[Characters] Applications

[TheMystic]

Please post your applications (and nothing else) here.

[Yuyuko]

Character Concept: Dan and Gan, a highly unorthodox Summoner-Eidolon pair, with a combat style anti-typical from a usual summoner, and a Eidolon that tends to be the dominant one in conversation over the Summoner.

"I'm cold, I'm forced into fights with foes I don't even know, with powers I don't even understand, and with hands that move in ways I didn't know were possible. Just...Damn it, when am I getting an answer?"
Name: Dan Artwaltz
Race: Human
Class: Summoner (Persistent Eidolon archetype) "They call me a 'summoner.' I don't even know what the hell one of those are."
Alignment: True Neutral "Just leave me out of it."
Personality: "...What?"
Dan tends to be a very quiet individual. A rather self-centered one at that - not out of greed or malice, but because he'd rather not choose a side. He doesn't even know the first thing about himself, after-all - how can he go around picking a side? Whenever you can get a word or two out of him, usually at least a hundred and fifty percent of it is sarcasm. Due to this, and the incessant nagging that his Eidolon provides, he tends to allow her to decide their affairs for him - the Dullahan serving as something of a morality pet. In addition, perhaps in acknowledgement of how bitter he can sound, he usually allows his Eidolon to voice his thoughts for him, speaking up only when he feels it is truly important for him to do so. Or when someone directly bugs him.

Description:"What, do I look like a freak? Stop staring."

The first thing that one notices about Dan, before they even look at him, is the unnatural stench that comes with him. Beyond simply the smell of the unclean (he insists that he constantly bathes), it is a deathly stench, a scent of decay and death that follows him anywhere he goes. While subdued and easy to tolerate, it is none-the-less rather off-putting.

Next, one notices his height. Though he's not particularly tall to begin with (only five foot exactly), his rather awful posture leads one to see him as even shorter then he truly is. Not that's hard to guess - the human usually stays rather still, and never seems to be in a hurry of any sort to be moving unless it's important. Then, the unkempt nature of his blue hair. Clearly, not a person who's primary concern is his appearance.

Finally, when looking at his pale, rather slim body, one will notice quite a few nasty looking scars running over his chest and back, an especially large one prominent upon near the center of both - straight over the heart.

 

Background (as far as he can remember):

 

"I should be dead.

Yeah, that's right. You heard me right, I said I should be dead. My last memory is of getting a huge-ass sword stuck through my chest. I suppose it'd help if I started from the beginning. I don't even know how long ago it was, but back when I was a kid, things were tough. Growing up on the streets, had to fight for every scrap, you know. No folks, only a few friends, we did alright for ourselves I guess.

'Course, they kept us in the poor district. Couldn't have the small and the sick dirtying up the streets, y'know. Anyways, life went on, I guess. I grew up, learned a thing or two with swords.

As the days went by, though, more and more of us, y'know, we got sick and tired of being oppressed, broke, left to die and wither in the shadows while the rich feasted. So we all got together, made plans. Made me the leader, I guess, of a sort. Good times.

Think it was...yeah, it was on the day of my seventeenth birthday. They must have figured out about it, because next thing we know, they're starting to torch the place. I think the miserable bastards called it a 'cleansing.' Yeah, a cleansing of us vermin from their pretty, perfect utopia.

So, like every one else, I take to the fight. Get some injuries, take down a few as well, then I wound up getting a gigantic sword through the chest from the king's executioner himself. Err...himself, I think. Had to be a dude, I'm pretty sure. None of us ever saw his face, or anything under that armor, but...well, just a guess, could have been a girl. Anyways, dude was damned scary. Had the spiked armor going on and everything. And like I said, giant ass sword.

So, that should have been good game, right? Curtain call. I sure couldn't speak. Everything went cold, got blurred...then I heard this voice. It asked me. 'Did I want to die?' Hell no. 'Did I desire power, the power to change this?' Hell yes. Everyone was dying left and right, and I still had that giant-ass sword stuck through my chest. Anyways, that's where my memory fails me, because next thing I know, i'm being prodded by a gnome top to bottom, waking up next to some strange 'eidolon' who claims I'm her master. I mean, somehow, I know its true...but it's goddamn weird, I don't have a single memory of her. Definitely feels like some time has passed...they're definitely distant memories. Of a better time, I guess, though they're starting to get kinda' hazy.

I'm still goddamn cold though."

Theme Song: Muse - Unnatural Selection
Build Plan: Critical Hit! A very anti-typical Summoner build, the plan is to use teamwork feats, utilizing Twin Eidolon, Broken Wing Gambit, Improved Critical, Attack of Opportunity, and Paired Opportunists for a whirling self-buffing dervish duo of death that spams Attacks of Opportunity. Outside of combat, utilize Eidolon's perception, talking skills, and UMD to BS out solutions to problems. Also use Summons as convenient meat shields/trap detectors.

Pros: Enormous single target burst, high levels of battle field control (summons, walls, maze, black tentacles etc you get the idea.), fairly tanky, absurd perception, unorthodox build (enemies won't expect it!), buffs.
Cons: Incredibly lacking AoE options, relatively limited resources (though not quite as bad as the regular summoner), not quite as good once Twin Eidolon runs out of time for the day, forced to rely on Summon Monster spells, awful mobility options.

The build in a video.

Eidolon info:
Name: Gan Ceann "Err...I can't actually remember it. Let's just go with Gan Ceann, alright?"
Race: Dullahan "Hahaha, check out what I can do with my head!"
Class: Eidolon
Alignment: Neutral Good "C'mon Dan! We can't just leave em' there!"
Personality: "I might be a Dullahan, but I'm certainly not a Dull-a-han. Ey? Eeeyyyy?"
Being something of a light-hearted spirit, Gan (Or Ceann as she prefers to go by) tries to live life with a open heart, doing as much good as she can. Sure,there's the little issue that her appearance has a tendency to horrify, and people tend to call her a 'monster', but she can look past that! Just gotta be tolerant of how other people feel! In contrast to Dan, Ceann seems pretty much incapable of keeping her mouth, a bubbly blather-box who always has a thing to say, relevant or not.
Description: A rather tall Dullahan, Ceann has what one can only describe as an 'imposing figure.' Not due to her figure itself, but more so due to a nearly supernatural presence. Rather hard to explain, but whatever the reason, she certainly has more of a presence then looks alone would suggest. With red hair and eyes, and a fairly stand-out outfit (complete with a mantle with a raised collar to hide her -lack of- neck), the Dullahan would be rather easy to see, even in a crowd, if it were not for the fact that she seems to blend into the shadows. It's a rather ethereal, spooky quality - fitting for a Dullahan.

