[Characters] Actual Characters

[Ziether]

Name/Race/Classes/Sex/Alignment/Description/Personality/Bullet Point Background/Character Sheet link

Easy. Simple. These aren't applications, as you're already accepted. Just give enough for others to get a feel.

[Pendragon]

Poor-Fu Name: Addrick "Snake" Aster Race: Half-Elf Classes: Brawler||Warpriest Domains: Healing and Strength Alignment: LN Deity: Ironi Concept: A very un-monk-like follower of Irori. Description: Addrick, who prefers to go by Snake looks human, very convincingly human in fact, his ear don't even point at all. He has drab brown hair and muddy brown eyes. He likes to wear a goatee which is often at different levels of maintenance depending on funds and often degrades into a full, if not patchy beard. He has an easy manner about him, but though he thinks he is, he is no more charming or attractive than average. He wears loose fitting pants and a light scarf like tunic over a leather breast plate, if you look close enough you can see the outline of the metal plates and the rivets that reinforce it. It seems odd that a man such as him would be able to muster the fund to purchase a piece of armor such as this, and equally odd that he choses to wear it from sun up until he beds down for the night. Addrick believes that laws in in place for a reason and abides them, even if they lead to his personal suffering, though the latter leads to a lot of grumbling on his part. He is a follower of Ironi, though he doesn't wear the robes or act the part, he is devout to his deity. All in all Addrick is a simple man, more likely to come across as a peasant or a beggar than an adventurer, but should the need arise he has been trained in the martial arts. The Past Born to a Half-Elf and a Human Treated as Human most of his life. Understood his heiritage but still had little to do with elves. Father was a monk of Irori, taught him how to fight and keep the faith. When Addrick was 13 his mother and father were killed in a forest fire which surrounded them as they tried to escape the woods. It was a natural event so Addrick, though upset about his parents passing only carries a small amount of anger about the event. Addrick was orphaned and too old to be sent to an orphanage. The property of his parents was seized by some noble for some debt that Addrick was never sure if it was real or not, Addrick lived on the road and loved every minute of it from that point forward, though sleeping in the snow, rain and with farm animals was never all that appealing. He eventually honed his skills working as muscle for hire, though he was fairly scrawny at that time, his skill made up for it and he was compensated fairly. He continued working for merchants for a time but now he finds himself unemployed and in need of a meal, and hopefully more beyond that.

[XQbitor]

Ghost-lover Name: Orelli Wolfmantle Race: Human Class: Fighter//Fractured Mind Spiritualist Sex: Female Alignment: CG Party Role: Offence, Flanking, Intimidation Traits: Giant Slayer, Courageous Concept: Giant Slayer in company with her lover's ghost. Description: Orelli is a tall, attractive human woman. Although she had spent her childhood working under the Varisian sun, her skin has a deathly pallor. Her eyes are dark brown and her dark tousled hair hangs straight down from her head and frames her face. Her muscles are toned from a life of hard labor and combat training. In combat she is donned in her heavy armor, dull silver-tinted, solid, designed to protect her in battle and showcase her femininity, providing her a good deal of freedom of movement. Her weapon of choice is a greatsword with a wavy blade, which she wields with deadly efficiency despite its apparent heavy weight. The martial dedication of a warrior with an ax to grind and the straightforwardness of a farm girl, Orelli can be oddly frightening at times. Orelli has a strong-willed personality, is courageous and at times foolhardy. She is quick to respond to threats and is prone to sudden mood changes. However if you take time to know Orelli, she reveals herself to be warm and caring to her friends. Before Gogrim came back to her she was a shell of herself. She was reckless to the point of hurting herself. She will resume this behavior if Gogrim disappears into the Ethereal plane. Bullet Point Background Grew up in the small village of Hogsfeet with her parents and four other siblings. They were all poor farmers and although there were six mouths to feed, they were rarely in need. Near the Wolfmantle farmstead was the Tallwind mill, where miller Baldon lived with his son Gogrim. Gogrim and Orelli were childhood friends. As the years went by they saw each other in a different light and started romanticizing. When Orelli and Gogrim reached the age of 16, they decided to marry. No one objected to their love and the village looked forward to their wedding. Disaster struck the small village when giants came and plundered Hogsfeet. Gogrim's body was found among the rubble, still clutching a sword he would have used to defend the village. It was the night before their wedding. After the attack the Wolfmantle family trained for combat to prevent such a tragedy to ever happen again. Orelli was the most determined of her siblings in learning how to wield a sword. Against her family's advise Orelli ventured out in the wilderness to track down the giant who murdered her fiance. Carrying her great sword, a suit of armor and as many field rations she could find, she roamed the Varisian countryside and followed the trail of destruction the giants left behind. A year after the day of their wedding, Gogrim appeared to her as a Phantom. Their love for each other brought them back together. Finding evidence that the giants were immobilizing, Orelli and Gogrim ventured to Sandpoint to help prepare for a possible incursion. Character sheets: Orelli Wolfmantle - Gogrim Tallwind

