[PF-1e] Carrion Crown

[Grouchy]

App complete.

Character Concept Name: Cirranil Seladras Race: Elf Class: Fighter (Steelbound Fighter) Background: Hailing from Kyonin, Cirranil was born and raised in Iadara. His parents (Einrandalf and his mother Eriea) are wealthy upper society engineers with very traditional elven customs and beliefs. His father is notable as being on the board of architects from which Iadara was planned and constructed. From an early age Cirranil was educated in the ways of a proper elven man. Reading and writing were made available to him, as well as music and elven lore. He had no talent for magic, as both of his parents were disappointed to learn, a place where both of them showed immense talent and where his older brother Ancallon was a prodigy. Try as he might, Cirranil just did not have the tongue nor the ability, and being compared to Ancallon throughout his life has always made him feel second best. Of course martial training was also part of his studies, and this is where Cirranil truly shined. He was a naturally talented swordsman to begin with, but with training and effort he soon showed genuine skill. Combined with a good head on his shoulders and a strong knowledge of history, and Cirranil would have made a fine officer in the Army of Iadara. However, this was not to be. As a youth, Cirranil became keenly interested in the history of the elven people and their advanced technology and magical knowledge before Earthfall. To him, finding such lost knowledge would be a gigantic advancement for the elven people on their path to achieve their true greatness once again. Had he tied himself to an army, he would never have the freedom to research and explore - for if he was to discover such things, he would become one of the most influential elves of his time. Presenting his dream to his parents, he knew they would disapprove but their negative reaction stung him. They called him an idealistic fool and a wayward youth with no direction, and he should instead work to bring honor to his family like Ancallon. To Cirranil, that was the last straw. He packed up his things, took what coin he had saved up, and left that very night. Making his way to Greengold, Cirranil spent his time scouring libraries and bookstores and speaking with any scholar he could find. To supplement his income, he took up some minor jobs as a sellsword but never had any trouble to this point. It was at the home of a local scholar when he first made his introduction to Professor Petros Lorrimor. Professor Lorrimor admired the young elf with a burning passion for history, and was impressed with his theories and research. Cirranil mentioned his desire to find and purchase an expensive book on the theoretical existence of Sovyrian and how the elves fled there before Earthfall, but lamented how rare and difficult it was to find. He thought nothing of this until the next time he visited that same local scholar, who presented him with a package from Professor Lorrimor. It was the book! Enclosed was a parchment by Professor Lorrimor encouraging Cirranil on his search and to continue to be diligent in his studies. The Professor asked for no payment, just to be able to someday call upon Cirranil for a favor. Cirranil was shocked by the generosity and asked to learn the Professor's address to send his thanks but none was left and Cirranil had no way to get in touch with him. The book was incredibly expensive and Cirranil felt uncomfortable for accepting such a gift that would benefit elvenkind, especially from a human. Cirranil's studies and the use of that book unlocked the theory of "steelbinding" - how the latent magical energies of elves allowed them to put their essence within the weapons of their kin. He has not shared much of this knowledge yet as he is still but a fledgling novice but over the past several months he has learned all he could from the book the Professor gave him. The knowledge contained within was, in fact, something Cirranil considered dangerous in the wrong hands - so much so that he ended up destroying the book to prevent it from falling into those hands. He has hit a bit of a roadblock in his studies up to this date, but all of that has taken a backseat to the letter he has just received. The letter that states the passing of Professor Petros Lorrimor and Cirranil being in his will. Making Good on Promises campaign trait.The favor had come, and Cirranil was honor bound to follow it. He is anxious about what it might entail however - he is worried it may be related to the knowledge he has uncovered that he is loath to share. Traveling by carriage to the unknown country of Ustalav, Cirranil has plenty of time to think - and dread. Personality: Cirranil is a bit of an elven supremacist, but tries to keep an open mind when dealing with other races. He thinks the elven race does everything the best, and cannot understand why someone would disagree with this idea. This does not mean he dislikes other races - quite the contrary. Cirranil is almost child like in his interest in the shorter lived races and views them as one might view a younger brother attempting to follow in their footsteps. Cirranil carries himself with a regal bearing and speaks eloquently, as one befitting his heritage, but deep down he considers himself a humble warrior-scholar with a curious streak a mile wide. When it is a subject he is interested in, Cirranil can engage in discussions for hours and often will pull out a piece of parchment to write down a thought or topic to research later. Cirranil is a brave and competent warrior, and will not back down from a fight, especially if the innocent are involved. He has a strong sense of elven honor but it is very libertarian as he still wishes for others to live their lives as they choose. He greatly despises bullies and those who force others to do their bidding. A tad arrogant and proud, Cirranil is still a bit naive to the ways of the world and the capabilities of others. Motivations to visit Ravengro (Secreted): Roleplaying Sample: Cirranil's knees tremble slightly as he reads the note once again. So the good Professor has passed... and now he wishes to call in his favor? Cirranil deeply hopes it is not the transfer of the book to someone else - the knowledge contained within would be incredibly dangerous in the hands of others, and it has already been destroyed. Even working for the repayment of the book entirely would be far more ideal than sharing what he has learned with others. Especially, non-elves. But if that is what the Professor demands, it will be an incredibly difficult situation. He is honor bound to grant the Professor's last wishes, especially for the significant investment he has made in him. But if it includes sharing the knowledge of steel-binding and the strong theories he has about Sovyrian - and how it may still exist today - could he share such knowledge with those who should not be privy to elven culture? Especially information so hallowed and critical to their kin as this. He wonders if the young boy who delivered it to him at the library in Greengold had any knowledge of what actually happened to the Professor, and he cursed himself for not asking more questions. All the boy told him was that the representative of the Professor said was he was sorry for Cirranil's loss and that he was told the white-blonde elf with the massive curved sword was always in the library of Greengold after the midday meal. Sighing slightly as he peeks out the carriage window at the mountainous surroundings, he whispers first a quiet prayer to Labelas Enoreth for the knowledge and wisdom to act rightly, and another to Corellon Larethian praying that he will not have to violate the Professor's last wishes. The carriage suddenly bumps wildly, and Cirranil manages to catch his long curved sword before it falls onto the wooden floor. Irritated, he thumps the top of the carriage with the handle of his sword and shouts "Oi! If you could drive a little less chaotically, it would be greatly appreciated!" His lilting tone with an elvish accent comes off a bit more aggressive than he intended to, and Cirranil curses quietly to himself as he opens the carriage window. The human coachman seemed a nice enough fellow, and it's not his fault he doesn't have the means to possess an elven carriage. He almost sighs wistfully as he thinks about the cushioned interiors and the cleverly designed suspension system of the wheels to prevent such jostling about. Sticking his head out the window, Cirranil shouts out to the man "I apologize for my outburst good sir, it caught me off guard and I lost my cool. Please forgive me!" He knows other races can be sensitive when they compare themselves to elves, and he really does not wish to offend the man. Sticking his head back in, Cirranil turns his attention to the large curved sword of elven make he holds. Ancient elven magic has placed part of his own soul within this very blade, and though Cirranil feels the glory it will bring is worth the cost, he cannot help but mull on what kind of sacrifices he will have to make in the future for this blade. For soon a mighty ancestor will inhabit this same blade, one who does not understand the current ways of the world and whose values may be completely different. Is this something that will bring glory to the elven race? Or will this be their downfall? A small chill runs through Cirranil's body despite the heat, and he decides to change his thoughts to something a little less melancholy. But the unease about both the Professor and what he has done will not leave him easily this day.

