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  #16  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 08:41 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Grouchy View Post
If Andirnil is a bit too borderline, I have another idea I can run with. Three wizards applications so far.
Yes, there are a lot of wizard applications so far. And I am not guiltless as well.

Actually, before I came up with my current character concept, I had also thought about a necromancer and have read a bit about it. It's just tempting in an evil campaign.

Would switching to a cleric build make sense to you? Mechanically, clerics (or oracles) with the right archetypes probably make the best necromancers. This way, we won't have three wizards in a party, but also some divine assistance.
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  #17  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 09:04 AM
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I think I'll be withdrawing my wizard. I mean, there are lots of wizards so far.

Will come up with something else later.


Never mind. Not withdrawing my wizard.
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Last edited by Arjuna332; Jan 29th, 2021 at 10:21 AM.
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  #18  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 10:38 AM
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Wicked Witch from the West

Between the darkness and the light lie the shadows…
and it is the half-seen, half imagined horrors
lurking there that strike the most terror.



Name: Moriah ap Rhys
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Class: Witch
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Background Trait: Reactionary
Crime: Witchcraft



Background: Moriah comes from the Iraen, the native people of Caer Bryr. When the Talireans conquered southern Caer Bryr many of the Iraen fled north, but others remained in the south and lived an uneasy peace alongside their Tailrean overlords. The Tailreans tended to look with pride at their civilizing influence on these Iraens...the Iraens often felt differently.

After the death of both her parents to the black tongue plague that ripped through southern Caer Bryr when she was six, Moriah was raised by her grandmother, Halifax. Grandma Hali, as Moriah called her, was a hedge witch providing minor cures and healing for the village on who’s outskirts she lived. As a young girl Moriah was initiated by her grandmother into the secrets of the traditional magic of their people. This traditional magic had been declared to be ‘witchcraft’ by the Church of Mitra and even though witchcraft was strictly outlawed under Talirean law, the local people, even the Talireans, kept Halifax’s secret since she cared for them.

That was until the local noble Lord Cornwell’s oldest son was stricken with a high fever that left him first paralyzed and then in a coma. Lord Cornwell’s personal priest had failed to cure the boy with his fervent prayers to Mitra and so the Lord was desperate. One of Cornwell’s servants mentioned to him the old woman and her granddaughter who lived on the edge of the village and sometimes provided cures for the villagers.

The lord had Halifax and Moriah dragged to his manor in the middle of the night and then he demanded that the old woman and her granddaughter cure his son. Halifax warned him that the boy was too far gone, but the Lord refused to hear her diagnosis and once again ordered that his son be cured. Halifax, with Moriah's assistance, did all she could for the young boy, even going so far as summoning a spirit of the dark woods. All her powers depleted and physically exhausted, Halifax returned to her home with her granddaughter. When the boy died three days later, Lord Cornwell blamed the hedge witch for his death and, consumed by his grief and wrath, he reported Grandma Hali and Moriah to the pitiless witch hunter Sir Balin of Karfeld.

Grandma Hali and Moriah were arrested a week later at the point of Sir Balin’s sword. They were both charged with Witchcraft, found guilty, and sentenced to death by burning. They were then branded and lead away in chains to Branderscar Prison to await their fiery deaths.

Then yesterday, the guards came to the cells and shoved and dragged Grandma Hali out of her cell and down the hallway to the execution courtyard. Moriah could hear her grandmother’s shrieks as the flames consumed her, until they were finally cut off with a silence filled with the crackling of flames.


Personality: Things could have been different; they could have been better for the world. Moriah’s character was poised on a knife’s edge of formation. She would never have been the caring and gentle woman that her grandmother was, but at worst she might have ended up as simply another odd and eccentric woman living deep in the forest, not an unknown thing in Caer Bryr.