[Muggins]

Honour-Scorned Name: Gresilda Mortrym Race: Dwarf Classes: Wizard (Spellslinger) // Gunslinger (Musket Master) Alignment: Lawful Neutral Party Role: Ranged damage, Crafting, "Problem Solving" Drawback: Pride A dwarf without strength, without might? They are nothing. I am proof otherwise. Description: When one thinks of a dwarf, a particular image often springs to mind. Stout in stature, but broad-shouldered. Ruddy skin, worn palms, and a stern look about them. An attitude that is as much grounded as it is blustering. Greedy, too, though practically so - for more money meant better tools, greater craftsmanship, and impressive deeds to their family's name. Gresilda was all of those things. Yet where one might expect to find bulging muscles, limber limbs and dexterous fingers sit instead. Instead of a dwarven urgosh or warhammer at her hip, she carries bizarre instruments that spew fire and ash. Her garb is likewise not made of steel, but of hemp and cloth - and her brown hair has been vigorously tamed, kept only in a practical pompadour. Despite these contradictions to the norm, however, she maintains her pride and dignity like any other hard-working dwarf. She enjoys excess and celebration, seeks adventure at every turn, and gladly shares stories with her comrades. Though she misses her birthright and still resents her kin, she is a mercenary now; working place to place, job to job, paycheck to paycheck leaves little time to reminisce. What they would think of her now, decades later, hardly matters to her. Right? Right? A Muse Lost Born and raised by a family of militant nobles in the Five Kings Mountains. Though she trained alongside her seven brothers and sisters to make her bloodline proud, Gresilda unfortunately lacked the might, reflexes, and toughness of her siblings. All the training in the world couldn't bridge that gap, and when the time came, it was they who were chosen to enter the warrior caste, and she was left behind. Broken and despondent, she instead joined the merchant caste, where she would spend the rest of her life serving as the essential, unacknowledged backbone of their society. Surprisingly, she excelled, her keen mind and stubborn resolve proving to be remarkable assets in the fields of commerce and mercantile. She lived like this for many years thereafter; receiving none of the recognition or prestige that she so desired, she amassed wealth and grief instead, her mind all but fallow. She had brought nothing but dishonour to her family. Then, one night, something miraculous happened. As if her misery and prayers had been answered by some divine force, she found her mind filled by marvellous schema and fantastic formulae, each more incredible than the last, and each begging to be brought to life. Struck by this inspiration, she spent every last coin and every waking hour buying materials, building machines, and concocting brilliant alchemical components. By the end of all this toil, she was left with little - but what she now possessed was remarkable indeed. She had constructed a contraption that not only ate black powder and shot fire from its barrel, but which also served as a focus for her fledgling magical talent. A masterpiece, through and through. Something worthy of her family's respect, just like in the old tales of masterful dwarven craftsmen and spellsmiths. She just had to prove it. It was to this end that she left her home; partly to see the world that had long been denied to her, partly to find the muse of her inspiration, but most importantly to discover the fruits of her labour. She quickly became the adventurer that she had always wanted to be, and it had been all thanks to her creation. Many decades of idle work, paid employment and monster-slaying followed. Occasionally she would run into a spellcaster willing to share their work, or a fellow gunsmith with ideas of their own, but her greatest muse was always adventure and celebration. This is why she now finds herself in Sandpoint, and at such an auspicious time indeed; because she craves the experience.

