[PF-1e] The Dragonfire Tournament

[rngrbob]

Okay, thanks Thirteen. Just wondered was all once if I am picked, to do up abilities if picked for skills and etc of course.

[Thirteen]

Originally Posted by Narsis

Hmmm...Path of War: yay or nay?

Edit: also psionics: yay or nay?

Nay to both.

@ Snarguffle - Whether you do or not will not weigh in on my decision. I understand many people simply enjoy making sheets and characters, so there's no penalty if you want to dabble.

[Tojara]

I'm interested in applying but i'm not quite sure if i will be able to keep up with the game. I'll consider this for another while before getting something done.

[Rolzup]

"Ha!" The voice boomed, the rafters shook, and the crowd (not entirely of its own accord) began to part. "And ha, I say again! Tobias Blunderbore is worthy! More than worthy! Twice worthy! Thrice worthy, even!" The form that shoved its way free of the milling throng was an enormous one -- not in height, but in girth. By appearances, he had already devoured several lesser warriors that evening, and had no intention of stopping any time soon. He was clearly drunk. If his flushed face was not clue enough, his staggering gait and the persistent smell of appallingly cheap ale that clung to him removed all doubt. Even so, he moved with a peculiar sort of lumbering grace. He stumbled around obstacles (not that there were many such, for a man of such bulk), and was at no point in danger of losing his balance. Clearly, this was a man who did not merely hold his drink, but embraced it, declared his love for it, and sang it to sleep at night before gently tucking it in.

Very nearly spherical in shape, he was by far the largest man that any in the hall had ever seen,. Hiis clothing...frilled and ruffled, puffed and slashed, oft-patched but still brilliantly colored, straining at every seam...made him appear larger still. One hand clutched a flagon of unlikely size and the other doffed an ostrich-plumed hat as, with a ponderous grace, he bowed to Sir Lapis. This act served to display the sword strapped across his back; a splendid two-handed weapon, nearly as long as its bearer was tall. Rising again to his full height, the warrior thunderously cleared his throat.

"You did not mishear," he assured all and sundry, "You are favored by the presence of no less than Sir Tobias Blunderbore! Hero of the Battle of Grimfallow Pass! The man who single-handedly broke the charge of the Blood-Red Brigade upon the fields of Pash-Maggen! The slayer of Traggat the Unhallowed, the conqueror of Cribidore, the very man who brought the walls of Faeshed tumbling down!"

Sir Blunderbore began to stride back and forth, waving his arms as he declaimed, setting the floorboards to trembling beneath his heavy tread. "Ostroth’s Fall," he bellowed, spraying the crowd around him with ale as he swung his flagon about, "Sydar’s Gap! The Siege of Cadaggre! Nilok’s Hill! The Valley of Death-and-Worse-Than-Death! These battles, and a dozen more besides, all of them won by this man! With this blade!" He drew the enormous sword easily, holding it aloft with one steady hand.

"Head-taker!" Tobias trumpeted, "Limb-breaker! Life-ender and Heart-render! Behold Tenebrax, the Blade Unbreakable!" He brandished it over his head, the night-black blade drinking in torchlight without giving even a single glint in repayment. The crowd had been growing impatient -- Grimfallow Pass was twenty years gone, and those other battles were older still. Could this dissipated greedygut truly be the Tobias the Golden, the hero of Caddagre? Surely not! Murmurs of discontent have been growing as the fellow strutted and boasted, but at the sight of the blade silence fell. A mutter ran through the hall, becoming a full-blown roar by the time it washed back over Sir Blunderbore. The man may be questionable, but the sword? Tenebrax? That was a thing of legend. "Even so," Tobias rumbled with satisfaction, "Even so."

With a grin, Blunderbore drained the last of his ale, let lose a resounding belch, and tossed the mug carelessly over his shoulder. And then he moved, pivoting upon his heel and bringing Tenebrax around in a smooth and humming arc. Precisely half of the pewter mug clattered to the ground. The other, spinning on its rim, rested upon the now motionless blade of Tenebrax. Tobias held it perfectly still for a moment, long enough for the mug to come to rest neatly upon the flat of the blade, and then flicked his wrist to launch the mug high into the air again. Turning back to Sir Lapis, he absently batted the mug back into the crowd before it could strike the ground.

He sheathed Tenebrax casually, and looked Sir Lapis dead in the eye. "I am not so young as I once was," Tobias admits, "Nor quite as...er...as trim. But my arm is still strong, my wits still keen! And Tenebrax has grown no less sharp with the passing of years! Too long have I been content to rest upon my laurels: it is time...more than time!...that Tobias Blunderbore once more showed the world the face of a true hero!"

Taking a step forward, Tobias pitched his voice for Sir Lapis alone. "Besides, I have certain debts that need paying. Tavern-owners, brothels -- the respectable sort, never fear -- a grieving widow or three...trifling matters, and frankly beneath a man of my dignity, but needs must." A little embarrassed, he shrugged. "A belly so epic as this" he added, patting it fondly, "Is not cheaply made."

[Narsis]

Originally Posted by Thirteen

Nay to both.

