[D&D-5e] Legend of Legaia

[Rylus]

Legend of Legaia was an awesome game, Legend of Legaia2 a little less so but still interesting. Never got to finish those games. Is this world based on them?

[Togot]

not really, i'm just using the name of the world and some of the cities. i recently started playing it again and took some inspiration fro the game, but the story and setting of the game are mostly homebrew

[Drachenspirit]

Shaker Name: Shaker (introduces self as "Shah-khere") <------- Character Sheet Link Race: Warforged - Skirmisher Class: Warlock - Hexblade Background: Criminal Enforcer Personality traits: 1 - I think swearing is normal and use profanity at the oddest times. Even when corrected, I just change to a different curse word. 2 - I always have a plan for what to do when things go wrong. Ideal: I'm loyal to friends, not to ideals. Bond: Someone I cared about died because of a mistake I made. That will never happen again. Flaw: I have a "tell" that reveals when I'm lying. Backstory: Shaker's first day of memories are of panning for Silver in a stream in the hills above Arithaya. The name "Shaker" was tagged upon this warforged, though Shaker says it differently when ask their name. Shaker's 'Master' was Wizard of somewhat questionable morals though he did have his own code. Created to do their master's "dirty work" in the way of collecting things owed and sometimes "asked for", items, they became quite good at what they did. Along the way, they were guided to make a magical connection to a dark and shadowy Deity who bestowed upon them some magical abilities that not only included limited spell casting, but fighting with shield and weapons. A few months ago, Shaker returned from a collections task to find their master gone. Just... gone. Shaker knew where a scroll was stashed for just such an occasion; as told by their master. It was short and sweet and contained a letter of marque as it were for Shaker to be employed by Balder Hall. Other than a few items Shaker could carry, nothing else of value remained in the small stone structure in the hills by the mountain stream. So, Shaker went and handed over the document and began working as a mercenary enforcer for Balder Hall. It didn't take long for Shaker's employers to find out that they - Shaker - had a hard time lying when it was necessary. Simply put, Shaker's voice would get more monotone than normal and they'd obviously avoid eye contact with whomever they were responding to with a lie. So, they were sent on the job of Caravan guard, and told that if they wanted to take their time returning, there would be no hard feelings. This open-ended arrangement was partly because of Shaker's inability to lie, but more so because they really creeped out their employers. Goal: Why is your character adventuring? Shaker is figuring out their newfound freedom, considering themselves a person just like everyone else. Knowing only the person who created and trained them by the name 'Master', they are not looking back to the past, only to the future. What do they want to accomplish? Shaker wants to be someone who can be counted on, and matter to others. Deeds and actions, they know, can accomplish this, so that is their goal, to make a name for themselves, but not for glory or renown, but to be someone who others want to work with and be around. What are you working towards? I strive to have good RP with other writers/players, love surprises, and the randomness that comes from RPGs. I work towards making the game better by adding to it instead of taking away. This is my escape (Ehs-cop-eh), so I'm here to enjoy the game and add to other's game enjoyment. RP sample: write your character’s response to this scene You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time. Shaker's sword and shield are up, ready to face off against the creature if it corners them. They barely pause upon seeing the young girl, but do long enough to sheathe their blade, put their shield on their back, and notched a bolt in their crossbow. Holding the crossbow in one hand now to shoot on the run if possible, they scooped up the young girl in their free hand and arm and continued running away from the beast. Without looking at the girl, Shaker's tone sounded a bit sarcastic as they openly lied, saying, "We're going to be fine. Just cling to me and I'll get you to safety. Nothing will eat you today." DICE ROLLS MADE HERE

[Mendalot]

