[D&D-5e] Ancient Keoland

[Exfilia]

Originally Posted by Tranquil

This is a very welcome resource. Much appreciated. I often have trouble making a character that matches the setting if I don't have something like this to read through.

I keep forgetting that not everyone started playing in the 1970s with three brown booklets out of a white box

Here's a map of all of Greyhawk which is VERY large but beautiful.

If you want to have wandered in from outside Keoland, this wiki might be useful, especially the Greyhawk Realms category.

Here's a list of links that might interest you.

And of course, WoC makes PDF copies of the original material I'm working from available on DriveThruRPG and similar sites, but I wouldn't go overboard--you won't need any of this except for character background. I'll clue you in in-game when you need geographic, historical or political information.

[JaredSyn]

I have the original Greyhawk boxed set and many other box sets I have had for 30 plus years.

[Andor]

Dunstan Kemp, Aspiring Bard   "And when the ball was over, Everyone confessed, "The music was exquisite, But the doin' was the best!"" Dunstan finished the bawdy song to much raucous cheering and hollering among the mercenaries. That particular one was always a winner, not only because it was a favorite among the rough band, but it also had a habit of chasing out the more sensitive types who might draw a pall on the evening's activites. "Alright then, you lot! Another song then? A story! Naughty limericks?" He grinned and wiggled his fingers at the crowed at the last one, holding his worn, but well cared-for lute, away to the side. He enjoyed performing, and he knew that one day he would be able to complete his bardic training and compose the most epic lyrical work ever composed! Or at least be able to get free drinks at taverns. Several suggestions for songs and stories were shouted out, and one attempt at a limerick about a man from Rel Mord. Before Dunstan could pick one, someone piped up with the question, "How about how you got here, Dunny?" Dunny was his nickname, which he hated, but knew far better than to let anyone know he hated it. It only came up during heavy drinking at this point. If the crew knew it bugged him, it would be non-stop. "Yeah," called out another, "what're ye doin' here wi' us, instead o' playin' fer all the pretty ladies?" Dunstan laughed and retorted, "I figured you ladies were pretty enough!" This received a mixture of laughter, curses, and a few hurled items easily dodged. "How did I get here?" he pondered aloud. "It's a sordid tale, my friends..." He played a chord on his lute, recalling the day he left to join the caravan as combination guard and entertainment. "I was playing a modest tavern, not unlike this one, in Eastfair a year or two ago. I was warming up the crowd for the paid performer, a daunting but challenging job, to be sure. Well, one man, a foppish little son of a...lordling...decided he didn't like my singing or my choice of songs, and said I should sing a real song or get off the stage." With that, Dunstan smiled wistfully and strummed a moment, before continuing. "I, of course, chose the former. And just because the littlest noble had decided to help, I made up a song on the spot all about him!" He grinned as everyone laughed, and said, "And I'll sing that song for you tonight!" WIP

[Tachikoma]

Name: Brynn Leshko
Race: Human
Alignment: CN
Class: Fighter/Rogue
Background: Soldier
Traits: Right and wrong are for the history books. Seeing war and people killed for stepping on the wrong foot (sometimes literally) have made me very pragmatic. There are two kind of people, those who live and those who are dead. I intend to stay the former for as long as possible. If that means fighting "dirty" or stabbing someone in the back, so be it. Also choosing the right people to fight with is crucial, if I don't have their back, how can I expect them to cover mine?
Ideal: Live and let live. Ideals aren't worth killing over or going to war for (Neutral).
Bond: The underdog. Those who fight against all odds, those who stand up for themselves even if it might cost them everything.
Flaw: I have very little respect for anyone who is not a proven warrior.
Appearance: Brynn has a very simple outlook, everything is very functional and with a very specific detail. No extra decorations, no special colors. But it doesn't mean that his armor isn't meticilous clean, oiled and repaired. He seem to be a bit aged beyond is rather young age, and sometimes give an air of "old timer", speaking of "youngsters", and condemning newfangled changes. If it isn't necessary to "act posh" he can have a rather crude demeanor, swearing not uncommon. Similarly his facial hair is always a stubble, his hair cut very short, his basic expression either a scowl or a crooked smile. He like to give the impression that he is very carefree and relaxed at any situation.

