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Old Nov 30th, 2011, 09:11 PM
Fragmaster01's Avatar
Fragmaster01 Fragmaster01 is offline
Great Wyrm
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The Best We Have

Peoplethings go here!
Important ThingsPost your application, and a link to your character sheet here! Please keep chatter/rolls out of this thread.
20-point buy, using this table.
Character level 2.
Starting cash 500 gp, but don't take any items that are essentially "the same, but better". Get a Greatclub instead of an Earth Breaker, it builds character.
If you're playing a caster, add up the total of your 1st level spells and bonus 1st level spells from high casting stat. This is your MP pool. It costs 1MP to cast a 1st level spell, 2 for 2nd, and so on. Cantrips are at-will, as normal in pathfinder. Plop that MP down somewhere at the top of the sheet, like the Nonlethal damage box.
No favored class bonuses, you have enough toys from your curses. Talk about races and classes above are just background info.
Intimidate uses the better of your STR and CHA, and is modified by size.
HP is maxed for first level, and you can choose to either roll or take 1/2 the die for 2nd level(but you have to pick one. You can't roll, get a 1, and decide you like something else. Roll in the OOC thread, not here).

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; Dec 4th, 2011 at 10:07 PM.
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Old Dec 3rd, 2011, 12:38 AM
Frogman's Avatar
Frogman Frogman is offline
Oh not again
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Name: Soilir "Mother of Ravens" Mailtrea
Race: Wood Elf
Class: Witch 2
Gender: Pink
Curse: Diplomat (I like the idea of a witch rendered adorable)
Ancestral Weapon: Tome, boots, ring...really doesn't matter




What is a funnybone sandwich?

Last edited by Frogman; Dec 4th, 2011 at 02:45 PM. Reason: Added Sheet
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Old Dec 3rd, 2011, 06:08 AM
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JonnyGulliver JonnyGulliver is offline
You remind me of the Babe
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Name: Tinkerer Gnarl Make-It-Work
Race: Goblin
Class: Artificer
Gender: Hombre
Curse: Seer OR Innocent
Ancestral Weapon: Horrible Hoary Handcannon of the Heavens
Appearance: Green, Gritty, and Geared up in mismatch armor, he is a walking shamble of trinkets and gizmos
Personality: Innovative. He tends to approach any problem analytically, and tries to conjuer up the easiest solution to any situation. In a society that often gets used in cannon fodder, he has lived a surprisingly longer then expected by taking the cautious approach. In a combat situation, he finds the clash of blood and steel distastful.


BackgroundWhere Goblin caste seems to be a matter of survival, those few tribes who live long enough in reletive peace have time to take up leisurely activities. Goblin society, when left to their own devices, show a keen shining toward invention and industry. Most innovative amongst the Rockbiter Tribe is resident tinkerer Gnarl.

Born small, even for his species, he found himself on the losing end of many survival challenges. Whenever it came to contests of strength of finesse, he always lost out, so he developed a more strategic approach. Still, Gnarl's size lost him enough edge to be trained proper to join raiding parties and defense guard, but he showed a knack when it came to ore identifaction, metalurgy, and crafting of wonderous knick-nack. Though bored with mundane arms manufacturing, his devices were useful enough that he was able to get his own shop in a foundry, in order to focus on his more unique career.

So when it was announced that he was the Chosen One, he was very much taken aback considering he thinks such a title should be given to someone stronger, faster , or at least with more survivability. Still, Chief Ryzz Ner'man IS bigger, stronger, and scarier, so who is he to argue the decision?

And so, grumpily and somewhat unprepared, Gnarl finds himself on the Quest for the Magical-Somethingorother, to save the lands from Whatsit, for Whateverreason... *sigh*
RL hit me with a 1-2 Punch. Will be back to regular posting rate soon.