Moriah had always been too enamored with the deep forest shadows and the moonless nights for most people to feel comfortable near her. She had returned this shunning by playing tricks upon the villagers, sometimes frightening, sometimes edging towards vicious. Moriah felt her ostracization by the villagers deeply and yet there was the equally deep love of her grandmother. Balanced…poised…

Moriah as a girl was interested in the mystery of the traditional magic of her people. The secrets, the darkness, the power, inherent in the magic called to her, whispered to her, sang a song of shadows in her soul. Grandma Hali tried to teach Moriah about healing. She told her granddaughter that their magic needed to be used to tend their land, to care for their people, and to maintain their traditions. Balanced…poised…

Things could have been different; they could have been better for the world…but then the Talireans had burned her grandmother, throwing Moriah off the knife’s edge and into the shadows where these threads of her character were twisted and the hunger for vengeance and retribution bred in the darkness, much to the world's regret.


RP Sample: Moriah sits on the cold stones of their cell holding the crumpled hands of her grandmother. When they had been found guilty of witchcraft, besides the branding they both suffered, her grandmother’s fingers had been broken and her tongue cut out to keep her from using her magic. Moriah was deemed not a serious threat and the guards had not taken the same precautions with her. Now Grandma Hali can only sit there moaning and grunting in pain as they wait to die.

Moriah is trying to be strong for her grandmother, trying to be brave, but inside she is terrified. She wants to throw-up, to cry, to beat her fists against the stone walls and scream.

I don’t want to die, I don’t want to burn. We did nothing wrong! Grandma Hali tried to heal that miserable boy and she had warned his father that he was going to die. Why blame us when what was going to happen anyway, happened? Why must these Talireans hate what they don’t understand? Why does the Church of Mitra get to call our traditions evil and kill us for not bowing at their bloodstained altars?

Moriah begins to fantasize seeing Lord Cornwell and his priest sitting there before her, their hands broken and their tongues cut out…maybe even her hand wielding the knife. These sadistic, vengeful day dreams are interrupted by the sound of her Grandmother choking back sobs. Moriah reaches up a tender hand and wipes away the tears streaking Halifax’s kind face.

“Grandma, it’s going to be ok.” Moriah shudders at the stupid, empty lie, but what else could she say? “At least we are together, they haven’t taken that from us. If we are going to die…” If? If? What is she saying? There is no if… “at least we will die together. There’s some comfort in that.” What comfort? Burning is burning you fool. Are you going to take comfort as your skin burns away knowing your grandma’s skin crisps next to you?

Moriah’s stomach heaves as that thought sends chills shaking through her thin body, and it is all she can do to keep the bit of food and water they had been given this morning from spattering the cell floor.

The hours continue to crawl by, punctuated by the sounds of her grandmother’s pain and the cries of anger and denial from the other prisoners. Then Moriah hears the outer door bang open and the sound of hobnailed booted feet marching down the prison hallway. The guards stop outside of their cell, open the door, and shove Moriah away from her grandmother. Two of the guards drag the old woman towards the cell door as Moriah tries to fight off the guards holding her against the far wall.

“NOOO! Take us both! Don’t make her die alone…please don’t leave me here without her!”

One of the guards, not ungently, shakes Moriah and says, ”Girl, it ain’t your time yet. Your turn to burn will come, don’t go rushing to the flames.”

Once the guards have the old woman out of the cell, the rest of the guards give Moriah a final shove and then exit and lock the door behind them. The young woman retreats to a dank and shadowed corner where she sits rocking and silently weeping. After endless minutes, Moriah hears a wordless wail rising from the execution courtyard and echoing back and forth from the stone walls of the prison. The keening cry goes on and on, until it is suddenly cut off and all Moriah is left with is a silence quickly filled with the crackle of flames.

Moriah sits there in that darkened cell, wrapping the shadows around her like armor. As she listens to the flames burning, the smell of scorched hair and flesh, like a sick miasma, seeping throughout the prison, the young woman feels something inside of her turn to ashes. The woman she could have been burns with her grandmother and out of those embers is born something else, something darker. From the ashes a new burning begins in her heart…the cold dark flame of vengeance flickers to life.

I will get out of here and I will make sure that the Talireans and their wretched Church never forget the day that Halifax burned!






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Last edited by Chrystrom; Feb 1st, 2021 at 01:42 PM.
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  #19  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 10:59 AM
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  #20  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 11:06 AM
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  #21  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 11:50 AM
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I'm thinking I should try something else. My Crossblooded Sorcerer was drawn up for an intrigue campaign and if you want plain vanilla for 5 people he's not the best fit. Would you allow a Neutral Evil Feral Hunter? Its a hybrid druid ranger so its description says its Any Neutral in alignment, if you're willing we can houserule that to Lawful Evil like the Guide says we can for an Antipaladin.
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  #22  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 12:00 PM
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Name: Mogawg, the Dog of Dogs
Race: Goblin
Gender: Male
Class: Grenadier Alchemist
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background Trait: Ugly Swine
Crime: Arson
RP Sample:

 


Personality: Mogawg has come far from his humble beginnings. He has learned to blend in with humans, often pretending to be a child, gnome, or halfling (he is currently imprisoned under his halfling name, Vaarn Singlerun). Burning churches of Mitra, stables, and dog kennels are religious acts for him, though these are increasingly secondary to his plans to organize the goblin hovels and teach them to harness fire and purify themselves of fear.


Last edited by Novawurmson; Feb 5th, 2021 at 06:11 AM.
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  #23  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 12:31 PM
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  #24  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 12:32 PM
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Name: Seraphina Khalid
Race: Human
Gender: Female.
Class: Bard -Flame Singer
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Background Trait:Elemental Accident (House Fire)
Crime: Arson with some Murder involved because people burn.
RP Sample:
Everything must be in harmony.

Seraphina learned early on in life what damage chaos wrought in those caught up in its wake. The embers of her burnt home mixed with the ashes of her parents still burned brightly within the recesses of her mind. The world needed to live by the same symphony in keeping with the tempo and playing the same song. The moment someone strayed from that... well the song would be ruined. There was only one thing to do with such 'notes'. Burn them like a bad piece of sheet music.

The problem Seraphina had found with getting others to follow the tune is that many simply did not see the light. They preached about independence and free will while they labored for someone elses benefit as their masters stood up in their castles reaping the rewards of the hardworking masses. They needed to burn too. Let those who would not put in their fair share leave a charred silhouette as a reminder of what happens when you do not contribute to the symphony.

That was what brought her here to Lord Castrals house. She had been working in creating order within the chaos of the city and he had been less than obedient. Seraphina had sent him a warning to follow the music which he had ignored. She knew what had to be done. There was no choice in it. No matter how many orphanages he had donated to or the heroric deeds his father had supposedly accomplished to win those titles he now held. If you were not part of the music you ware part of the flames. Lucky ofr Seraphina the rich were idiots tempted by the promises of flesh. It did not take much to earn herself and invitation to his fine estate and when she did she offered to play for the great lord and his honored guest.

The tune started of slow and sad as she drug her bow against the strings of the viola, but as she continued so did the tempo driving it ever and ever faster, too fast in fact. Suddenly her bow lit with flames as she flicked her bow to send them out to the tapestry and curtains lighting the interior of the estate ablaze. As the guest started to panic she made her way toward Lord Castral.

You see my lord what happens when you do not follow the music? Do you see the chaos of following your own tempo? she asked him as he looked upon her terrified.

One of the guards tried to rush to his rescue but she simply plunged the spiked tip of her bow into the eye of the attacker before pulling it out and dragging it again across the strings.

"No one can save you now." she said simply. "You are consumed by the music."

As she said it the man was engulfed in flames.

Seraphina turned to walk away. A new time was approaching, a new order where they would either follow the tune or burn up with the passion of the music.

Personality: Fiery and cynical Seraphina is the personification of the flames in which she is so obsessed. Flowing and seductive getting to close is almost always going to leave you with a scar if you are lucky enough not to be consumed entirely.

Last edited by Avner; Feb 3rd, 2021 at 07:52 AM.
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  #25  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 12:45 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by TheYell View Post
I'm thinking I should try something else. My Crossblooded Sorcerer was drawn up for an intrigue campaign and if you want plain vanilla for 5 people he's not the best fit. Would you allow a Neutral Evil Feral Hunter? Its a hybrid druid ranger so its description says its Any Neutral in alignment, if you're willing we can houserule that to Lawful Evil like the Guide says we can for an Antipaladin.
I looked it over and it is interesting. The campaign does not spend much time in the wilderness but I'd love too see what you come up with.
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  #26  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 01:44 PM
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Thank you! I've made a change to a Feral Hunter
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  #27  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 01:53 PM
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.I've attempted this character a few times in evil campaigns but they unfortunately end up from suffering Missing Gm-itus. A terrible condition that so far has no true cure. Lets see if he can make it here.