 

Backstory Idea:
There wasn't much of a career choice. In the dirt poor town where Brynn grew up you either became a farmer and lived for as long as you were useful to some lord or other. If you didn't die of sickness, you could die from marauders, a angry lord or just by breaking a toe and dying from the infection, or you enlisted in the army. Having seen a few battles Brynn decided that the only way to live long was to be good at not getting killed. Preferably killing anything or anyone hostile first. Gather some gold, earn a title, buy a castle. Live like lord. However soldiers doesn't tend to live long and they never get to choose when to fight or for what cause. So in the latest skirmish Brynn simply "died" and never regrouped with his former unit. The equipment he took with him was considered an early retirement payment. After a bit of roaming the land Brynn met the Captain. They didn't see eye to eye always, but they could understand each other. Seemed an easy way to learn a bit of surviving and earning some coin. Brynn respected most of his fellow caravan guards, or at least the ones he learned could handle themselves. Then the Captain decided to be a beggar instead. Hilerous. Must have been an old blow to the head acting up. Brynn feel as much contempt as confusion over the Captains choice. But that is that, the gig is up, time to find new opportunities, that old castle ain't going to build itself.

[SnakeOilCharmer]

OK... I think I'm done? Hoping there's no glaring errors about the lore of the Pale I've missed. I was going to make her Tenha, but nope, that's a war zone as well. I very much wanted her leaving her home to be a controlled thing in which she said goodbye with her folks' blessing (I've got another caster whose home village was destroyed, so wanted to go the other way - she had a lovely childhood, but destiny calls).

[derpoet]

Hi, I'm quite interested in this game- I've wanted to play in Oerth since I first got into DND! But, I am new to the site and PbP, and was wondering if you'd be tolerant of someone who is still learning the site and coding? I know that you want a pretty quick pace with the game, so I completely understand if you'd prefer to have veterans!

[Noquarter19]

Placeholder post for my forthcoming human druid. Just need to read up about the setting so I can come up with a decent flavored backstory. This seems really cool though, despite not having any experience with Greyhawk. Ended up going rogue, har-har, with my character.[/dadjoke] Also I was struggling a bit with how I was going to get an impetuous teenage druid from the Celadon Forest to the Dreadwood. I think this guy seems more fun.

Barring any missing info in my application, or anything you'd like me to expound upon, I'm considering my application COMPLETE

Application for Ancient Keoland Name:Jekarrin "Jak" Quickstep Race: Halfling (Lightfoot) Class:Rogue (thief) Background: Criminal (Burglar) Personality: I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me. I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds. Ideal: I'm loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone else can take a trip down the Styx for all I care. Bond: I’m trying to pay off an old debt I owe to a generous benefactor. Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I’m okay with that.   It was a setup. That fact was apparent from the moment he crept in through the third story window. The thieves guild of Gradsul had let him have the tip, a bit too readily, now that he thought about it. Gareth had looked positively smug when he gave the details. But Jak needed the work, or more specifically, he needed the money, and lot's of it, so he hadn't picked up on what should have been obvious cues. Greed makes you blind, he reflected, as he watched members of the city guard close off the alleyway he had just vacated. Greed, and desperation. He was in hock to Marcus, his fence contact down by the docks, for... He closed his eyes. He didn't want to even consider the amount. Focus. Only way out is forward now. Panic gets you nothing. The job was a simple break-in, in theory. A collection of gemstones in a wooden box, as well as some sort of pendant. Third floor, second door on the right, third drawer down in the wooden dressing table. The residents were away on a vacation at the resort palace of the duke in Sanduchar. In and out. Well, clearly not, he groused. The house was dark, so he crept along on tiptoe, mindful of any furniture in his path. The hall was narrow; spreading his short halfling arms he could touch both walls. At the second gap in the wall on the right, he felt for a knob. Unlocked. A twinge of unease at that. Was that a ragged breath he heard? Only way out is forward now. He turned the knob. There were two. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he heard two separate sets of breathing. The dressing table was straight ahead; in the light of the moon streaming in through the window he could see his faint reflection in the mirror set atop the fancy table. They were going to let him hang himself, he determined. So be it. He crept forward. The room was a bedroom, a large canopied bed to his right, bookshelves to his left, and in the corners behind him, a large writing desk on his left and a canvas partition screen on his right. The one behind the desk had a wheeze when he breathed, and the one on the right wouldn’t stop shuffling his feet. Not thieves… more city guards? Irrelevant who they were, focus on the job, focus on the escape after. He crouched down before the drawer. Annoyingly, this lock would need to be picked. Just more of the game. Removing his thieves’ tools from a pouch in his jacket, he began to work the lock by feel alone. It was a snap to pick, even in the dark. He reached in to the drawer, and as he grabbed the box, the voice to his right said, “Get him.” The good news was that the bed was in between Jak and the window. The bad news was the three-story drop. Jak darted to his right as the man from behind the desk sprinted toward him. Tucking the jewelry box into a pocket, he sprang onto the bed. The two men rounded toward the bed, arms clutching for him. Jak braced himself, and using the bed as a springboard, he dove headfirst through the window. The first-floor awning was a welcome surprise that broke what could have otherwise been a nasty fall to the terrace below. He tumbled forward and hit the ground in a roll, springing to his feet. The alleyway window he had climbed into was on the side of the house; he was now on the rear side. Most of the city guards in the alley had not seen him, but the sound of shattering glass and shouts from the third-floor window alerted them. Hearing the stomping of feet and shouts moving toward him, Jak took off running. It took a half hour of ducking through yards and scaling walls to elude the guards, but Jak eventually made his way down to the docks. His fence Marcus was based out of a warehouse down by the waterfront. For all anyone knew Marcus was a legitimate businessman, but he was an integral part of the thieves’ guild’s success in the city of Gradsul. The port city saw thousands of ships a year, and Marcus kept track of every one that dropped anchor. If you needed it moved, Marcus was your man. And he got a cut of all of it. “Heard you might have had a little trouble tonight Jak,” Marcus muttered as Jak entered the secret entrance to Marcus’s office. Jak’s breath was a bit ragged from the exertion of evading the guards, and his muscles felt like rubber, but he was calm. ”Might have. You wouldn’t know anything about it now, would you Marcus?” The room was dimly lit with a couple oil lanterns, and cast a flickering glow on the massive oak desk that dominated the room. Dampness had curled the pages of the multiple shipping ledgers that littered the desktop. Marcus’s eyes gleamed. “Might be you weren’t meant to get away. Might be you were meant to end up in jail. Or dead. And might be I know why.” He grinned. ”You’re not the only one who knows a thing or two. The thieves guild betrayed me. Gareth finally found a way to remove me from the picture. His one mistake was trying to get me arrested. If he wanted it done right, he should have sent an assassin.” Marcus laughed, and got to his feet. “That he should have. Jak, we’ve got a problem. Or, I should be more specific, you’ve got a problem. The guards were tipped off, you’re right, but they also know to look for a brown haired halfling. I don’t know what you did to set the guild against you-“ ”I do. They’re jealous because I’m the best thief in the city, and Gareth used to be top dog. I guess I should have seen this coming.” “You’re quite right. It’s a shame to lose you; you brought in a lot of coin.” ”Not enough, unfortunately; I still owe you more than I care to think about.” A month earlier a heist had gone bad and ended in a ship full of goods bound for Irongate consumed by flames. That deal had been tied to Jak, even though he hadn’t even been onboard at that point, and he had been left responsible for recouping the loss in profit to Marcus. It was my deal, but I’d let Gareth handle the exchange. He cursed silently. He was trying to get me out of the picture even then. What a petty little man he is. He looked at Marcus. ”You said the guards know who I am?” “They know everything but your name. I wouldn’t go home, not for anything. They know where you live. You were lucky enough to get away as it is. Did you get the