Viviana Paige Name: Viviana Paige Race: Female Human Class: Divine Soul Sorceress Background: Folk Hero Personality traits: Gold has it uses, but I do not hoard more then I need to survive. I am curious and easily get distracted by new and interesting things. In peaceful moments I like to whittle wood making small figurines that I leave behind when done. Ideal: Idealist. Each day we make the world a little better than yesterday. (Good) Bond: My holy quest gives me the strength to keep moving forward no matter how scary the world is. Flaw: I am trusting to a fault. Backstory:   Viviana is a young girl who grew up with her grandmother in the large town of Hardersfield. Ever since the great cataclysm people there had eked out a living from farming and woodcutting while being protected in the town center by fences and guards. Viviana grew up relative safety, as far as such things could be found. At an early age she began working helping out with many of the daily tasks around the village that needed doing. Had the gods not deemed it otherwise her life may have gone by as such. Unremarkable. Just one girl among many growing up in the desolation left behind by the great cataclysm. One day there was an accident near her leaving a man gravely injured. Screaming for other adults she knelt beside him hoping there was something she could do. Death was not an uncommon occurrence but it was the first time Viviana had seen it approaching with her own eyes. The first time she had seen how cruel and unjust the world could be. Refusing to give up hope she reached out a small outstretched hand. Golden light banished the nearby shadows as she healed his wounds. It was like letting go of a breath she didn't know she had been holding and from then the magic flowed as naturally as breathing. Her chest filled with a warm comforting sensation that she now realized had always been a part of her. The rumors spread quickly. Father Alkestis who had established himself as the sole spokesman of all the dragon gods and the de facto leader of the village was skeptical at first but when Viviana quickly became celebrated in the village he declared it a divine miracle. During the following years life changed a lot for Viviana as she became praised for her gifts and venerated as somebody chosen by the dragon gods. Under Father Alkestis mentor-ship she did her best living up to the new exceptions people had of her and her popularity within the village kept growing. It did not take long before people began seeking her out directly asking for the dragon gods blessing and answers for their questions. She never felt she could help enough but she still tried her very best. Eventually Father Alkestis gathered the townspeople and proclaimed he had received a divine vision. He said Viviana had been chosen for a very important task. To out and recover the lost Orb of Akeron. The thought of leaving the village and venture out into the larger world was scary but Viviana was resolved. She would do her duty towards the gods who had granted her such miraculous gifts. After preparing for the journey as best she could, celebrations were held and she readied herself to set off. Before she left Father Alkestis gave her some last comforting words and told her not to come back until she had found the orb. Then trusting the gods to guide her she set off towards the horizon. Goal: Viviana has been sent on a fool's errand to find a non-existent artifact. Believing fully that she is on a holy quest she travels the land as an adventurer searching for clues regarding the whereabouts of the lost Orb of Akeron. On a more personal level her goals are simple and abstract: To aid people, make the world a better place and serve the gods of which her primary deity is Leona. However because of her inexperience she has little idea how to concretely go about achieving her goals. For now escorting caravans and other such jobs allows her to use her gifts to help people while covering ground more easily on her quest. RP sample:   Her heartbeat was audibly in her ear as she kept moving forward carried by her momentum, not allowing herself to stop before reaching the child. The sight before her was harrowing and she felt tears threatening in the corner of her eyes but this was not the time for mourning. Death followed closely behind. "H-hey!" She called out loudly between ragged breaths. "You have to move. Run!" Cursing her own lack of strength she reached out to shake the child’s shoulders hoping to spur her to action. Forcefully ignoring the cold fear that threatened to overcome her she turned around facing the monster, putting herself between it and the child. If she could only buy a few moments that would be enough. Or so she told herself but there was little doubt now that the child was not the only one who needed saving. Placing her free hand on her chest she prayed to the dragon gods for their aid. "Merciful mother, please shelter me in your enveloping light. Mage Armor!" Thankfully they answered and as long as the great dragon gods did not turn their back on her there was always some hope left. "Great Akeron, lend me your strength although I am not worthy." Perhaps it was her imagination but the roughly carved wooden staff resting in her hand felt just a little lighter as she lifted it up in greeting towards the monster. "Let your light shear away the darkness. Word of Radiance!" For a brief instant the alleyway lit up. up.

[Batty]

Hi there.
Is this game accepting any more players?

[Togot]

the deadline is the 15th so applications are open until then

[voodoozombie]

Name: Ayida Legba
Race: Human: Mark of Finding reskinnedMark of the Iron Maiden
Class: Warlock: The First Vampire. Pact of the Blade
Background: House Agent: Noctis Iron Coven.

Personality: Ayida loves wearing colorful, loose flowing clothing that flutter in the slightest breeze and wears her hair long and unrestrained, adding to the flair of her looks and hopefully turn some heads her way. She also enjoys wearing masks that add to the mystique of her looks. At the same time her jewelry, which consists of leather pieces with spikes imbedded in them, hint at the dangerous side of her. The ‘look but don’t touch’ is a good ideal when dealing with her.
Happy, friendly, outgoing, sometimes flamboyant and over dramatic, Ayida enjoys life and all it has to offer, and sometimes delights in the pain of people she doesn’t know. The best dramatic performances are achieved through the suffering of others. After all, ‘no pain, no gain.’
She cherishes her friends and is willing to protect them to the best of her abilities. She is also intelligent and a very confident person, but sometimes she says the wrong thing at the wrong time, makes poor judgement calls or doesn't know when to shut up, which can get her into trouble.