[Icereach]

|_The perilous diva_| Name: Silas Orebo Race: Human Sex: Yes Class: Witch || Bard Alignment: Occasionally shifty (or CG) Patron: Occult Ladies and gentleman, here he is, Silas, Divine Son of Orebo, the Voice of Angels! Silas stepped forward with relish, claiming his beloved spotlight with a presence that smothered all others. He could feel the direct attention rising to a fever pitch, joy crested waves of sheer adulation. The faceless sea pressed in around him, ringed him, held at bay by the force of their reverence alone. Silas raised his arms above his head to bask, spinning slowly so that the trailing fabric of his priceless garments slithered across his waifish frame. He knew what they saw in him. How could he not, when he spent so many hours each morning perfecting his outward appearance. Few in Cheliax could boast of such flawless natural skin kissed by precisely the right amount of sun and shade. Every waking moment he was aware of his flowing, golden locks and how they fell to perfectly bracket the smooth curves of his glowing face. Every stitch he owned served to highlight the deep chocolate of his eyes or the fleshy pink of his lips, the smoothness of his touch or the combustibility of his gaze. This was the epitome of his being and they loved him for it. A golden god amongst his disciples, Silas straightened his back and opened his throat. Impossible melodies echoed in the hallway. His sycophants fairly buzzed with repressed energy. "Oo~" They paused, hushed, waited. He felt the power build behind his voice as it climbed octaves. "I~" He could feel them connect, their psyche laid bare. They hung on a tenuous thread, perched on their toes. "...'ve cast a spell on you! And now? You're mine~!" He felt the tension snap. The break set them all free, their bodies rocking backwards as the collective force of their ecstasy surged among them. Lights seemed to explode in the crowded room before Silas's very eyes. They quickly grew to the size of supernovas, blocking out the world, empowering him with their radiance. Through it all he could still feel crowd's attention focused solely on him. Each individual thrummed along the shared web between them. Suddenly the world dropped from beneath his feet; he fell, and red lightning split the sky on his impact. His eyes fluttered open. It was very bright and he was very, very confused. Worst of all he hurt. He hurt badly. To him, his hands looked like ill formed putty but they found the ground beneath him steadily enough. By the time he forced his battered body upright, he was only barely seeing double. Blurred vision failed to hide the tragedy that lay before him. All of his trunks, their lids pried open, contents spread for a good league in either direction. What wasn't stolen appeared shredded or trampled into the dirt. Every garment of his overly expensive wardrobe, violated on the roadside, depressing in their desecration. He sat back down immediately and forcefully, his strength given out. Shielding his eyes against the sun, though it failed to ease his screaming head, he cast about desperately. Even the mule was gone. "****." All they'd left was the glitter.

|_A (very) short list of scandalous deeds_| Born a son of nobility in ignoble Cheliax, renowned for its nefarosity. From an early age, Silas made it clear that his place in life was to be fawned over; in a fit of pique, the golden haired toddler once punched a maid he felt wasn't paying him the appropriate amount of attention. As he grew in both stature and manipulative guile, the boy excelled in school, reveling in the adoration of his teachers in public and making of them fools in private for his peers. Silas's voice came as somewhat of a surprise, considering the gift had yet to arise in his family line. It didn't take him long to realize the effect it had on others, however. Puberty was hell for everyone. Everyone, in this sense, being the parents of a bunch of hormonal middling noble brats in the same age group as Silas of House Orebo. Puberty was not hell for Silas Orebo. Marching to his own beat, Silas became famous for stepping away from the curve to influence his own way. It became popular to study wizardry and high magecraft. Silas instead turned to esoterica, blessing the study of witchcraft with exposure it hadn't seen for ages. A foreign challenger arose during Silas's final few years of study; predictably, this spurred the vain youth to greater heights of debauchery. It is worth noting at this point that all future claims to parentage are false; Silas learned early on that his many blessings included not having to worry about sniveling children hanging from his drapery. While most of his capers only served to anger uncompensated mothers and fathers of despoiled sons and daughters, his popularity at home ended abruptly in a murder suicide that drove him far, far abroad in search of a new found audience. The road, surprisingly, agreed with the shaken youth's temperment. That is, until he was robbed on the road outside of Sandpoint. Enter: Stage right.

Stats at a Glance HP: 9/9 AC: 12 (12/10) Move: 40ft Total Attack Bonus: -1/+2 Range: Reach/60ft Ammunition: -/20 Fort: +1 Ref: +4 Will: +2 Con: 12 (+1) CMD: 11 Init: +7 Spells (Witch/Bard): 1st: 2/3 2nd: 3rd: 4th: 5th: Active Effects: