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  #16  
Old May 6th, 2021, 08:10 PM
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Pari's app is done

BTW, you mean 5/21, right? (giggle)

Last edited by WildJessi; May 6th, 2021 at 08:11 PM.
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  #17  
Old May 7th, 2021, 05:45 PM
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And Tamba is complete! Shadow, I have intentionally left a lot of details about Tamba up in the air [who the cult are, who her dad is, what the source of her power actually is etc] so that if you do accept her then you have lots of free reign to go wild with her.
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Old May 7th, 2021, 10:04 PM
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Sorry, I’ve been absolutely slammed this week. I’ll have Aster finished over the weekend!
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  #19  
Old May 8th, 2021, 12:03 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WildJessi View Post
BTW, you mean 5/21, right? (giggle)
Yes, 5/21. Oops.


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Originally Posted by Touketsu View Post
Sorry, Iíve been absolutely slammed this week. Iíll have Aster finished over the weekend!
You have plenty of time.
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  #20  
Old May 8th, 2021, 01:35 AM
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Shadow, you posted that no single item can be worth more than 7,000gps. What if I buy a +1 weapon which is 2,000gps and wanted to have special abilities which would bring it up to 8,000gps. Is that allowed or it still has to be 7,000gps and under?
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  #21  
Old May 8th, 2021, 11:00 AM
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Aster is done! Would love any feedback if you have it.
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  #22  
Old May 8th, 2021, 12:14 PM
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Very interesting campaign I've never seen before! I'll be putting my hat in the ring!
Character Application
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Iven Burroughs
Name: Iven Burroughs
Race: Ifrit (Fire in the Blood alternate racial trait)
Class: Swashbuckler (Rondolero Archetype)
Role: Combat: Frontline Damage Dealer/Tank. Non-Combat: Sailor, Social support, Singer.
Physical description: Iven is a dusky-skinned man with a charming face and reddish-brown hair. He wears fine sleeveless sailor's clothing and pantaloons without any footwear, because of his nature as an Ifrit: his hands and feet are blackened, covered with thousands of coal-like scales that fade as they reach his elbows and knees. As such, he tends to walk barefoot since the scales offer his feet similar protection to regular shoes. When angry, his eyes flash with burning embers, and the spaces between the scales on his arms and legs burn like lit coals.
He always seems to smell like freshly burnt frankincense and myrrh.
Personality: Confidence, Swagger, and the skills to back it up, Iven's personality isn't a blazing wild flame, but that of a large burning coal: Steady but intense, and more than capable of billowing into a conflagration should the conditions be right. He has a code of honor, even in his piracy days.
Background: Iven has served on sailing vessels as sailor, privateer, and pirate. Originally a Taldan citizen serving aboard one of their naval vessels, Iven had yet to find a sea that would quench the heat and desire for adventure inside his heart. This led to him doing business on different vessels over the decades, until within the last 8 years he began working on a vessel ferrying others around the sodden lands. Whether this is from ennui or just simply a desire to live an easy life for a while, Iven has found an area of expertise he can dominate.
 