 

"...You know what, this is actually kind of uncomfortable."

Background: "Err...I can't remember a single thing, other then that guy, Dan, is my master. Oh, and I'm loyal to him for some reason. And we know all these flashy cool combo moves! But other then that, not a thing's in the noggin. Feels like there's lots of important stuff i'm forgetting, but nothing comes to mind, sorry!"
Theme Song: No More Kings - Michael (Jump In)

[Ytterbium]

Name: Gagik (the Terrorbringer)
Race: Blue (but a green blueIf you're absolutely against this, it's easy enough to write around. Just let me know.*)
Class: Cryptic

Background
Gagik was born to an unusually vicious, cunning, and well-organized goblin tribe; the tribe's name for itself in the goblin tongue translated to Terrorbringer, and it lived up to its name. The tribe, while only about 100 strong, managed to make a fairly comfortable living raiding neighboring civilizations, then retreating to the wilderness before anyone could retailate. As the first grandson of the chieftain, Gagik's birth was celebrated by his tribe for the entire second it took to realize the baby's skin was an odd shade of blue and they had been duped. The chieftain's daughter hadn't been widowed; she (along with everyone else) had been tricked by one of those wretched blue goblins, who had definitelyprobably faked his own death before moving along to the next tribe. Debate raged on how best to kill baby Gagik, when a wise old goblin crone, the tribe's shaman, spoke up. "If the boy is allowed to develop on his own, he could be a danger to us all. With the right steering and a bit of magic I think I can brew, he will instead become a valuable asset." It was thus agreed through an exceptional bit of goblin cunning that Gagik's life would be carefully planned and shaped to the tribe's advantage. The start of this was a nasty potion brewed by the goblin crone and poured Gagik's throat when he was a month old. It nearly killed the boy, and he spent a week vomiting, but the brew had its desired effect, as it turned Gagik's skin green – no quite goblin green, but close enough.

Young Gagik's upbringing was filled with messages designed to warp his mind and keep him from asserting any superiority over the tribe. His mother, his grandfather (the chieftain), and the shaman crone were always telling him things like "You'll never be the warrior the other goblins are, but you could be a scout," and "You'll always be good at stealth, and that's almost as important as what everybody else does." Gagik grew up believing what he was told. When he had a flash of brilliance, he dismissed it; surely if it had been a good thought one of the other goblins would have had it first. Gagik, being the naturally psionic being he actually was, made an outstanding scout, burglar, and trapsmith, and the parenting "techniques" of those near him made sure he was never anything more – that is until the day he was sent out for a few days to spy on a band of adventurers journeying through the wilderness lands the Terrorbringers considered their own. He returned to find his entire tribe slaughtered; an alliance of humans, elves, and gnomes had wiped out every last goblin, and the last of them was just leaving. Unsure of what to do, Gagik hid for a few days and then began to wander. Although he would eventually become an exceptionally powerful thief and psychic, his memories end about after the death of his tribe, just after he had left the area.

Personality
The Gagik who advanced to the top tier of If it wasn't already, this is a word now. Crypticism was cool, calm, and collected, able to solve most problems through clever combinations of stealth, inflicting massive amounts of pain on anyone who got in his way, and running away when it seemed the most expedient choice. He also had a fondness for young gnomes, usually with baked potatoes and plenty of butter, although he had learned very quickly not to let anyone see him partaking of (or catching, killing, or cooking) said young gnomes. It was thus that he developed a quirk about only eating when alone and otherwise choosing to exist on psionic energy.

The Gagik whose mind is only about a week removed from the slaughter of his tribe is a bit on the timid side. He has a fair bit of confidence in his abilities as a scout and thief, but much less confidence in himself or his ideas. Being psychologically warped into someone eager to please those who would wish to keep power over him, for all the damage it did, instilled in him one great boon to his survival: the willingness to try. Having seen over and over what the standard Terrorbringer punishment for failure was, Gagik always – thanks to his natural intellect – found a way to do what needed to be done. My tribe was slaughtered less than a week ago, and now I'm captured and helpless, but I must find a way to escape and to survive. And if I get the chance, I must have that gnome for dinner someday. When he put his hand in my mouth, mmm...

Description
Gagik looks like a taller-than-average goblin, but for anyone familiar with goblinkind, it's apparent he's a little off. His skin is an odd green, and the shock of thick black hair on his head is definitely non-standard. Fortunately, the markings all over Gagik's body (face, torso, arms, legs – everywhere) – a seemingly unending mesh of lines and swirls that seem like maybe they make some sort of sense mixed with tattoos that don't look all that much different. His leathery goblin skin is rough, and were someone brave (or foolish) enough to rub his hands all over it, it is how they would best be able to distinguish between actual tattoos, which are a bit bumpier and the other markings on him, which are seamlessly integrated into his skin. Gagik is fairly clean and well dressed for a goblin (bathing and civilized clothes being habits he picked up during his now-forgotten adventuring years), although his hair remains perpetually untamed, and upon inspection one might notice old blood stains on the loose-fitting black outfit he wears. When he eats, he does so as a wild animal – quickly and messily – so he will occasionally reek of the blood of whatever unsuspecting thing he last caught and devoured. Gagik is, like many sneaky types, typically soft spoken, but when he gets angry or in an argument, his already rather high-pitched and nasal voice quickly becomes incredibly shrill. He has no idea how old he is and never has. (For gaming purposes, he's not quite middle-aged.)

