[Characters] PC Roster

[Sendor]

Please post your initial application, including your 10 Minute Background in secret, here when you are accepted.

Player	Character	Race	Class	Trait
Kurokitt	Sariel Sarmere	Half-Elf	Sorcerer (Undead Bloodline)	Making Good on Promises
Jondera	Akiva Elmerin	Half-Elf	Inquisitor of Pharasma	Subject of Study
ShinobiMaster123	Helsing	Human	Alchemist	Subject of Study
DarkMemories	Plixil Brannor	Dread Gnome	Bard (Archivist)	Teacher's Pet

[Jondera]

Application Name: Akiva Elmerin Race: Half-elf (Ancestral Arms: Elven Curveblade alternate racial trait) Class: Inquisitor of Pharasma Alignment: True Neutral Party Role: Melee combat/secondary healer & buffer/professional undead hater Traits: Subject of Study (Undead), Corpse Hunter Description: Akiva is a severe young woman with long pale hair and a grim set to her face. If she isn't wearing her armor, she dresses in the dark robes favored by Pharasman clergy, though she makes a habit of wearing gloves even then to cover the extensive scars across her left arm and hand. She's fairly tall and solidly built from her years of weapons training, but doesn't tend to push herself forward as much as she perhaps could with her size - she prefers quiet observation rather than bulling in right from the start. Personality: Akiva is quiet and reserved - even with her closest associates within the church. She has let very few close to her, emotionally, since the deaths of most of her family with her caravan. Having dedicated herself not just to the Pharasman temple but to the eradication of all undead, Akiva shows a steel determination and purpose that can be off-putting to many, though she is unfailingly polite with those she deals with outside of her duties as an Inquisitor. In private, she mourns the loss of the relaxed pleasure of her youth in the caravan, but her fear of additional loss - especially given her chosen vocation - has thus far prevented her from seeking out or reacquiring any more such relationships. Background: Akiva has dim memories of her youth, travelling with a Varisian caravan, the company of her mother and the occasional visits from her elven father, in which he would teach her of that share of her heritage. All of the joys and experiences of the continual journey across the lands of Avistan. All of which ended, nearly fifteen years ago, when their caravan was attacked by ghouls while passing through Ustalav. They were camped for the night, and the creatures snuck up through the dark, taking the guards by surprise. They blew through the camp like a dark wind, ripping people from their beds with claws stained black with dried blood. Akiva found herself dragged from her tent, unable to move from the ghouls' paralytic touch, claws rending the flesh of her left arm, forced to watch as her mother was ripped apart and devoured. She was sure she would die, but a band of Pharasman clerics and undead-hunters had been tracking the ghouls, and interrupted the grisly feast; the ghouls were put to the sword, and the few survivors were taken in by the Pharasman temple. During her recovery, she was visited by one Professor Lorrimor, who took a hand in her healing, not on a physical level but on an emotional level. While the others moved on, returning to Varisia with another caravan after their recovery, Akiva - partially through Professor Lorrimor's influence - couldn't bring herself to return to the road. She chose to stay on at the temple, dedicating herself to the goddess by whose hand her life had been spared - and, she believed, her mother's spirit had found rest. But she refused to simply serve Pharasma as a lay sister; while all who follow the Gray Lady view the undead as abominations, Akiva has gone further and dedicated herself to their eradication by any means possible. Now, with the Professor's passing, she has come to pay her respects to him. RP Example: Linky

[ShinobiMaster123]

Name: Helsing

Race: Human

Class: Alchemist

Alignment: Neutral

Party Role: Support

Trait: Subject of Study;

Description: With his leather hat, his black, determined eyes peer out with a cunning strength. His brown shoulder length hair is unkempt and is kept in place by his hat. His loose, leather alchemist coat drapes over him, the inner pouches filled with potions, components and other materials. His black studded leather jerkin and pants protect him from physical injury, but also keeping him looking stylish and menacing. The armor also seems to help him when in the shadows. His oak light crossbow ever at the ready to send silvery death towards any threatening monster.

Personality: Grim and serious most times, Helsing stays vigilant to the task, monster hunting. His obsessive need to gain knowledge to find ways to kill monsters leads him to dangerous situations. He tends to laugh in the face of danger to cover his fear, but that decreases with every death of a monster. He is religious but only when it is convienent for himself. His personality tends to change only in the midst of Victoria Claus, one of the daughter's of a man Helsing's father killed. He becomes like a nervous, awkward almost bubbling fool. He cares for her more than he even knows.

Background:

Helsing was the son of a local doctor, Dr. Hans Jekyll. With clerics in abundance, the position of doctor was one that was rare. Natural healing is where one can rely on one's own abilities instead of a belief in a deity which may denounce you at his/her whim. He also was an Alchemist of some reknown and trained his son well in his craft. He developed a mutagen to unlock the deepest demons locked within yourself at the cost of your reasoning. He called it the Hyde formula. Helsing isn't sure why.

