[PF-1e] Prison Colony Krakengard - The Daylight War

[Inem]

Just realized I did miss one question:

Originally Posted by Nostrus

For the purposes of additional languages, would it be known whether the demons can speak and comprehend languages and if so, which languages they know?

As far as anyone can tell, the demons don't speak. If they are capable of forming understandable sounds other than the roars of wild beasts they have never done so, nor have they shown any reaction to anything that has been said that would indicate they are capable of understanding. Of course, no serious attempts have been made to talk to them as far as anyone is aware, as these would quickly be cut short by the person in question having their throat ripped out.

Of course, this isn't exactly common knowledge outside of the colony either, so it's questionable your character would know this.

[Sassafrass]

Slightly updated, lacking only a description of my crimes and a roleplaying sample.

[Eachan Delras]

Richard Valoren all finished up.

[Tiax]

Application Name: Virgil (aka Vrrgll) Redweather Gender: Male Race: Human (Grippili now) Appearance (two weeks ago) A devilishly attractive man in his early thirties, with a chiseled face and a flowing mane of auburn hair to the center of his back. Eyes, hazel at one point in his life, glow with flecks of coal red fire. His body is a map of violence, with dozens of minor scars, old bite marks, and scorch marks carving a history of pain over his flesh. Standing at nearly 6'4", his massive chest heaves with every dark laugh, the blackened metal plates of his armor scraping with each chuckle. (a week ago) A thin, gangly creature of little over 2 feet huddles in a crouch, trembling under a ragged cloth. His slippery greenish skin looks sickly, pockmarked with a hundred different tiny scars from head to splayed toe. His eyes goggle out from under the rags; bright, hazel eyes full of intelligence and uncertainty. Personality Virgil would give all he had to be back in the good graces of... anything. He craves redemption, but has no idea where to start. The horrors of the last few years are burned into his memory and soul, years of violence, lust, gluttony and seething anger. Before, he was a kind and loving soul, full of the spark that made others wish to be kind as well. It is still there... buried deep under a layer of self-pity, self-loathing, and fear. Background Three years ago, Virgil lead a small band of adventurers into the deep caverns of the Un'duloth'Aerie, a dark elf bastion where an artifact of power was divined to reside. The band fought through enslaved umber hulks, drow scout parties, and an ancient aboleth looking for slaves to procure the artifact for itself. With the arcane magics of his good friend Fendaron, Virgil's band assaulted the drow keep and cut a swath of blood to the epicenter of a grand ritual. Upon an altar, stacked on tiers of bone, lay a umbral crown of darkness, absorbing the light around itself from countless candles. Behind him, Virgil heard a cry for help--his friend Fendaron was held captive, a curved adamantine blade to his throat. Around him were other prisoners--dozens of children from halfling to elf, all brought forth under swords and knives. They mewled and sobbed, trails of tears washing dirt down their bruised and soiled faces. "Don the crown, Virgil, or we will slay all of these innocents." The voice was smooth and feminine, worming it's way into Virgil's ears and thoughts. "Your... holy wisdom..." the voice purred, "...will no doubt lead you to the correct decision." A woman of unnatural grace and beauty stood at the top of the altar, naked curves dripping with blood in the flickering candlelight. She smiled, flashing perfect white teeth and a pair of vivid crimson irises with black sclera. Virgil's brain furiously fought to find a way to work around the trap he had fallen into, and something just didn't feel right. Without the counsel of his friends, Virgil was as good as dead here. That's right, my friends! "Let Fendaron go, and I promise to don the crown." Surely Fendaron could do something to help, he knew all sorts of things about artifacts and the arcane...? The voice chuckled softly, echoing off of the distant walls of the inner sanctum. "As you wish, knight." The drow released the wizard, who stared at Virgil with wide, terrified eyes. Stepping up to the altar, Virgil slipped his helm under his shoulder and nervously slid his fingers up to the cold metal of the crown. It was colder than ice, and black tendrils slipped down his fingers as he gripped it from it's pedestal. Turning to look at Fendaron, he slipped the crown over his brow. At once, the power flowed into his body and locked him deep within his own mind, a prisoner within himself. Watching through eyes that were no longer his own, Virgil saw Fendaron flash with fire, a cackling creature of bone and sinew taking his place. All around the room, visages of children burned away to hopping monsters with wings and stingers, all hooting and screaming. Three long years passed, and Virgil was no longer the man he once was. Violence, rape, torture and hedonism became the norm as the creature within Virgil