Personality traits:
Trait 1 My friends know they can rely on me, and I know they have my back when I need it.
Trait 2 I take pride in my looks and try to be as flashy as possible. Sometimes I can’t help it. I just have to be the center of attention.
Trait 3 I derive genuine pleasure from the pain of others, as long as it’s not my friends or those I know. My life with the circus has opened my eyes to this other form of entertainment.
Ideal: Hedonism. Death comes for everyone, so take as much pleasure as you can from every moment of life because tomorrow may never come.
Bond: My loyalty to the Iron Maiden is unwavering. She gave me the gift of the Night Predator and I now live to impress her by being the best Coven member that I can be.
Flaw: I’m told that sometimes I lack common sense. I miss the social cues that tell me when to shut up. Because of this, my tongue lands me in trouble.

Backstory:

 

Aydia was born in the large township of Freywallow, a community of farmers and trade people. Located in a winding river valley, along with other towns and villages, Freywallow was peaceful place where nothing really happened. Then one day the circus showed up. No one knows where it came from, but it traveled around the valley, going from town to town. Then it would leave. During the Iron Spike Circus’s visits, Freywallow became a nest of Hedonism and wild, uninhibited, anything goes pleasure. And when the circus left, everything went back to normal, almost like nothing had happened. For many years, the circus visited the valley twice a year, and twice a year everyone eagerly waited for its return. This has been going on for almost 50 years and with each visit, circus has gotten a litter bigger than before.

Aydia is the youngest of 8 children and because she was the youngest, her parents pampered her as did her siblings. While her brothers and sisters tended the fields and her parents went on trading trips with the surrounding towns, she was left home alone, a lot, to take care of the household chores. And she was bored, wishing to see the world beyond the valley. There had to something more than being a farmer or a house maid.

Aydia saw her first Iron Spike Circus performance when she was a young woman and with her parents blessings. Hearing the stories of what this circus was like, she went out of curiosity to see if it was true or not. What she witness was a spectacle that no story could ever describe or do it justice. It was the most amazing thing she ever saw. She liked how they staged their acts. She was hooked and couldn’t wait to see the next show, where ever and whenever the circus would show up.

What attracted her to the circus was the exciting atmosphere and the deadly acts that where part the show. It was always one big, anything goes party and no two acts where ever the same. It was a place where the darkest fantasies and the deepest desires came to life and became reality. And one thing the performers know how to do was put on a show that no one would ever forget. She just couldn’t get enough of what the Iron Spike Circus had to offer.

As she went to as many performances as she could, Ayida eventually learned that the performance troupe of the Iron Spike Circus’s ring master and leader was a Master of Ceremonies simply known as the Iron Maiden. During one performance, the Master of Ceremonies personally acknowledged Ayida with a nod of her head. Of all the shows Ayida had been to, this was the first time that anyone actually singled her out from the vast number of people in the audience and ‘welcomed’ her to the performance. Ayida nodded back. She knew this was the place she was meant to be and she would end up following the Iron Spike Circus for years to come, eventually getting to know the performers (the ones that survived), and the back stage hands personally. Many she already knew from the surrounding areas of her home town of Freywallow, and many she didn’t know. Oddly enough, it was also during her time with the circus that a strange mark appeared on her forehead. She also knew that many members of the circus also had similar makes on their bodies, which also appeared during their stay at the circus, but she didn’t give it a second thought.

After almost 10 years of following the Iron Spike Circus around, and visiting places beyond her home land valley, there was one member that Ayida never got to know personally, and that was the Iron Maiden. So it came as a surprise that one night she got a request to meet the Master of Ceremonies in her personal caravan wagon. Ayida accepted the invitation without hesitation. True, Ayida had heard the stories about the Iron Maiden and seen many things herself. The Master of Ceremonies was a vampire and that’s why the circus only performed at night, or that during the course of 10 years the Maiden seemed to never age, or that many of the performers where never seen except at night, but Ayida didn’t care. It was a chance of a life time and she wasn’t going to pass it up.

The meeting with the Iron Maiden was…..interesting to say the least. No sooner than Ayida entered the caravan, the first thing she saw was the Maiden herself; sitting in rather ornate and antique looking chair. She had an air about her that demanded respect and this close… she was…..beautiful. Ayida had never seen such a beautiful woman in her life. Ayida was immediately enthralled by the The Master of Ceremonies and couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. She locked eyes with the Maiden and a sense of euphoria swept over her. As the Maiden spoke to her, the soft voices seem musical and soothing.