Doc
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Doctor Lin'sa Dal'maka
(aka. Doc)

Race: Drow
Class: Alchemist (Vivisectionist)
Role: Healer, Interrogator, Poisoner, and Creator of Monsters
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Gender: Male
Crimes: Illegal Experimentation upon Sentient Creatures(Attempted Murder?), Banditry, Kidnapping, Drug trafficking
Charged Crime: High Treason.
Focus: Intelligence
Foible: Strength

Character Sheet:
 
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Description: Doc always tries to keep himself covered, not only to protect himself from life on the surface but to also hide his true race from those who might hold it against him. Doc is one of those people who presents himself one way but in reality his motivations lay elsewhere. To most he acts like a well natured doctor wishing to help everyone he can but in truth this is all just an act. Although Doc does have a great deal of knowledge when it comes to healing people his true passions come from the gathering of knowledge and experimentation, especially in the aspects of pain, caring little who he may hurt in the end to gain this insight. Although a true sadist, Doc is intelligent enough to realize the proper time and place to indulge in his interests and finds a sweet personality an excellent tool to attract would be victims.

Personality: Doc is a kindly fellow who's always looking out for the health of those around him, checking to see how they feel and if he can do anything to help them. This cheerfulness seems to also extend to the times when he experiments upon those who have been caught within his web. Some would say he becomes even more cheerful when conducting such experiments as the "Good" Doctor hums merry tunes and converses with his "patient", all while slowly peeling the skin from their bodies, one strip at a time.

Ambition:
Experimentation. Doc's only true love in life is the infliction of pain upon others as an art form. Seeing himself more as an artist then a torturer, Doc wishes only to expand his knowledge in his favorite past time.

Power. Dal'maka knows that he's not truly free to conduct his experiments as he wishes. Without control and/or influence over a larger group he'll always have to put survival first over his true love. If he could gain a position of power he might finally be free to indulge his interests without worry.

Flaw:
Intellectual Pride. Although he knows there are others more intelligent then him in the world Doc still considers himself one of the more intelligent people out there, which causes him to sometimes underestimate people. Evidence of his inferiority can sometimes cause great surprise within Dal'maka and even greater anger.

Temper. On occasion Doc will lose control of himself when he's been unable to achieve his plans. Normally he's able to hold the rage back until he's in private to vent it on a nearby slave or captive but the contempt he feels when foiled can sometimes bleed out when it shouldn't. If Doc doesn't receive the proper "respect" he deserves he might find himself lashing out at the wrong person in the future.
 
 
 
 
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  #28  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 02:11 PM
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This looks like it's going to be great. Good luck everyone!
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Old Jan 29th, 2021, 03:01 PM
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Verity - WIP
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Name: Verity
Race: Dhampir
Gender: Female
Class: Barbarian (Unchained)
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background Trait: Final Embrace
Crime: Murder

Personality: Verity is normally quite and reserved, with a sense of awe and wonder at things others often take for granted, a gift from her sheltered upbringing at the hands of the priests. When angered however, it is a different matter entirely.

RP Sample:

UnchainedVerity watched as the priests approached her cage. She said nothing as the door opened and the leather loop of the man-catcher was placed around her neck, guiding her to rise and begin walking. This was nothing new. In fact, it had often been the only daily interaction she would have with anyone for as long as she could remember.

They led her down the dank stone tunnel. She could feel the cold damp stone against her dirty bare feet until she came to the usual room where she was then placed onto the familiar table. She could feel the restraints being fastened around her arms and legs.

"The church would like to know if the effects of holy water hinder its restorative ability from ingesting blood," one of the priests said to another man standing near the table Verity was strapped to. The priest handed him two vials, one clear, one red. The one who received the vials did not appear to be one of the priests, but rather a scientist of some kind, wearing the same long leather apron that a blacksmith might have worn. He nodded to the priests and they left the room, leaving him and Verity alone.

The man began by opening a leather bound book that looked as though it had been used for a number of years. After making some initial notes, he uncorked the bottle of holy water and approached Verity.