stormed across the surface, destroying cities in the name of one army, then in the name of the other. Seeding chaos and feeding on souls, Virgil's soul became numb. The holy spark had left him--he was no longer a great paladin. He was barely a man. Entranced in another fit of passion, the thing that wore Virgil's skin did not feel the tug of magic behind him until it was too late. Fendaron stood defiantly, an ancient book in one hand, an ash-blackened skull in the other, and he called him. "Wraxus, by your true name do I bind you within this skull. Wraxus, release this man whose soul you hold prisoner. Wraxus, your time upon this plane is done!" The crown upon Virgil's head burst into seething, screeching vapor that streaked into the skull's eye sockets. The ex-paladin, barely a shred of his former self, laid nearly comatose on the floor. "I am sorry old friend," Fendaron said, kneeling before Virgil, "you got away from us three years ago. I wish I could better explain, but this is all I can do to help you. Your face is well known, and your sentence in civilized lands is death." Pulling a long scroll from his pack, Fendaron continued. "This will help to pull some of your mind back together, and the rest of the spell will change your body. After that... I know of a place you can escape to, where no one will think to find you. I hope you can find your way back." As the scroll burned away in a bright indigo flame, Virgil felt... alive again. Wide, goggling eyes peered up at his old elven friend, and even as he began to croak "Hello!" the world began to shift away. It was dark, and all around him were others huddled in ragged cloaks, being driven in a cart to some unknown destination.   Wraxus' first act in his new body was to gather a dozen drow acolytes and their high priestess for a grand celebration to announce his return to the world as Virgil Redweather. The trip back to the surface would give the demon a little time to get to know the man he had taken over better. Stopping first at the settlement of Calendel's Wake, a small town of just under 700 citizens. With the man behind his eyes screaming silent warnings, Wraxus shook hands with the sheriff and other villagers while the drow slipped around the perimeter of the town. The demon met with the mayor and convinced him he would donate a large sum of money to the town to improve their garrison but he would need a demonstration of their current ability. Only too happy to accept, the mayor gathered their soldiers together in the town square, excited to have a high-ranking paladin make them such a generous offer. Wraxus asked to spar with their most skilled warrior to get a feel for their best effort. Within seconds, he had run the man through his his longsword and knocked his jaw clean off with the edge of his shield--a very plain death by Wraxus' standards, to be sure. The soldiers were paralyzed with shock, and the ex-paladin set into them with a fervor, his drow servants throwing spells through the town to spur on panic and confusion. By nightfall, Wraxus and his drow team had corralled the surviving five hundred townsfolk into a large ring in the town square, tying them down with rope, ripped cloth, or even their own clothes. People were separated into clans and families and a makeshift rack was created from parts of the local tavern and jail. As each townsperson was strapped down, the animated remains of their family members would surround them, raping, eating, and bathing them in urine, blood and feces. Then, on their death, they would be animated and join the undead party. Wraxus would participate in many of the festivities, focusing on those whom made Virgil's bound soul squirm the most. Several horses and various livestock from pigs to cattle were killed, animated, and commanded to participate in the pogrom as special additions to the main event. The screams of babes, children, adults and the elderly filled the night air indiscriminately. Two dozen of the final lucky survivors were given a chance to live, after a fashion: After their raping, Wraxus had the drow expertly sever the townsfolk's arms at the elbow and legs at the knee, seal the wounds, and put out their eyes. The undead left the most unspoiled were commanded to carry the lame and blind prisoners to the next town so that they could share the story of Virgil Redweather's triumphant return from Un'duloth'aerie. Only two survived the process to spread the tale. Wraxus went from town to town as he learned more of the war, using diversions to catch them when their soldiers were either out fighting armies or searching for threats the drow distracted them with. Each village was a unique carnival of terror designed to both entertain and enlighten Wraxus twisted sensibilities. In one town, all of the children under the age of five were gathered, slaughtered like pigs, and raised as undead to devour the rest of the townsfolk one by one as raw, chewed meat sloughed onto the ground from their burst stomachs. Many women were left alive after Wraxus' advances, the demon laughing at the thought of Virgil fathering children born of torture and rape. Several of Virgil's paladin brotherhood sought him out to end his horrible spree and recover what little pride the order had. Each time, Wraxus could feel them coming, and would invariably ambush them. The paladins and clerics would be stripped of their equipment, bared naked and forced to witness the latest atrocities on the populace, and then left relatively undamaged after Wraxus had forced himself on them. The demon was extremely proud and lustful, and thoroughly enjoyed letting the enemy lick their wounds in promise of another encounter. Wraxus delighted in the thought of having a son or daughter with a holy warrior forced to carry his vessel's seed. Roleplay sample Considering we are incarcerated at the beginning of the game, this is just a few imagined scenarios to showcase some of Virgil's personality and outlook on the prison.   Virgil stood at the gate his first night, beside a few huddled souls who couldn't bear living in a prison colony. They were given orders and tools, told to report to their managers, but those who would rather commit suicide were allowed to stand at the gate and make their choice. Run into a fast, guaranteed death at the hands of the demons, or come to terms with your new lot in life. The shaking had started days ago on the carriage ride here, and hadn't stopped. Tiny beads of... mucus? ...had formed on his skin, the equivalent of nervous amphibious sweat. The rags were sticking to Virgil in an uncomfortable way, and the chill of night was something he had yet to get used to. But he wouldn't have to much longer. Ahead of him, a nervous kid barely shy of two decades nervously chanted his mantra to himself, over and over: "I was hungry, I was just hungry, I can't do this, I can't BE here." It made it a little difficult for Virgil to think straight, and it just didn't feel right. The sun began to fall over the horizon, and the gates were being shut. "It's now or never, cowards! **** or get off the pot!" The kid shook his head, once, twice, and bolted. He made it only six feet before Virgil was on him, stuck to his back like an angry cat just out of his reach. The two went down hard, Virgil dragging the boy back through the closing gate. The teenager struggled and the frog flipped him over and slapped him square across his jaw, leaving three angry, sticky welts. Virgil climbed up onto his chest and goggled into the teen's eyes, a hint of his old resolve creeping back into his new body. "If I weeere a demon, you know whaaaat I woould do with a kid li-i-i-ike you?" The teen's face twisted into a look of half horror, half bewilderment at the slippery-skinned creature atop him. "I wooouldn't make it qui-i-ick. I would wear your ski-i-in like a cape whi-i-ile you danced around screaming. I would wraaap your entraaails around a tree and chase you arooound it." Virgil was still getting used to the new voice. "I would pull out each of yoooour teeeeth, one by o-o-o-one, and press them into your eyebaaalls. Slo-o-o-owly. And that's after and before I sod-d-domize you." He glared the kid down until the boy could no longer look him in the eyes. Then Virgil slipped down to his ear and croaked again, "Now, you get to pick up a haaammer and hit rocks. Be happy you have the cha-a-ance." The frog stood up off of the kid's chest and backed away from him slowly, never breaking eye contact until the kid got to his feet and ran away. One of the other men in line sputtered, "good god," under his breath, and only then did Virgil blink. He looked down at his slimy hands a moment and saw them shaking, but this time from adrenaline. Ignoring the others, he walked up to the top of the wall to take in the sight of the fog. It was pervasive as the light began to ebb over the edge of his new world. Virgil thought only once about casting himself over, to meet the fate he visited on so many in the last three years. A guard hobbled over and chuckled at the little frog man. "You scared the **** out of that one. Heh, probably all of them." Getting no response, the chuckling ceased and the man looked from the fog to the frog and back. "What the hell you see out there with those big, bug eyes, anyway?" The question lingered in his mind. He saw something similar, if only in it's darkness. Something like what he had been forced into, what he had been used to. A monster, an evil that thirsted for blood and violence and seethed with anger and an otherworldly brand of visceral lust. "It's hungry," Virgil replied, a tear running down his wide-lipped face. And so am I.   