Roleplay sample A figure walked down the thickly cobbled streets, their delicate hands holding the hood of their cloak against the pouring rain. The sheets of water falling from the sky made picking out the details of the buildings around her difficult, but thankfully the well-lit interiors made due for the lack of street lighting in the town. The wind whipped up, flaring her cloak back as well as sending the hanging signposts of the street swinging wildly. Now, soaked, cold, and miserable, the lady finally spotted the sign she was looking for. A porcine sea creature with a unicorn's horn on its forehead winked at her over the words "Hole in the Nar-wall", carved into the hanging signpost of the bar she had sought out.
Stepping inside was no trouble, though the crowds of those assembled weren't totally surprised about her arrival until the hood came up. A beautiful lady looked around the room, her gaze ignoring the surprised sailors who called this particular tavern their port of call.
"Can I help yeah, miss?" A burly-armed and tubby-waisted bartender asked, his dark skin weathered from a lifetime of living against the ocean shores.
She spotted who she had sought. She nodded to the bartender, tossing a coin his way, she said simply. "Bring me a pitcher of ale to my table, please." she said softly.
The man at the table she approached had watched her with a faintly bemused smile on his face. Dressed casually, the man bore Ifriti traits, likely the lineage of salamanders or Azers, with bare hands and feet that looked scorched black to the casual observation. When the woman stood before the table at which he was seated, he slowly leaned to the side, pushing a chair out for her with a foot.
"Since I heard you buyin' me a drink," he drawled, his voice surprisingly melodious and oddly reminiscent of a brass bell. "I would assume you'd be wantin' to talk business. After all, someone like Lady Vamrul wouldn't be here for the atmosphere and the, uh, charmin' locals, would she?"
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Last edited by Runetide; May 9th, 2021 at 10:46 AM.
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  #23  
Old May 11th, 2021, 12:19 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WildJessi View Post
Shadow, you posted that no single item can be worth more than 7,000gps. What if I buy a +1 weapon which is 2,000gps and wanted to have special abilities which would bring it up to 8,000gps. Is that allowed or it still has to be 7,000gps and under?
Would still have to be 7,000g or less, it's still a single item.
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  #24  
Old May 11th, 2021, 01:52 AM
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ok, thanks!
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  #25  
Old May 11th, 2021, 10:51 AM
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Work in progress
Motley the FoolName: Motley
right-aligned image

Race: Humanoid
Class: Bard (Busker Archtype)
Role: Damage, Support Spellcaster, Skill Monger, Sneaker
Physical description: Dressed in an unusual and constantly changing array of ill fitting and ill kept patch-worked rags and armor, and always covering his face with an ever growing assortment of masks, Motley is an easily identifiable but impossible to define entity.
Personality: Quicksilver in temperament. One who sheds his moods as quickly as he sheds his outfits, Motley is a volatile trickster, a sensitive poet, a capricious scalawag, and a stoic philosopher all at once. While quick with jest or jibe, the fool is also capable of subtler linguistic skills. Though his accents and voice are as mercurial as the rest of him he is clearly a being of some intelligence, and a wide variety of skills.
Background: True to form, Motley’s history is also colorful, enigmatic, and constantly in flux. Perhaps he does not remember his history, or perhaps it is his nature to constant reinvent himself. But those that ask always learn something new about the Jester (Motley too, often learns something about himself), though often rife with contradictions and impossibilities, the stories are at the very least entertaining. What is known is that the irresponsible and free spirited Motley met Nemrah Vamrul at court once and after declaring her his muse has kept himself in her shadow ever since. No one knows or understands what the fool saw in the Lady that would precipitate such an unusual dedication in such an irresponsible rascal, but those that know Motley best just shrug it off as just the latest in a pattern of indecipherable actions.

 

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Last edited by Mrjoegangles; May 11th, 2021 at 09:45 PM.
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  #26  
Old May 12th, 2021, 10:50 PM
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Character Concept
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Name: Torlak Mithrilborn
Race: Dwarf
Class: Fighter 6 (Crossbowman)
Role: Ranged combat, melee support, useful skills.

Description:
Torlak is a short, stocky young dwarven man with a thick waist length brown beard tied into multiple braids, a well groomed handlebar mustache, and short curly brown hair jutting out from underneath his well polished iron skullcap. He has light green eyes with a serious look to them, and a wide flat nose that appears to have been broken once but never healed properly. He wears plain but well made clothing of dwarvish make, in shades of brown with silver trim and the An ore of mithril with light beams emanating from itmark of his clan embroidered in silver upon the upper arms of his tunic. A finely made shirt of mithril covers his torso, secured to his waist with a thick black leather belt from which hangs a fully stocked quiver and several small pouches. On his back is a well worn haversack with a monstrous looking axe of dwarvish origin sheathed behind it. In his heavily scarred hands is a heavy crossbow stylized to make the arms look like two forge hammers and with silver decorating the stock and grip.

