting the traditional prayers to her God as the storm picked up ferocity. As lightening started to split the sky and nearly blind her eyes she threw back her head and opened her arms wide and screamed to the sky, By the shimmering light of the Aether Winds, I am destined to stand upon this hallowed ground of my ancestors! My faith, unwavering as the celestial tempest, binds me to Thalor, the Eldritch Storm Lord! A humble priest of Storm and Fury, I am here to receive the sacred anointment, to be woven into the fabric of the eternal maelstrom, devoted to serve without ceasing in the realms of thunderous glory! She did, she really did mean every word. She felt safe in the storm, she felt one with the storm. Lightening hit the rods. The lightening was white and bright and completely blinded her, the thunder deafened her, the heat from the all of the rods catching and spiraling the lightening energy around and around her smoldered her hair, her clothes, her skin blistered. She screamed again, a fantatic now on death's door, with blistered lips, shaking from the pain and croaked what might be her last words spoken, Joyfully blessed!! My loyalty is to Thalor forever and forever!! My faith in him is for all eternity! They were not her dying words. She lived and her sight came back and her hearing came back - a few days later she could stiffly shuffle around- and so she packed up and made her way back to her clan. I would say she started to earn some local notoriety when she came back totally fried by the ceremony with the lightening rods after her pilgramidge to Skyreach no man’s land. She didn't exactly become a hero, but she was known as unique. It’s normal to do your Storm Trial over at Stormreach and take a little controlled lick of lightening. It’s not normal to go climb to the highest peak, put down the most lightening rods ever put down, and survive the biggest storm of the century. For sure, it was agreed, she was favored by Thalor himself. “Prompt" A sample post as if posting in the game. Ekaitza was meditating and praying, as she did three times per day. There were recent scouts returning with reports of more destruction and death by the dragon, more reports of frings clans being rounded up and enslaved by Thalorgarax and his Frostfang Clan minions. Ekaitza mentally climbed the stairs across her back and up her neck and spiraling around her face. She mentally climbed them to find the way. When she reached the top of her stairs in her minds eye, she checked in with her desires. She desired to be Clan Chiefton. She would have to challenge the current Chief. In goliath culture, challenge was acceptable at any time. But, she did not have enough support to make her leadership go uncontested for long. In fact, she would be challenged immediately by all those loyal to the old chief. She assumed she would win the initial challenge of course, she believed. But, even a believer can get reality checked. She could not win 10 days and 10 nights of fresh, rested challengers, one after the other, and that would be what came at her. She overheard these precise plans. What she needed was support after the win. She needed respect. She needed to kill the dragon, get the respect, get the authority. Go out and kill it, come back and call for a contest with the Chief, win it, become the Chief. Stay the Chief. She believed that these desires that came to her mind as she climbed her stairs in deep prayer and meditation were Thalos himself guiding her to fulfil her destiny. She opened her eyes, satisfied that she new her purpose clearly now. She kissed her holy symbol and studied it held in the cup of both hands. Little tiny bolts of electricity flicked from fingertip to fingertip. Something that often happened ever since her experience at Skyreach after her Storm Trial all those years ago. Character Sheet

Testing the shrink:

50x25

Stat Block   Ekaitza Torrentsdottir Chaotic Neutral HP: 59/59 | AC: 18 | Conditions: None | Hit Dice: 8d8: 8/8 Passive Perception: 17 | Init: +2 | Speed: 30 | Proficiency Bonus: +3 STR 10(+0) DEX 14(+2) CON 16(+3) INT 8(-1) WIS 18(+4) CHA 8(-1) Weapons: Ammunition, Range, Two-Handed“Crossbow": +5, 1d8+2, Ammo:20 | Simple, Finesse, Light, ThrownDagger (x6) : +5, 1d4+2 You brandish the weapon used in the spell’s casting and make a melee attack with it against one creature within 5 feet of you. On a hit, the target suffers the weapon attack’s normal effects and then becomes sheathed in booming energy until the start of your next turn. If the target willingly moves 5 feet or more before then, the target takes 1d8 thunder damage, and the spell ends. At Higher Levels. At 5th level, the melee attack deals an extra 1d8 thunder damage to the target on a hit, and the damage the target takes for moving increases to 2d8. Both damage rolls increase by 1d8 at 11th level (2d8 and 3d8) and again at 17th level (3d8 and 4d8).Booming Blade +1d8 thunder, triggers Divine Strike +1d8 thunder Features and Abilities: Common, Draconic, Celestial, PrimordialLanguages | Armor: Light, Medium, Heavy, Shields Weapons:Simple, Martial Skills: Survival, Religion, Perception, Medicine, Insight Saving Throws: Constitution, Wisdom, CharismaProficiencies | When a creature within 5 ft. that you can see hits you with an attack, you can use your reaction to cause the creature to make a DEX saving throw (DC 15 or it takes 2d8 lightning or thunder damage (your choice), half damage on success). Resets on Long Rest. Wrath of the Storm; Reaction 4/4 | You can use Channel Divinity to deal maximum damage instead of rolling for lightning or thunder damage. Refreshes on Short Rest. Channel Divinity can also be used to Turn Undead. As an action, you present your holy symbol and speak a prayer censuring the undead. Each undead that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must make a WIS saving throw (DC 15). If the creature fails its saving throw, it is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. It also can’t take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there’s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action. When an undead; fails its saving throw against your Turn Undead feature, it is instantly destroyed if its CR is lower than the threshold for your level. At 5th level, when an undead fails its saving throw against your Turn Undead feature, it is instantly destroyed if it is of CR ½ or lower. At 8th level and higher, it is instead destroyed if it is of CR 1 or lower. Resets on Short Rest.Channel Divinity Destructive Wrath 2/2 | Once on each of your turns when you hit a creature with a weapon attack, you can cause the attack to deal an extra 1d8 thunder damage.Divine Strike - Once Per Turn When you deal lightening damage, you can push opponent up to 10 feet away from you.Thunderbolt Strike Spells DC15/+7 spell attack: Booming Blade, Light, Mending, Spare the Dying, Sacred Flame, Shocking Grasp, Toll the DeadCantrips | Absorb Elements, Cure Wounds, Fog Cloud, Thunderwave Level 1: 4/4 | Aid, Lesser Restoration, Protection from Poison, Spiritual Weapon, Gust of Wind, Shatter Level 2: 3/3 | Call Lightening, Dispel Magic, Remove Curse, Revivify, Sleet Storm, Spirit Guardians Level 3: 3/3 | Control Water, Freedom of Movement, Ice Storm, Death Ward Level 4: 2/2

[Kshnik]