It had been three days, and Virgil had done his best to stay quiet, stay hidden, and stay just useful enough to be ignored. He had almost gotten used to eating with the now-oversized bowls and his oversized mouth. Speaking was still irritating, and thus he did as little of it as possible. This wasn't a bad thing, as he had learned more by keeping his mouth closed and his eyes and ear... flaps... open. Hell, he'd already convinced his manager that the two words he knew were 'ribbit' and 'croak.' It wouldn't be long until his outburst at the gates was public knowledge... but for now, there was time to learn to exist again. A young man slid his bowl up to the bench next to Virgil and sputtered, "M...m-may I sit here?" The frog looked up and was about to say another 'ribbit' when he recognized the face of the young man he had accosted three nights previously. Virgil closed his mouth and slowly turned back to his soup. "I, ah... I wanted to say thanks." Virgil eyed the boy out of the corner of his hood, remaining silent in reply. "Um... yeah. So, thanks. For not letting me go out there. I guess I didn't know what to expect here. I... get fed, at least. So... no more stealing." The kid smiled meekly, trying in vain to lighten the mood. Virgil had stopped eating and was sitting still. "Well, okay. Just wanted to let you know." It hit Virgil then that he hadn't had time to grieve. With Wraxus within him, it was constant mind-numbing violence, aggression, condescendence. Each act wore away at Virgil's soul until he just drifted into a fugue-like state of consciousness. He never really got to scream, to curse, or... to cry. Now, the tears were flowing out from his robe like a storm had started in his hood. Sniffling a bit, he hid his face, attempting to hold in the wracking sobs building up in his chest. "GRRRRRIBBIT." The base tone echoed off the walls of the mess room, and every mouth hung open and eye stared at Virgil. Aghast, he sunk down into his seat until he had slipped onto the floor and dashed out of the room and down corridors until he found open air. He ran and hopped until he was well beyond the safe limits of the runes. Somewhere he could be alone. And there he cried. Birds flew from trees, squirrels fled frightened to other places not being deafened by a horrid chorus of gasps mixed with rumbling croaks. For once in three years, it felt right. I don't deserve to live, he had decided. For all I have done, and all that has been undone by my hand, I have no rightful place in this world anymore. The tears began to dry and his body began begging him for water. Virgil had resigned himself to his pitiful, self-loathing state. But kids like him don't deserve to die. Resolve slowly wormed it's way back into his heart. It may not be girded with justice, service, and compassion, but it was there. He had something to do. Something to live for. Something to die for.   Clinging to the beams of the cold, empty room, Virgil peered out an old arrow slit as the last rays of the sun fell to the horizon, or what settled for a horizon here. The steam was barely visible across the ground, and the frog felt an odd sense of comfort mixed with terror. It was a darkness--not the darkness he knew, but a darkness nonetheless. He ached in a spot he didn't understand, and wondered just how much of the demon still lurked in the dark corners of his mind. The three cloaked figures entered quietly, unaware of their spectator. "Bring the runes?" one of them gruffly asked. Another figure fidgeted nervously, looking from one to the other. "Yeah... yeah. I got 'em." He held out a pouch, and chimes rang lightly from inside. Virgil could swear the mists outside became darker, more... angry. "Heh, idiot. You're never getting out of this prison," one snarled, pulling a shortsword from his cloak. "Give 'em here so we don't get blood on 'em!" The man with the pouch backed away, yelling out for help. "There's no one around, pal. Any prayers?" With a wet *slap,* the man's sword was yanked out of hand forcefully. Several feet behind him stood a tiny amphibian man, holding the sword gracefully in two hands. "What, you want out too, ya toad?" The gruff man asked. Virgil glanced from man to man, then towards the arrow slit. "That remains to be seen," he croaked. "En garde!" Another Prisoner Ferrin Geist was the kind of man fresh vampires aspired to be like. Brooding, bloodthirsty, and silent, Ferrin had a habit of cannibalizing those who made things difficult for his mining band. It was a fixation he had picked up in the months that the food had stopped and hadn't felt the need to quit. Half of his stocky, dwarven face was tattooed to look like a skull, all the way down to his shaven chin, and his crew had taken to blackening their eyes with soot to mark their affiliation. Ferrin had abandoned the desire to leave years ago--this place was a rotten peach, but a peach Ferrin intended to pick. Besides, there was little to keep him from asserting himself; so long as his team brought in plenty of ore, he could sit pretty on their backs. Today though, Ferrin did something different, something he hadn't done since he arrived. Today he smiled. One of the new recruits had heard something very interesting: Virgil was coming, the man who he owed his current estate to. Six years ago, Virgil crushed Ferrin's warband in the hills south of the kingdom. Six years ago, Ferrin used his contacts to buy his way out of a death sentence and hide himself on a prison train bound for Krakengard. And now, today, Virgil was on his way here. As a prisoner, no less. Other info Virgil is meant to be a 1st level ex-paladin. The years of being possessed have torn away his faith and experience, leaving him a bare shadow of the man he was. I know grippili is a very... bizarre race, but I could think of nothing weirder to change him into. However, it isn't necessary that he even be a grippli. I attribute it to my old love of Chrono Trigger.