jewels?” Jak patted his pocket. “Good. Give them to me.” Jak handed the box over, reflecting on what a miserable life being a thief could be sometimes. ”These should square my debt with you Marcus. At least something good came out of tonight.” Marcus sighed. “Oh, Jak. How do you think Gareth knew so much about where these were? You think it was coincidence?” He opened the box, revealing what ended up being a handful of granite stones of various sizes. Rocks. He had stolen rocks. He chuckled. It was the perfect parting joke. “Do you know whose house you even broke into? Nobody told you?” Jak just stared. “The house belongs to the sister of Duchess Maressa, who you may have heard of. You should have. Her husband rules the city and controls the navy.” Marcus placed both hands square on his desk and stared intently down at Jak. “You can’t stay here anymore.” ”I wasn’t going to ask to stay in the warehouse.” “I wasn’t talking about the warehouse. You wouldn’t have made it here alive if I thought they’d connected you to here. One of my men would have made sure of that. No, I was talking about Gradsul. You need to leave the city tonight.” Jak just stared at him. This was a waking nightmare. ”Any ideas on how I can do that, what with the city guard on the lookout for a halfling that looks just like me?” His voice was pure venom. But Marcus looked strangly calm. “Turnips.” ”Turnips? How are turnips going to get me out of the city?” Surely this was some sort of joke. “Just listen. Todric Mudwallow, Fat Tod as he’s known as around here, he’s a farmer and a hobbit. He keeps a stall on the west end of the city. Well his son Bedric is about your age, looks passably like you. He runs a wagon between the city and the Mudwallow farm east of Oakroot. I may be able to put a little word in the ear of one of the guards that poor Bedric is the hobbit they’re looking for.” The idea of setting some poor farmboy up as a patsy to save his own hide should have make Jak feel guilty, but his sense of self-preservation was strong, and he pushed the thought aside. ”You still haven’t explained the turnips.” “Just listen. All of the unsold produce that doesn’t sell at the market stall gets donated to the Monastery of St. Cuthbert. Bedric makes the trip once a week. So if Bedric is going to play the part of Jak,…” ”…then I get to play Bedric the poor farmboy. And, what, deliver turnips to some monastery?” “You don’t want to go anywhere near that monastery. You’d have to go through Oakroot to get there, and someone would surely notice you’re not the same hobbit when you go by the farm. You’re going to go southwest at the fork toward Daerwald and work your way around heading north toward Niole Dra. Once you’re there, one of my contacts has a job for you. It’s a…” He paused. “It’s a legitimate business opportunity. There’s an opening as a caravan guard. Well. Mostly you guard the shipments. From time to time, maybe you let one of my contacts in the city know of some particularly juicy shipments. Do you catch my meaning, Jak?” Jak sighed. ”So I’m a mole now. I guess it’s better than prison. Do you have any clothes I can wear out of here? I don’t exactly look much like a farmer.” “I’m sure I’ve got something around here in one of these boxes. Now one more thing, my contact in Niole Dra is a half-elf named Hammett. Just tell him you had been messaged about a job opportunity; he’ll be expecting you. I have riders bringing shipments and information up and down the River Road every day. With you taking the long way around to the city, the rider I send today will beat you there by days.” Marcus whistled, and a beautiful woman came in. “This is Nell. She’ll set you up with a horse and wagon cart. When I know you’re out of the city safely, Nell will put a little bird in the ear of one of the guards to check the Mudwallow market stall for the hobbit they’re looking for.” Jak stood there quietly for a moment. ”Why are you doing all this Marcus? Why not just wash your hands of me and let the guard take me? What’s in it for you?” Marcus just chuckled. “The money. You still owe me for that ship and its cargo. This way you can still work for me, and I can rest easy knowing you’re safe.” Jak was under no illusions that Marcus truly cared about him beyond his ability to generate revenue. ”When do we leave?” Jak asked, addressing the dark-skinned Nell. “We leave now,” she replied in a heavy accent. “Chin up, Jak, a fortnight from now, you’ll be resting comfortably in Niole Dra. A whole new opportunity is ahead of you now.” He nodded to Nell and returned to his seat. Newly clad in garb that made him look like a fish out of water farmer, Jak followed Nell out through the secret entrance. As he trudged behind her trying to keep up with her longer strides toward the turnip cart that would lead him to escape, he thought, This new opportunity smells like a cowpie.   The job was practically over before it began. Marcus had called it a 'whole new opportunity.' After fleeing from Gradsul in the early morning dressed as a farmer, he had ridden what felt like a month along roads that devolved to rutted trails. The mule had died a half day's ride from Watershead. He had abandoned the cart and continued on foot for a time, but footsore and weary, he stole a pony. He avoided the roads for several miles, until a river outside of Laketowne forced him to rejoin the road. He had never been an especially hairy halfling, but weeks on the road had turned his head into a mop of matted brown tangles. He needed a bath and a drink. This journey couldn't end soon enough. He let the pony run free two miles outside of Niole Dra, hoping its discovery wouldn't be linked back to him. His clothing reeked; thanks to the guards who had been watching his home, he had been unable to bring any other changes of clothes. He washed up on the bank of a river running parallel to the road, and let the sun dry him as he walked. The city guards looked at him with suspicion, a halfling walking alone with no seeming purpose. Thankfully, Jak could be quite charming when he put his mind to it, and his small stature did much to make him appear nonthreatening. When he stated he was there for a guard job opportunity with a local trade caravan, the two seemed amused, but they let him pass. It didn't matter; they could have laughed themselves silly, but they let him pass, and that was what mattered. It was not long before he met up with Hammett, Marcus' contact in the city. The man was a sniveling toad, but it didn't matter – he was just the middleman. “You're late by a week, hobbit.” He sneered. “Did you lose your way?” ”Mule died. I made it here as quickly as I could. Where's a comfortable