Plop down your characters here! Post your application, and a link to your character sheet. Also, give a brief rating of your OOC's attributes, from best to worst.
Stats should be gotten through 20-point buy, using this chart.
Remember that we're using Pathfinder, so select that as your sheet type when making a sheet. The SRD is here, for those who don't have books.
You're level 1. You have max MaxHP for your class.
Money is the average for your class(don't roll). Pathfinder Oddity: You don't get 4x skill points at level 1 like 3.5. Instead, class skills give a +3 bonus when you have ranks in them. Also, it doesn't cost extra to put ranks in non-class skills, you just don't get that bonus.
Pathfinder is in love with items that are "the same, but better", with a higher cost attached. We will not be using these items. So no, you can't have your funky Rosewood armor; buy Leather armor like everyone else. Same with weapons.
__________________ EDIT: My brain is fight. Awkward MRIs don't help. Expect delays.
A satyr rises in the morning, and hangs the coffee mug on his horns, so that he won't lose it.
The coffee is done, but the mug isn't in its usual spot. Where did it go? He forgot.
Last edited by Fragmaster01; Aug 30th, 2011 at 01:13 PM.
OOC Name: Fiona Mallory, i.e. - Fionn (pronounced finn) Gender: Auburn (Also her age, and hair color.) Disposition: Well off, in her own way. Appearance/Personality: Archetypally Irish, Fionn's honey-pale skin flushes easily, setting off her hair, of course. Deep green eyes display either mirth or mischief, generally. 5'9'' or so, lean and curvy, she most often wears waistcoats over her button-shirts, with either slacks or skirts - all in earthtones or deep bold colors, never anything too bright.
Romantic and cynical, rough-tongued yet honey-voiced - Fionn is a renaissance woman. Literally - she travels the renfaire circuit, performing a variety of roles to generate a fluctuating income. Sometimes she's a bard, other times a tailor...well versed in a variety of skills (yet not so well as to be able to set up any one trade), she chooses what suits her to do. Mostly, it's the barding - she likes to sing bawdy Irish ballads in period pubs.
Fionn is a storylover, a loremonger, an inkling - she loves words, speaks three languages (and translates several others with some proficiency, given a decent phrasebook), can affect a myriad of tones and accents, but prefers her mother's Irish lilt. She dislikes children, though more due to what people do to them than any innate flaw. She likes the ones who are quiet and intense, curious and intelligent - this is how she sees children in a state of nature, so to speak. She has no wish to breed any of her own young - there's too much else to do, and plenty of others ensuring the survival of the species.
IC Name: Lorcan Fearn Race: Satyr Curse/Flaw: Youth Class: Rogue / Barbarian (Fionn's perspective on most kids, really) Boon: Being a mischievous kid, he can sneakattack on a Bluff check under circumstances where the victim target would have attention elsewhere, or otherwise be surprised that the kid just did that. Subject to DM's discretion, of course. Appearance/Personality: Pale brown skin, the color of unstained wood. Deeper chestnut hair, thick and tangled on his head and across his legs - though the hair on his head grows more to the back, behind his parchment-bone horns. He ties it in a small rat-tail, usually. Lorcan is an adventurous kid, ferocious and free - to the point, I think, of justifying a Chaotic Evil alignment. This isn't to say that he's Evil, but that he can be hard to follow, and doesn't really care about anything but a fierce individuality. He goes along with anything that sounds like it'll make a good story, though he might change his mind later. When he fights, it is as kids do - kicking and biting, head-butting, whatever works. He's also foul-mouthed when he wants to be, and says mostly whatever he thinks. Oh, and there's that habit of wandering off...