App Name: Eaggal Stonetwister Veomiala Race: Goliath Clan: The Stormwatchers Clan Class: Artificer (Armorer) 6, Cleric (Twilight) 2 Background: Giant Foundling (Cloud) Appearance Eaggal is four fingers width above eight feet, has a huge bald head, held in place by a very thick neck, sitting on wide shoulders. He has monolid eyes, blue-ish gray with tiny flecks of purple, that peer out below a wide forehead. He has prominent cheekbones, a bulbous chin and a strong jawline. His gray skin matches his eyes and is decorated with many black tattoos containing running lines up and down his face and body. The colors of his attire matches the landscape; brownish and stone grays. A well used composite longbow peeks over his left shoulder and rests against a backpack, held by quick release straps, bursting with his belongings. His powerful lean torso is protected by armor which combines the mixture of scales of steel on top of leather. Two full quivers, sprouting black feathers, along with a few bulging pouches and handles of a couple of weapons, rest on his hip supported by a thick wide belt. On his thick limbs he has secured multiple sheaths containing various tools of his trades. Well designed gauntlets protect his hands etched with the symbol of Thalor, Spirit of Thunder. Personality Eaggal is a passionate individual; charitable with his laugh and smile, and easy to shed tears; mainly towards events that deal with animals and the young rather than with adults. Though slighted, Eaggal can become Ill-tempered and aloof and only help those that he knows has put in the hard work. No free meals from me. Except if there are children involved; he has a soft spot for them. Children and close friends will always have a spot at my table. Eaggal enjoys listening and telling tales, slightly embellished, of course, while drinking multiple mugs of fermented milk. Eaggal is a man of action, an individual of relentless motion. If he is not talking, he is moving about cleaning, or crafting; most often doing both. Eaggal will judge people on their actions over their words. The tools Eaggal possesses have been handed down through multiple generations which he carries around, and uses, as a reminder of his past and of his family’s humble social rank. Written Background Eaggal’s family has always been into crafting; just never seen as elite. So not one of the top families. Moderate. Acceptable. Eaggal as an infant did not play with toys. Not that he didn't have any. Eaggal gravitated to the tools. His family's tools became his toys. As he grew his training was similar to all the others in the clans. Eaggal though had something special about him. His craft was just slightly better than the others. In other aspects he was moderate. At the aging ceremony, he was accepted into the Lightning Forge. Here his training took on another element as he was introduced to the magical arts. Unknown to others, even his family, he was contacted. A recurring dream every night. Eventually he accepted and he was again introduced to a different element, this one to the divine essence. During this period of growth, raids started by the Frostfangs increased in number. Squads were formed to help in the defense of the cliffs. Rotations were scheduled His squad was out when a larger number of the Frostfang Warriors made, what they thought was, a surprise attack. Eaggal squad had been vigilant. Fought back. Above hundreds of feet the form of Thalorgarax's was seen. Yet the lay of the land, with the deep ravines and gullies, made it difficult for the Dragon to fly down to participate. It didn’t matter. Frostfang numbers were too great. The squad was being overwhelmed and was on the verge of chaotic retreat. Eaggal stepped forward. United the others. Called for their resilience. Halted the attack. The strength of the squad held the Frostfang at bay. Eaggal called for a slow retreat, one in which they never turned their backs. Reinforcements arrived and the retreat became an attack. It was the Frostfang’s who were forced back. A roar from Thalorgarax caused Eaggal to look up. Even though the dragon distance was great Eaggal knew the dragon had marked him and would stop at nothing to see him dead. Or even worse to become a meal. After that day, Eaggal, and his family, the Veomialas, were seen in a different light. Elevated. 30 Minute Writing Sample 48 minutes.. Started at 10pm. Had to look up various spells to make sure had them right. Wanted to write more. Eaggal was stationed on a large boulder, near the entrance to the ravine with cliffs, fifty foot high, narrowing towards the top. This was one of the few passages to their settlement. The broadest and easiest pathway. A breath. Eaggal’s incredible night vision saw the movement, in the distance, moving stealthily through the crevices, ahead, towards them. If it had been any other on guard duty the force would have been within sixty steps of them before being spotted. Eaggal, however, caught them over two hundred steps away. Another breath. He blew on the bird whistle, a sound that imitated the numerous great horn owls of the region. This would alert the squad. One would run back to inform the others. Eaggal steadied his next six breaths as he raised up a large bow, one he had recently learned to use, along with many others in his squad, and fired it at the lead enemy. Another six breaths, another shot. His squad now fired alongside him even though they could not see. They did not need to see. Every single one of them had this terrain memorized. Every rock, boulder, twists and turns of the ravine. The enemy upon the first arrow, stealth no longer needed, had dashed forwards. A hundred and half steps now. Above a large form obscured the moon for a second. Another six breaths, another shot. The enemy is now less than a hundred steps from them. Another six breaths, another shot. The enemy forty steps away. His squad members could now see the numbers. Another six breaths, the longbow forgotten. A shrug of his left shoulder and his shield now in hand. In his right hand, no weapon, just his Gauntlet. A twin to his left that holds the shield. Gauntlets he made, one with the symbol of Thalor etched upon them. His right hand grabs a small, finger length, thorny vine hanging on the inside of the shield. A few words. A movement of his hand. A thorn whip exploded forward grasping the lead enemy, with a few arrows puncturing his body, and pulling him towards him. The enemy collapsed bloodied to the ground. Another six breaths. Eaggal’s shield catches the blow from the man in front of him. Eaggal ignores this man, speaks a word, and then sends a punch towards a man in front of the squad mate to his right. Thunder echoes off his gauntlet into the man as magic flows behind it from a different source. A shiver of magic envelopes this man. His squad mate shield knocks the man back causing this thunder magic to explode. Another six breaths, Eaggal’s shield catches another blow. The ravine only fifteen strides in width was getting crowded. He notices his squad, now seeing the numbers against them, begin to panic. A few in the back turn to retreat. Rather than panic himself; calmness overcomes him. Eaggal yells Stormwatchers! Hold! Together we are Strong! Eaggal's hand does a familiar movement, his mouth states the words and a thunderous wave rolls forward, coming from deep within his chest out of his outstretched right hand and into those in front of him. The magical wave knock them back multiple steps into those behind. Another six breaths, Eaggal yells Full Turtle defense! Slow step retreat. Eaggal being the lead person, the most likely and easiest for the enemy to attack, calls upon one of his divine spells. This uses the last of his magic but is needed. His right hand pulls the small mirror hanging on the inside of his shield. A few whispered words. A slight movement of his gauntlet and Eaggal could feel the divine ward surround him.