Last edited by JonnyGulliver; Dec 4th, 2011 at 05:46 AM.
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Old Dec 3rd, 2011, 10:48 AM
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Still_Pond Still_Pond is online now
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Character Sheet

Name: Guinessssss
Race: Ormu
Class: Psion - Telepath
Gender: Male
Curse: Curse of the Seer
Ancestral Weapon: Myriad Cloak

He was born large. Everyone thought he'd be a warrior or hunter or something strong, fierce and big. However, Guiness would rather lay on sun-warmed stones or hang down from low branches and startle wondering animals. He had no aspirations and no sense of social responsibility. He knew he'd never be a hunter for they were all just too intense. Fighting took too much energy and, besides, he didn't like getting hurt - he might mar his flawless black skin. No, he just wanted to be alone in his thoughts.

Others would sometimes come and try to spur him to action. He'd 'convince' them to just go away. He started to enjoy the little game, toying with people's expectations. He began frequenting gatherings observing behavior and seeing how much these people could be directed. He didn't let these social experiments get in the way of his rest however.

One night he was lounging on a favorite branch considering if he should eat this week or not when he heard a girl scream, sounded like an elf maybe. He tried to ignore it, but the screaming girl ran right toward his tree and had the audacity to fall beside it and continue to carry on. A hunting cat soon fell on her and thankfully silenced her. Guiness waited until the cat ate and left and then slithered down to look at something that had a very lovely aura. It was a cloak, and he knew right away that he LOVED it. He took great pride in his flawless black skin, and this cloak adorned him perfectly. He cleaned the elf blood off and wore it lovingly.

Then people started bothering him. He sent them away or just tried to avoid them, but they were persistent. Apparently he had impressed someone by mistake and now they wanted him to go adventuring, of all things. People began to gather around him, singing songs and burning things. He'd leave and they'd follow. The elders kept prodding him to go get their ancestral treasure, literally...with sticks! If he were to get any peace, he'd have to go get the accursed thing and bring it back. Then he learned that 'thing' was a cloak and he suddenly became slightly more interested.

Considered a plus sized Ormu, Guiness weighs in at an impressive two hundred and fifty pounds. He carries his bulk well, and is somehow able to slither his ten foot body up into the trees with the ease of his race. He is considered handsome, or at least he thinks he is. His scales are glossy black with some areas slightly blacker than others but you can only really see that in good light. His scales lie smooth and appear to be freshly oiled though that is just their natural luster (or is it?). His hair is carefully rolled into tidy dreadlocks. They cascade down his thick neck and shoulders like a mantle of snakes. His eyes are clear and bright and stand out like little pearls on his otherwise black face. For clothing he wears only a silvery wool cloak that seems Elven made. To keep it from getting all tangled up, he has secured it to his body with small silver chains. Not only does he like the way he looks in it, but the cloak keeps him warm and he likes few things more than being warm and comfortable.

He is often alone, off removed from others, usually eating, sleeping, or bathing. He keeps himself very clean, for he's rather proud of his shiny black scales and he likes to keep them looking nice. When he's being sociable he is quite present in the conversation. People seem to think he's a good listener, and he is in fact. He is a scholar of behavior and finds other people's mannerisms and conversations interesting, when he has energy for such things.

Lazy, manipulative, wants to be left alone. Rather selfish but will work with others if it means he gets what he wants or is easier than not working with them. Can be rather charming if the mood strikes him, however. Sometimes he's even sincerer even though it's nowhere near as much fun. He is slow to anger, preferring to just go away rather than be with someone who is annoying.

RP Sample:
Apparently there were others who were seeking their own ancestral relics. Joy. Well, at least they seem to know where to go so he could relax and follow them. An interesting smell wafts in. Oh, what'sss thisss? It sssmells deliciousss! The aura...enchanting. I want to sssnuggle up and cuddle it, sssqueezsse it, love it, hug and consssstrict it until it just *pops* with sssublime flavor.

Guiness slithers over to the pooka. He regards the adorable little creature with black eyes that betray nothing behind them. In a languid almost seductive voice he says, "Greetingssss, little one. How delightful to make your aquentencssse." Not really a lie, for he was delighted, now if only he had a little tarragon. He would take time with this one, befriend it perhaps. Just being close to it's scent made everything taste better.