Satyr culture being largely hedonist and simple to support, they don't often bother with workaday jobs. Some find amusement through interactions, however, and so it was with Lorcan's mother who...well, entertained the miners in the mountain woods. Lorcan himself is likely half-human, though there's no telling really. Satyr blood runs hot and strong anyway, so there isn't any physical indication. The kid spent his first years more or less feral, a status mitigated only somewhat by the company of miners. He learned a rough, bawdy sort of speech, and how to make himself useful as a lantern-boy in the darker mine shafts. He looked up to the miners' rough, bawdy bluntness, though he never understood why they kept at such a hard job which they always complained of, with no apparent reward. There was plenty reward to be had - they spent all day wresting precious gems and metals from the earth which they themselves dug into. Then they packed these things up, sent them off, and stayed where they were. Eventually, he became curious as to where the treasures went. One day - since nobody particularly seemed to care - he simply hopped onto a trader's cart and off into the nearest city.
The trader visited a variety of craftsman - jewelers, minters, and smiths - each of which paid him in food or magic, which he would return to the miners in time. In return, the trader himself ended up with a bit of everything, and a pleasant ride through the woods to boot. Lorcan - being twelve, and bored, and curious - nicks a few things, wanders away from the cart and into the Synthsmith's forge. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the process, there are three stages to actually forging Synthesized life. Most often this requires three persons, though sometimes the skill-sets overlap. First, the physical forging - making a body which is capable of taking the enchantment, of functioning more or less normally and holding up under whatever stresses may be required of it. Any skilled blacksmith can do this, though some better than others. Second, the enchantment itself - wizard's work, most often - spells of motion and energy, requiring some sort of knowledge of how things operate in order to operate within the desired parameters. The third...the third stage is for sensory data. Life most naturally develops at a pace - babies collecting sensory data over years, compiling it into basic conceptuals, which are compiled into more and more complex thoughts, resulting in language and philosophy - which are required for even basic functions, if only at very basic levels. In essence, it takes a story to craft life - or a series of stories. Symbols, archetypes, concept associations which serve to connect reality in a way which sentience can interpret and understand. This is where the wizard's work ends and the bard begins, with sounds and songs, illusions and performance.
This bard was telling tales of the gods - powerful symbols, well balanced, and a good start for comprehension of the society which worships them. The tale he walked in on was the legend of Cayden Cailean. Fiercely selfish, freedom-loving, independent Accidental God Cayden Cailean. Lorcan was hero-struck. Now, there is no particular traumatic or inspirational heart-wrenching event here - no great life's motivation. This is not, as such, the story of some legendary champion finding his calling in life. It is, however a plausable explanation to a half-wild twelve-year-old. How awesome - to run off into the world on your own, brawling your way through whatever obstacles arise, and living by the opportunities which follow them. When it comes down to it, all kids are romantics.
Well, he barged in and grilled the bard about Cayden, asking for more stories - stories of beer and battle and adventure! Of course, the stories were heard by the Synth as well, who slowly was wakening to the world. The excitement of the boy became a part of the spell, and so a part of the creature. After stories of Little Thunder and Thais the Accidental Herald, and Luthier, Knight of the Vinyard - stories of the fight for individuality in a world of rulers - well, the Synth was awake, and aching for adventure with a boyish ache of his own. The creature bounded up and off down the street to find his own adventure! The bard, of course, went running after him...then the wizard, then the smith, crashing through the back room, out through the forge and after the others.
Lorcan laughed and walked away, in the hopes of finding his own adventure...
__________________
“The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.”
Last edited by Mal Radagast; Aug 28th, 2011 at 12:46 AM.
Name: Natalie Laura Raynor 'Tali'
Gender: Pink
Age: 19
Personality: Tali is rather shy, preferring the company of a good book to a loud social event. She is also very active, keeping herself fit and healthy by a combination of morning jogs and a weekly self-defence class.
Background: Tali grew up in a home that was stable and loving, if a little strict at times. Her parents pushed both her and her twin sister Michelle to study hard, wanting them to become 'successful' in life, though they never really explained how. In school, Tali was shy enough to not belong to any of the major cliques, which suited her just fine, despite her sister occasionally trying to introduce her to the 'popular' girls, who thought her too much of a wallflower to bother with. Michelle went on to study Law, while Tali chose Psychology as her field of study. The two keep in regular contact with each other, and somewhat more irregular contact with their parents. Both saw university as a way to escape some of the more exasperating elements of their parents 'control', although if pressed, they would also admit to using it as a way to prove to their parents that they could be the success hoped for.