[PopCultureBard]

Dimitri Abandonato
Dhampir Investigator
Rogue Constable to Serve Sentence in Krakengard!
Disgrace: Extortion, Assault, Theft, Conspiracy

The Who Appearance Dimitri is no spring chicken. Contrary to his elven blood, age and the curse of his lineage has indeed caught up to him. While he still has an athletic build, it has softened noticeably in the middle. He is nearly six feet tall but because of his posture, shoulders stooped by years of bearing the weight of corruption and vice, he tends to seem shorter. No matter how quality the clothing, he always manages to make them look slept in. His hair is receding and gray at the temples. Cropped short, it still somehow comes across as disheveled and untended. His beard is the classic 5 o'clock shadow, except when it's more of a 9 o'clock shadow. His face is one of angles, high cheekbones and a strong jaw that frame light blue eyes, dark brown skin and a spattering of small scars from beatings given and returned. Lines at the corners of his eyes and lips speak of years lived and loves lost. Personality Dimitri is partial to strong opinions, gray morality and creature comforts. He grew up with a fierce belief in good and bad and a desire to pursue the former. His time in the constabulary reinforced that at first, with each solved case seeming to lighten his soul. But seeing death and cruelty, day in and day out, began to put cracks in his black and white outlook. From The Towers evil seemed so easy to spot but down in the muck everything is a little blurry. Then he made mistakes and that strict moral code got a little more flexible. While the downward spiral may have stabilized as of late, he's no longer the justice and law type. He can't afford to be. He's dealt with criminals a long time and he knows that there are going to be some ugly compromises waiting for him through that portal. Compromises he's already been too willing to make. What he isn't likely to compromise on is treating himself. Prison may be hellish but some people have to live better than others. He intends to find those people and reach out a hand, either to pull himself up with them or drag them down to him. Every step takes him closer to freedom and freedom leads to revenge. There will be danger at every turn, a knife for every back, and chances aren't great that he'll make it out alive. Still, Dimitri's not worried. He's got a constable's instincts and a pocket full of people skills on his side. He's done more with less.