Last edited by Still_Pond; Dec 5th, 2011 at 01:59 AM.
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Old Dec 3rd, 2011, 03:50 PM
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sammichweasel sammichweasel is offline
Aged Cheddar
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Name: Garr

Race: Gnoll

Class: Ranger (Natural Weapon Style)

Gender: Male (I've studied hyenas enough to be freakin' scared of the ladies)

Curse: Curse O' the Wild (okay, so I'm focused in build-wise... forgive me, for I love gnolls.)

Ancestral Weapon: He has been sent to find the Pooka Book. Legend says that this book contains a thousand and one recipes for proper preparation of Pooka, and they all want Garr to have it in hand. It is suspected that he may be the gnoll of legend, known only as the Clawed Maker (obviously a chef of some sort with a name like that).

Background: Garr grew up as any other gnoll, grunting and gibbering and eating things that a reasonable person has no place eating. He's not the brightest, even in comparison to other gnolls, abe has always spent most of his time thinking about what to eat next.

Then he discovered food preperation. Not only did this make food taste better, but it made it taste BETTER! He learned his first recipe from a wandering goblin artificer who had invented a specialized spatula that was also a steam-powered crossbow, and his lifelong (so har) passion was established.

Garr has become famous within a three tribe radius, with all the local gnolls wanting to come to HIS village for Noms-Having (truly, the greatest of gnoll holidays). The majority of his time is spent seeking rare ingredients (and eating things). Ironically, he himself does not actually eat cooked meat, preferring rrrraw and wrrrriggling.

Appearance: Garr is straight up mangy. His fur is patchwork, his skin is a bit dry, and dandruf tends to be a problem. His jaw is slightly larger than average for a gnoll, his face a little more actually hyena-like, and his eyes are the very definition of beady. He only wears clothing when someone reminds him that other races often care about things like that.

He stands a gaunt 7'2", weighing in at a mere 230 lbs, but not for want of food. He's just too busy to pack on the normal weight for his height. He hunches a fair amount, lending some to associate him with the typical image of the mythological "wolf-man", despite his obviously hyenid jaw structure. Really, he's kind of terrifying, and his habit of tasting anything new to him (including people) doesn't really... help. At all.

Personality: Usually a bit scatterbrained, but when hunting or cooking, singularly focused. He doesn't understand 'emotions' and tends to step on toes, but honestly, once you taste his cocoa-crusted lamb flank with espresso drizzle, his gruff statements of disinterest roll off the back.

He has a lot of trouble with non-gnolls, and not just because he has to reconfigure his dishes to match non-predator palates. Frankly, they all look delicious in their own way, so it's hard for him to refrain from drooling. He usually doesn't, actually (refrain, I mean). Pooka are especially difficult for him, with those weird snaky-fellows coming in a close second because he's curious whether they'd taste like snake or elf, or something else entirely!

His ideal afternoon involves hunting and slaying a new type of protein he hasn't prepared before, then gathering appropriate herbs to complement it. He would then cook said items, get into a fight with someone that said they didn't like it, and have his chieftain say it was his best work yet.

RP Sample: Reeds rustled, parting for the patchwork fur of the silent hunter. He would have cursed his inattention to his environment, but instinct guided him - without knowing, he knew the noise was nothing out of the ordinary. He stared past his target, watching the water of the still pond ripple with each of the scaled thing's heavy, measured steps. It showed no fear, no thought of potential reprisal entering its head. When you're that big, nothing thinks about attacking you.
Lucky for Garr, he didn't think much.

The night breezes chilled his visible skin, leaving him alternately freezing and cozy. His claws flexed in the muck, letting that ancient need to feed fester, waiting for the right time to spring. His target's arched, frilled back cast scintillating shadows across the mirrored water. A path, step by step, formed in the most basic part of his brain, highlighting itself almost literally in his vision. The massive lizard paused for an instant before taking its next step, a bit more forceful than the rest, and something about the rings spoke of violence, a beginning to motion and an ending of life.