Appearance: Tali is on the shorter side of average, at around 5'3", and slender. Her shoulder-length hair is black, except for her bangs, which are dyed a pale metallic blue. Few people can accurately say what colour her eyes are, as she doesn't tend to meet people's eyes when talking and the few that have seen them disagree as to whether they are pale blue, or a bluish grey.
Random Trivia: Tali and Michelle both dyed their hair when they started university, though Tali is the only sister with her hair still dyed. Tali's favourite food is steak, but she almost never eats it due to difficulties in finding places that can cook it they way she likes. Tali has a very good singing voice, but her shyness means that very few people know about it.
RP Sample: The sun rose low over the surrounding buildings as Tali ran through the wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the park. Even at this early hour, other people were already there, some but not all doing morning exercises themselves. As she passed, several of the other joggers shouted greetings, which she returned nervously, fighting a blush.
There's no need to be so nervous...they're just being friendly, that's all.
She rounded the lake and headed towards a bench under the trees, but slowed down when she saw no-one was there. She looked at her watch, and came to a stop beside the bench. That's odd...Mr and Mrs Williams are usually here by now. I hope nothings the matter.
She circled the bench a few times, switching to a stretching routine as she did so before perking up as she saw the elderly couple just coming in the gates. She jogged over to them.
"Good morning Mr and Mrs Williams."
"Oh, good morning dear. Are we running late? My Thomas dropped his dentures again."
The elderly gentleman smiled a little sheepishly.
"Only a little, Mrs Williams. I should probably be going, though."
"Well, you take care, dear."
"I will."
Tali set off jogging again, leaving the couple to head towards their favourite bench. She left the park and looked at her watch once more. I can make up the time if I sprint the last bit, I think.
Character Name: Breaker
Character Gender: Appears Pink, actually neuter (well, it is a synth....)
Age: 12
Race: Synth
Class/House: Fighter/None
Background: Breaker was crafted a little over a decade ago, to serve as a rockbreaker in a quarry, mining out chunks of rock and breaking them down into a managable size for transportation. She was worked hard, with long hours and no pay. Eventually she was sent away, after the foreman hired 'some real folk', but her newfound freedom lasted less than a week before running into financial trouble and inadvertantly managing to get herself in servitude to a passing mechant. The merchant travelled to Archenai, where he sold her contract to a blacksmith, who put her to work in a forge. She has only just managed to buy out her contract, and freedom is still a curiosity for her.
Personality: Blunt. Rude. Angry. Above all, controlled. Breaker has learnt the hard way to judge just how far she can push someone before it gets her in trouble, and usually tailors her attitude to suit. When not in a position to get in trouble, she doesn't hold back. When in a fight, she uses power over finesse, preferring to end things quickly.
Appearance: Breaker looks roughly Alomerian, though her legs end in rotating spike array like an omnidirectional crampon. Her 'skin' is a stone grey rubberised material, with a bluish grey metal exoskeleton over her arms and spine, to help with heavy lifting. The upper end of the metal goes up the back of her head and over to where her hairline would be, giving the impression she is wearing a metal hood. (Like a Space Marine Librarian's Psychic Hood from 40k).
Boon: Breaker was designed from the start to work in a quarry, and has a pair of goggles attached to her head that, when activated, can show detailed information about what she's looking at (such as stress fractures in rock) and also allow her to see at night.
Curse: Breaker is loud, blunt and in your face. Tali has trouble speaking loudly enough to be heard when around people she doesn't know very well. She's trying to play Breaker to help her gain confidence, but it isn't working too well just yet.
Flaw: Second Class Citizen: Breaker is a synth, and as such often treated like a servant, even by complete strangers.
Oath: You have my keyboard...
Name: James A. Dove Gender: Blue Age: 23 Current State: James has recently moved into the area due to a combination of the need for a job and a nasty break-up which caused half the rent for his old apartment to stomp off in a huff.
He works in a little independent book-store, where the boss is friendly and the pay is pretty good, but he suffers the curse of being the one guy who can work a computer and spends much of his time hiding from the customers.
