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  #1  
Old May 20th, 2013, 07:12 PM
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The Tramp of Destiny!
 
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The Tribe.

Post your Character Applications here along with your sheets. Once posted, I'll give you your private threads for any personal character rolls, work etc. Your survival will be tracked in your private thread and in your character sheet.
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Last edited by jaerauq; May 21st, 2013 at 12:53 AM.
  #2  
Old May 20th, 2013, 11:44 PM
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http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=40387

Name: Knute
Age: 18
Clan: Kulk
Specific Tribe: Skallagrim
Starting Class: Warrior
Level: 1
Future Class: Barbarian
Race: Human
Description: Standing at 6'6, the towering Knute is a mass of muscles and scar tissue- it is clear he has been stabbed, bitten, shot, and burned on quite a number of occasions. His dark brown matted hair falls almost to his waist- mostly so he can choke someone to death with it if he really needs to. His skin is a deep bronze, leathery from time spent in the sun. His disposition is anything but sunny, and while he likes to talk, it isn't always about subjects people want to hear. He reacts to affronts, bullying, and attempts at manipulation with violence, and has no belief in gods- men must do for themselves what they would have done. If gods exist, they are uncaring and unworthy, and he would like to hit them in the face with something heavy. He has little experience with magic, and it in fact scares him- though the idea of being able to do some of those things is cool, he has enough self awareness to want to stick with what he's good at. He does like to approach problems with a bit of a different angle, but not all of his ideas are good ones- most of them fall in the "just crazy enough to work" category.

Skills(trained are underlined):
Climb (Str)
Craft Wood (Int)
Handle Animal (Cha)
Intimidate (Cha)
Profession Warrior (Wis)
Ride (Dex)
Stealth (Dex)
Survival (Wis)
Swim (Str)

Attributes:
Str-16 (+3)
Dex-14 (+2)
Con-16 (+3)
Int-12 (+1)
Wis-11 (+0)
Cha-7(-1)

Traits:
Hard to Kill(combat): When making a check to stabilize, the penalty is only half your negative hit point total.
Iron Liver(Equipment): From constant imbibement of toxins, you gain a +2 trait bonus on fortitude saves against poison or drugs, and a +4 trait bonus on fortitude saves against alcohol
Kulk(Region): You gain a +1 trait bonus on Stealth checks, and Stealth is always a class skill for you. This trait bonus increases to +2 in hilly or rocky areas.

Feats:
Throw Anything (You do not suffer any penalties for using an improvised ranged weapon. You receive a +1 circumstance bonus on attack rolls made with thrown splash weapons.)
Great Fortitude (+2 bonus to Fortitude)
Toughness (+3 hp 1st level, +1 every level after 3rd)
Endurance (You gain a +4 bonus on the following checks and saves: Swim checks made to resist nonlethal damage from exhaustion; Constitution checks made to continue running; Constitution checks made to avoid nonlethal damage from a forced march; Constitution checks made to hold your breath; Constitution checks made to avoid nonlethal damage from starvation or thirst; Fortitude saves made to avoid nonlethal damage from hot or cold environments; and Fortitude saves made to resist damage from suffocation. You may sleep in light or medium armor without becoming fatigued.)

Backstory:

Knute was born to the Skallagrim family in the Kulk clan of people- his family was well known for warrior prowess, but Knute was born a small child, and was not thought to be one who could defend himself well. He was scrawny, and so by the age of seven, his personality made up for it. One child took the now familiar taunting to a new level, and thought it would be a good idea to beat Knute because he could. Knute, in the middle of the beating, managed to throw sand in the other child's eyes, and get away to a nearby house where a stone axe rested, to cut wood. As the other child's eyes cleared, the last thing he saw was the axe of Knute Skallagrim falling towards his skull.

Knute started a bit of a family war at that point, and quickly learned fighting and combat as he grew exponentially into a young man worthy of the family name. At around age 9 he began to grow in height and breadth, and by age 11 he was a formidable looking young man for his age. The clan war heated up at this time, though, and his parents were killed while he ran off into the jungle. Knute, not one to take this lying down, waited until nearly the entirety of the other family were inebriated or asleep after their drunken victory celebrations- after all, they thought the conflict was over. Knute managed to sneak into the village once more, and poison the two guards keeping watch. He then barred the doors to the longhall of his enemies, and piled brush around the outside while they slept. He lit the roof on fire with one torch, and then the straw and brush ringing the building with another, so it all went up in flames at almost the same time, roasting the enemy clan alive.

At that point, Knute was alone- after all, his family had been wiped out, but avenged... and there really wasn't anyone left in the village that wanted him around, much less would care for him.
So he moved to a different village of the Kulk, and offered his services as a warrior, learning and training, until he was known for eating things that should not be eaten simply to increase his stamina, and taking blows to do the same. He could drink more, fight longer, run harder, swim faster, and throw farther than most of his new tribe, and so was chosen by the tribe to represent them- after all, he was an outsider anyway, and what harm would it be to lose him? After all, he -is- an ugly bastard.

Roleplay Example:

Knute drained the last of his 8th tankard of ale, finally beginning to feel a bit the worse for wear. He glared at the man across from him at the table, who was beginning to sway in his seat- he had the bad sense to insult Knute's tribe, and even if he had been told to comport himself better in the city before they boarded the airship in the morning, he could not let this pass.
So he had come up with a more creative solution- get the man drunk, and then beat him into a bloody pulp. Of course, all does not always go according to plan.
Knute's deep blue eyes darted around the room before locking on the serving woman in the corner. "Miss! Another ale for the both of us, if you please."
The woman nodded, and moved behind the bar- clearly used to this sort of activity in her establishment- and returned with two more tankards full of ale.
Knute's vision solidified, and he fixed the man across from him with his gaze. "Are you able to continue, meekling?" He wasn't sure if that was even a word, but it had the desired effect as the man across from him grunted and began drinking his next ale. The serving woman had stayed to watch, and let out a small laugh as the man set his tankard back down upon the table, only 3/4 finished. The man rose, and glared at the serving woman, seizing her by her hip and a breast in his large hands. "You think it's funny?" He growled dangerously in his throat.
Of course, he didn't see the woman, more than used to taking care of herself, drive a dirk right into his stomach, and step back as he grunted in pain.

Seeing what had happened, Knute decided to intervene- it was best that any ill-doing not reflect badly upon this establishment, so he brought his tankard up in a massive blow to the staggering man's chin, shattering it across his face, and pulled the dirk out as he fell, hiding it away.

He ripped the coins from the belt pouch off the fallen man, and poured every last one out upon the table, with a nod to their server. "It's on him. Have a good night."

With that, Knute shouldered the bleeding, unconscious city man, and left the bar, dumping him in a gutter on the way back to his sleeping quarters near the airship.

Last edited by jaerauq; May 22nd, 2013 at 04:35 AM.
  #3  
Old May 21st, 2013, 12:14 PM
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Character Sheet
 

Last edited by MasterMind007; May 21st, 2013 at 12:52 PM.
  #4  
Old May 22nd, 2013, 03:09 AM
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⛧Thaumaturge ⛧
 
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Character sheet

Last edited by Hanz; May 22nd, 2013 at 03:18 AM.
  #5  
Old May 22nd, 2013, 02:22 PM
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A Sociopathic Masquerader
 
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Character Sheet
Name: Tak Taki
Age: 23
Clan: Crog
Specific Tribe:Taki
Starting Class: Aristocrat
Level: 1
Attributes:
Str-10 (+0)
Dex-16 (+3)
Con-12 (+1)
Int-14 (+2)
Wis-10 (+0)
Cha-14(+2)
Future Class: Rogue
Race:Human
Description:
 
Tak is a pale, tattooed pirate prince of the Taki tribe. Bold, brave and daring; He wears a constant calculating visage and spares no light heart talk and tone except when attempting to attain favor or in a good mood for once. He stands at 5'9'' and is athletically built like a natural born swimmer, speaking with education and cold, sinister intelligence beneath the guise of practicality. It isn't uncommon for him to reek of blood, preferring to cover himself with it during ritual sacrifices to the blood gods. He likes wearing light clothing and staying light on his feet, and will jump at any opportunity that benefits him even at the cost of others, especially at the cost of others. Charming when he wants to be, and more often than not intimidating for both his appearance and peculiar beliefs, the pirate prince will nonetheless one day become Chieftain of the Taki tribe, with ever high ambitions and darkly dreamed goals.
Backstory: Son of the Taki Chieftain and heir to his bloody throne of obsidian and sacrifice, Tak became a killer at an early age, when aiding the river pirates of his tribe in ransacking merchant ships, he was nearly caught and killed. But Tak killed them instead, and relished sinking his blade in sacrifice to the blood gods his own father revered for ancient power beyond the reckoning of the Empire. Tak desired power too, his hunger superseding Lo Taki, the chieftain himself. His involvement no doubt has something to do with his impossible ambitions.
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Traits:
Rich Parents (Lo Taki, Chieftain)
Killer
Dirty Fighter (Roranin Taki, childhood friend, sacrificed at coming of age ceremony)
Crogmen

Feats:
Agile Maneuvers
Combat Expertise
Blinding Flash

Roleplay Example: A blood moon hung crescent in the night sky like a bloody scythe as Tak stood almost alone at the sacrificial altar, his arms covered in tattoos and blood, with two virgin girls tore open and laying adjacent to one another against the altar's sides, with one more pleading soul planted firmly across the surface of the smooth obsidian slab. "Please…plea-" The last girl's pleading is cut short, Tak's dagger making the final incision. He held both hands up, cold eyes fixated on the red moon. "An omen!" How thankful he was for Father's absence. Lest the fortune of this tremendous moment be exposed, Tak's future, at least in his mind, was now a sure threat against both his father's rule and perhaps even the Empire itself. He begins to speak in a nonsensical tongue, addressed to the Blood God's and for their ears only, a language of quick-syllable sounds followed by grotesque action, burying the dagger over and over into the last sacrifice, spilling blood for the God's favor. He laughed. He cried. In the end Tak returned to the river, covered head to toe in crimson as dawn approached. The river reflected deep reds and oranges, so that even though he no longer was covered in blood, he was in a scarlet river.