[Ericg1s]

I edited my application to further expand on my character and include a sheet. I don't have a good image for a character portrait, and I am VERY bad at looking for or finding such things.

[IrishKatt]

Interested for sure. Have sent you a message asking about something to be sure before going ahead with character creation and all that.

[Ziether]

If my application leaves any pertinent questions unanswered, I am more than willing to expand upon the current iteration. I already edited in a "Role" section, as it was evident that my application didn't really show what sort of party contribution Finneaous would provide.

Someone (elsewhere) asked me if borrowing inspiration from my application was something I would consent to. Inspiration is not proprietary, so if anyone else finds anything they feel would contribute to their own application, please feel free to borrow structural or flavor elements to your hearts' content.

[pianoman90]

Keep the applications and questions coming in! I didn’t expect such an influx of applications so quickly, so I have given them all a cursory read so far and will go through more in-depth over the next couple of days.

Questions can be here, or PM, either is totally fine!

[Runetide]

Hey Pianoman90, I'm already in one of your games, could I apply for this one too?
I'm just gonna go for it!

Application! Name: Xaro Windbrook Race: Halfling Class: Medium Background and Personality: Xaro Windbrook spent most of his life in Lepidstadt, growing up the youngest son of a remarkably large family. Unfortunately, his family had left him much to his own devices. As the youngest of a large family, Xaro was pretty much ignored. This did not end well for the family, because Xaro was a natural medium. Spirits tended to aggregate around him, and they finally started paying attention when his personality seemed to drastically change day to day. It had gotten so bad that they had no choice but to send him to Havenguard Lunatic Asylum, where he would receive treatment for multiple personality disorder. The Havenguard Lunatic Asylum took him in for a short while, but found that there was a real reason behind his behavior, so he was returned to Lepidstadt, where he encountered Lorrimor at the Lepidstadt university. There he started getting better control over his situation by learning the nature of his influences and learning how he could make use of them. Xaro is a lackadaisical sort, mostly because he finds that motivation is a thing that is thrust upon him, not generated from within. That isn't to say he is completely overtaken in sloth; he just allows impetus to happen, instead of going out and making it himself. Despite his rough life, hisfamilial upbringing means he is used to working with large groups of people with differing abilities and wildly differing personalities. Relationship to Petros Lorrimor: Teacher's Pet! Lorrimor had a number of unique insights into Xaro's condition, and so Xaro attended every lecture he could find. It was astounding the professor kept in touch with him even after Xaro had gotten a handle on things. Motivations to visit Ravengro (Secreted): WIP! ... Or is it? EXTRA SECRET INFORMATION! RP sample:   The predawn chill of the cold and damp night gnawed at Xaro's bones, making him glad that he, for one, had long since gotten used to the cramped sensation of wearing shoes. Most of the time, he wouldn't even think twice about walking around the right way, but in the cold autumn nights in Ustalav, cold feet could rob the living of much needed warmth. They had enough things to worry about as it was. "Why did you want me up so early?" Xaro asked aloud. He was standing on the cold stone paving of the entrance to a Pharasmin church. The graveyard gate was open, surprisingly. T̷̡̘̥̺̖̏̀̈̓̕ḩ̴̡̦͈̠̰̬͉̝̣̑́̐̆̄͂́͗͘ͅͅě̸̡̝̜̖̓̋̀̐́͜͠ͅ ͕͖̬̫͍̝ͅr̶̪̩̭̙̪̳͉̲̫͍̰̭̍̐̈́͌̄̿̒́́̍̇͜ĕ̶̖̟̚ ̴̢̣̲̜̝͇̹͆̽̕̚ȉ̵̛̪̦͚̤̭̤̺͎̣̤̰͔͋͋̑̒̓͗̕͜s̷̯̠̫̗̗̀̃ ̶̧͔̖͖̻̰̹̠̗̣̓͛̈́̈́̇̾́̈́̿̋͘̕͜s̷̛͍͔͍͎̜̞̤̞̖̘̋̐̍̿͌̀̀̋͊̕o̵͝ ͍̠̖̐̔̊́̂̓́͌͛̈́̚͝ͅm̷̝̓̄̓̃͝ȩ̴̻̤̉̀̚t̵̡̢̲͙̪͔͈͕̱͖̉̈́h̵͐̏ ̺̻͔̘̩̩͚̑̾̐͑̆̄i̶̦̝̼̖̫̳̘̟̞͎̖͒ͅṋ̶̛̬̠̮͖̝̅̃̒̌̋͑̑̊̈́̒̆͜͠ ͖͜g̷͔̮̹̼̾͒͆̊ ̴̨̡̧̛͙̀̎̊̐h̷͍̳̭̰̯̾̓͊̔̾̊̾̚͝͝ͅẻ̴͓̳͕̹̼̘̳̔̌̀ȓ̴̓̌̑̓͘͝ ͉̟̹̯̥̬͜ȩ̸̢̧̱̯͎̪̜̜̙̞̱̉̓̍̑̀̚͠ͅ "Ah." Xaro sighed. "Friend of yours?" he asked. To anyone else, he was a creepy hooded halfling talking to himself. Ş̷̪̙̼͚̰̦́̑̒̉͌̏̾̈́̈̕o̴̩͖͎͎̐͒͛̏̈́̊͊m̷͓̞̙̗͓̰̭̳̱̯̲͍͒͂e̴ ̯̦̼̄͌̾̀͊̍͒̀̈́͒̔͜ţ̵̧̲͙̫̭͖͔̮̱̿̄͂̆͐̎̏̉̏̀̚͘̕h̴̋̓̿̆̉̕̚͝ ̡̡̣̮͍̲̼̩̫̩͈͙͓̋̒͝i̵̞͍͖͚͔̱͑͋͗̔́n̴͎̳̻̤͍͙̄̾̍͗̎̌̃͐͜͜g̴̈ ̧͔̗͚̫͈̬̼̰̩̯̻͋̐̐̿̈́̒̉̑̕͠ ̵̠͈̈̎͊̊̾́͜t̵̡̞̻͇͈̥͈̳̯̟͙̯̋́͜ḩ̸̜̪͙̻͔͓̠̉a̶̹̮̱͕̒̋̌̒͒̍ ͔̠̺̮ͅt̶͖̦͑̐́̄̄̄́͒͐̕ ̶͙͍̹͎̒́̈́y̸̛̪͕̰̟̌̇̈́͐͗̔̿̉ȍ̵̢͚̰̤̩̭̿̚ư̶̲̈́͑̀̎̃̈́̏̒̂̊̎̚ ̢͇͙̺͚͍͓͚ ̴̡̢̫̝͎̙͎̹̰̼̯̂͊͂̑̽́̊̃̓̓̏̓̚ẁ̸̧̘͓̥̺͎̎̈́̀̇͝͝ạ̷̧͇͕̊̈͒̚ n̷̡͖̳̜̘̜̥̻̳̺͚̜̉̓̊̕͝t̸͖̳̜̯͔͋.