The What Background The common adage is that magic runs in the blood of elves. Nowhere is that adage more accurate than Palaiis. An elven city from the oldest days of the modern empire, and much further back if you believe the elvish histories, it has long been the seat of power for elf culture. Nobility, delineated by bloodlines strong in magical prowess, rule over the populace from towering estates connected by a network of bridges. What began as a defensive measure slowly developed into a tactic of isolation, ensuring that nobility never had to rub elbows with the common rabble by providing sky-based travel to all the important places. The Towers, as the estates and recreations of the rich came to be known, expanded to the extent that they choked most of the sunlight out of The Base, where the craftsmen and laborers built homes into the bottoms of the support structures and navigated the swampy area on flat-bottomed skiffs. Dimitri's family was among the more powerful in both arcane and social influence, notwithstanding rumors about ancestral ties to dark powers. It was quite a scandal when he showed little to no magical ability as a child, moreso when he began to exhibit signs of the family's curse more strongly than any had in generations. Desperate to cement his place in society, a young Dimitri turned his attention to academics and alchemy. His keen mind dealt with the puzzles of alchemy easily and his ability to put together concoctions for a variety of purposes made him useful enough to keep around but not enough to inherit a title. It was fine by him, having learned at a young age of his family's criminal interests and wanting no part of it. Even the foremost school of thought among Palaiis' elite, that anything could be justifiable to ensure your power, would implicate his family's dealings as questionable. Turning away from the nobility in his teenage years, he began to wile away the hours in The Base where he developed a predilection for picking out subterfuge and found the limited sunlight to his liking. A few beatings by card cheats and philandering husbands later, he walked into the office of the local constabulary and demanded a job. Unlike the guard, who patrolled for and intervened in crime, the constables solved crimes that had already occurred. It took him little time to prove his worth and gain a position among them. Sure, they were in the pocket of the nobles but they were the line between the law abiding and the criminal. Do some good from the inside, he told himself. You can stand up against anything they throw at you. And for awhile he did. Brought murderers and thieves to justice, broke up criminal organizations and woke up each day with a purpose. The heavy shadow on his heart, that whispered darkness he'd grown up in the embrace of, felt distant for the first time in his life. He even met a girl and got married. They were going to have a kid. Then it all went away and life lost its color. Time has a tendency to wipe the shine off youthful exuberance and debt makes an honest man's salary seem a pittance. His preference for fine wines and soft pillows didn't fade when he left The Towers. The moral compromises were minor at first. Look the other way on a smuggled shipment of Qualo leaves, pressure a local merchant to sell his wares cheaper to a specific set of scumbags, tamper with evidence in a robbery case. It kept him in the luxuries he grew up knowing and it seemed harmless enough. The worst thing about corruption is that you never see it coming when it happens to you. Dimitri can't remember exactly when but at some point he crawled so deep into his family's pocket that he couldn't see daylight. His brother Alistair, head of the Abandonato's criminal empire, preyed first on his familial bond, then on his grief, and finally on his Qualo addiction. Grind the leaves up and sprinkle them in alcohol for a mellow ride into a land of no troubles. In time Dimitri was struggling to justify his actions with the rewards they brought. When he found himself in the seediest burg of The Base with his hands around a young man's throat over a gambling debt, he realized he couldn't go on. Unfortunately, his brother was prepared for just such a shift in the wind. The guard took him into custody on his way to his family's estate. Instead of cutting ties with Alistair, he ended up jailed for betraying the trust of the people of Palaiis. The evidence was all there in an easy-to-follow trail that his brother laid out, having kept proof of the sleuth's crimes safely hidden away until they were needed. Shipping records he'd doctored, testimony from merchants he'd strong armed. Alistair even took the stand to spin a line about how Dimitri had been extorting money from the family for years. That crime was the only one he was innocent of, and that made it the most infuriating. Losing his cool and breaking his brother's jaw in court pretty much put the last nail in his coffin. He briefly considered arguing against it, turning over his evidence on Alistair's wrongdoings and throwing himself on the mercy of the court. After all, the 'anything goes' mentality in elven politics only applies if you avoid getting caught. There is more shame in a failure to hide your deeds than there is in committing the deeds themselves. A knuckle-heavy visit from a fellow inmate while he was held for trial reminded him that he wouldn't survive long enough to enjoy his freedom if he went turncoat. Knowing that Alistair was never one to leave loose ends, and taking the blame for a large portion of the family's criminal activity made him a pretty big one, Dimitri realized he was out of options. Once he knew he was sunk, he made some desperate maneuvering and called in all the favors he could to ensure he would be sent to Krakengard prison rather than a regional elven institution. Whether Alistair has let him live out of brotherly love or some strategic maneuver, Dimitri isn't willing to wait for the crime lord to change his mind. If he can be safe anywhere, and it isn't likely he can, Krakengard would be the most removed place from Alistair's influence. That, and fewer of the criminals he'd worked to put away would be there. He'd been outmaneuvered and lost everything. The only way he could stand a chance of turning things around and inflicting righteous retribution would be to survive.