Thoughts of his old friend Roranin returned with the morning light. It was on a morning such as this when Tak sacrificed him to prove before father, tribe and the gods themselves his mettle and unwavering determination. And since then he spilt blood regularly for these gods who instilled a distinct pride deep within his soul. Everything had a price, and the cost must willingly be paid in full. Tak understood the nature of sacrifices and the power he held, staring down at the now clean dagger, chipped from frequent use, and holstered the blade, his stomach rumbling with peckish hunger. Another day had begun, and there were sacrifices to be made, costs to be paid in order to sustain his own life, the inescapable laws of nature in play.
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Last edited by Surgate; May 22nd, 2013 at 07:26 PM.
  #6  
Old May 23rd, 2013, 03:08 PM
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The Basics
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Name: Genk Jayfeather
Age: 17
Clan: Jiss
Specific Tribe: Jayfeather
Starting Class: Expert
Future Class: Ranger
Race: Human
Alignment: N

Attributes: 14 / 15 > 17 / 14 / 12 / 13 > 12 / 8
Traits: Jiss, Deft Dodger, Reactionary, Sacred Touch
Feats: Dodge, Point Blank Shot, ...


Backstrory/RP:Wafts of mist float through the damp and cold undergrowth of the sacred grove, when Genk takes over the duty for the night. The duty of a guardian that every young Jiss readily accepts, that strives to become a sentinel of the clan's territory. Here, the elders say, the adolescents will connect with the spirits of the forefathers and the origin of the Jiss. Also the time of duty is one of the few occasions, when a Jayfeather meets with another tribe in peace.

The pale light of the full moon is reflected by wafts and dips the grove in an eerie atmosphere. This happens rarely, maybe twice a year, when the dew-moist soil is heated up from the summer's sun during the day and when the temperature drops quickly after nightfall. From his platform in lower branches of the canopy he can spot the his fellows guardians or at least the reflections of the moon light on the tips of their spears.

Suddenly a scream of pain pierces the tranquility. Genk instantly recognizes Menor Oakbark's voice, but he can't he the thud, when the Menor hits the ground. The adrenalin is already rushing through his veins. The reflexes have already put him on his feet and made him grab his spear in a tight grip. Genk tries to scan the undergrowth as he darts over the suspension bridge that connects the platforms, but he is still to far away. Arriving at Menor's platform, he almost bowls over Linon Greenleaf.

A glance over the railing reveals half a dozen of shadows quickly closing in on the motionless Menor. It takes Lino and Genk only a brief look into each other's eyes to agree. With fluent motion each grabs a rope to quickly rappel down from the platform. When they touch the ground, however, four shadows have already picked up Menor to carry him away. The remaining two hold short batons in their hands, covering the retreat of their accomplices as they follow them in short distance.

Having roamed through the undergrowth near the sacred grove for the last month, the guardians of the grove are successful in their pursuit. With a skillful shot of his bola, Genk brings one attacker to fall. With a firm grip on the shaft of his spear he spurts to cover the last yards. When he finally stands over the enemy, he is about to thrust his weapon into his heart, but then he feels a pain on the back of his head… everything turns black...
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Last edited by tilbert; May 23rd, 2013 at 03:14 PM.
  #7  
Old May 24th, 2013, 12:31 AM
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Application
Merida
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Sheet

Class: Expert

Nationality: Evare

Background: Merida is a slave whose duties are many and varied. Purchased among five others as a child, too young to remember how she got to the slave markets, Merida began as a scullion in the kitchens, serving the food, cleaning the plates and watching everything. When more slaves were bought for the kitchens she was sent to the stables, learning to muck the stalls, and feed and water the horses. It was not long before a more physically fit boy was found to do the job and Merida was tasked as nurse to the Consul's newborn son, a position that, understandably, needed to be filled quickly.

For two years Merida played Nursemaid, seeing to the daily care of the heir to the household, and all the while Merida's knowledge grew, secretly and openly. Merida learned healing, to care for the boy, and knowledge of herbs and things. She learned to divest a man of his purse in the street, to keep her possessions hidden, for a slave should have no possessions. She learned to read, from the very books the boy's mother read to him, began teaching the boy herself for practice. She learned to lie, and how to convince.

And one day, she was found out. She was caught reading to the child and from there it unraveled, the slaves in the kitchens, and in the stables and in every other part of the household could attest to her knowing too much. Many did not, she was likable after all, but others were spiteful and named her, and the Consul was faced with a dilemma, a slave should not have such knowledge, they should know their place. She was sent to the stables once again, dressed in rags, even compared to the slaves, no slave was to talk to her, save to give her an instruction. She was to sleep among the horses, an animal with an owner, the status quo returned. Alive as a demonstration.

It is then that the Voice began talking to her, of powers just beyond her grasp.

Reaction to suddenly having to survive in the middle of the jungle: Wetting her pants, then pragmatism

Intended PC Class: Witch (I quote someone, somewhere when I say "A wizard is obvious, he carries around a big book and spends hours poring over it. A witch is just Mary the farm girl who spends a little longer milking the cows each morning")
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