Build Direction
"Um, I can steal things, and I can break things. I can also steal and break people, if you wanna be technical about it." The plan is to focus more on the stealth, transportation (disabling traps and locks, teleportation), and destructive aspects of the cryptic class rather than put too much into the trapmaking stuff. I have the character build completely plotted out on paper and am taking a few of the trapsmithing aspects of the class (that +20 class bonus to Craft: Traps is hard to ignore), but he's much more focused on the other aspects. The traps were mostly an easy way to catch tasty gnomes for dinner.

[dbaque]

App Name: Glenn Race: Aasimar (Angelkin, Deathless Spirit, Heavenborn, Scion of Humanity variants) Class: Paladin (Empyreal Knight, Shining Knight archetypes)   All that Glenn recalls of his life is that of a young boy born in the resplendent paradise of Mt. Celestia, to which mother and son were admitted due to their celestial heritage. As the boy's curiosity developed, his mother told him stories of her life in the mortal realm, how she was a skilled healer during a fearsome war. Over what, she no longer remembered, only that it had claimed many, even from her arts. A young, honorable knight eventually came under her care. As he recuperated, she found herself falling for his charming nobility. Theirs was a tender romance, all the sweeter amid so grim a backdrop. When the knight was given some leave time, his mother accompanied him, and the two were soon wed. A blissful honeymoon was cut short by the drums of war and duty's call. The knight returned to the front line and led a bold charge into the enemy's ranks. Alas, he suffered grievous wounds, and his mother could do nothing for him, save stand by his bedside as he breathed his last. Heartbroken and inconsolable, she left the bloody conflict that had robbed her of her beloved, and his mother left the mortal realm for her grandfather's dwelling in the upper planes. The unborn Glenn was the only piece of her beloved left to her, and she treasured him as no other. The widow and her son wanted for nothing in the heavenly paradise. Although his face and build were those of the father he never knew, his innocent, inquisitive blue eyes and golden locks were those of his mother. Even more so, the boy took strongly after his mother's personality, growing into a sweet, tenderhearted lad. Between his own gentle temperament and his mother's insistence that he remain far from cruel battle, Glenn decided upon a life as a quiet contemplative in a monastery. Taking his vows, he happily spent his days in prayer and contemplation of the good, content to live thus for the rest of his days. Glenn remembered nothing else until awakening in this strange place. Once motion was restored to him, he looked over himself, and he could plainly tell how much older he looked (quite a testament given how slowly aasimar age). More than his age, his shock was to find how hardened he looked. He bore the broad build of an athlete, decorated with a multitude of scars great and small. Glenn regarded his hands, nothing like the soft things he remembered. No, these were large, calloused hands that missed the pommel of a sword. Finding a reflective surface, he found his face was indeed his own, but muscle memory set his expression as an intense one, albeit with kindly eyes. Long habit set his stance as one imposing and majestic. Even the voice muttering in wonder sounded deeper and commanding. Unabashed confusion washed over him, as the former contemplative wondered how in heaven's name his life came to this. Battle cry: "Have at thee!" (Which will still come naturally to him, despite his amnesia) Theme: For the knight he is

[spikehed]

Mira Frosthelm "The cold harsh reality of the world is nothing compared to chill of my heart." Gender: Female Race: Human Age: Unknown Class: Eldritch Godling 20   Visual: Long, flowing white hair. Sapphire eyes. Alabaster skin. A sultry and teasing smile. Graceful movements. She wears simple jewelry, and has delicate tattoos covering only her face. Sound: Jingling of traditional bangles is often all that announces her presence. Her footfalls are soft and cautious. Her voice is warm and husky. Smell: Cinnamon and cloves. Gear: A simple dress, made up of a collage of bright blue and white materials. A well-worn and sturdy backpack. A thick leather belt with many pouches and a gauntlet covering one hand. [5'3" 130lbs] Mira is a strange creature. Her slow, cat-like stride rambled, showing no direction. A chance smile from her soft, full lips was a greeting of warm surprise despite their frigid color. Her steely sapphire eyes contradicted the warmth of her smile, harsh and unforgiving always. The jingle of her jewelry matched that of her laugh, reserved and coy.   Background & Concept Elements Mira was raised by her mother, Mara, an artist and former adventurer. Mara had never spoken of who Mira's father was or what had become of him. Mara had adventured into the northern wastelands before she retired to the comfort of the city. She often told stories of the great forgotten empires and frozen to Mira as bedtime stories. When Mira had reached puberty and the arcane power in her blood had awakened, Mara immediately inscribed tattoo symbols upon her face. She told Mira they had been passed down through the generations of their lineage, but would not answer any of Mira's questions as to why she did not have them. When Mira's mother passed away, Mira took up a wanderlust, moving from settlement to settlement adventuring to learn more of her lineage and strengthen her magical abilities. Content with what she had discovered about herself, Mira retired from adventuring to a large city. It was short lived. Diabolists peddling influence took an interest, hoping that they could buy an advantage of a powerful arcane bloodline. She rebuked their offers and felt unsafe in the city. Her leaving the city triggered whatever caused her memory loss. Secrets Known - While Mira has tattoos, she no longer knows what they are there for. Unknown - Mira carries a potent mix of deific and draconic blood, sought by a cult for it's dark rituals. The tattoos inscribed by her mother are marking meant to hide her powers but over the years of adventuring they were no longer able to mask it's source. Unknown - Mira's mother, Mara is a silver dragon. She was forced to hide herself after enchanting Mira to mask her awakening powers due to the struggle between gods and their followers. Contacts Ally - Yllavyre Hollysword, her best friend, was a bard, and very carefree for an elf. Mira signed over her mother's house to Yllavyre when she passed. Yllavyre loved to hear stories about Mira's discoveries and adventures, all of which Mira has forgotten. Mira can recall Yllavyre because they had been friends for so long but does not realize that she has outlived her elven friend. Neutral - Garibaldi Rumpelkin is a rotund halfling who secretly controls a smuggling ring that works out of the city Mira had retired to. The Halfling helped Mira pawn enough possessions for travel on caravans when the cult started pressuring her. The only payment Garibaldi ever mentioned was ”Consider it a favor.” Mira does not recognize the halfling or remember any of her retirement. Hostile - The cult is a direct threat to Mira. After she rebuked their advances to draw her into their ranks, they now seek to take her power, her blood, by force. She does not know that an enemy seeks her or for what reasons. Memories Mira remembers vividly her first use of magic. While she could never explain how it happened, she recalls the safety and pride she felt when the elements bent to her will. Each time she calls upon it, her confidence in it’s protection is renewed and memories of her mother's adventure stories as brought to the forefront of her thoughts. Mira can barely recall receiving her facial tattoos from her mother. The pain was intense, her vision was bloodied and she'd lost consciousness many times during the ritual. It scares her to think about how she might do the same to her own daughter one day. Mira's days of exploring are completely lost. What knowledge she had collected over the years about her origins or her bloodline are lost in her memories.   "You're pretty." The smoke and crowd of the tavern made it impossible to tell where the words had come from. It stank like cheap ale and sweat. Mira adjusted her hood to cover her face a bit more in hopes of avoiding drawing attention. The bangle on her wrist flashed gold in the lamp light. Some took notice. She moved between tables, gracefully avoiding bumping in to patrons as if she were an expert serving girl. Finally sitting down at a corner table, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I hear you lookin' fer somebody." The scratchy voice startled her out of the daze. Mira quickly shook her head, thinking it was another man making a pass at her. She looked up to where a person should have been expected to be. There was none. A quick glance to the left and right also brought no face to put to the voice. She lowered her eyes, considering it her frayed nerves playing tricks. A pair of dark eyes stared at her patiently from table height. "So yer not lookin' fer me?" The well-dressed halfling hoisted himself into the full sized chair across from her. She offered an embarassed smile and a nod. "What do ya need?" She bit her lip for a moment and leaned in closer. "I need money for passage out of here. I have jewelry I can give you... nothing else." Her tone was very flat and firm, giving no illusion of any other favors that a man might have imagined they'd gain by helping a pretty girl. The halfling laughed at her seriousness, waving off her defensive position. "That'll be fine lass, it's not too much trouble at all. None at all." The halfling looked up and grew silent as he noticed they had company. A man stood at the table, looking down to Mira. He swayed slightly, obviously having partaken his fill of the cheap ale. A small, rancid burp escaped his mouth as he started to speak. "I said You're pretty." Mira didn't look up. "I said. YOU'RE PRETTY." Again she gave no response. The halfling looked like he might be about to say something, but Mira shook her head and he remained silent. "Stuck up wench! I said..." He reached out to grab her arm. There was a flash of blue light and the chill of the north winds engulfed the room. The man collapsed to the floor clutching his hand, it's skin pale blue and crystallized from the energy. The tavern grew still for a moment. Mira stood and pulled the fur-lined cowl of her cloak even further over her head, the glowing tattoos fading slowly back to normal ink. "The sooner, the better." She spoke one last time to the halfling before stepping away from the table and out of the tavern. All was normal. Theme