inn? I could sleep for a month.” Hammett directed him to a run-down hostel that charged too much and had roaches on the floor. It was a palace in Jak's eyes; he slept for fourteen hours. After waking, Jak made his way to a pub and bought a mug of ale and a bowl of stew. That done, he evaluated his current savings. He had enough to buy a new pair of shoes and a new outfit, and meals for a week. He was able to haggle the price down on some new clothing, but the shoemaker was a stodgy old man who seemed to harbor resentment toward non-humans and refused to budge on price. Jak knew better than to push the issue; he wasn't in a position to generate too much ill-will toward himself, having just arrived. Newly attired, and with his belly full, Jak went to meet the caravan driver Hammett had directed him toward. The captain seemed like a nervous sort, with shifty eyes and trembling hands. Jak didn't know how he had ended up as captain of the caravan guards; it seemed as though a stiff breeze would blow him over. This is going to be a cinch, Jak mused. Hopefully the caravans will be worth a good amount; I can't imagine what sorts of guards this weak fool keeps in his employ. Unfortunately, the best laid plans are soon waylaid. Upon meeting the other three caravan guards, Jak knew the plan was anything but a cinch. The other three guards were tough, surprisingly so, and Jak knew that any attempts to assault a caravan guarded by this crew would be a real challenge for Marcus's men. His only hope was to wait and to watch, and hope that one of these shipments would be worth the risk of assault. He couldn't wait too long, however. Marcus had set him up with the position as a means to settle his debt, and working the guard job was a perfect cover. Jak watched and waited, and hoped. The first few shipments were mundane. Spices. Textiles. Fruits and vegetables. Some iron ore. Nothing worth risking life and limb. The fourth shipment was different. A mine rich with silver had struck a new vein, and along with some precious minerals, a wagon nearly full of silver ore was set to travel down to Gradsul. Jak was a touch uneasy – not about Gradsul; they had made the trek back to his former city thrice before, and as a guard with the caravan, he had bore no notice. What he was nervous about was the risk. It was one thing to be working a job himself, where he and his senses were pitted against whatever he was trying to accomplish. This was different. There were two different factions at play, and he was playing the role of infiltrator. Should Marcus's men be unable to subdue or kill the other four members of the caravan guards, there might be questions. Jak was also concerned about the idea of fighting against Marcus's men if push came to shove. He was deft with a blade and had no concerns of his own skill, but he would be walking a tight line trying to appear to defend himself while not going after Marcus's men too vigorously. It wouldn't do to be the one who killed them. It ended up being a moot point. The attack came halfway between Gradsul and Sayre, just north of the Dreadwood and a few miles northwest of Oakroot. Jak reflected later that Oakroot was where the Mudwallow Farm was located. He wondered about the unfortunate Bedric Mudwallow. Last he had heard from one of Marcus's men, the unlucky hobbit was rotting in a cell in the Gradsul dungeon. He reminded himself it was hardly his fault. There were five of them, and they had been hiding amongst the trees and thickets lining the road. When the attack came, it was swift, but the guards were prepared. The Dreadwood was notoriously dangerous, and the guards' senses were heightened as a result. It was over quickly. All five attackers were slain. The fifth had wounds which were not immediately fatal, but, sensing he would be questioned and might give up Hammett or Marcus as the orchestrator of the assault, Jak slit his throat to silence the man. Casualties on the guards' side included an arrow through a shoulder, a sword slash to an arm that cut nearly to the bone, and the captain's mental fortitude. The man was a blubbering mess, and upon eventually reaching Niole Dra, he up and quit his position, divvied up the proceeds from the job amongst the four of them, gifted them the horses and mules that had been part of the caravan, and fled to the monastery. Probably a safer bet, Jak opined. The caravan job was through without ever having yielded a score for Marcus, or for putting any sort of dent into what Jak owed. The only bright spot was the fact that, a failure though the assault had been, Jak's involvement had not been revealed at alll. They would have killed him on the spot had they known it was Jak's intelligence that had prompted the attack. Luckily, that information would never be revealed. So now, standing at a literal and figurative crossroads, Jak pondered his future. He knew nearly nothing of the city; his one employment opportunity had died on the vine, and aside from the weasel-faced Hammett, whom he didn't trust further than he could heave the man, he knew nobody in the city he could rely on. Well. With three obvious exceptions. He turned to the other three guards. ”Well now, looks like we're all in between opportunities. I don't suppose any of you have any ideas on where an out of work halfling could get a decent job in the city? Something with a little flair, perhaps?” One of the guards (he hadn't yet really learned their names, preferring to not get too close to people he might end up having to help kill) mentioned a woman offering 125 gold each to recover two fools who had gone into some ancient ruin. Jak didn't know anything about any ruins, and didn't care about finding some young fools with straw for brains, but the notion of 125 gold, with the possibility of 125 more should the two be found alive, appealed greatly to Jak's sensibilities. Jak pondered the adventurer life, and weighed the risks and benefits against turning back to his previous career as a burglar. Adventuring through ancient ruins may not be the job for me, but until I find something else that pays better, it's the job I'm going with. ”Enter a cave to look for two fools and their signet rings? Sounds just up my alley. What do you think, gents?” (Alignment note: Upon writing Jak's backstory, I was starting to question if his actions reflect more of a neutral evil alignment. I originally had him down as chaotic neutral. My goal with Jak, based on the background ideal I picked out was to have him eventually bond with the other three guards in the party. But yeah, I guess he ended up turning out to be a bit more of a jerk than I anticipated. It sure was fun to write though. )