Personality:
Serious, no-nonsense, and highly disciplined, Torlak is an ideal soldier. He is calm and patient, and has a cool head when it comes to danger. Laconic and steadfast, Torlak respects those who show nerve in dangerous situations and who can take care of themselves. Although somewhat naive as to the ways of other races, his history has given him a surprisingly worldly view of things. He finds comfort in the simple things and does not fret about what he cannot change - rather, he can instead change how he feels about his circumstances as his own way to improve them. A traditionalist at heart, he is fiercely loyal to his clan and their code of conduct, and would rather die than betray either. He absolutely despises the Drow and everything they stand for, which does mean he is a little less than trusting of other elves due to their kinship. He is a staunch opponent of slavery in all its forms, and will fiercely fight to free any from it that he learns of.

Background:
Born into Clan Mithrilborn, Torlak was just a young dwarf of 20 when his life was turned upside down. The son of miners, he and three other dwarven children were practicing Young dwarves wear skullcaps with nets on them and use their heads to smash each other and throw a leather ball into a hanging barrel - think a weird head-based version of lacrosse.skullball for an upcoming game when the alarm horn sounded. They were being raided by the Underdark! The children however, complacent from too many soundings of the horn and no results, ignored the horn to continue playing and were subsequently kidnapped by a group of Drow raiders. The four were transported into the Underdark where they were sold into slavery, Torlak being sold to a vicious Drow man by the name of Tathlar Tlin'azza to work in his mithril mine.

It was a brutal life for the young Torlak - he was worked for hours at a time until he collapsed, only to be awoken and forced to work again. If Tathlar felt he was working too slow or being disrespectful, he was quick with the whip and whatever else he had nearby to teach the dwarf a lesson. Often he would beat Torlak just because he felt like it. Torlak saw several fellow slaves beaten to death by Tathlar, and as he grew wiry and hard from his labors he soon had little hope of ever being rescued. Torlak was in captivity for almost two years before he was rescued by a small group of adventurers exploring the Underdark. Seeing Tathlar slain on the ground and knowing he was free once again was one of the most satisfying moments of Torlak's life.

Returning to Clan Mithrilborn, Torlak was now a different dwarf. Although before he was quick with a smile and a song, now he is a somber introvert focused wholly on serving his clan. The high towers of the Mithrilborn Clan Hall and their long corridors leading to the mines are well suited to ranged combat, and Torlak (who never seemed to fully recover from his efforts in the Drow mines and was more slight than many of his dwarven counterparts) was a natural for the use of the crossbow. He has been guarding Clan Mithrilborn for some time now, with the occasional excursion into the Underdark with his fellow dwarves. He is eager to find and free any Drow slaves he can find during those expeditions, as he does not forget what happened to him in his youth.

The head of Clan Mithrilborn, King Weladin, is personal friends with Lady Vamrul. When he heard about her search for adventurers to assist her in her expedition, King Weladin focused on Torlak. The dwarf had been too insulated since his return, and it wasn't healthy. King Weladin felt Torlak needed to go out and see more of the world, and maybe find some joy in it once again. Although not keen on leaving his clan hall, Torlak is a disciplined soldier and respects the orders of his King.

Roleplaying Sample:
The pain almost took Torlak's breath away, but he bites his bottom lip hard, knowing that any sound he makes will only incite further punishment from the Master. Lifting his sagging head, he turns his head the best he can in the pillory and sees his right hand. The flesh is torn off of the back of his hand and he can see the bone. Closing his eyes to block out the image, he feels the whip crack down on his left hand now, and can feel the fire in his veins shoot from his hand all the way into his chest as the hot spray of his own blood upon his face. Torlak tries not to react, but the tears immediately spring to his eyes once again as he uncontrollably makes a high pitched sound of pain. Cruel laughter comes from behind him, in that oily voice of his master, Tathlar. All the stories Torlak was told about Drow as a child were true from what he observed of Tathlar - in fact, they were watered down compared to the real thing. The Master was pure evil in Torlak's eyes.