̷̢̧̢̭͕͚̼̯͕͕̠̄͘͘͠ ̶̧̮͓̩̺͉͚͖̩̠͉̔̈͒̄̈́̀̀͗̚͝͠ͅT̴̖͍͎̬̑̔̀̆́̓h̶͆̇͊̂̍̃̓̌͗͆͛̚ ͈̩̩͙̹͕̫̘̗͊ǎ̶̲̬̫̈͋͝t̴̖̝̋ ̷̢̲̮̦̆́̽̾͊ͅI̴̟̫͒́̽̚͜͠ ̸̢̡̭̘̝͙͎͂w̴̜͓̓͊̅͆̇̀̄̚͝a̷͆̿̔̊̉̋̑͌̈́̈́̃ͅņ̶̤̫̖̀̓ͅṭ̴͂͝ ̥̯͕̟̯̝̼.̵̮̦͈͆̏̅̉͌͐̿̓̈́͠ Xaro grumbled to himself. "No." he said, starting to turn away. "Not digging up graves for you." D̶̙̝̩̝͖̏̀͐̆̉̇̾͗͘͝ǫ̵̡̧̣̳̤͗̆̋̔͂͝n̵̛̟̲̽͋̊̂̑͝'̴̊͂̊̉̈́̾ ̰̰̙̩̬̩̱͕̗̄̂̾t̵̘͈̣̝͎̤͓͎̯̭̜͑̉̀͛ ̴̧͉͕̖̀̓̀́̀̓͑̅̈̊̓͆͘ỵ̴̡̛̪̫̯̩̽̆́͛ȯ̸͉͑͌ū̵̌̆͐͆͒̚ ͇͕͘͠ ̶̩͙̭̭̭̲͂̓̅̽̒̈́̑̇̂͝͝ḑ̸̼͓͙̣͙̙̮͉̇̌̋̑̃̌͊̐̈͒͜͠ä̶̛̛͈̻̬͗ ̜͔͇̘r̸̛̲̳̭̬̙̳͚̯̘̜̱̮̈̋̏̔̓̐̅͌̎e̴̘̯̝̼͓̘̲͗̉̐́̔̾̊ ̸̨̰̲̗͖̪̖͔͙̝̫̀̊̓̐͘t̵̢͇̭̪̮̭̠̮̻̻̜̺̿̉̓̍͋̑̆̄͝͝͝ͅù̸͋̉̚͝ ͉̣̙̫̜̟̖̓̃̓̊̄̚r̸͖̭͉̘͌̊̈́̀͐͂̉͒̉̚͝ń̸̘̗̫̯̿͐͂̏̎̑͌̈́̎̿̈́͘ͅ ̞̩ͅ ̴̧͙͚̘͉̦͍̗̝͖͎̅̈̈́̅̏̚̕̕a̶̱͚̠̓̄̾̋̈̉͘w̵̺̳̣̟̗͌̀̏͐̽͒́͌̅̇͝ ̯̖ȁ̷͕̫̺̃̓̄̈́̎͊͒̚ỹ̵̧͓̦̳̫̻͖͖̌́̉̌͂̿̊͛.̷̰͆͆̇̊̈́͋̌̔ ̗͖ ̵̢̨̡̻̞̰͕̍̈͌͂̂̋̓͂͝Ǧ̵̛̫̹̺̪́̌̀̆̕̚o̷̢̯͖̣̝͋̅̋̆̔͑̅̀͘͜͜͠ ̲̞ ̴̜̜̟́b̴̹̫̗̹̞͖͓͚̝̗͔̐́͝a̴͔̱͍͂̅̿̉̆̑̕c̷̳̺͚̣͇͇͓̥̉͋͂̆̄͜ͅ k̷̛̼̯̞̘̣͎̣͍̱̘̂̄͜ ̶͓͑̓̃̐̍̈̐̆̚ñ̸̢̤̮͇̓ṑ̶̩͖͖̆̈́ͅw̷̡̻̱͙̼̼̣̖̼̦̆͆͂͋͗̕.̵̄ ̥̜͓̘̳̞̎͊͝.̴͍̖̺̜̘̱̮̿̆͗̔̓̋͆͛.̴̼̣͕̦̓̈́ ̵̦̈́̈́́̽̽͝͠ Xaro's leg froze mid-step. "Hyrrk!" the halfling grunted. Before his legs, twitching from his effort to resist, turned him right back around and shuffled him into the graveyard. The jerky motions and the cold air made Xaro's bones feel like they were roughly grinding against each other, like he wasn't in charge of his skeleton. For all he knew, right then, he wasn't. "Okay!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll go! Stop!" The spirit let him go, for which he promptly pivoted on a heel and sprinted full speed out the gate and away from the graveyard. Moments later, he lurched back into the grounds. His hands dug into the dirt to drag him along even as his legs twisted and flailed to stop him. The spirit, fighting the owner of his 'ride' every step of the way, led him to a particular grave. While the name upon it was long since weathered away to near illegibility, the stone was still visited semi-regularly, evidenced by a single staff planted in the ground behind the stone. The staff had a traveling lantern attached to it, and while it was currently unlit, he still had a faint sense of warmth coming from the frosted glass. T̶̪̺͙͖̪̭͇̝̝̃̃ä̶̦͉́̑̌̃͌̈́̉͋͝k̴̛̹̖͓̝̤͎̣̓̓ͅe̴͆́̿̾̿͌̀̀͠ ͎̾̽̀̕ ̸̡̡͚̭̤̳̜̙͈̮̭̄̽̽͑̿̿̚͜i̸̙͔͔͖̜̳̙͗̈̐̃̀͌͛͘t̶̡̡͎̻̭͚̮͍͗̚. ̵̢̬͔̳͐̔͆̑̀̒̈́.̵̪̯̉͒͌́.̸͈̠̖̣͔̠͓̊̋̆̚͠ ̸͇̹̩̻̐͊̎̓y̵͍̘̼͇̠̱̌͊̂ó̸̻͎͚̤̲͚̐̂̉́̉̅͝͝ͅŭ̵̢̢̖̗̼̆̌̿̂ ̡̡̪̘̻͓̳ͅ ̶̰̳̪͎̻̝̞̫̜̊̃͋̐̋͜͜͠m̷̮̺̄͗̈́͋͌́̉̅̓̃͒̎u̵̺͂̔̀͑s̸͎̺̰͆͂̆̕ ̡̗̱̠͎͈̗͓̼t̸̨̛̗̳̯͈̫͙̻̖̽̈́̊̕͘ ̶̬̣̜̹̬̪̭̖̦̭̺͙̀ţ̵̗͋̀̄͌a̴͔̲̦̟̱͔̮͑͛̈̈̾͊̔̔̓̀̕k̵̋̐̀̆͠͝ ͓̾͆̄̅̆̏͘e̴̩͎͚͉̙͕̗̫̿̿̔͆́̉̒͘͝ ̵̡̙̖̝̹͈̦́̀̇̍̓̃͌͗͑̓̕̕͠i̴̫̥͉̞̭̙̻̩̲̘̔̇̌͌͝t̵͉͙̳̥̮̙́́̈̎ ͓̫ͅ.̴̣̻̬̪͎̲̯͔̠͛̏̈̄͘͜͠ ̸̫̘͎͒͠ͅ "That's it?" he asked, his trembling hand reaching out for the hardwood shaft of the staff. The gravesoil-caked fingers touched it, and the pressure the spirit exerted faded. Slightly. Knowing that he couldn't escape it, Xaro whispered a small apology as he wiggled the staff free of the soil. "My word!" someone exclaimed, causing Xaro to shriek and flail in terror, dropping the lantern staff and falling to the ground at the same time. Looking up, he saw an older human man blinking down at him. "Uh..." the halfling groaned. "I can exp- no, I can't explain." he admitted. The old man simply withdrew a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket, placing them on his nose. "A class four possessing entity." he observed. "You've got some quite interesting company with you." Ḧ̴̡̧̛̼͇̗͈̤́̔̓̕͜͜͝ĕ̴̢͚̮̙̱̹̗̬̩̮͜͝ ̸̛̠͈̃͒̌̈́̀̋̑̔̍ķ̵̦̯̼̖̯͇̼̖͓̟̣̲́͐̂̋͊̽̚͝͝͝͝n̷̾̅́̍̔͐́̚͝ ̧̡̪̥̙͓͔̯̞͚̩͈͐̕̕͜o̵͓͑̎̌̓͌̑̊͆̔̀̚̕͠w̵͓̯̮̘͕̯̿͐̓̀̋͆ͅs̶̕ ̝̱͐̃́͗ ̴̫̟̹̝͑̍̈́͗͌̈̒̋́̔̔͜͠ť̷͖͊̆͆̏̆̍̎̋̓o̴̧̹̹̠͌̏̊̌͌̿̇́͂͑̈͝͠ ̢̘͕ơ̵͎͈͉̤̠̠̒̀̃̌̃̾̓̕͝ ̴̛͓̞͈͌̈́͒̽̓̈́̓̇͝m̸̧͍̙̻͙͈̮̅͗̔͠ú̴̪̹̪̮̩̖̹̦͍͈̜̓̊̓̏c̵̈́̃̍ ͎̣̥̲̋̑̒͆̇ͅh̴̢̭͓̩̫͙̲̯̟̠͉̽̆̆̅̽̽̈́̎͘͘̚͜͠.̵́͋͌͆̎̌̅̉͌̀̈́̈́ ̢̳̟̬̪͋ ̴̧̧̛͖̘̱͌̔̅̃͗̆̆̀̔̐͘͠Y̵̢̧͇͚͍̙̤͍̫̿̂͑͗̓̒͑͜ǫ̷̧̛̯͈̰̹͉̪ͅ ̖̮̤ǔ̶̼͓̜̘͓̫̦̳̜̠̉ ̵̨͇͓͈̗̃͆͌̃̌̀̆̾̿̕m̷̧̫̮͚͉̻̥̺̯̈́̐̏̒͐̽̏̾̀͘ṷ̸̐̌̉̔̒͐̾̓͐̉ ̢̹̥̗̯͜s̴̡̤̜̣̘̬̳̘̲̰̙̦̐͊̂̑ͅt̷̡̪̯͒ ̵̙̲͇͙̺̓͆̑̀̇̓k̷̢̨͖͎̀́ḯ̸̛̦̣̮̫̦̬̠̼͈̙̼͓͆̿͜͝l̷̈́͋͋̈̃̃̚͝ ̢̺͎͔̙̘̤̓̌̌̕͝l̴͓̦̠̬͗̂̾͑̐͗̍̿̍̌̓̏͜ ̴̥̰͈͓̦̬̇̔͜h̴̘͓͇̦̙̟̰̥̗̓͗̇̽ï̸̭̣̮̺̮̮̮̦̼̲͎̅͆́̿̕̚m̷̛͑͂ ̧̥̹̲̄̓̑̽̽̀͗̉̎̕ͅ.