[Insacrum]

"The gods cry for us. They cry actual tears; Tears of laughter; Tears of mirth; Tears of indifference. If they don't care about me, why should I care about them?"

Name: Opherous of Lyrec (LĪ-rĕk)

Race: Human

Class: Clever Godling

Description: Opherous of Lyrec looks physically fit, but don’t let his muscles deceive you. His real strength lies in his intelligence. While he isn’t the most imposing of warriors, his tactics and quick thinking have gotten him out of more situations than he can remember (and now that he has amnesia, he doesn’t remember most of them). Like most Goatians, he has an olive completion, and and dark hair the runs in curls if not worn short.

Background: History is rife with the offspring of gods. Their deeds are seen as feats of strength. Their contributions are looked upon as great inventions or resounding theorems of discovery. Even occasionally the extremely beautiful are found useful to the mechanisms of the gods. Monsters are set in their path. Leagues of impassible terrain surround them. Even the gods themselves find sport in in their trials and tribulations. A Godling’s life is anything but dull. For Opherous, the greatest test to him was in finding out who his actual father was, and what lie ahead of him in his life.

A lot of different Goatian (gō-Ā-shĕn) and Lyren (LĪ-rĕn) stories talk of those born to the gods. They are tasked by the gods with some great trial. Even though some of these beings try to not do what the gods want of them they actually end up accomplishing what the gods want regardless of not wanting to do the gods will. Usually these quests end with the individuals being offered immortality, or godhood. The response is usually yes, with the occasional polite no.

Opherous was a Goatian (Greek) slave born in Lyrec (Rome), making him both slave and citizen by their laws. This is the reason that he was able to go from slave to legion leader. He was never one for the gods though. Spiteful of the lot they placed before him in life. Throughout the questing process he became more and more bitter against them.

Born to concubine mother, he was sold by one master to another. His slavery being a commodity, he found a suitable place assisting the different crafters his master had under his employ. With every story, there is a turning point, and for Opherous, it was invasion, and subsequently war. His first true master died, and his second became the army.

Opherous quickly rose in the ranks, finally being assigned to a legion command. The night before his transfer, he was given a vision. From the gods, the fates, or from the void, he didn't know from where, but it gave him something. What exactly it gave is where things get a bit blurry. He remembers seeing the Goatian gods… No Lyren… A mix of both? Everything after the vision is gone. He couldn’t even remember who the members of his legion where.

Build Idea: Intelligence and Dexterity based, with the leadership feat, but with no knowledge of who his cohort or followers are. Not only will he be trying to figure out what he knows how to do, but also what he has been doing these last few years. I'll probably try to take some of the shield bashing feats.

RP Sample: Ophereus looked at the items in front of him. The creature said to select one. One item he would use to make his mark on the world for all eternity. Select correctly and the creature would let him. ’Why where these sphinxes always so melodramatic?!’

There were all manner of items in front of him. Swords and spathas, nets and spears, toys and cookware. But one item stood out to Ophereus. He picked it up, and looked at it, turning it around. Then he looked to the Sphinx. ”This. It makes words eternal. It makes thoughts eternal. It makes me eternal.” The Sphinx sat back down, and closed its eyes, now asleep. Awaiting its next victim.