On his 18th birthday, he suffered a terrible loss. He stopped at his family home to find his mother was murdered by some vicious creature. Her throat was torn out with some sort of animalistic bite, and claws torn out her entrails. He found bloody clothes that belong to his father, but no body. With the amount of blood found, he could not have survived. He screamed in anguish as his grief was apparent. A smoldering flame in his heart was fanned by this act, as his rage grew.

He sought out the assistance of a family friend Professor Lorrimor. He had studied such creatures and may have known what has transpired. After the Professor, studied the murder scene his face grimaced and had a flash of recognition in his eyes. He explained to Helsing that such creatures exist in the world that cling to evil and the supernatural. He would assist Helsing with tracking down the murdering creature, but he would have to kill it with extreme malice when he found it, regardless of the consequences. Helsing wasn't quite sure what he meant by that but was willing to do what he must to avenge his family.

The Professor told Helsing to use the family heirloom crossbow, with bolts with silver tips that were dipped in Holy Water. He also gave him a silver bladed dagger as well. He gave him an arcane golden arrow that he spoke to, that started to point in a direction to the southeast. Looking to the SouthEast, he notices that was the direction of a forbidden forest, but that did not deter his quest.

Armed with the knowledge given to him by Professor Lorrimor, he was able to track down the creature responsible for the death of his mother. It was a werewolf.

After firing at range with the crossbow, he had to resort to attacking in melee combat with the dagger. He drank down the Hyde formula to assist with killing the creature. All became blurry and his memory distorted as he was able to slay the creature. As he came back to reality from his drunken bloodlust, he found that his father was lying dead next to him. The foul creature was his father. The shock was overwhelming as he confronted the Professor asking him if he knew the full situation. The Professor answered that he did know, but if he passed that info to him, he may have hesitated and became a victim himself. Helsing's happy go lucky attitude was replaced with a grim and sarcastic edge to him.

He now goes forth as a monster hunter. He thanked the professor and cursed him at the same time. From time to time, their paths have crossed in the helping each other in their own quests. After hearing of the death of the Professor, he comes to pay his respects to his mentor.






RP Example: Helsing bends down in the dusky abandoned cabin. He brushes away the dust and debris to find a trapdoor in the floor. He opens the creaky trapdoor with a grunt and sees blackness beyond. The edge of a ladder inviting him below. He reaches into his leather trench coat for a flask and shakes it vigorously. Illumination explodes from within the flask basking it's light around like a torch. Helsing clips the flask on the front of his trench coat and starts his decent into the cellar.

Taking out his crossbow he loads a silver bolt, thanks to Professor Lorrimor, he has the knowledge to anticipate the worst. The cellar holds casks lined up against one wall. He stops short as he hears a shuffling of feet in the far corner of the room. He tenses as he raises the crossbow up. The smell of rotting flesh is unmistakable. The zombie shuffles out smacking its decayed lips hungry for brains. Helsing quickly switches weapons as he remembers that the crossbow bolt will only do minimal damage.

He quickly pops the cap off a flask he takes out of his trench coat and quickly drinks down the Hyde formula. As the liquid cascades into his body, he starts to transform, becoming a hulking mass of muscle. Although his reasoning is compromised, he still sees the zombie as a threat.

The zombie attempts to attack and is slammed by his blow, but Helsing just smiles as he prepares to unleash a deadly attack....

[DarkMemories]

Plixil Brannor, Dossier Name: Plixil Brannor: link to character sheet Race: Dread Gnome Class: Bard (archivist) Alignment: True Neutral Party Role: Support, crowd control and long diatribes on the origin of aberrations and their impact on social order(Lore bot) Campaign Trait: Teacher's Pet Description:Though he would appear short to almost any being in the world, Plixil is quick to state he is average in statue for his people, and then quickly change the subject to something less likely to be quantified in centimeters. His black hair is cropped short and held out of his eyes by means of an unusual circlet. It appears to be a simple leather strap with two other straps running perpendicular across his cheeks and over his ears, but there appear to be grommets evenly spaced along the brow and jowls, as if something was to be attached there. His clothes are neat and well kept, but do not edge toward the usual fanciful designs of other gnomes. They are utilitarian first and foremost, of drab colors that appear to have seen a lot of washing. Dust seems to gather in the crinkles along his straps, probably an unfortunate side effect of his profession. Personality: Most expect a gnome to be jolly and whimsical, but few seem to remember that there are two distinct branches of their ancestral fae. Being one of those so called 'dread' gnomes, Plixil is occasionally to bouts of cynicism and churlishness. He generally is aware of how he can become 'cranky little midget' and as such attempts to hide that nature of his by quoting fact before any amount of disagreement or debate begins. All to often this has the opposite effect of stabilizing the conversation, the matter-of-fact nature of his exposition tends to be rather blunt and in some cases, insensitive to the morose or macabre nature of whats being said. Beyond Plixil's quirky face persona, he does have an inquisitive nature and will freely share anything he knows or is requested to recant. He is honest to a fault, and generally dislikes deceptions, seeing them as a hurdle toward anyone ever learning anything of worth.

Background Plixil was born into a family of five in a less-than-affluent gnome community about 5 leagues from Ravengro. An unimpressive middle-child, the young gnome had to compete for parental attention, his dour old brother Gimblix and conniving little sister Trinni often getting the vast majority. His family was already maligned in the community of exuberant gnomes; but its hard not to stick out when you appear as colorful as ashes in a cauldron. On top of this, his brother and sister became notorious cut-purses, and were oddly condoned by his parents. This drove Plixil out of his own community to find his fate elsewhere. After finally making it to Ravengro, his natural curiosity found him in the service to Professor Lorrimor. He remained as both student and research assistant in the older man's care, finding both favor and a never-ending supply of opportunity to feed his thirst for knowledge. His personality marked him as the teacher's pet, much to the chagrin of his cohorts. He remained with the Professor until they had an argument regarding a tome of magical aberrations turning up missing. The Professor accused the gnome of stealing it, as Plixil was attempting to aid in a research project regarding fizzled magic and the odd effects of certain spells. In indignation, and after many heated words regarding old age and the effects on ones mental acuity, Lorrimor's young protege tendered his resignation and went his own way.

RP Examples RP Example:Cheap crocks of vodka and beer clinked precariously as overtired and over-bored menfolk tried to socialize after a day of farming dirt; or whatever they actually did this close to the mountains. Then there was the smell; sweat and urine mixed with cheap liquor, enough to make almost anyone feel a bit queasy. The only sensible option was to join the men in their swill and blow enough smoke around ones self to help insulate from the malodorous, cacophonous din. It would be into this otherwise normal night, bathed in a smoke screen of indifference and cheap brandy, that Plixil found himself on the receiving end of change. He been here, in Cortaud, for about 2 weeks. The gnome had intended to depart north and out of Ustalav, leaving behind no further contact with his disgraceful resignation/sacking, but the path through to mountains had been reportedly very treacherous lately. What he hoped to find on the road was a moot point anymore, his research had been delayed long enough to cover his mind with a pall of apathy. To him, it was just another blank slate ahead; and an unspoken hope ride the caravans with the Traveller's again. He doubted they'd be there near this point, perhaps only the barbarian tribes and their fur traders would be there moving toward Avistan, but even those would be acceptable company as he restarted his life again. He shouldn't have waited so long in a single town, especially one still in the Palatinates. It was only a matter of time before someone did manage to get a hold of him on business. This night, hiding in his own tobacco smoke, a courier found Plixil. The gnome was caught of guard, and stuttering an acceptance of the missive, thanked the courier before sending him off with a few bits. Plixil's heart hardened when he saw the address of the sender. Lorrimorr, Kendra Prof. Lorrimor Ravengro Canterwall The multiple addresses that Plixil could be found at were plastered about the rest of the envelope. Whatever the need, the Professor's brood was eager to find him. She probably sent a copy of this letter to fully half of his last known contacts or shippers, so the least he could do was open the bloody thing and see what was so blasted important. The gnome instantly regretted ever accepting the letter once the seal was broken. He sighed heavily and pulled the note out, its formal writing and obviously measured wording was clear from the first paragraph. He would not be going to Avistan any time soon. He finished the small glass of substandard swill and snuffed his pipe. Within thirty minutes, he'd paid his stay in the inn and booked passage back to Ravengro. He had a funeral to attend. Other examples of my RPing can be found here: Link 1, post 43-45 Link 2, post 166

[Kurokitt]