“I’ve been watching you ever since you accepted my invitation to join my circus. Not many people recognize my welcoming nod. Those who do are special, and I take special interest in them. That mark on your forehead is a rare gift that needs to be nurtured and allowed to grow. You will make a excellent addition to my troupe. However…..”

The Maiden then leaned forward and cupped Ayida’s chin in her hand. The hand was cold to the touch.

”You lack the experience needed to become my special…..pet. If you accept my help, I will make sure that you will learn what you need to know. Do you accept my help, my teachings, and the start of a new life, my dear?”

Deep inside Ayida realized that the Iron Maiden was in fact a vampire and probably one of great age power. But the offer of being her special student, after all these years of being watched, she had earned the trust of the Maiden to make her this offer. There was no way she was going to say no.

”Yes. I accept your offer.” Her voice sounded distance, almost like she was in a dream, but she knew this wasn’t a dream. It was real.

”I’m glad. And now, before you start your training, we’ll seal the deal with a kiss.”

Ayida felt something on her neck. Lips was it? It didn’t hurt at all. She blacked out but. When she woke up she wasn’t with the circus any more. She was back home in Freywallow and in her bed. She felt fine, but there where changes in her. She now possessed knowledge of things she didn’t know before and felt a power coursing through her body that she never felt before. She doesn’t know how, but she knows that she is now a member of both the Iron Spike Circus and the Iron Maiden’s Noctis Watch Coven. She also knows what is expected from her and what to expect from the changes going on within her. Did this bother Ayida? Not at all. This was probably just part of the deal she made. She was offered new experiences and things to learn, and this was the beginning of what was promised to her. And now she has become a nighttime predator. To Ayida, it was just another circus she had joined, and she couldn’t wait for the show to begin.

Goals:

 

Goal:
why is your character adventuring?
1. To gain the needed experience to become The Iron Maidens ‘special pet’
2. To become a valued member of the Noctis Iron Coven and the Iron Spike circus.
3. Follow the Coven’s primary goal: Ayida is no fool. What this really means is preserving the food source and potential circus members for The Iron MaidenSave as many humanoids that you can.
4. See the word and experience what it has to offer.

What do they want to accomplish?
Learn what she can about the inner workings of a circus and Coven so that she can set up her own circus and Coven someday. Ultimately, to become a vampire like the Iron Maiden, stake out her own territory, and become a Master of Ceremonies of her own circus within her territory.

What are you working towards?
Great RP between players and characters and watching how each character develops over time. Also, seeing how character relationships with both each other and with the world evolved over the course of the game.

RP sample: write your character’s response to this scene

You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time.

 

Was that thing following her using sight, sound or smell? Ayida didn’t know, but however it was following her, it wasn’t giving up and Aydia was starting to get tired. And that thing wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down anytime soon. She knew she had to get rid of it as fast as possible before she became its next meal.

Turning down an alleyway, Ayida got an ideal on how to get rid of the thing when she started to stumble over some garbage. If she can’t our run it, she’ll our smart it. She was about to put her plan into action when she heard the sound of a child crying and saw gutted bodies.

'Save every humanoid you can' was the Noctis Iron Coven creed.

Ayida grabs the crying child’s arm and starts dragging her along with her. The thing was now closing in on them. A few feet down the alley, Ayids spots a pile of garbage heaped against a wall. Without any ceremony, she flings the little girl into the pile of rotting and smelly mess and goes diving into it to right behind the child. Cupping her hand over the child’s mouth, she starts smearing gunk all over the both of them. Aydis then throws some garbage on top of them both. It took everything not to throw up from the smell and the feel of the goo. She whispers softly in the child’s ear

”Be as still and quite as you can. We’re playing hide and seek with the monster. If he finds us, he’ll eat us for dinner. Can you do that for me, please?”

Holding on to the child, with her hand still cupped over the little girl's mouth, Ayida quietly waits for the monster to pass.

[cool hand luke]