[Fragmaster01]

 

Name: "I don't believe we've met. You are?"
Verin
Race: "Goodness. Never realized *chomp* teeth could be so *gnash* sharp."
Tiefling
Class: "I just used the wall as an assistant! I didn't expect it to be so flimsy!
Monster
Prior Bio: 'Let the record show that Verin Devonmoor is present as court recorder, like every other day.'
Verin, by all accounts, was a man who did not amount to much. He was friendly, generally sophisticated, and knowledgeable about the world around him, but he lacked that sort of... passion that most do-gooders wore in their adventures. This is probably why he never took up the craft at all! He was content to let his magical talents waste on levitating the kettle to the stove, or lighting a few rooms at night. At work, the elder human could be seen shuffling papers for the local courts; an important job, but not one that really spoke of greatness.

And yet, as with all of his kind, old age crept upon him. The wrinkles sagged a little harder, the womenfolk stopped glancing his way with looks other than obligation, and in general life seemed to have... missed its purpose. He knew, of course, that at one point he might have taken up the greater magical arts, and he had heard a tale or two of a wizard who defied the passage of time by sheer will and meticulous research, but really now. It was far too late to start such a pursuit, wasn't it?

Current Bio: 'Astoundingly sturdy. If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have noticed the spine in my arm. It is a nice touch. The tolerance, not the spine. Whose is this, anyway? Do they want it back?'
By all accounts, Verin appears to have succeeded at his pipe dream, even if he doesn't actually remember doing any more than dreaming about it! She's a lot smaller now, and generally fluffy around the edges. Power is here, Unlimited Power! That's certainly new, and yet it doesn't seem to take any 'getting used to'. Very odd. The womenfolk certainly won't be staring with eyes of romance anytime soon, and she can't, for the life of her, imagine what prompted her to partake of this sort of body in particular, if she were to use it to defy her old age. Peculiar, is the word. And all of it seems rather... monstrous in parts, at least as far as the sharp things are concerned. Demonic? Oh goodness, is someone coming for her soul in exchange for this? That would be terrible awkward. Bureaucrats don't even have souls, or at least that was always the joke around the courthouse. Some demon would be miffed to be missing their quota on account of... young Verin.

General Premise: 'And... I'm supposed to punch them? In the face, you say. My goodness, that is very violent, can we not just talk this out?'
The joys of a polite, well-meaning bureaucrat behind the controls of a rambunctious, overly powerful melee fighter. She's very confused about this whole hero business, even if she likes it in practice. Oh goodness, did he just punch people through a wall? Woo! Wait... what if they file for damages? Uh oh. That wall looks expensive. Mage? Can we get a Stone Wall spell over here? A fabricate? Hmm... this doesn't bode well.
Either way, expect a far more reasoned approach to being a hero than a standard adventurer, even despite the madness that is bureaucratic expectations. She does things because they make sense, and when they don't... well, her head hurts, but at least she knows what to punch into reasonableness.

Class Build: 'Don't mind me! I'm just on a little power trip. Wheeeeeee!'
Keeping with the idea of someone setting out to make the Best Little Shell, she's a nigh unkillable monster. Constitution, Dexterity, and Intelligence as her Monster stats, using Mind Powers to punch people with odd mental bits of force(or just slap them from across the room). Time powers, general punching antics, and survivability all in a little flexible package. Low on the damage, but if she can survive longer than they can, who's to care?

 

Pros!
Nicely tanky. All her AC bonuses are Armor/Natural, so they stack with ally buffs too.
Excellent mid-range. 60 foot speed helps close, and she still gets 3 attacks at 25 feet even on a charge. No refuge!
Doesn't need stat-boosting items, armor, or weapons. Other allies can take those for themselves.
Fast healing 5 means if you don't kill her, she comes back.
Flight and hover lets her float about and ignore terrain.
Cons!
Low will save.
Minimal elemental spread. She does mixed bludgeoning and lightning, that's it. 5 points of armor penetration, but that's not much versus epic monsters.
Any sort of status-clearing spell heals her status attacks, so they don't stick around healers at all.
No evasion.

[New Age Warlock]

Application Name: Captain Laura Redmist Race: Human Class: Buccaneer 20 Theme Song (Pirate) Theme Song (Early Life) Description: Boasting short red hair and fair skin, Laura hides several scars under her clothing, including a sharkbite on her thigh and a bullet buried in between her first and second ribs, all of which she now as no memory of getting. As a pirate, she bears an interesting aroma, a mix of grog, pitch, blood, salt and sweat, even though she regularly wore perfume in her last memories. Her voice has a soft tone with a distinctive accent, but when she is angry it turns sharp and loud like thunder in a storm. Background: Laura was born to a fairly well off family in a coastal city, and as such she spent much of her younger years on her families elaborately decked out sloop, the Rose Dawn. As she grew older, Laura grew a love of the sea and of ships, but this was tempered by the societal pressures of her families status, spending more and more time in her teen years going to balls and talking to potential suitors. It was her 15th birthday when her life took a turn. Going out with her family for a two day jaunt on the ocean, tragedy struck and the ship was caught in a storm, separating young Laura from her family. Although she currently does not remember anything that happened after this event, the true story is one of many twists and turns that could keep a scribe busy for a lifetime. Saved after several days adrift by pirates, Laura was brought in as the captain's cabin-girl. Intent on surviving, she learned the tasks needed to work on a pirate ship and skipped around on several vessels, seeing her fair share of action and having to learn as she went. Through the years she worked her way up until finally, 10 years after her disappearance, Laura Redmist became captain of the Song of the Pearl, a sleek raiding schooner which proved the bane of many a trade fleet. After 5 long years commanding a fearsome crew, an unexpected hurricane blew caught the Song of the Pearl, sending Laura overboard, where she would later somehow find herself in this strange place, with no memory of the passing 15 years. Mechanics: Taking Heart of the Sea and Eye for Talent alternative racial traits, Taking Leadership feat (with previous cohort and followers being first mate and crew respectively), Taking Sea-Souled and Charming traits.