"Clumsy oaf," says the Master, in that slimy sophisticated tone of his. "My picks and shovels are expensive. I told you if you kept dropping them you would be punished. They are worth far more to me than your miserable life."

Breathing heavily, Torlak manages to gasp out "Begging your forgiveness, Master. It will never happen again."

The whip cracks along Torlak's back, causing him to cry out. "You are right, iblith.Excrement, insult towards non-drow.[/tt] It will never happen again. Because if it does, I'm going to cut your hands off and let you bleed out on my floor simply for my own amusement." Torlak almost sighs in relief as he hears the familiar sound of Tathlar coiling his whip. "I am going to supper, so I am going to let you sit here and think of your actions. For you do not want to disobey me again. Do you understand?" Torlak tries to verbally reply but his voice is too hoarse, so he can only nod his head. Chuckling maliciously once again, Tathlar walks away without saying another word. It's going to be a long night, thinks Torlak to himself.
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  #27  
Old Yesterday, 04:40 AM
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A little frustrating, but I am now away from a computer on the week of the 21st so I don't think I will be able to join this game after all. Which is a shame because it looks like a helluva lotta fun Hope you all enjoy!
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  #28  
Old Yesterday, 09:02 PM
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Hm... Barbarian anyone?

Status: WIP

CadoName: Cado
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Race: Human
Class: Unchained Barbarian (invulnerable, beastkin)
Role: Tank, Damage (unarmed, grapple, beast shape)
Physical description: Standing 6 and 1/2 feet tall with a lean and powerful physique, Cado is hard to miss in almost any crowd. He wears a kilt, sandals, and leather wrist bands. Sometimes he adorns himself with war paint or a mask, but not often much else. His face and head are clean-shaven at all times and his usual posture seems to deflated and resigned, with shoulders slumped in and head hung low. But his eyes burn with a deep passion, barely caged behind this shell of trained passivity.
Personality: Cado might pass for shy to those that don't know him as he has a propensity for silent observation. He is typically a man of one mood, a singular temperament, impassive as stone and just as hard to talk to. Yet when he enters a fight he becomes a predator, crouched and teeth bared like an animal ready to spring. He is at once calm and rage, stillness and fury, silence and roar, with one side on display while the other lies just beneath the surface.
Background: Cado knows little about his true origins as the son of a Nagual. All he really knows is that he was raised by witches and used as a bodyguard, or perhaps an attack dog, until he finally grew tired of their amoral and self-serving schemes. He killed what served as his parents and fled towards civilization which, in southern Garund, ended up being the Bekyar cities of Kaz'ulu. It was there that he was captured and sold into slavery. He spent his early adulthood as a pit fighter and gladiator, shedding blood for the pleasure of ruthless crowds. While this did afford him a measure of fame and status, he was still property to be dragged around the southern continent by cage or leash like a common dog.

Eventually good fortune finally found Cado in the form of Lady Vamrul. Though she claimed to have bought his freedom, all Cado really knows is that he was allowed to board her ship bound for Rahadoum and that his former handlers seemed quite upset. Nevertheless free he was, though what to do with it? He'd always been owned, commanded, controlled. And so for the entire journey he followed her closely and quietly as he was trained. Eventually they reached port and she set him up with something of a fresh start It was a confusing and lonely time for him when Lady Vamrul departed so he fell back into the only life he knew: fighting. Only this time he was fighting for himself. Fights paid more than enough to feed him and more often than not he was fighting criminals and degenerates that he was happy to dispatch. It was a simple life, violent and dangerous, but it was enough. In fact, to Cado, it was everything.

 


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  #29  
Old Yesterday, 10:44 PM
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Might tweak his backstory a bit more, but Torlak Mithrilborn, the somber dwarven crossbowman, is complete.
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