"I think today we are going to try something a little different," the man said looking down at his subject, showing no sign of emotion one way or the other. He grabbed Verity's mouth, which she opened obediently, and he poured the entire contents of the vial down her throat.

"Aagghh, "she screamed and it felt as though she had swallowed liquid fire, for indeed, the holy water was burning her insides. Wisps of smoke rose from her mouth as she continued to scream, the man making notes in his book, all the while.

Next he approached with the vial of blood and again poured the contents down her throat. Like a healing balm, it cooled her throat and insides almost instantly. Her heart began to race as her body reacted to the blood. She felt different, this had never happened before. She could feel her incisors growing in her mouth and her nails on either hand elongating, looking more akin to that of an animal. An anger, a hunger, welled inside of her and she began to look upon the man before her differently than before...as food. Her right arm broke free from the restraint as though it were made of paper.

The man's eyes grew wide, but he froze in place, his mind attempting to comprehend what was happening. As her claws slashed across his throat, he still looked confused as he looked down at his chest and the curtain of warm red blood that flowed down his leather apron.

The sudden smell of so much blood only fueled Verity and she was upon him in an instant, her teeth sinking deep into his neck, drinking deep from the spring that she had found.

When the city guard found Verity, she was sitting in front of the church covered in blood and gore, the building ablaze behind her. Those that went inside were quick to exit, most retching on the cobbled stone outside. The interior of the church, those parts not scorched from flame, were covered with the remains of priests.

With no record of Verity's true nature or knowledge of the catacombs beneath the church, the guard had no choice but to accept the confession of the girl before them, having nodded in consent to whether or not this was her doing.


Free at lastThe magistrate listened from behind his raised table as the Guard Captain gave his recount of what they had discovered inside the church. Verity heard gasps and stifled cries from those gathered in the seats behind her.

The magistrate removed his glasses and rubbed under his eyes before placing them back on his face. "These are some of the most heinous acts of barbarism and loathsome murder I have ever seen sitting in this chair. As such, I find it difficult to conceive that a young girl was able to perpetrate these crimes by herself. Tell me child, are you taking the blame for others? This is a safe place. You can tell me."

Verity watched the vein running down the magistrate's neck pulse as he spoke. She did not do so out of some feral compulsion like some of her more pure-blooded kin, but rather because she could. She knew that if she wanted to, she could break free of the manacles that restrained her and rip the magistrates throat open in front of all these people and there was nothing he could do to stop her. For the first time in her life she felt powerful, like she was in control. She felt free, the fact that she was shackled and a prisoner be damned. She also knew that if her true nature were to be revealed, they would not suffer a vampire, even if she was a half-breed, to live. Her best chance was to get away from here before anyone began asking too many questions or discovered the tunnels below the church.

The magistrate already doubted her story. Verity knew that if she stuck to it, there would likely be an inquiry to see if others were involved as well. That could not happen. So, she told the magistrate the only thing she could think of that might work.

"I didn't mean to," she began to cry, her feigned tears coming easier than she expected. "The red man said that no one would get hurt. I just wanted them to be punished for the way they treated me. I was an orphan raised in the church and saw nothing but cruelty at the hands of some of the priests." The pain in Verity's eyes was not entirely a fabrication as she recalled the countless years of abuse she endured.

The magistrate sat back in his chair. "What have you done," he asked, barely above a whisper. "Who is this red man?"

"I never knew his name," she replied. "But, I did see the symbol he had on the staff he carried," she said as she slowly drew the shape of a pentagram in the air with her finger. Gasps came from behind her and she heard what sounded like someone fainting to the floor.

Mitra preserve is, the magistrate said, his uncertain eyes were wide. His chair suddenly screeched across the floor as he stood. "Child, you have consorted with the Devil and brought about the death of twenty-seven souls of the faithful. For your part in this, the charges will stand. You are hereby found guilty for charge of murder and are sentenced to death by beheading, to be carried out at Branderscar Prison. May Mitra have mercy on your soul."



Last edited by Silent Rain; Jan 31st, 2021 at 01:17 AM.
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  #30  
Old Jan 29th, 2021, 03:02 PM
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I'm going to rework mine a bit so my PC is a little bit less creepy.

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