[Narsis]

Who is he: Yes that's one of the sample names. If there is one thing I lack in RP stuff it's coming up with a name that doesn't sound stupid. Also I'm open to any suggestions you might have (I'm not exactly attached to the name).Baru, yes the DM is letting me do this in combo with paladinChaotic although he's very close to neutral right nowGood Male Tiefling (Div spawn); well more orangeRed hair, mouth full of fangs, something more akin to claws than finger/toe-nails, and an oddly well at first glance anyway. closer inspection reveals that it's slightly transparent and gives off a very fine, sparse iridescent powderpale and shiny skin.

What is he: A Vitalist (Life Leech) 3/Paladin (Hospitaler) 17Vitadin Oh and he's an archer. Basic idea is to "smite evil" the baddies while keeping the party up and running.

 

When/Where did he: Born and raised in a small town in the middle of nowhere, to say Baru had a difficult childhood would be like saying it's difficult to survive a free-fall from a couple thousand feet. Sure it's survivable under the right conditions (and a ton of luck), but it's gonna seriously mess you up. On top of the lack of a father figure in his life and the physical traits revealing a less than human father (who would want to hang around with a devil's son? or help his mother. not to mention it just looks...weird), he technically still agesaged at at rate 2 to 3 times slower than everyone else around him. So when everyone else born around the same time reaches their mid-teens, he's still a child, and by the time he hits puberty they'll all be or deadmarried and have kids of their own (possibly even as "old" as him). I'm sure you can imagine the insults/general attitude tossed his direction. The only reason he even really made alive, not mentally deranged, and generally in good healthit through all that is because of the one shining beacon in his life: his mother.

and when I say gods I primarily mean the good gods, but the neutral gods probably too and even the evil ones just outta shear respect for the woman and all she had to deal withGods bless her soul was she ever good to him. For every insult, curse, or dirty look sent his way, she had a praise, hug, and kiss to make it disappear. For every beatings weren't uncommoncruel or unfair act against him or her, she had words of kindness, comfort, and hope. For which was actually quite often considering his natureevery time he felt hatred or sought revenge, she showed him the path of love, mercy, and forgiveness. She was the at least in his eyesshining example of everything good, wholesome, and pure in the world.

It seems appropriately unfortunate then that his well before waking up wherever he is nowlast memories involved his mother's death. She had come down with a fever that just didn't go away and periodically was wracked with pain. He did just about short of selling his own soul...well actually he was going to try it but she forbade himeverything he could to save her. Everyone else though just ignored his pleas for help. Eventually after a few weeks she died. He buried her under a tree next to their can't really call a small drafty/leaky shack that "wouldn't even be fit to stable a horse" (as someone once commented) a househome and held a short of which only he attended and involved him reciting some random prayer she had taught himservice for her. Then he gathered up their an old and very tattered book of nursery rhymes, a thread-bare blanket, a cracked clay bowl, some crusts of bread and moldy cheese, and the lone copper piece they had been saving "for a rainy day"belongings and set out on a to somewhere...he didn't really care at the timejourney. His exact last memory was falling asleep that same night under a tree by the side of the road with a and his thread-bare blanketrock for a pillow.

Why does he: Basically he's at a or rather thinks he's at that point in his life...it's where he is from all his memories that he does havepoint in his life where he's trying to i.e. does he embrace it, shun it, something in-between?reconcile his fiendish heritage with his very human upbringing and a society that is very much against beings like him. He is very distrusting of others, and in particular those in places of authority. He views everything that happened to and others like himhim as generally being their fault for not having better laws/enforcing said laws better. He is also quick to come to the which you know sometimes requires a bit of offensedefense/aid of someone that or appears to be. it's also worth noting that he sees this kind of a lot. in any interaction between people there is generally someone in a "superior" position and someone in an "inferior" position and he's looking to make sure the "superior" doesn't "abuse" his place. it's kinda a fuzzy grey area...especially when he's the one in the "superior" position.is being oppressed, usually without a lot of it's not that he's naive of the consequences, rather he cares very little for what might happen to him/the oppressorconcern for the repercussions. Generally, he values life and freedom, although he probably couldn't put those thoughts/feelings into good thing he's not writing this bio then eh?words.

Other stuff: Nothing really at the moment. My google fu is weak when it comes to finding pictures and there isn't anything else I can really think of at the moment.

[Narsis]

Who is he: unless I think of a better oneZak, Chaotic Neutral Male Blue; Generally hairless, long-pointy ears/nose, short, blue-skin, goblin...

What is he: Egoist (Dual-Discipline: Shaper) 10/Psion Uncarnate 10. Incorporeal: check. Telekinesis: check. Invisible astral constructs: check. Stealthy: check(ish). Buffing himself, his construct(s), and the party into combat beasts (literally and figuratively): check. Egocentric, prankster personality: check.

When/Where did he: Zak grew up as a only mentioned because his race is changed.human street urchin in the big city. Most of his time was spent working for one of the underworld gangs. Gathering intel, picking pockets, generally getting into trouble with the law/shopkeepers/travelers/pretty much everyone. As he got older he started moving up so to speak. Getting more responsibility, doing dirtier jobs, making a name for himself on the streets (or so he thought). Also getting paid more money.

Then comes the day he gets offered a think a few hundred gplot of coin to go help out a friend of the boss. He figured it'd be a pretty sweet deal. All he had to do was take some stupid tests...

And that's basically the last thing he remembers.

Why does he: Generally it can be said that Zak didn't really enjoy the underworld life. Always being someone else's lackey. Work, work and more work. Never a chance for lots of fun. So now he wakes up with a body that is smaller, and bluer, and bigger-eared...er than he had before. Oh and he's incorporeal. And can freaking move things with his mind. Hijinks are sure to follow.

Quick note: he may be chaotic neutral but he's not chaotic stupid. Sure he might test the party's patience from time to time, but he won't intentionally put them into a or make a bad one worsebad situation. At least not if it has potential long-lasting consequences...

The rest: Nothing at the moment really.