[JohnStone]

I tried to find some reference to oriental adventures for Greyhawk all I could come up with is "Shaofeng Kingdom"

Id like to play an Japanese themed monk (honor, combat, loyalty) with a Katana (reskinned Quarterstaff to slashing)

does this work, can I start writing her up?

[Exfilia]

Originally Posted by JaredSyn

I have the original Greyhawk boxed set and many other box sets I have had for 30 plus years.

**is jealous**

But you will refrain from any metabehavior, of course?

[Exfilia]

Originally Posted by Tachikoma

Class: Fighter/Rogue

5e. First level. Were you planning to start out as a fighter, or a rogue?

[Exfilia]

Originally Posted by derpoet

Hi, I'm quite interested in this game- I've wanted to play in Oerth since I first got into DND! But, I am new to the site and PbP, and was wondering if you'd be tolerant of someone who is still learning the site and coding? I know that you want a pretty quick pace with the game, so I completely understand if you'd prefer to have veterans!

The good thing about a fast pace is that you'll get lots of practice!

The bbcodes RPGX uses are available online, and the interface incorporates a good many of them. If we decide your character's a good fit, I hope you'll always free to ask questions, and that your companions will feel free to answer them. The idea, of course, is for everyone to have fun.

So, yeah, feel free to apply!

[Exfilia]

Originally Posted by JohnStone

I tried to find some reference to oriental adventures for Greyhawk all I could come up with is "Shaofeng Kingdom"

Id like to play an Japanese themed monk (honor, combat, loyalty) with a Katana (reskinned Quarterstaff to slashing)

does this work, can I start writing her up?

Sounds like a plan :-)

[Tachikoma]

Originally Posted by Exfilia

5e. First level. Were you planning to start out as a fighter, or a rogue?

Apologies, the character sheet is for 1st level Fighter. Didn't know where to specify the intended development of the character, so I placed it there.

[JohnStone]

Introduction Sikae Sinarae Human / Female / 20 / Neutral Good Far Traveler Monk of Shao'feng Personality Trait: I have a strong sense of honor and custom that others may not understand, for instance I begin and end my day a ritual of prayer to my ancestors that may seem strange to some. Personality Trait: I am very optimistic about the future. Like a child I see every new experience as an opportunity to learn and grow, or maybe just enjoy. Ideal: My freedom is important to me, this land offers me an escape from my past. Everyone should have the chance to shape their own destiny and I will fight against the oppression of others, particularly women. Bond: I fled my homeland to escape my uncles grasp, he still haunts my thoughts and I fear that he will someday find me. I escaped with my father's sword it is all that I have of him and my home, I cherish it more than my life. Flaw: I have a tendency to be stubborn and hotheaded, I have been hurt in the past and that anger still resides within. As a result I tun quickly to violence in stressful circumstances.

Description Appearance: Sikae Stands only five tall and slender. Her youthful foreign features may have an exotic beauty but she is mostly unconcerned with such things. Like most young women she enjoys perfumes, jewelry and the make-up that is expected of her but she is not afraid to get her hands dirty. Common is not her native tongue, as a result she speaks quietly in a soft voice with a heavy accent. When angered she speaks with more authority, loud and fast, often interlaced with foreign insults. Her dark eyes tell of a sadness and a troubled past but her smile is that of someone with great hope for the future. The oriental girl clings to her culture wearing monk wrappings and cotton pants usually with an elegant robe or jacket to protect her modesty. Her long dark hair is almost always tied into a ponytail. Her beloved Katana always by her side. Personality: Sikae Comes from a land of honor and tradition. A place where respect for authority and propriety are paramount. Women tend to be submissive and family rules. To cause anybody insult would bring dishonor to herself and her family. Little is discussed publicly that would cause shame to anyone. The gods are revered and never questioned, in fact little is ever questioned about anything. That is the way Sikae grew up and those habits are hard to break. However Sikae is in a new world now and looks to change with it. She finds joy and excitement at all the new things this land has to offer. She is genuinely happy here learning to laugh and be with friends. She loves the food, the wine, the music. Here she doesn't have to be perfect, for the first time in her life she can be herself. Free to explore and try new things.