Sariel Sarmere Name: Sariel Sarmere Race: Half-Elf Class: Sorcerer (Undead Bloodline) Alignment: Neutral Good Party Role: Magical utility Trait: Making Good on Promises Description: On the short side and still young Sariel is practically a text book example of vibrant youth. More inclined to reading indoors and light work she's not exactly what anyone would call physically fit, but she's managed to lose the coltish awkwardness of her younger years but hasn't quite settled into the full confidence of adulthood. Always fastidiously clean and presentable, her thick chestnut hair is always done up in perfect braids and her clothing carefully chosen for the task at hand, though she's not one to wear much in the way of frippery or jewelry, having not had the luxury or real need as a child. Personality: Bookish, trusting, sweet, and a little naive it's pretty clear Sariel was heavily sheltered and hasn't had much exposure to the outside world. She's eager to please and gets most excited when she has the opportunity to speak at length about topics she finds interesting, like the vagaries of the arcane or how to achieve the perfect crust on a whole wheat boule. Not quite bubbly, she does have a natural energy that can be a little overwhelming for those not prepared to handle her enthusiasm. Background:   ...There goes the baker with his tray like always... Sariel came from humble upbringing, the child of a baker and a fisherman in the town of Erages in Kyonin. Being an only child came with its ups and downs. On the one hand she never wanted for material things, her father and mother more than willing to dote on her, even so far as stretching themselves beyond their means. On the other, though, their over-protectiveness was smothering and more often than not kept Sariel from forming any real friendships as a child as she was rarely allowed to be anywhere unsupervised for more than an hour or two. This caused quite a bit of drama in the Sarmere household. Sariel's parents wanted a simple life for their daughter, but that was not to be. ...But behind that fair facade, I'm afraid she's rather odd. Very different from the rest of us... No one is really sure when it started as there had always been small abnormalities in the Sarmere house, but the most noticeable was when Sariel would be helping her mother and loaves of bread would suddenly go moldy in her hands or nets would rot away when she was helping her father repair them. Much of this was swept under the rug and hand waved away, both out of misunderstanding and lingering fear of what it meant. Progressively these little episodes became more and more noticeable In desperation her parents scarped together every last fund they could in order to enroll her at Erages Academy in the hopes that someone had the answers and could get it under control. Though the Academy wasn't necessarily known for its magical acumen, it did house some other folks who were magically inclined and were able to help guide her into her early years as a young sorcerer. This was the golden time, surrounded by people who didn't shun or restrain her, and more books than she could shake a stick at. Being an archaeological study gold mine it was only a matter of time before the good Professor paid a visit. Being still quite young and not ready to venture off to the dig sites herself, Sariel was nevertheless given the task of managing Lorrimor's notes and assisting him with all mundane needs. It wasn't the most glamorous of tasks but she was eager to prove herself useful and being naturally curious and charming she easily made friends and was soon more involved in the research than was originally intended. A portion of the research involved genealogy and it was one night while they were poring over dusty old tomes and scrolls that a startling connection was made. ...It's a pity and a sin, she doesn't quite fit in... Somewhere, in the long long ago, Sariel had had an ancestor who had done terrible unthinkable things. Already considered odd and potentially dangerous by the townsfolk at large she absolutely could not let this information get out into the wider world. Tearfully she begged Lorrimor to keep the information a secret. Whether he agreed out of pity or some greater purpose was something only known to him. In exchange for this egregious omission in his research he made Sariel promise that she would return the favor one day. Not fully knowing what this meant she agreed, but after the Professor had departed and the years began to pass the enormity of what she had asked of him and he required in return settled heavily on her shoulders. Their correspondence were few and far between but the favor was never called in. Now that Lorrimor is dearly departed maybe this request for her attendance at his funeral will make them even... RP Example:   "Mama I'll be fine!" Sariel giggled as she dusted her floured hands off on the roughspun apron she wore over her day-to-day work clothes. The older half-elven woman glared down the table at her daughter while she wrestled with an overburdened tray of rolls that was threatening to tip over at any moment. Her father's strong hand caught the slowly toppling edge and with a heave helped it into the cooling rack, much to her mother's increasing displeasure. He lifted his hands in surrender and sighed the long-suffering-sigh of the put upon husband. "Tell her she's crazy for going so far and going...there!" Her mother spat the last word, directing all her motherly rage at the great wide unknown beyond the reach of their little home. "Myrah, dearest, it's really not all that far and she'll be just fine. It's just a funeral. She'll be back before you know it." Her father tried to be soothing, but her mother was simply not having any of it today. They slipped into arguing Elvish, as if Sariel didn't understand every word they were saying, something they only did when her mother was preparing to go on a real ripper of a tirade. Sighing to herself Sariel returned to what she had been working on. The dough wasn't going to knead itself! The rhythmic simplicity of folding and punching down and flouring her work surface always made Sariel feel better when she was nervous. It was something she could control and something that had almost instant results. Tasty ones, too. The repetitive nature also helped her tune out the argument going on at the end of the table as she wasn't even present in the room. It was a scene that had played out many a time in the Sarmere house, but at least now she could retreat to the Academy where she didn't have to listen to them going on and on for hours from behind her door, unable to defend herself and being forced to live with the decision they made for her. No. She would be going on this trip whether they liked it or not. She didn't live under their roof and didn't have to live by their rules any longer. She was nearly twenty-two after all. Nearly an adult! With a decisive nod she grabbed a bench knife and began to section out the dough into smaller sections. If she was lucky only one of them would rot this time around...