[dalarangreen]

Application Durral Sanctus Durral Sanctus Or, "Dur the Tinkerer" Race: Ratfolk Gender: Male Class: Mechanically, 20 levels of Witch. Read more details below.Hermit Age: Around 35 in human years, or Middle Aged (if Mystic allows)21 The Catch: What is so dangerous that you would leave all your memories behind just to forget it?   'Who am I?' The words stood on the page, bold and mysterious. He wondered again why he had erased his memories, or at least so the note he carried with him had suggested. It was a brief note, scrawled and hastily written, said only this: Mysterious Note: "Our real name is Durral Sanctus. Never share our real name with anyone, lest we be chased to the very ends of the Universe. I do not know what the future may bring, but I know that we have the skill and ingenuity to face it. Be well, my future self, and trust in yourself and in Layla." Durral--or "Dur the Tinkerer" as he now went by--looked around the room at his sketches and notebooks. He had found that he had an incredible knack for drawing and inventing the most mysterious of items and creatures. Hence his name, "the Tinkerer." Maybe it had been some ultimate, apocalyptic invention that he had forced himself to forget... He shook his head. It was no use thinking about it too hard. He didn't remember much of anything from his previous life. Even Layla did not seem to be able to tell him much. His gaze fell upon her, perched upside down from the ceiling. The bat followed him around everywhere, and though she was his familiar, and they knew each other, they still seemed to have trouble communicating. No doubt another effect of whatever fateful magic had erased his memories. Sleep. Sleep was what he needed... He was exhausted from a long day's work, and even more so from all his musings about his past. Besides, if the answers to his mysterious past did not find him in his waking life, perhaps they would find him in his dreams. Character Description His Looks: Eyes that shine with intelligence...   Durral Sanctus is a bright eyed, middle-aged, ratfolk with dark brown fur. Though he is far from frail, he moves slowly and deliberately, and his age is beginning to show. Except in his eyes. Even through his glasses, Durral's eyes gleam with an intelligence and curiosity for life and the world that is at once childlike and at the same time wise. His creativity and wit are certainly more than a match for any man, beast, or creature. His Personality: An inventor with a loving heart and curious spirit...   Durral's current description as, "Dur the Tinkerer" is very apt. He is an inventor and curious fellow. He will often make animated toys for children, or otherwise build or repair machinery for townspeople. Though his knack for creating mysterious and useful tools for common people seems to border on witchcraft, his generous spirit is quite obvious in conversation and any suspicion of malicious intent is quickly dismissed. He is quiet and thoughtful, but not shy. He listens intently and speaks his mind when he has carefully considered his words.   Character Themes, Goals, and Secrets His Goals: To remember what was so important that he chose to forget it...   To remember why he chose to lose his memories. To provide useful creations and inventions to make people's lives easier and more fulfilled. Themes: What Durral doesn't know...   Durral is a full-fledged Witch, though he doesn't really remember or associate that with himself. Durral was at one point an abbot, a pious man who cared for the poor, sick, and injured. Durral is an inventor and has always been a creative and novel thinker. Somehow, the conflict between the church and his "heretical" beliefs, actions, and creations led him to be chased and hunted down as a "witch" often is. Character Mechanics Party Role: Hexes and Constructs...   My goal is for Durral to cause his enemies to curse their evil nature by some combination of hexes and summoning--particularly with an emphasis on Constructs. One theme I like about Durral is his re-discovery of the hexes he can cast on people, particularly since he is generally a nice and kindhearted person. I hope to take the "Craft: Construct" feat tree so that Durral can create Wonderous Items and potentially summon Minor Constructs to do his bidding... Though I haven't entirely worked out the mechanics of that yet.

[Rolzup]

CENNCROITH

 

Name: Cenncroith.
Race: Human
Class: Synthesist Summoner -- dependent largely upon his Eidolon self, he’ll rarely resort to using other summoning spells. Which should make things easier, especially in a PbP game.
Background: He remembers growing up as a beggar, on the streets of a cold and unforgiving city. He remembers trying very hard to forget those years. He wasn't expecting to succeed quite so well, though....
Personality: A very ugly man who is trying very hard to become the sort of man that he knows that he is meant to be, both physically and morally. He’s angry at the world, without knowing exactly why, and this bothers him tremendously. He wants to be someone that others look up to, in every sense.

My name? Call me Cenncroith; I cannot say if this is the name that I was born with, but it is the one that comes most readily to my lips.

What do I know of myself? Damnable little, I must confess. But then, we are all in that same boat, are we not?

I know this much: I am not a pleasant sight. Quite the contrary. I am scarred, yes, but I doubt that I was any more pleasing to the eye before I was so marked. It’s not a handsome face, is it? Nose too big, and too crooked. Narrow little eyes, a twisted mouth, a weak chin….

No? I appreciate your kindness, but please: do not argue with me. As I said, I am honest. This is one of my virtues, I think. I doubt that honesty has served me well, in the past, but one must be true to oneself, yes? Even if...or perhaps because...one does not actually know oneself.

And truly, this face? This body, stunted and broken? They don’t matter. They are not real. Not in any way that matters! This body, yes, it eats, it sleeps, it breathes and it bleeds.

But does it live?

No, not really. Not in this shape.

Would you see my true form? Would you look upon my soul, and not my face? A far lovelier sight than this crude assemblage of blood and bone, I assure you.

There is nothing to fear, I assure you. Not from me, at least. It is a terrible sight, my true Self, but that is the nature of a man’s soul, is it not? How can one look upon perfection and not feel diminished by it?

Behold, then, this marvel! This perfect specimen of a man! The ideal to which all must aspire!

Twelve feet tall he stands, with skin of luminous gold. Upon his forehead burns a sigil, sign and symbol of his Power. His features are perfect, his smile kindly, his eyes -- the blue of sapphire! -- both gentle and wise.

But do not underestimate him! He is stronger even than he appears, and his skill with a blade is simply unparalleled. And even unarmed, a single blow of his hand is enough to kill most men.

And do you see? He treads upon the very air as easily as upon the earth, and moves with the swiftness of the wind!

Now,of course, as I warned you...you are afraid. Of course you are; you look upon a force of nature.

But your fear is needless. Cenncroith is a good man, a strong man, a hero. Only the evil need fear him...and their fear should be great indeed, for to them he...I...shall show no mercy.

That, I swear.