The When, Where and Why Roleplay sample Dimitri tips back the flask, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat as he considers his options. Perhaps spiking his extracts with dark brew wasn't helping things, but that was a question for another day. Three men had entered the secluded back entrance to Mag's in the last hour and hadn't returned. That could only mean the meeting was moving forward in full. Logic dictated he should take a cautious approach. An extract to hide his features and he could slip inside, listen to everything and make a case. No, not this time. These were the worst scum, stealing Base-born children for labor. This called for a different tactic, and one he was comfortable with. Flexing his hands, he watches the skin thicken as the extract take hold. Stalking across the street, he steps up the door and gives it a heavy-handed knock. "Who dat?" It was more a grunt than a question, the kind of enunciation one could expect from a half-bred orc. The syndicates in Palaiis used them for scut work. He'd never met one he didn't like...to beat on. Dimitri waited, counting down from three. He heard a boot scrape on the other side, then the door groan as someone put weight on it. Checking the view hole, no doubt. His foot came up suddenly and hit the door with the full weight of his body. The latch snapped at the impact and the sap on the other side got a mouthful of door. He hit the ground, collecting his wits just in time to see the investigator's sap coming. His head caught the sap first, the floor second and then nothing mattered. A second man, this one repulsively human, rounded the corner into Dimitri's path and the investigator let his fists speak. Two quick jabs rocked the thug's head back but he lashed out with a right hook that caught the constable in the side. The elf feels the sap slip out of his fingers but he pushes forward, catching the human with a shot to the gut that doubles him over and then a final hook to the jaw that puts him on the floor. While Dimitri was sucking in a breath and holding a hand to the sharp pain that punch left along his ribs, a voice called out from the backroom. "Corian? What's that racket?" He knows the voice. Trevi Gunnoit; murderer, thief, crime boss. That meant Yor Havas would be in there, too. They were doubtlessly scheming on another way to profit off elven misery. Kneeling by his fallen foe, he snatches up the man's short blade and tests the weight. His hands were soft again, but the blade was plenty firm for this business. Now would be the time for him to step in, announce his presence and his role. If he were here as a constable, this would be the time for an arrest. Unfortunately for Trevi, he was here on someone else's orders and those orders were very clear. His steps are heavy as he makes his way into the meeting. Into the killing room.

Bonus Round Astrid wasn't born to crime. Her family lingered in The Towers just like Dimitri's. Not at the top, but high enough to see sunlight. But Astrid wasn't the type to rest on her laurels and feed off her family's accomplishments. She wanted to do something, make a reputation for herself that went beyond her surname. She was gifted with magical prowess and received tutelage from a young age. When she was older, she put that skill to use bending minds and twisting hearts. Enchantment and illusion became her weapons of choice in a bid to rob every proper elven gentleman, and a fair number of proper elven gentlewomen, she could get her hooks into. She's a consummate liar with a talent for disguise who knows her way around a good vanishing act. It took Dimitri years to connect all the threads and build a case against her. It took him months to track her down after she fled her luxurious home topside for a bolt-hole in The Base. He got two scars for his efforts, deep knife wounds to the lower back, and three guardsmen lost their lives. But he got her, and he testified at her trial with a smile she couldn't bear to see. When she escaped custody after her conviction, she was sure it was the last she'd see of the constables. She fled to human cities to ply her trade and did well for a few years before things went south again and she wound up in Krakengard. The good thing about being a criminal who relies on your wits and charm is that nobody can take those away from you, even in prison. She may be locked up, but Astrid has plenty of new hearts and minds to twist. Gathering a loyal band of followers wouldn't be a real strain on her abilities. And should she get wind of a constable in the city...well, let's just say I'd hate to be that guy.

[Die]

I'm very intrigued by this campaign concept - like a combination of Gothic & Peter Brett!

Now, three quick questions:

1) I have 0 Pathfinder experience. How happy are you to work with newer players in your campaign? My background is mostly in 5E & Dark Heresy/Call of Cthulhu/Paranoia!, and I hear PF can be tricky mechanically compared to those games D:

2) For the purpose of magic, rituals and the like, how available are reagents? Fx, would an Alchemist has access to appropriate equipment off the bat, or would the find of and access to be something of a plot point/adventure. Same goes for wizards etc etc.