̷̪͕̌́́̽̕ "No!" Xaro exclaimed, his eyes widening he realized that only he could hear his passenger. The man merely tilted his head, more intent on examining the phenomenon before him than anything else. "I am... professor Lorrimor." the older man introduced himself. He gestured outside the graveyard, where the academy lights were visible in the distance."I was still using that, but... I guess I can part with this now. But I have a question for you. In exchange for my lantern" Xaro's eyes flitted to the left and right. The old man was blocking the way out, and he was not confident he could escape the graveyard with his passenger being so damn insistent on him being there. "W-what?" he asked after several seconds of panicked breathing. The old man's expression softened. "Are you happy with your—" he gestured with his spectacles as he took them off his nose. "Well, situation?" Ḧ̴̡̧̛̼͇̗͈̤́̔̓̕͜͜͝ĕ̴̢͚̮̙̱̹̗̬̩̮͜͝ ̸̛̠͈̃͒̌̈́̀̋̑̔̍ķ̵̦̯̼̖̯͇̼̖͓̟̣̲́͐̂̋͊̽̚͝͝͝͝n̷̾̅́̍̔͐́̚͝ ̧̡̪̥̙͓͔̯̞͚̩͈͐̕̕͜o̵͓͑̎̌̓͌̑̊͆̔̀̚̕͠w̵͓̯̮̘͕̯̿͐̓̀̋͆ͅs̶̕ ̝̱͐̃́͗ ̴̫̟̹̝͑̍̈́͗͌̈̒̋́̔̔͜͠ť̷͖͊̆͆̏̆̍̎̋̓o̴̧̹̹̠͌̏̊̌͌̿̇́͂͑̈͝͠ ̢̘͕ơ̵͎͈͉̤̠̠̒̀̃̌̃̾̓̕͝ ̴̛͓̞͈͌̈́͒̽̓̈́̓̇͝m̸̧͍̙̻͙͈̮̅͗̔͠ú̴̪̹̪̮̩̖̹̦͍͈̜̓̊̓̏c̵̈́̃̍ ͎̣̥̲̋̑̒͆̇ͅh̴̢̭͓̩̫͙̲̯̟̠͉̽̆̆̅̽̽̈́̎͘͘̚͜͠.̵́͋͌͆̎̌̅̉͌̀̈́̈́ ̢̳̟̬̪͋ ̴̧̧̛͖̘̱͌̔̅̃͗̆̆̀̔̐͘͠Y̵̢̧͇͚͍̙̤͍̫̿̂͑͗̓̒͑͜ǫ̷̧̛̯͈̰̹͉̪ͅ ̖̮̤ǔ̶̼͓̜̘͓̫̦̳̜̠̉ ̵̨͇͓͈̗̃͆͌̃̌̀̆̾̿̕m̷̧̫̮͚͉̻̥̺̯̈́̐̏̒͐̽̏̾̀͘ṷ̸̐̌̉̔̒͐̾̓͐̉ ̢̹̥̗̯͜s̴̡̤̜̣̘̬̳̘̲̰̙̦̐͊̂̑ͅt̷̡̪̯͒ ̵̙̲͇͙̺̓͆̑̀̇̓k̷̢̨͖͎̀́ḯ̸̛̦̣̮̫̦̬̠̼͈̙̼͓͆̿͜͝l̷̈́͋͋̈̃̃̚͝ ̢̺͎͔̙̘̤̓̌̌̕͝l̴͓̦̠̬͗̂̾͑̐͗̍̿̍̌̓̏͜ ̴̥̰͈͓̦̬̇̔͜h̴̘͓͇̦̙̟̰̥̗̓͗̇̽ï̸̭̣̮̺̮̮̮̦̼̲͎̅͆́̿̕̚m̷̛͑͂ ̧̥̹̲̄̓̑̽̽̀͗̉̎̕ͅ.̷̪͕̌́́̽̕ "Yes. Shut up. I'm never speaking to you again. I mean no!" Xaro blurted, struggling to manage two conversations at once. "I hate it but there's nothing I can do." The old man shook his head, chuckling. "That may certainly seem like it, from where you are now, groveling in the dirt at the whims of a possessing entity, but I can assure you there are methods that have worked for others and should work for you. Why, the Vudrani..." the man stopped himself from starting into a lecture. "Let's just say that you can do better for youself, instead of trying to harbor these demented spirits. There is so much more out there that your talents would be good for." Xaro grit his teeth. "If it will let me have my freedom back." he stammered. "NO! He should—" Xaro slapped himself roughly, leaving a streak of damp grave soil on his cheek. "Yes, please help." he whimpered. "Good." Lorrimor said. "I know just the professor who would be able to teach you."   Xaro Windbrook Halfling medium 1 (Pathfinder RPG Occult Adventures 30) N Small humanoid (halfling) Init +2; Senses Perception +5 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 15, flat-footed 13 (+2 armor, +4 Dex, +1 size) hp 10 (1d8+2) Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +3; +2 bonus vs. mind-affecting or +4 if possession, +2 vs. fear -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 20 ft. Melee dagger +5 (1d3/19-20) or . . lantern staff +1 (1d4) Ranged sling +5 (1d3) Special Attacks Depends on the spirit Medium Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +4) . . 0 (at will)—detect magic, prestidigitation -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 11, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 16 Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 13 Feats Agile Maneuvers (Feat Tax), Weapon Finesse (Feat Tax), Legendary Influence[UI] Traits analytical (ustalav), teacher's pet Skills Acrobatics +6 (+2 to jump), Bluff +4, Climb +2, Diplomacy +7, Disguise +4, Heal -1, Intimidate +3, Knowledge (arcana) +5 (+6 when taking 10.), Knowledge (history) +7 (+8 when taking 10.), Knowledge (religion) +5 (+6 when taking 10.), Perception +5, Perform (wind instruments) +7, Sense Motive -1, Spellcraft +5, Survival -1; Racial Modifiers +2 Acrobatics, +2 Climb, +2 Perception Languages Common, Gnome, Halfling SQ finesse weapon attack attribute, spirit surge 1d6 Other Gear leather armor, dagger, lantern staff, sling with 20 sling bullets, automatic writing planchette[OA], candle (10), candlestick[UE] (10), holly and mistletoe, incense (oa)[OA] (10), masterwork backpack[APG], scholar's outfit, spell component pouch, 123 gp, 8 sp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Agile Maneuvers Use DEX instead of STR for CMB Fearless +2 bonus to save vs. fear (stacks with halfling luck). Legendary Influence: Gain a different feat from each legend Seance Boon Gain any seance boon of a spirit. Spirit (Su) Invite a spirit to reside in body after 1h seance Spirit Bonus +1 (Su) Gain a bonus based on the type of spirit you host. Spirit Surge 1d6 (+1, 1/round) (Su) Add a die to a failed check modified by spirit bonus, which can change it to success.

[Seekr34]

Name: Jett Dragomir
Class: Rogue
Race: Dhampir
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Role in party: Scout
Deity: Calistria
Physical Description: Standing at 6 foot even, he looks extremely handsome, of Medium build and athletic. His skin has a dark complexion, has jet black hair, just past his shoulders and his eyes are dark brown. He's dressed in all black, with a leather like armor & vest and matching black pants designed for simplicity and mobility. Knee high boots. Bow at his back and a sword sheathed at his left hip. A dagger sheathed at each thigh.

Personality: He carries himself well with confidence, gets along well with others, although he has trouble trusting them. Seems many are friendly for a price, for while growing up, he couldn't trust anyone except perhaps two or three.He doesn't get overly excited, staying calm through most situations. An even-tempered man, but do not cross him, for you will be marked. At the same time, once you have him for a friend, you got a friend for life. He used fight with his emotions, knowing that regardless what he does, once people finds out what he is, their perception of him instantly changes. He refuses to become evil as many might view him as. Being a alone most of the time, he handles it better than he thought he would, since he never bothered to try to win anyone's approval.

Combat Trait: Courageous +2 vs Fear
Carrion Crown Campaign Trait: On the Payroll

Background:

 

She woke up in cold sweat, although she felt warm. Her window was open again. She couldn't understand what was going on. Rachel was afraid to tell anyone, she heard the stories. Women being seduced during the night in their dreams. She got up, shut the window and looked into the mirror and found couple of small cuts on her neck. Now she was terrified, she heard of vampires but who would she know that could be one? Her parents gone, the only one she could trust, was her professor. The next day after class, she approached him.
"Professor, I think I am in trouble." she says as she lightly bit her lip.
He turned to her from his books. "Nonsense, you will do well on the test, you have the potential to be the best scholar of the class." he smiled.
"Nnn no,nothing about the class, it's..."
"Well my dear, spit it out." he smiled at her, putting her at ease, making her feel warm and fuzzy each time he smiles at her.
"It's this." she took off her scarf and showed him her neck.
He stood up and looked at the neck and his eyes on hers. "I see..." his hand roamed to her belly and slowly moving up. Any other time, she would refuse the advances, but she was memorized by him, so charming and so nice to her. She felt his hand softly on her and found herself kissing him passionately....

Rachel woke up middle of the night, a bit sweating but warm feeling but very tired as well. She noticed her window was open again. Scared and confused, and she always has her window closed but it's been 5 weeks now. She gotten up to close it and walked by her mirror. She noticed her neck's cuts, they looked fresh. Strange, she put on her nightgown and seemed a bit tight. She went back to the mirror and stared open mouthed in shock. Her belly had swelled. How she thought? She hasn't been with anyone. She was really frighten now. She told her professor, scared and not wanting others to know because she had no answer. Once again, with a charming smile, he put her at ease, talked her into staying with him, he would tutor her at his mansion and his servants would wait on her while he was out during the day. Her belly swelled with the coming months and during her eighth month, Professor Warrick had an emergency and had to leave town for a few weeks.
A month later she gave birth to a healthy boy, but there was a problem, his skin would change every time he was exposed to the sun, he would look all bruised like he was beaten. His skin would turn back to normal when he was out of the sun. The child was examined and they asked Rachel all kinds of questions and for the majority of them, she didn't have an answer. She wanted her baby and go home but they took the child for studies and kept Rachel in a guarded room. When the Professor came back, he appeared in her room and brought her home.

"What's going on, where's my baby? They say he has vampire blood, isn't that crazy?"
"Hmm, not really my lovely Rachel. It's rare, but it does happen on occasion." he smiles as he leads her into the house.
"What? but, but how can it be real?" she looked to him for guidance and answers. She felt concerned about him always but yet, felt safe with him whenever he made eye contact with her. Just… weird mixed feelings.
"Because my dear, I am the father and you and I will live forever as lovers. Do not worry about the child." He turned around to face her with a smile, his teeth pointed and sharp. She screamed as he bit into her and fell into a pleasant dream...

Growing up, he never knew his parents. All he knew was that some young lady looking like a noble claiming to be his aunt, came and got him but a week later, brought him back. He became an orphan, although he was adopted, he was soon given up, then another couple adopted him, then found what he was. was quickly given him up as well, back to the street, when word spread what he was, no other family came to him, he was not wanted. If that wasn't bad enough, he had trouble making friends as well. For a child, that's rough as it can get. Unable to fully play outdoors on a bright and sunny day with the other children because of his eyes being sensitive to light, he had to either wear a hat, hood or just stay in the shade and watch the others play. His face exposed in the sun alone kept others away, shunning him, while others bullied him. He was living on the street like a common urchin. As he gotten older, he found he was much more agile than the others and on occasion, his ability frighten others. He did wind up with one friend, someone he could actually call a friend and could rely on. Ghuan was a half-drow and he had his own similar troubles with the community. The two of them became best friends and the two of them protected each other, becoming blood brothers. They both helped each other find each other’s true identity, though Ghuan's history was easier to reveal. Jett finally found what he was later on and that gave Jett another question about his mother, not knowing if she was dead or alive, now he wonders if she gave him up because of what he was? The two managed to get invited to the Beggers Guild and two of them tackled the prejudice together, understanding the fear others may have but since they don't have the full abilities of their tainted blood and pose no real threat, why did the people continue to treat them as outcast?

The two grew up to adulthood in the big city, with the two of them becoming quite a force, with Ghuan's drow blood resisting charm and sleep spells and Jett's vampire half resisting mind effects from enemies, they were a force to be dealt with. Having trouble entering their minds, they had to face the duo up close. Their reputation spreading, The Guile's Fingers of the Thieves Guild came a calling, accepting both of them and helping them enhanced their abilities, learning more skills to better themselves, thriving. Both learned a lot at the guild, besides the art of thievery, they learned how to strike and when to strike, they also learned to fight, though not warriors, even thieves need to know how to defend themselves. As their skills grows, they had still had their troubles. Their skills and abilities, surpassing their peers has added jealously besides bullying and being shunned. Their teacher Larald though, thought differently. He saw the two young men as exceptional thieves that could only make the guild more powerful. He has been around for a long time, he knew the two mix breeds had no real power of their evil blood and enjoyed teaching the two. While Ghuan knew what he was and what he could do, Jett was still learning, luckily, Larald knew and elderly Dhampir that comes to visit once a year and when he arrived, he introduced him to Jett and the elder showed and taught Jett what he needed to know. While he was surprised and disappointed at the advantages and disadvantages of being a Dhampir, Jett was mostly surprised at his lifespan, same as the elves. Since Ghuan was half surface elf and half drow, the two of them could grow old together.

They learned about the Cult of the Burning Fist and excepted both of them as they are, treating them as equals. They were moving up the ranks quickly, becoming respected among their peers, both becoming great burglars, moving up in the ranks fairly quickly, when a man named Petros Lorrimor, a professor from Ustalav, who was also a explorer and loved to travel the world and learn new things. He had gotten wind of Ghuan and Jett met them in person. Finding the two fascinating, he offered them to come with him. When Jett was told about other dhampirs that were common there, he accepted and Ghuan went with him, figuring it was a new place, new scenery. They done a few jobs for the professor and gotten paid for it. There was always some new relic or object from history, but after about two months, the duo decided to head back home, thanking the Professor for the experience, but this country wasn’t for them. The man understood and offered to pay their returning fares. They both liked the man, he treated them as normal people and they could tell he was at ease with them and they considered him one of the very few friends they could count on and enjoyed his company. Truth be told however, they felt ill at ease in Ustalay, for one area, the Immortal Principality of Ustalav lies on the northern shore of Lake Encarthan, and while the lake was a serene place, it was a grim bastion of civilization amid the barbarian north they called it, for the mighty barbarians roam up all aong the north and east, where a harsh landscape and a history rich in tragedies inspire a wary population with skepticism, religious devotion, and superstition. The Professor though, claimed the barbarians were more intelligent than people think. Jett and Guan just looked at each other and nodded to the man, perhaps they were, but they didn't want to find out for themselves. Professor Lorrimor often hired cavaliers to serve as escorts and there was a reason. A conglomeration of loosely affiliated counties, each run by feuding nobles vying for power and influence, which seems to be a common thing everything in the world, Ustalav though, is a pitiful shell of its former glory, Lorrimor and told them. before it was subjugated to centuries of slavery at the hands of the Whispering Tyrant’s undead armies. No wonder Jett detected so many undead. The nation’s upper classes struggle to compete with the very nations that abandoned them to fend for themselves after the Whispering Tyrant’s defeat, the average Ustalavic citizen has it much worse the Professor said. Hundreds of years of subjugation and the residual horrors that plague the countryside have left the people of Ustalav suspicious of magic, religion, foreigners, and their fellow citizens as well. Beyond their eccentric and insular qualities, Ustalavs often have a dour worldview. They resign themselves to lives of suffering, seeing nothing in their people’s history to suggest there is any hope for a better life, as if they are resigned to their way of life, which both men found depressing. Despite the physical and psychological strains upon its populace though, Ustalav nevertheless fosters strong, hardy and tenacious people, for the men and women firmly believe that no matter how bad it gets, history shows it could always be worse.

Although Ustalav has little to offer its rural peasants, inhabitants of its many metropolitan cities fare a bit better, having theaters, shops, and everything a city would normally have, and the centers of learning and culture they provide draw trade and travelers from throughout the Inner Sea region. While the country does have the usual races, some are rare to see like the half-orcs, dwarves and elves. Because of the gnome known for it's tinkering of things, be it science or magic, the people are wary of them, which both men found amusing. Ghuan was constantly alert, nervous all through their travels. The whole area didn’t feel right to him. Jett, while was surprised that their was so many of his kind, however, most people thought of them as monsters and for good reason. In meeting others dhampirs, he was disappointed, most but not all of his fellow race he had met, had embraced their evil half. He had never detected so many undead in one area. No, this place was not for him either, the whole country seem depressing and half reeks of evil. While the Professor was friendly with them, along with a handful of others, Most people were not, for most distrusted outsiders, of any foreign people outside their country, even outside of their town for that matter. If anything, they treated both Ghuan and especially Jett as if they were monsters, causing Jett to keep a hood on during the sunny days, which he usually does anyway. Things were even worse than back home.

When they arrived back home, they took a couple of days just to rewind, relax and reflect before they picked up where they had left off. Soon, things were going so well for them that they wondered when their luck would run out. A few years later, it came. Drow had appeared, making deals with both Grand Masters of both the Thieves Guild and the Assassin Guild. Jett and Ghuan still had a few enemies and both were always on the alert. It was those same enemies that made a deal with the drow. The two were given the task of finding a small box in the warehouse that were heavily guarded. They took four men with them and set off on the mission, once they arrived at witching hour, Jett took two with him to the back, while Ghuan took two and went to the front. Each only managed to reach the second room in when the four men suddenly disappeared. Quickly crouching, scanning the area with his darkvision, he saw movements, then he was attacked. It was hard fought, and he was losing when he heard rats and Jett quickly communicated with them and after quickly making a deal, the rats came and came in droves. They were much more than the dhampir had expected and the rats attacked the drows. Jett quickly escaped and searched for Ghuan. It was a good thing he went stealth, because there were other drows and they didn't notice the Jett as they went by, hearing their comrades shouting. Once alone, the dhampir rogue had found his half drow comrade, his best friend. It was ugly sight, Ghuan was sprawled on the ground, body slashed, and his throat cut. Taking a couple of personal items from Ghuan, he went into hiding. He heard the drow were working with the two guilds and guessed they were sent after Ghuan and himself by their jealous enemies. For the first time since he was a toddler, he wept, Ghuan was like a true brother and now he was gone. He wanted revenge, but Holken, the Guild Master asked him not to pursue, the drows were out of their league, at least for now. After a few days, he finally realized that it wasn't worth going after his fellow rogues. It was time to leave and with a heavy heart, Jett left the city. He thought about his father, if he ever met him, he had to die. But how would he know which vampire sired him? Yet, it didn't really matter, they all needed to die anyway, including the drows. He vowed revenge and one day, he will avenge Ghuan, but right now? He'll answer the summons, perhaps start a new life. He shrugged and pulled up his hood as the sun was nearing its peak on this bright, sunny if not bit hard on the eyes day...

Relationship to Petros Lorrimor: Petros and visited Jett's city and offered him and his friend to Ustalay. The professor had taken a liking to the two of them and was amazed how the two of worked so well together, almost like they were as one. The three became good friends, besides Petros liking the two men and their way of doing things, but the Ghuan and Jett liked the man as well because he treated them equally, didn't treat them differently than the others. Half the time he would go with them on missions. To gather information, or hunt down some ancient history, or some artifact. Sometime the two would go alone to steal an important item that Petros didn't want to get into the wrong hands. They got to know each other well and traded stories of their past and current lives. The two stayed only 2 months though, not feeling comfortable in the strange country, then they headed back home.

Motivations to visit Ravengro (Secreted): When Jett was about to leave the city after the death of his friend, he received a letter of the Professor's death. Sadden, he wasn't going to go, not liking the Country, there was a thought that perhaps the Professor left him something in his will. Normally, the rogue would gladly take his share, but he felt ill at ease at the area. After giving some thought, he thought to himself that he has no destination currently and he would only be going for the funeral, not staying, so, he headed to Ravengro...

Roleplay Sample:

 

Five men were sitting in a room in the Thieves Guild, discussing a certain individual and what to do about him.
“He killed Ty, he knew he worked for us, I don’t know how, but he did.” The first man spoke.
“Damn right he did, he is not going to forget us, it be only a matter of time before he decides to come after us.” The second man chimed in.
“Hah, let him, he’s only one man.” The Third man exclaimed.
“Don’t be a fool, have you heard about him? His reputation? He’s grown in skill, he’s become a powerful man. I sent some assassins after him months ago and never heard back of any updates except from the Assassin Guild, who themselves haven’t heard back and assumes they are now dead.” The fourth man replied, looking at the third man like he was an idiot.
"Well, it was a bloody mess, but at least half-drow is dead and we gotten rid that human vampire. Never liked those two, creepy. We still have to deal with the drows, but we'll get through it."
The 2nd man nodded. "Aye, they still only come up at night, both Guilds has men at watch, so they won't try anything. Not sure why we have to deal with them in the first place, they can't be trusted, worse that the half-drow bastard."
A 4th man entered the room during the conversation. "Wouldn't worry about the drows, they're leaving. For good too I think."
The other two men turned to him with shocked look and the first man spoke. "Seriously? What happened? Drows don't back down from nothing. So what got them to leave?"
The 4th man let out a deep sigh. "That brings us to another problem. Vampires. Two of the drows are dead, one claimed it was from a ripper."
The 2nd man looked confused. "What's a ripper?"
"A ripper is a vampire that can't control himself, goes into a frenzy. Worse type of vampire."
The other two just stared at him. "Bloody hells, you think that Jett brought his vampire friends?"
"I don't know, where Harrel and Kory? They should have been here by now."
Then a knock came at the door, the first man got up and went to the door. "Finally, maybe it’s them. Who is it?"
"A message!"
Bit steamed, figuring the other two wasn't going to make the meeting, he opened the door. "What's the message?" His eyes then went wide when he saw the messenger. "J-J-Jett!!"

Jett stood there with a cold dead smile. "Message is, your turn to die." he said with a calm even but gravel voice.

The other two stood up as they heard a sound of a blade swoosh and their friend's head flew at them. They screamed out as Jett dove after them. There was a ruckus and sounded like a tornado was inside the room. Then a sound of a window breaking. A few minutes later, the door burst open and the other guild members entered the room to find the 4 men, dead and decapitated and a breeze was coming in from the broken window..

[pianoman90]

Originally Posted by Runetide

Hey Pianoman90, I'm already in one of your games, could I apply for this one too?

Absolutely! I think it is the highest honor that players who already suffer in my games want to come back for more...

[Runetide]

Excellent. I'm updating my first post with my application. I'm going to go out of my comfort zone and play a class that would probably be a lot of flavor and perhaps even fun* for this AP... a Medium! They seem pretty neat and I've never played one before.


*Fun: Plot bait

[pianoman90]

Fun? The PCs are supposed to have fun in this AP? Why wasn't that included in the AP guide?

*scribbles a few notes furiously*

As it happens, I will be making notes about the characters for my own process, and will likely ask a few questions as they come to me. Let me know when you have added/changed significant sections or completed your app and I can have a good read of it.

[Sassafrass]

Looks like this is going to be a promising game, looking forward to seeing how it turns out

[Noquarter19]