His grand scheme is to open his own business, selling comics, scifi and fantasy books, and coffee.
He doesn't really have friends in the area yet, so he's hoping the game will be a way to meet some. Personality: James is shy, but friendly enough if approached. He's currently lonely, but only to the point of boredom, rather than all the way to angst.
He's usually passive and doesn't much approve of aggression, but if his self-control slips it goes all the way and he'll probably throw things at whoever's responsible.
He's gay, but not the effeminate kind. People don't generally notice, but it sometimes shows in his rping.
He'll normally mediate rather than take a side, think rather than do and give up rather than make a fuss. Appearance: James is short and thin, with short black hair. He's not particularly unfit, but he's definitely lacking in muscle. He's healthy, but that comes from good eating, clean living and yoga rather than moving much.
He has green eyes, a slightly crooked nose from a fight in his childhood and a tiny shred of a beard on his chin.
He needs reading glasses, which he believes make him look classy and intellectual. In reality, they just make him look older and more of a geek.
He most often wears jeans, semi-neat shirts in neutral colours, canvas shoes and a jacket if it's not too warm.
Approximate stats:
STR 9
DEX 11
CON 11
INT 12
WIS 13
CHA 10
Character Name: Aesha Fallam Character Gender: Pink Age: 23 Race: Tove Class/House: Alchemist with the mindchemist and internal alchemist archetypes. No house. Background: Aesha has always loved old things and nosing about in odd places. In her late teens, she was briefly apprenticed to an archaeologist, but she found it a pretty boring existence and went exploring and looting instead. When she stumbled upon an ancient demon cult secretly worshipping in the ruins of a black ziggurat long thought to be abandoned, she realised too late that she'd gone adventuring by mistake.
She was chained to the alter to be sacrificed and all looked grim until the search party came to the rescue, as tradition demands. Unfortunately for poor Aesha, the guy preparing to slice her open panicked and ran her right through, shattering his ritual blade on the stone beneath her.
She survived, but clerical magic had no effect on the wound. She was sick for a long time and she still has shards of the cursed blade inside her. She's only alive because of first aid, good luck and alchemical know-how.
Once she was back on her feet, she resolved to continue treasure hunting, but do it properly, with training, equipment, allies and plans. Since she's not much of a warrior and alchemy saved her life, she settled on chenicals as her path to greatness. She's no doctor though; her abilities are focused on removing obstacles and bringing home the goods. Personality: Neither a hero or a mercenary, Aesha adventures for the kicks. Specifically, she's driven by her lust for the acquisition of shiny, interesting or valuable objects.
She follows her heart in all things and prefers to act as quickly as she can.
She doesn't think of herself as a scholar. To her, study is merely a means to an end, and if she can achieve understanding more quickly by drinking highly dubious green stuff that makes her arms go limp, she'll gladly skip reading entirely.
None of that is to say she's not smart, just that she's easily pleased and easily bored.
Since she was run through, Aesha as lost all trust in the divine and the devout. Basing one's ideas of right and wrong on the commands of another is antithetical to her own simple code of ethics: "Do what feels right to you at the time."
She'll take experimentation and discovery over revelation and handed-down wisdom every time.
She has a cheerful, cavalier attitude to danger, but that's just her way of coping with terror.
She has several odd habits, including climbing odd things for practice, squeezing into small nooks to surprise people, biting people (anything from an affectionate nibble to ridiculous horsing around) and dancing as only a tove can dance.
She sat still once.
Appearance: Aesha is a slender, turquoise thing of about average hight for a tove. Fellow toves can tell her gender easily enough, in spite of her not-so-feminine hips, but members of other races have only her silver ponytail to go on.
She wears practical boots with steel toes, thick leather pants which seem to made out of pockets, a vast array of cords, straps, belts and holsters over her arms and torso, a big open coat and an Indian Jones hat. The whole outfits is designed to give her quick access to the huge variety of stuff she uses for her alchemy, as well as her other adventuring tools.
Her lack of a shirt makes her scar clearly visible. It's purplish in colour and still looks fresh to this day. It doesn't seem particularly terrible until she takes of the coat and you see the matching scar near her spine.