The gnoll's form was a blur across the waters, practically carrying itself as his conscious mind danced across the lightning firing in his brain, letting instinct do the work. The lizard knew immediately that something was coming, but the suprise of both the nature of the assault and its sheer intensity left it no time to react. Sharpened, jagged claws tore into scaled hide, shaking loose a shower of glittering leaves as Garr tore his way up its back. Its barbed tail lashed upwards, but the angles were wrong; only the gnoll's lithe form could do any real damage here. His visceral attack made its meticulous, purposeful way towards its viscera. Honks of anger and dismay echoed across the shallow swamps, but the lizard knew as well as the savage warrior where this would end.

Not even a full minute later it was over. The beast's face beneath the water as it settled spoke to the innevitable outcome. Its massive carcass shook, jerking as Garr tore into the beast. He ignored almost everything, shoving organmeat out of the way as he attacked his new task with the same single-minded approach as his daring assault. He finally found his prize, prying out the thing's massive liver.


Garr stood at the firing stove, a device (strangely) of his own design. Its fluted piping out the back and heavy goblin-forged iron plates glowed red as he wiped down his Elvenwood cutting board. He precisely sliced the massive liver, mouth watering (okay, openly drooling, which really isn't all that different from most times you look at Garr). Slabs of muddy-red meat slide onto the plates, sizzling with the intense heat. Little gnollings dance around, picking at Garr's already patchy fur, nipping and whining. A quick backhand lets them know that it will be ready when its ready.

Finally, after just a quick sear to seal in the bloody goodness, Garr lets out a gibbering cackle, announcing the meal. Then, his job finished, the gnoll returns to his abode (a polite name for his barely formed burrow), to contemplate the question he had been considering before being tasked with dinner - why DO Pooka have those weird ears? No, really, what are they? Some kind of rabbit? Oh, oh - they are? Oooooh, okay, that makes more sense. Wait, but... no, no, that does.

Last edited by sammichweasel; Dec 3rd, 2011 at 04:23 PM.
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Old Dec 4th, 2011, 12:12 AM
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DeepFriedWyzard DeepFriedWyzard is offline
Timelost Gunslinger
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Name: Skög Orkbiter
Race: Pooka
Class: Magus
Gender: Though it is hard to tell, male
Curse: Curse of the Mirror
Ancestral Weapon: Sylph's Feather

Skog is a terrifying Ogre, nearly ten feet high (well above that if he stood up straight), with musty green skin, ratty hair, and boary tusks.

Like so.

Upon the affliction of his curse however, he will be a tad more... adorable. Something like a bunny walking upright, trying to be imposing with his magic sword but awwww he's just so cute can I pet him!?

A little like this, but with white fur and icy blue eyes.

As an Ogre, Skog is surprisingly clever, able to plan ahead and organize his daily routine beyond "Smash rocks, eat stuff." As a person, however, Skog is oafish, brash, ill tempered, most of the things you would expect an Ogre to be. He is not a braindead thug though. Unless he needs to be, which can make life easier sometimes.

From an early age, Skog knew there was something different about him. He could never figure out what it was. He was as strong as any other Ogre. He got plenty of Ogre women. He was a respected warrior. Then one day it hit him: the fact he was thinking about this so much was the answer itself. He was intelligent! Of course, he was no scholar, but he had a foresight that no other Ogre in his tribe possessed. He studied the others as they would fight, and learned from the mistakes of his own fights. Such things seem simple to a human mind, but Ogres are not known to have thoughts more advanced than "Frank smash!"

Skog quietly brooded upon the idea of becoming the new warchief. He had killed more orcs than any other Ogre, even earning the name Orkbiter for it. He would not only get first pickings of every hogroast, but he would get to keep the current warchief's wife, the sexiest troll one could possibly imagine.