3) What is the campaign scope in terms of levels & general 'power'? We obviously start off small and there's a strong horror/survival element with the demons/general isolation/trapped with potential loons and criminals (including us c: ) - will this theme stay throughout? I personally enjoy bleeding out and the slow susurrus of insanity, but that may be too much WoD & Call of Cthulhu speaking.

[Inem]

Before I get to specific questions, I was asked elsewhere whether I will be doing reviews of applications. Short answer: Yes. Slightly longer answer: You can always ask me to take a look at specific details, but in addition to that, you can at any point that is at least one week before the deadline, ask me to read through everything you've got and give you a review, to let you know where you stand. Obviously, the more complete it is at that point, the more you will likely benefit from this. If you ask less than a week before the deadline I'll do my best to get you in, but I make no promises, as I might always get slammed at work or otherwise not be able to make the time.

Originally Posted by Die

I'm very intrigued by this campaign concept - like a combination of Gothic & Peter Brett!

Curses, someone has identified two of the major sources of inspiration at last

Originally Posted by Die

1) I have 0 Pathfinder experience. How happy are you to work with newer players in your campaign? My background is mostly in 5E & Dark Heresy/Call of Cthulhu/Paranoia!, and I hear PF can be tricky mechanically compared to those games D:

2) For the purpose of magic, rituals and the like, how available are reagents? Fx, would an Alchemist has access to appropriate equipment off the bat, or would the find of and access to be something of a plot point/adventure. Same goes for wizards etc etc.

3) What is the campaign scope in terms of levels & general 'power'? We obviously start off small and there's a strong horror/survival element with the demons/general isolation/trapped with potential loons and criminals (including us c: ) - will this theme stay throughout? I personally enjoy bleeding out and the slow susurrus of insanity, but that may be too much WoD & Call of Cthulhu speaking.

1) I have no problem whatsoever working with newer players. I have no experience in any of the systems you mentioned, however, so I can't really tell you whether it is tricky mechanically compared to those. But I'm certainly willing to help you out with mechanics while you learn the ropes.
2.) Let me start with wizards and other spellcasters reliant on a spellbook: Those would definitely go in without a spellbook and acquiring one would be the first part of their adventure for sure. Alchemical equipment sort of falls into the same category and would probably have to be acquired first in some way (though there would be various ways of achieving this). Alchemical/Spell components I would probably consider less of an issue.
3.) The theme is definitely going to last for a while, but your characters will have the possibility to grow throughout. Level sort of depends...the most likely end for this game I envision would be if the PCs escape from the colony. But what level that happens, if at all, is definitely up in the air and will depend heavily on the players choices. I see this game going at least until level 5, probably several levels higher. Probably not way over 10 though unless things go very differently than I expect. So the horror/survival element will most likely permeate a lot of the game, but you should eventually grow out of the stage where your only options are keeping your head down and running.

[Tiax]

I would love a review of where I stand with Virgil, Inem!

[Eachan Delras]

Ditto, please, master Inem.

[Sassafrass]

Is that... is that Idris Alba, PCB?

My God, what a world this is going to be. I cannot approve enough.

[Elfman6]

I certainly would mind a review

[Inem]

Originally Posted by Elfman6

I certainly would mind a review

You would mind a review? Well sheesh, I didn't mean to offend anyone by offering

In all seriousness, I will try to get to the reviews soon, but I'm currently swamped by a lot of things falling together at the end of this week and I'm still working on catching up with everything. I doubt I'll find the time before the weekend to read entire applications...

[Eachan Delras]

Thanks, its understandable. We all have work to get done.

[PopCultureBard]

Originally Posted by Sassafrass

Is that... is that Idris Alba, PCB?

My God, what a world this is going to be. I cannot approve enough.

Yup. So I have this weird habit of scanning pictures when I want to come up with a character idea. I stumbled across this picture when I was looking at celebrity faces and saw a haggard detective. The whole character idea kind of grew out of that. Then I just needed a black and white, somewhat somber image to reflect my vision and the search led me to the other one. Similar story for a few of my current tribe.

Also, I concur. Giving the players reign to craft sections of the outside world as setting for their backstories was a really solid idea. There is some cool material presented in these apps.

[OneDarkness]

Thats good cause I need another day or two to finish my backstory anyway.