Most folks would call her pretty, but people from most races mean it the way you'd call an exotic bird pretty. Tove guys tend to to get nervous around her, which is totally because she's hot or something and not because she just drank from the smoking beaker with a skull on it, honest!
Boon: Treasure sense! The shards of magical metal stuck in her body have attuned to Aesha's magical field. She can feel them reacting to other magic objects around her. Her tail twitches a little when this happens and an odd tingle travels up her spine, telling her the strength and direction of the signal. Curse: James is basically a nice guy who wants peace, quiet and comfort. This does not fit nicely with Aesha's shameless greed and love of action. Flaw: Being run through is a BAD thing. Having shards of cursed metal in your guts doesn't rate highly either. Her wound still hurts now and then. Occasionally, she wakes up weeping from being stabbed in a dream. Oath: On my father's grave. Sorry Dad.
Name: Elemdrail Escallone Evermore (Emil)
Gender: Blue, though you can't tell from the name
Age: 22, fresh out of college
Traits of Emil (Emil's Traits)
Determined
Works well with most others
Generally will get into arguments to make a point
Kinda abrasive when he gets angry
Passive Aggressive to an extent
Current State: He constantly lives in fear of becoming a cripplingly addicted fantasy fan like his father and mother (more later) his family consists of him, and his parents. His parents were once both working, though due to his mother being a very successful author, they are both just riding the wave of 'Popular Scifi Trilogy' working when they want to. Emil wishes they had more regular work, but he has a normal young adult attitude towards them. He neither likes nor dislikes them especially, except for as mentioned below.
Personality: He's broken in a way. In the way that you break a horse usually. He seems very very subdued almost all the time, he is very polite and you would think his name were Bill or Jim with how normal he acts. He tries his best to just be *normal*, though this usually manifests badly when he lets his aggression loose. He has been known to violently argue against people who enjoy fantasy work or who believe in magic and fairies.
Appearance: Very dark hair that is usually very very messy. Among the things that he doesn't believe in is combing his hair. When he is nervous he brushes it back with his hands, so it is usually knot-free, but he never looks 'well-kept' his eyes are dark, though he assures that it isn't from lack of sleep, his brow is just a little further forward than most. His eyes are brown, like his hair, and he looks like he could get a little more sun. he doesn't seem like he'd be winning any tests of strength, but his is surprisingly good in a scrap from being bullied as a kid. He's squirrely.
Character Name: Alastair
Character Gender: Blue
Age: How old? 40
Race: Troll troll troll troll
Class/House: Wizard: Diviner: Foresight Unaligned with the houses
Background: Alastair is a mischievous troll. He'd love to open up a toll bridge like his great great grandfather. Those were the days, when a swindler could make an easy living through owning the only bridge for miles and miles. Alastair longed for a profession like that, but if you wanted easy money these days, you had to work harder than that. So Alastair provided a service to those whose money he wanted to take. Not even a service that he demanded they partake in! Alastair (The Great, as he likes to call himself) tells fortunes, predicts the future, and offers, for a slightly higher fee, a blessing of fortune that he swears will turn your fortunes up for a very reasonable and modest fee. That he became a con artist like his great great grandfather would've made the old man proud, if he had managed to live to see his great great grandchild. Alastair's parents were less then thrilled with their son's choice of profession and had always worried about whether or not their son would wind up on the wrong side of the prison's bars. He assured them that he was merely providing an honest service... Even if he wasn't. I mean, what's the fun of it all if you give everyone the exact truth? They have no reason to doubt you, after all, if you are the only person that has the information
And why shouldn't he want to live on easy street? He's had a lot of trouble... what with the fire... It was horrible. He had been spending time with a girl that he had grown fond of... they were on the second floor... It was getting hotter, and he went to go check what was wrong, if someone was cooking downstairs and hadn't opened a window, but... there were flames everywhere. He ran back upstairs to get Willow. He pulled for her to escape, but she had to go back for her parents. he told her no, he... said... That he'd go after them. So he ran inside. It was so hot... He couldn't see anything. The house was groaning around him and it was so hot. He ran for their room and there was a huge burst of flame greeting him when he opened the door. Willow ran in to help him. He yelled for her to get out, to get to safety, he tried to push her away, but when she realized that her parents were already dead, she broke down, He yelled and tried to pull her behind him, but suddenly the weight behind him became immovable, he looked back and he realized that the loud crash that he heard and disregarded had been a large wooden support. the proximity of the heat to his hand seemed to be nothing. He noticed that he couldn't feel much by way of anything. In fact, it didn't seem that hot anymore. Then the large beam popped and Alistair quickly guarded with his arm, and he realized that it was, in fact, terribly hot. He ran out of the house as a few mages and druids ran in to begin putting out the fire. He fell to the ground and began to weep and passed out.