Chapter 1: The Beginning Shao'Feng Sikae was born in northern Shao'Feng, where her father Jomatu was a respected Samurai with considerable holdings. Her father was liked by the peasants and controlled most of the families fortune. He taught Sikae to respect the people and work for the good of the empire. Sikae's childhood is full of wonderful memories and a grand lifestyle. She would accompany her father and mother to banquets or visit with nobles in the garden. She was very close to her father and loved to watch him train, he made her proud. In her childhood innocence she dreamed of becoming a great samurai like him. That all changed at the age of eleven when a messenger brought news that her parents had been killed by outlaws on route to Daimyo Uroru's Estate. The family land and her guardianship were left to her uncle Sokuru, Jomatu's younger brother. Sokuru however was a greedy man full of jealousy and envy towards his brother. He conspired with outlaw ronin and yakuza to seize as much power as he could. He was ruthless and dishonorable, feared by many. He treated Sikae as a servant or worse for many years. As she matured the abuse evolved as she was forced to serve and entertain the criminals that frequented the estate. Soma's was often accompanied by his most trusted chief. A battle-hardened ronin named Akimoto, as ruthless and feared as his boss. Akimoto had plans to marry Sikae and make her his own. Sikae despised him and was never shy to let him know, which often resulted in pain and misery. Eventually Akimoto won out and Sikae was engaged to the wretched man by order of her uncle. The ceremony was lavish full of awful people that sickened the young bride. The groom was the guest of honor and Sikae was miserable. On their wedding night Akimota grinned devilishly as he presented Sikae with a gift. Warily she opened the box and froze, inside was her father's sword. The look on Akimoto's face confirmed her fears, he had killed her parents. Shamelessly he boasted that he had finally received his payment in the form of his employers lovely niece. In a fit of rage Sikae drew the sword and ran her husband through before he could react. As he fell to the floor bleeding out Sikae turned with weapon in hand to confront Sokuru...   Roleplay Sample A light rain had begun to fall outside as most of the wedding guests had retired for the evening. Sokuru stood quietly in his study staring out the window. All the plans and ministrations he had laid out over the last ten years had finally come to fruition. He sipped some wine as he undressed to relax and sighed contently. Suddenly the door burst open with a bang. Standing before him was his angry and distraught little niece holding a bloodstained Katana. Sokuru turned to her as he cursed. "That stupid arrogant fool, I suppose you would have figured it out eventually." with a chuckle he continued "What now then, are you going to kill me?" Sikae looked at her uncle as tears rolled down her face. Everything was a blur she could hardly see straight through her rage and despair. Her fists where clenched as she clutched desperately to her father's sword. "How could you... your own brother...my MOTHER" The tears were streaming down Sikae's face like the rain outside as she continued in sobs. "My entire life you have abused me and tormented me for what... did you get some sadistic satisfaction as you destroyed everything to me..." No uncle that's not it, no it was you jealously and your greed" The tears had stopped now, Sikae leered at her uncle, she looked possessed. "Well I promise you now uncle...YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID" With that Sikae charged at Sokuru harder and faster than she had ever moved before. She slashed at his face with her katana and buried her knee in his groin. He fell to the ground and looked up at her, blood ran from a deep gash through his left eye and cheek. Sikae raised her sword for a final blow but her coup de grace was interrupted as his bodyguards flooded the room. there was a struggle and the young dove through the window to escape. she ran for what seemed like an eternity and then she ran harder still into the night.

Chapter 2: Three Years Later Keoland Sikae arrived in the port of Gradsul after spending three years on the run in her homeland. She felt utterly alone in the strange country but also relaxed for the first time in a long time. Foreign and penniless she would have to make her own way here. She quickly found work serving drinks at a local tavern. The customers were crude and the pay meager but Sikae enjoyed the simplicity of it. Sikae had a reputation with regulars as being one of the most gracious hosts. However she was also known to be the toughest if someone stepped over the line. One particular night a group of caravan guards and their captain came through. Sikae served them drinks and told stories of Shao'feng as she usually did. The captain seemed a bit smitten and as the night went on and he drank more his advances became more and more brazen. When the drunk captain was quite in his cups he made the mistake of grabbing the young woman's behind. A moment later he was sprawled out on the floor with a bloody nose and a very deep ache in his privates.The locals had a good chuckle as the men from the caravan carried their leader back to his room. The next morning a very hung-over captain came to apologize. He explained that though a good man he always had troubles about drinking and that he would like to make it up to the girl. He offered her a chance to join them. Apparently he had asked around and discovered that Sikae was known to be a formidable adversary, at least with the overzealous bar patrons. Sikae jumped at the chance to be on the road doing what she had learned was in her blood. Over the past months and caravan three trips her and the captain became close friends, and he never touched a drink once in her presence.   Roleplay Sample It was a warm day in Niole Dra as people crowded the streets to conduct their bussiness or enjoy the sunshine. Our Captian had stuck to his vows and now sat on River Street in his dusty robes collecting charity for the monastery. It may have been a sad sight to see for many of the townsfolk save for one passerby. A young lady, a foreigner new to these parts, she sat down close to the man. I'm sorry Sikae, I just can't do it anymore...and if your here to change my mind your wasting your time" Sikae nodded and her put her arm around her friend "I'm not going to try and talk you out of it, we have all gone through things and sometimes our paths take strange turns." "My own path it seems will be turning as well, I have decided to join some of the others in this adventuring group they have put together." She turned a bit so she was looking the captain directly in the eyes. "Know that I am proud of you and will always consider you a dear friend. You helped me when I was so new to this land and for that I will always be grateful." At that the young woman gave her friend a sweet kiss on the cheek and dropped a gold into his bowl. As she stood she called back. "Till our paths cross again"