One day, Skog was out hunting for bacon, as well as training himself by smashing down trees. If he could smash a tree, surely he could smash any Ogre to get in his way. Suddenly, his attention was grabbed by the biggest hog Skogg had ever seen. It was at least half his height at the shoulder, and that meant a lot of bacon for dinner. So he chased the beast down, but it was more endurant than any hog he had ever encountered as well. For miles he sprinted after the beast of feast, now it was a matter of principle to destroy this pig and eat the whole thing himself.

Eventually, Skog found himself no longer in the rocky hills he called home, and in the magical forests of fey and elves and other such silly creatures. It was here that he found himself in a situation he could never have forseen.

What a horrible night to have a curse... And he never even got to eat that giant hog.
Keys to the Grave (WIP) (sorry for vanishing)

Last edited by DeepFriedWyzard; Dec 4th, 2011 at 08:25 PM.
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Old Dec 4th, 2011, 01:38 PM
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Caput Caput is offline
Guy 5/Corpse 10/Lich 5
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Name: Vell of Terelae
Race: Satyr (Fawn)
Class: Barbarian (Armoured Hulk)
Gender: Pink (Don't tell her that. She'll vomit rainbows on you.)
Curse: Ages (Alternate)
Ancestral Weapon: Ring of the Magi

Background: Vell was once fairly dull and let life carry her wherever it wanted. People told her to get hitched and have kids, so she assumed that was what was going to happen.
One day some drunk guy in a bar forgot the meaning of the word no and everything changed. Her fellow drinkers were greatly amused by the sight of an unassuming girl beating the snot out of a man twice her size, so there was much cheering and dangerous quantities of free booze.
That was the first time she tasted heroism and she's been hooked ever since. She's carved out a reputation as a bad-ass and a fun person to be around. The kind of person who makes life take the lemons back, but not the kind who uses them to burn your house down.
When her small town of Terelae was attacked by bandersnatches a year or so back she leapt to its defence, relishing the change to kick some ass and earn some hero-worship. Then everything went horribly wrong. The enemy came in overwhelming numbers and murdered about a 6th of the population in creatively horrible ways. That day, she heard the voices of the dead demanding retribution and truly raged for the first time.
Now she's seen as a kind of folk hero, chosen by the dead to prevent such a disaster happening again.

Appearance: Before being cursed, Vell is a nice looking but not beautiful fawn with freckles, reddish-brown fur and hair, pointy little nose and the build of a runner. She prefers fairly nondescript clothing, usually a pair of knee-length shorts and a light shirt of some kind. Her most distinguishing feature has to be her strong green eyes.
After the curse, poor Vell is positively adorable. She resembles nothing more than a cuddly toy version of her former self with her unchanged eyes peering helplessly out of her squashable face. Her skin doesn't exactly have fluff on it, but it's very clearly pretend. She has a warm, glowy little heart sewn onto her chest.
She mostly hides her shame under her scary black platemail, which is all the more impressive when she's carrying her heavy mace and surrounded by a vortex of tormented souls.

Personality: Vell mostly wants to have fun, kick ass, get a giant pile of gold, be remembered forever in song, retire in her home town and have her pick of best fawn guys. Once she's cursed, she wants more than anything to get rid of the damn curse and be a proper person again. Her tough image is so important to her that the thought of being seen in that state sickens her. She also misses beer.
She used to be unshakably confident in her abilities, but becoming cute and soft and damaged that confidence, causing her to overcompensate.
Unlike most barbarians, she's not all that barbaric. She's not an irritable person and she's smarter than average. She's hardly the most sensible or socially adept person one could hope to meet, but nobody's perfect.
She loves a fight, but only the kind where both parties walk away at the end. If they shake hands too, so much the better. In a lethal fight, she'd much rather disarm or capture than kill.
When she rages, she's not so much going berserk as riding the anger of the spirits that haunt her. She's not at all likely to show any mercy or restraint when that happens.
She's terrified of bandersnatches. Like, really really terrified.
She's very open minded about other races. To her, new kinds of people means new dances, new food and drink and maybe even new things to screw with. Fine, they don't always get on, but who does? She respects good warriors anyway.
Ingle Land?

Last edited by Caput; Dec 6th, 2011 at 04:54 PM.
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