Application for Carrion Crown “I am waltzing with death, flirting with him, but he stands there smiling and saying nothing because he does not need to woo or be wooed: he knows he gets us all in the end.” ― Nenia Campbell Olyvette Hardwick, age 25 Human Oracle   ”Grandfather, will you tell me again the story of the prison?” The little girl looked up plaintively at the elderly man sitting in the old wooden rocking chair. Outside, the rain poured down, soaking the deserted streets like a sobbing maiden. Under the warped wooden roof of the deck, the old man rocked and rocked, the boards below his chair creaking like his bones. He looked out from his perch on the deck and surveyed the town of Lepidstadt which had been his home for decades. Atop a hill to the west, fields absorbed the rainfall, and his eyes seemed to be looking at these; yet, if one could see inside his mind, they would know that those eyes were looking back through time to the blackened stone structure which dominated the view of the small town of Ravengro, the same way the eye would be drawn to an ugly facial scar. He had not seen the burned structure in the flesh for many years, but he had no need to - he saw it in his mind's eye every single day. His knobby, arthritic hands clutched the thin, wood armrests, rubbed smooth by years of use. His joints throbbed. He closed his eyes against the pain, the pain of memory, and in a quiet voice, he responded, ”I suppose. You’ve waited long enough, and you’re a woman grown now.” Olyvette Hardwick was twelve years old, and for eight of those years, she had been interested in strange things. Once, while reading a book which dealt with famous murderers, she came across a page dedicated to a killer with the strange name of 'The Splatter Man.' The book said that the man had been eventually caught and incarcerated at a prison, but that the prison had closed under mysterious circumstances. It gave no further details. The curious girl eagerly showed the page to her loving grandfather, who affectionately called her his "Olyv." But his reaction was strange. The man's face visibly blanched, and he swept the book from her hand and quickly left the room. When she began to cry to her parents that her grandfather had thrown her book, they took a look at the page she had showed him, then quickly closed the book. Eager to protect her from what was to them a horrifically grisly subject, they simply brushed off her curious inquiries by saying she was ‘much too young,’ that ‘it’s just an old building,’ and ‘you should play with your friends.’ But every deflection, every attempt to thwart or redirect her curiosity only fueled the fire within her. By the age of six, she had gotten her annoyed father to at least divulge the name of the ruined penitentiary, and it was some months later that she discovered her grandfather Petyr Hardwick had actually worked at the ruined building. At last. Now there was no need to ask her parents, when her own grandfather was the key to unlocking what had become for her an insatiable curiosity. Her grandfather loved her. She was his only grandchild, his little Olyv. Surely he would reveal his secrets? His flat denial had thrown her into a screaming rage, and it was hours before her tantrum subsided. The nerve of that old man, to deny me, to say “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Hah! No one ever tells me anything! On her seventh name-day, she had gone again to her grandfather. ”I’m older now, grandfather, will you tell me about the building now?” And again, he had looked at her, sighed, and shook his head no, saying only “when you’re older.” She cursed and screamed and ran off, and it was hours yet before her parents found her, throwing stones as hard as she could into a small pond nearby. It was clear that something dreadful must have happened, for why would adults not want to tell her about a building. When she was twelve years old, Olyvette had her first menstruation, and it was soon after this, that her grandfather accepted that she was no longer a little girl, but a woman grown. He told her of how he had been a guard at the infamous prison, about the fire that had swept through the building, about the tragic loss of life and the dozens of guards and prisoners who had suffocated or burned alive deep in the depths of Harrowstone. He was swallowing hard by the end of the story, as though suppressing a rising gorge. Sweat beaded his deeply lined brow, and as the story went on, Olyvette’s intense gaze upon her grandfather grew, while his own energy seemed to be somehow draining out of him. It was as though recalling the events of a tragedy from fifty years ago had uncorked the bottle containing his life force. Two days later, after being unable to sleep for a moment, unable to take a breath without gasping, Petyr Hardwick hung himself from the rafters of the barn. Olyvette found him like that, and for a good while, she just stood there, rapt, her eyes looking up at the livid face of her grandfather. She seemed to feel… pleased, but why that was, she couldn’t say. Olyvette Hardwick is, for lack of a better term, morbid. She is curious about death, about the ways that people die. She’s not a killer, not really. In fact, she’s not even particularly violent. Nor is she a bad person. But she has a curiosity, first developed upon reading about what she later learned was named Harrowstone prison, and exacerbated by the strange reactions the building's name evoked in the adults in her life. The picture of the building in her book had a sinister look to it to match its curiously strange reputation, but it wasn’t until Olyvette’s elderly grandfather revealed to her the nature of the building, and about how it had become so infamous that her interest in death really blossomed, much like the blood had begun to blossom from her own body shortly before. Over time, her interest in death spread like ripples in a pool, to include all things dark and macabre. She became fascinated with the occult, and though at this point it had been several years, her mind was always cast back to that day she had seen her grandfather hanging there in the barn. Many times, the sight of his swaying corpse would come to mind apropos of nothing, as though a part of her mind – or some other entity entirely – was replaying that vision, as though the sight were pleasurable somehow. Olyvette didn’t entirely understand this, but then again, she’d never really been bothered by the sight in the first place. Physically, Olyvette is average in height and weight. Plain of face, with pale skin and ice blue eyes which seem to glow almost. Her hair is wavy and dirty blonde, the color of rotten wheat. She has a bit of a temper when things do not go her way, seeming to fly into a rage, but otherwise her demeanor is cool... much like her skin.   The death of Professor Petros Lorrimor came swiftly and suddenly, and in the life of Olyvette Hardwick, it was a real tragedy. Olyvette had known the professor for years, having gained entry into his world through his daughter Kendra, before the two moved to Ravengro fifteen years before. The two girls had become... well, if not friends, then friendly enough. Both had an interest in magic, and both felt a bit out of place in town, even though Olyvette had actually grown up there. The girls had spent time at the Lorrimor house a few evenings, and here Olyvette had her first glimpse of the balding professor. Eventually, as the two girls got older, Kendra's beauty blossomed, while Olyvette felt the first pangs of inadequacy. It was enough to strain the relationship to the point that the two became mere acquaintances. Olyvette's rising interest in all things strange and unusual led to her sending a message to the professor years later, and he was kind enough to respond to her questions. The professor knew much about dark forces in the world, for to know thine enemy is the only way to truly defeat them. The two would correspond often, with the professor seeming curious about tales about the so-called "Beast of Lepidstadt". His messages tended to be a bit terse, as the man was busy, but his knowledge was a blessing to the occult-obsessed girl. She longed to learn more. His vast wealth of knowledge of all things evil and macabre Inspired by Greatness traitinspired her to become even more knowledgeable than the professor, and his death came too soon. There was no one else in the rural region that was her home who knew half of what the professor did. And so she mourned - not for the loss of the man, but for the loss of knowledge, of opportunity.     "Olyv, dear, you look aghast - and so pale! What ever is the matter?" The words, spoken by her empty-headed mother, bring the young woman out of her quiet reflection. The rain was falling outside the window, a steady rhythym of water. The streets were rutted lakes, and the fields were sodden. She shivered. She was always shivering, always cold, even by the fire. "What, mother? Were you speaking?" She had turned her head about halfway toward the distant voice, and saw her mother stood only a few feet away. Lazily, her eyes drifted back to the window, to the street, and to the rain. Her mother was a simpleton. So was her father, but he at least had a knowledgeable trade to put his mind to use, even if it was only constructing buildings in the region. He was gone often, and that suited Olyvette just fine. They could all be gone as far as she was concerned. Then she could read in peace. Her mother was speaking again, something about there being a lot of rain, and Olyvette snapped out. "What do you want, mother? I am in mourning, can you not tell? A great man is dead, and here I sit unable to find out why. I was waiting for him to respond with stories about a series of interesting glyphs the professor had discovered while abroad many years ago, and now I shall never get the chance!" Her voice had started out condescendingly, but her distress took over, her voice rising to a shout. Her mouse of a mother only bowed her head in apology for disturbing the girl, and skulked from the room. Olyvette had already turned back to the window. Olyvette usually slept during the day, for there was little that interested her in daylight. Too many people. She preferred the quiet dark solitude of night, of tomes by candlelight. Graveyards under a half moon. In the dark, she felt as though she could truly see. In truth, little at all happened in Lepidstadt, but the only things that interested her even slightly happened once the sun dipped down below the horizon. The professor had been killed at night. The beast of Lepidstadt killed its victims at night. Everything was better when coated in darkness. But now, in the light of day, she was forced to face the news she had received shortly before She felt a bevy of emotions upon reading the letter. The pain of loss, certainly, but loss of what? She cared little for the man himself. Men and women were merely vessels which contained life, and when those vessels were destroyed, that life flickered out like a candle during a rain. She mourned for the loss of knowledge that disappeared with the professor's death, but at the same time she craved to see his body, to feel his cold flesh against hers. She wondered if Kendra would invite her to the funeral...

[Zealot]

WIP

WIP The Basics Name: Francis Hellhurst Race: Human Alignment: Class: Psychic Deity: Traits: Appearance TBC Personality TBC History Pending Professor Petros Lorrimor and Ravengro Pending RP Sample Pending

[Ericg1s]

I edited my RP post to contain her receiving the invitation to the funeral, and an appropriate reaction.
I realize that my background doesn't list an exact location. She was born and raised just far enough away to avoid her childhood being significantly touched by the Count Aericnein Neska's lengthy battle of the Furrows. She has also managed to avoid The Devil in Gray and The Beast of Lepidstadt, but she was aware of all 3 tragedies, even though they never came close to her. Aside from her having studied under the professor, I don't really see her being strongly tied to Ustalav. I can provide a location if needed, but I would prefer to leave it generic, as I suspect the campaign will center mainly in Ustalav, and her home and family will be far enough away to not significantly matter.

[pianoman90]

Awesome, thanks for the tinkering Ericg1s! I had a few unexpected things come up this week that took my focus from reading applications, but I will have some questions and feedback over the weekend.