[Murdoch]

https://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=85596

Name: Simon
Race: Human
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class: Ranger
Background: Folk Hero
Personality Trait: If someone is in trouble I am always available to help.
Ideal: Respect
Bond: My tools are symbol of my past life and I carry them so I never forget my roots.
Flaw: I have a weakness for the vices of the city, especially hard drink.
Appearance: Simon stands 5’ 11” inches tall and weighs 175 pounds. Years of working with stone has made him fairly strong, but his thin build can disguise that strength. He has shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes, and dark skin from spending most of his life working in the sun.
Personality: Simon has always been outgoing and friendly, always greeting his neighbors with a smile and a kind word. Recent events have made him more morose, but one he processes his grief he will probably return to his pleasant self.
Backstory
Simon grew up in a decent size village on the edge of a forest and near a quarry. His father was a mason, so he always had work and his family prospered. Simon was drawn to working with stone and when he turned 12 his father began to teach him the trade. It was hard work but Simon enjoyed working with his father and he loved being able to look at a large stone and see the shape it needed to be and being able to coax that shape out of it. When he was 14 he helped his father build them a new house out of stone and he was incredibly proud of that, especially because it was one of only a few stone building in the village.
On occasion their village was visited by Simon’s uncle Stefan, who was a Ranger who roamed the forest keeping the forces of evil at bay. As much as Simon loved working with his father he idolized his uncle. Stefan would tell the villages tales of his adventures, which always made him seem larger than life. Not surprisingly, Simon wanted to be just like his uncle. When he was 16 his uncle agreed to teach him the skills he had learned. His parents weren’t too happy with that at first, but they knew forbidding it would only make Simon want to learn more and that Stefan would do everything in his power to keep Simon safe. Since his uncle’s duties kept him away for long periods of time Simon’s training took place over many years. He knew he would have limited time with his uncle, so Simon made sure to immerse himself in his lessons whenever they happened. He learned how to track animals and people, move quickly and quietly through the landscape, and how to survive off the land. His uncle also taught him how to shoot a longbow and how to fight. Stefan preferred to use a pair of short swords and Simon was drawn to that style of fighting, but he found he liked using a pair of hand axes better.

When Simon turned 21 his uncle told him he was ready to become a full fledged Ranger and to celebrate his gave Simon a set of green studded leather armor, a longbow and arrows, and a new pair of hand axes. Then they went into the forest for several weeks together with Stefan letting Simon take the lead. After a couple of weeks they came across evidence of a large force of Orcs that had passed by several days earlier and, unfortunately, they were headed for Simon’s village. He and his uncle raced home as quickly as they could, but they were too late. By the time they arrived the village had been attacked and the main body of Orcs had already headed off with their spoils. There was only a rearguard left when Simon and his uncle arrived and the two of them attacked. They fired arrows into the enemy until the Orcs charged, then they had no choice but to draw their weapons and engage in melee. Simon managed to hold his own, but Stefan was a sight to behold, cutting a bloody swath through the Orcs. The Orc commander quickly determined that Stefan was the biggest threat and he and his bodyguards attacked him. Simon lost track of his uncle while he was fighting for his life, but when he managed to drop his final enemy he saw that his uncle and the rest of the Orcs were also dead. Simon carried his uncle back to his house, where he found his parents’ bodies. Over the next few weeks Simon used stones from his family home to build a mausoleum where he laid his parents and uncle to rest. With no family left and the memory of his dead parents overwhelming his fond memories of growing up, Simon took his father’s mason tools and left to find a new purpose.

After leaving his home Simon was at a loss. He always thought he would join his uncle traveling through the forest and keeping safe. With his uncle gone that was no longer an option and it didn't seem right to patrol the forest without him, so Simon was looking for a new way to use his skills. Being a caravan guard wasn't something he was very attracted to, but he felt it would give him a chance to see more of the world and hopefully find his purpose.

Having gone through a drastic life change himself, Simon could empathize with the captain's decision to become a monk. He was on his own search for meaning, so he couldn't question another person's decision to do the same.