Well that makes things a bit simpler.

[Coeur de Lion]

Just to confirm, is the 10RP limit in effect for standard 1st party races as well as custom races? ie. Tieflings are a featured race and are 13RP.

[Scimmy]

I love this concept...now to the drawing board!

[Tojara]

I assume arena combat means plenty of space for a mounted character but what do you think will happen outside of the arena? A lancer that can't fit his horse on a fight is going to be on a really bad spot

[Irish Legend]

I am going to build a range Paladin, something completely opposite of anything I have played, so fun right? Update here when I have something tangible.

[taleteller50]

Looking to throw my hat into the running. I'd like to design a Dugar Metaforge (Psionics Expanded) but would require to take the Soul Blade and Aegis classes to be able to qualify. If this isn't possible I can just work with the Aegis class but it wouldn't be as awesome. In essence he'd be primarily a defender with decent attacks, becoming what I like to call the medieval mental mecha. Will it be possible, should I limit myself to Aegis, or should I go back to the drawing board completely.

Nevermind. Just saw the post about nay to psionics. I'll have to figure something else out.

Kind of wish I could use this one 3.5 Edition feat and class. I used this one combo once for an awesome berserker big sword killer.

[Nevrend]

I was also making an interesting ranged character. I'm surprised how well a bloodrager/arcane archer works. This is going to be an entertaining character once I finish my application.

[Eviltedzies]

With Path of War out my hopes of classes are slightly dashed; but I digress, your application process of showing your writing moxy has me intrigued enough to whip something up.

[Scimmy]

How comfortable are you with adapting rules and feats and the like? I have noticed a huge lack of support for the Summon Nature's Ally line of spells. I have an idea in my head, but I worry without more support he will come in severely under the expected power of a level 13 character.

[IvanAlgol]

Oh this looks like a HELL of a good time, I just need to figure out which character to use and write my reply~

[Nevrend]

Barbarians at a banquet From the back of the room, a uproarious cacophony of voices erupt in response to the call to the arena. The first thing noticeable about the group, is their smell; The kind of smell that only those that truly despise soap and bathing in all forms. The next noticeable thing about them is the fact that they are all over seven feet tall and built like bears, very heavily armed and armored bears. Though it is impossible not to hear the eight savage looking men, it is difficult to sort out what each one is saying. "The heat a' batt-" "-ish the chance t-" "-ead the blood o'-" "-ictory and glo-" they all begin. Their boisterous appeals continue for a full minute as each on tries to speak louder than any of the others. Oddly, one clad only a wolf pelt loincloth stops before the others to look at something on the floor behind him. he turns to say something unheard by the majority of the crowd. Two of the burly men turn to listen, but the rest continue proclaiming their intentions to enter the tournament. That is, until the one in the loincloth knocks one of them to the floor with a blow to the head. "I said, not all o' us can join. Runt told me so." The warriors of the far north converse in quieter tones that can still be heard half way across the room. The entire conversation amounts to "Runt says they're only lettin' four people join." "'Kay, we gots enough then." "Runt says 'e're more tan fur." "T'en we'll fight fur 'oo gits to fight."very little before one barbarian slams another's face through a table. As tables are overturned and oversize men try to remove what little brains the others have, a ninth figure moves away from the chaos. Compared to the massive warriors pummeling other silly, this one is laughably tiny. The halfing, clad in a shirt meant for a man three times his size, looks like the child none of the savages would admit to having. As he quietly walks towards Dominus, his fingers nervously fidget with the runestones strung on his dire bear claw necklace. Reaching the group of perspective applicants to the tournament, the halfing attempts to make himself heard. "Um...My name is Runt. I-" He begins, before being cut off by a much larger warrior rambling about some impressive sword. "I'm er...good at shooting things...and um...casting spells." Runt mutters as he tries unsuccessfully to fit past the assassin and arcane warrior. This was not going very well. Life in the frozen north had taught Runt Stormbow many things. He's learned how to hunt a pack of winter worgs, slay dire bears, and battle scurvy. He's learn to craft weapons, armor, and tools, survive hypothermia and avalanches, and what the third ring of hell probably smells like. One thing he's not learned is how to deal with public speaking. Battling frost trolls and giants was easier than this. "I would like to..." A large crash from the back of the room silences the halfling once more. Images of what would happen if he failed to enter the tournement flash before his eyes as the halfling looks back at his 'adoptive family'. That was not a fate he could stand any longer. Unfortunately, there was almost no chance to evade it at this rate. There is one other thing Runt learn from the people of the north; How to get angry. Stomping his foot, a wave of wind blasts out from the halfing. "I am Runt StormBow." He begins drawing his bow. "I am a master of spell and arrow." he continues while knocking a pair of arrows and muttering a small incantation. "I wish to enter your tournament." The arrows leap from the bow towards opposite sides of the room. As they soar, they spark with energy and turn in flight. Arching impossibly, the two arrows collide above the heads of the still brawling barbarians. With a large flash and a crack of thunder, the arrows explode into a shower of splinters, silencing the boorish warriors.