Personality: Alastair is perfectly harmless... until you put a plate of food in front of him. He is a ravenous eater. He spends almost all of his money on food, elegant or common, it matters not to him, he only wants lots of it. His favorite right now is this one roast pork blued-silver plate special down the street from where he's been haunting. the pork seems to dissolve in his mouth. A 3 fingered man may comment about him: 'One does not get between Alastair and his food, if you want to keep all your digits at least.'
Alastair has hopes and dreams. Primarily, he just wants to ride down easy street as much as possible. If he ever makes it big, he'd love to find favor with a noble or some such thing.
Appearance: The guards are occasionally on the lookout for some small troll, though the other Alomarians tend to describe him as "A short troll with Blue hair and a really long crooked nose" Which tends to not help them. It's too bad that Alastair always wears his hood down during his job, as, if he ever pulled it back, the cops would have plenty to identify him by. To hide the massive scarring on the front half of his body (discussed further below) he has many large scale tatoos. on his face, like a half-mask, a butterfly rests on his nose with its wings spread over his eyes. Both of his hands are covered in tatoos of vines and fruits to hide the scarred tissue and his chest is decorated with a large blue wyrm-like dragon wrapping its body over Alastair's right shoulder and around to Alastair's back and shooting a bolt of ice that covers the left side of his abdomen. He usually wears a completely concealing robe for the effect of the mysterious charm seller, but otherwise, he covers his hands with gloves and wears a loose-fitting shirt and pant combo. He's very conscious that he looks like an abomination covered in tatoos, but he would look worse without them, he assures himself, at least this way, they think he's just eccentric... Black beady eyes stare out from the butterfly's wings at any who dare suggest that he hasn't payed his life's dues.
Boon: "How should we know what FILTHY baggins has in his pocketses?" If possible, I'd like for Alastair to have a small something. A small jewel or piece of something that he keeps with him. The jewel would have been a gift from the girl that he attempted to rescue. Some small token that helps him focus and reminds him of why he is so obsessed with knowing what's going to happen. If he had known anything about what was to happen... maybe he could've changed it. (this is outside the familiar bonded object class feature)
Curse: "But she was blinded by the light. Revved up like a deuce- another runner in the night."
Emil kinda wishes he didn't have to play something so.... fantasy. Every time he plays a wizard, he realizes just how much he doesn't like fantasy. Magic is just science that the author is too lazy to explain after all. He wishes that he wasn't quite so addicted to roleplaying, but it is one of his major comforts. Still, playing a wizard, a diviner no less, will be very hard on him. Almost to the point that he wishes he weren't playing anymore. It isn't that he hates fantasy outright, but... he's just been too oversaturated. With parents that have forced it onto him for so long, he just wishes he could be a fighter and get his fix.
Flaw: "BURN with me." I would like to use the fire burns as Alastair's Flaw. They could confer a penalty on interraction checks (either the burns or the tatoos) but further than that, I'd like for it to be pyrophobia. That he can't handle fire in most quantities. He can probably handle being near a torch, but not holding it, and not if the torchbearer isn't being careful. He wouldn't like being around a campfire and wouldn't be too keen on cooking. And he definitely would not cast any spells that produce active flame.
Oath: I hereby solemnly swear that I am up to no good (Yes)
Aug 27th, 2011, 12:15 AM