*****

(No interest in making a killing machine here. Did a quick Eidolon build to get things set in my mind, and ended up with:

Improved Natural Armor x5 (5)
Large (4)
Ability Increase (4)
Flight -- Wingless(4) -- increased Speed x2
Immunity: Fire (2)
Immunity: Cold (2)
Slam (1)
Improved Damage -- Slam (1)
Scent (1)

[CorpZeWolVe]

Theme: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18SUFbABxNQ
Name: Simon
Race: Vishkanya
Class: Ranger 10/Red Mantis Assassin 10

Prior Bio:The only things known of Simon is the legend of a man with spectacles and the eyes of a snake. Not many consider the legend of his introduction to you meaning imminent demise; being especially coercive often his targets were females of which he poisoned in order to prevent coups or kill spies for another kingdom. It wasn't common that people found the entry of each poison placed into his targets, and they never even considered his bludgeonings or stranglings remotely related. It bothered him not. Eventually he was sent to kill a silver dragon in human form, the likes of the gods mingling with inner city folk. That's the last hit he took before he resoundingly disappeared, most think for naught.

Current Bio:A human currently having no recollection of his colorful past, Simon lives on a farm working the fields for a woman with glowing silver locks and a radiant smile. Often he goes into town and enjoys a nice drink, returning to the often taxing need of assisting the lady once more. Chreiya understood quite well his need to kill, and would often have him do the butchering, and in kind would take out her anger towards his callous ways in form of verbal interrogation. It made for an interesting feud, but it often sent Simon back to the tavern not often asking or caring about why he got there, just glad to have a drink in hand.

The Bar: Simon strode into the bar his spectacles of revered legend rested on a desk at home now used for studying in his spare time to learn more about the anatomy of animals. His large cat remained walking along the hallways of the small hamlet he owned. Muttered with malcontents and stale stench of ale, he scurried to the bar. An man sat awaiting his untimely arrival. It had been a long night, and Chreiya had just lost her $*%@ about something as simple as an overly prepared chicken. "Why don't you take me on in darts? Let's see if you've still the technique of a master." to which Simon scoffs. He waves the bartender in turn receiving his usual: an old fashioned. Two more arrive in expectancy. Baring a smile he says,"You're on!"

The man stands aiming in full belief he'll hit his target, and FWOOSH, it clicks against the double 20. FWOOSH FWOOSH. One hits near the bull's eye and the other again double 20. The man looks callously towards him as if he's done what no other man could. "Let us see what you can do then huh farmboy?" scoffs the man in a painfully detectable accent. Simon's eyes spark as he hits the middle on each throw and puts back another drink. The bar is loud enough as it is making bets against them both. Eventually having been unable to accept defeat, the man makes a dive for Simon with a bottle. Quickly Simon directs the man to the floor. After being broken up Simon shrugs off the other guys and starts heading back to the house. Little did he know that his friend would follow. He could tell as he listened in the distance, footsteps taunting him; they caused paranoia. "Hey *******, come over here and fight me like a man goddammit. I lost it all because of you, **** you.",the man stumbled clearly in a drunken haze. He charges Simon, and quickly is answered with a butcher knife in his chest and himself planted on the floor. In a panic the removal of a butcher knife can be difficult, however this was resounded with care. Simon knew just what to do and drug the man next to a butcher's shop. Casing the joint and discovering its emptiness he retrieved the butcher's own knife and planted it into his chest with his hand soon after. Murder!? **** **** ****. This I keep to myself.

[MundayKnight]

 

"If you seek power then take it!... or at least control someone who can"-Frask The Binder.

Name: Frask The Binder
Race: Dromite
Class: Psion (telepath) 5/Thrallherd 10/Body Snatcher 5

Theme Song (I like the idea of a theme song as part of an application): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMrFiOjxk5sThe Protomen-Breaking Out

Future of build: A master in the shadows, controlling politicians and warriors alike. Frask is built to be the ultimate mastermind, if you find out who he is he simply becomes someone else.

Personality: Frask is kind and carefree, whatever path led the young dromite to become the creature he was must have been profound as there is little malice in the young dromite, its attitude is more akin to an inkeeper than a slaver of minds.

Sensory Description: "Frask currently looks like a young adult Dromite but he has been around for far longer than his physical body implies and the way he moves showes this to some degree, his movements are very self-assured. His voice is currently a strong bass with the subtle sounds of clicking able to be heard by the observant. When he walks the clackig of his chitin can be heard but rarely is due to his clothing choices. His chitin also shines a briliant white in the light of day, though he has been known to take the bodies of other colored dromites and even non-dromites when the mood finds him. If one were to touch Frask they would find his chitin to be supple with youth but still far harder than flesh. While few have had a chance to dine on Frask and been willing to discuss it the creatures Frask have asked about it have all stated the flavor is among the worst things they could imagine. Lastly is its presence, simply being around Frask you will see stones levitating and constantly feel your mind being probed, it is as if the creature cannot control its own power and it spills into the world around him."-excerpt from the book "Frask The Binder, The Body Thief, The Devourer of Nations" from Bartnas the Minstral.

Early Life/Backstory: Frask grew up as a member of the white shelled voice caste. Frasks' few short years (that he can remember) found it to be an incredibly swift learner in the psionic arts. Frask's powers first manifested when it was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of bandits breaking into the family caravan. The burst of psychic energy that erupted from Frask instantly fried the minds of the bandits and the family left the shells of the men on the road.

Frask quickly learned how to control its powers and became a hub of information transference among its clan. After a few years of this Frask began working on a larger scale and started working in the mines Finding itself very talented at using mental powers to assist others in working even when they should be exhausted and relaying information preventing other Dromites from dying from gas leaks, cave ins, and other disasters of mining made Frask feel worthy of the praise he was given..

Now... well now Frask doesn't know. Its body has been changed and the world around itself is so vastly different than it once was, Frask cannot find its clan or even the surrounding villages but finds that the mines that Frask and its people had been digging were now sealed near the entrance. The biggest problem is that Frask now has the feeling of other minds far deeper in its own than ever before, never before has Frask felt every movement another creature made but now it finds that two creatures are embedded in its head and can feel more on the surface. Have you ever felt other minds in your own? How about in the hundreds? Well I will tell you something, migraine beyond imagining.

[dpbj602]

Placeholder.

Star

Intermediate