Character Name: Coukrellion Coonstin (Cookie)
Race: Elf
Class: Ranger (ranger rogue if I survive that long)
Background: Guild Apprentice – Chef
Personality Traits: Bitterness oozes out of my pores, for the glory I have seen and lost
I believe that everything worth doing Is worth doing right.
Ideal: The Perfect Meal Exists: One day I will create it.
Bond: I become immediately attached to anyone who shows an interest in cooking
Flaw: Bitterness: I have seen the highest society ever created and seen it fall apart around me.
Backstory/Concept Coukrellion fairly danced through the bustle of the huge kitchen. To an outside the scene before him would look like complete chaos. But to him he saw the underlying rhythm, the tightly controlled orchestration of the Academy of Culinary arts. One of the 11 schools dedicated to the highest artforms celebrated not only in this countries culture, but foundational to the religion of the people as well. He couldn’t believe it, he was finally on the cusp of completing his 20 year apprenticeship. For once he was glad of his elven blood as he realized his fellow apprentices would likely only have 30 to 40 years to perfect the art, which of course was a ludicrous proposition. He thought that with ten times that years left in front of him, he might be able to perfect the culinary arts, and join the ranks of the few living grandmasters. Today was Prep day. The day before what the apprentices simply called The Test, but that the rest of the capital city thought of as High Arts day, when the gates of the city were flung open and the rich, noble, and powerful from all over the civilized world would be swept into the city and allowed to glimpse the glories of the 11 high arts being perfected here in his home city. While the rich would spend the day touring the other academies, at the end of the day the very most privilidged would be granted entry into the great feast hall. These invitations were among some of the most coveted items that a person could get. For they couldn’t be bought, the guest list was made by the council of three, the king as the head of the state, the Grand Priestess as head of the religion and the Arch master representing the 11 academies. Stories were told of bribes worth multiple lifetimes worth of hard work to try to curry favor and receive the invite. The prestige of being invited to the feast was totally lost on all the apprentices but especially the Tops, as the 19th year apprentices were known. Each year of your apprenticeship you worked on the feast. Starting with the scullery years where you were little more than grunt labor and the whipping boy for the frustrated higher, until on 19th year you were a TOP, in charge of creating a magical meal that would be remembered for a life time for the 40 fortunate people sitting in your section. Coukrellion instinctively duct as two of his downers launched a spinning ball of dough through the air, landing in another bowl in the hands of another downer. Stopping quickly, he snatched the now empty bowl from the hands of the young girl. He stared at it closely before snapping, “How many tosses between oilings?” he continued to examine the bowl and holding it up to the light, turning it slowly.

“Four for the first four oils, TOP!” the girl andswered quickly.
Coukrellion nodded, “and what are the order of the oils?” he said as he thrust the bowl back into her hands. Not waiting for her to answer he strode off to continue checking on things in his section.
He stopped in front of a long row of pots on the stove, and quickly looked in each one, each of the seven pots would turn into a roue, a sauce or a stock for the food tomorrow. He knew there would be no problem here, his Second Top, an 18th year apprentice was over this area, but he still felt he had to check it. Turning to go, he felt a tug on his sleeve,
“Cookie! You gotta come!”
He heard as he spun. Looking down on the diminutive halfling he first felt his temper rise, over the breach of etiquette of not being addressed as Top, and of the hated nickname. But something in the voice combined with the look on the halflings face gave him pause. He stood looking at the most junior of the Chefs, a title reserved for the 15-18 year apprentices. He knew this one well, and she was no alarmist. After pausing for a moment he replied
“You are supposed to be in charge of receiving, it’s the easiest of all the chefs spots, what could have happened that needs my attention?”
“Sir, Top, sir it’s the scandalions sir. There, well, just come see.” And she sped off
He dodged and weaved trying to keep up with her. Walking for some minutes across the kitchen, past the storage areas and onto the receiving docks. Still following the halfling, he walked past rows and rows of loaded wagons until he finally came to rest in front of a cart. Pulling a bulge of papers from his apron, he quickly thumbed back, and soon found the entry on his supply list for scandalions. Looking at the numbers he glanced at the cart, confirming these were the ones he had been allocated. Upon second look, he was not surprised to see the cart was actually the amphibious boat/cart combo that brought these rare bulbs the many many miles of canals to the city. He stepped down off the dock into the cart, and turned back, offering a steadying hand to the halfling, who gratefully took it. He saw the nearest crate opened, and lifted the lid. His eyes widened at what was before him. Why these were HALF the size of normal, and the coloring was just OFF. Picking one up, he winced as his fingers sunk into the delicacy, instead of firm, fragrant fruit, this was mushy, and gave off a slight vinegar odor. In shock his fingers straightened and lost there grip as the bulb fell from his fingers and landed with a sickening thud. He turned to his assistant.
“Top! I checked four boxes, they are all like that or worse.”
As he began to form a questions, he felt the cart shift before him. He instinctively bent his knees, and reached out a hand to steady himself. It wasn’t the cart moving, it was the very city. This was far from unusual the tremors happened several times a week for his whole apprenticeship, and you could tell a local by the “squat” they took when it happened, and how they immediately went back to business. Gathering his thoughts while calculating the odds of finding 40 useable shole scanallions in this mess for the 6th course, he paused as a MUCH larger tremor hit the city. Just when he was about to speak after that one passed, the largest one he ever felt ripped through the town.

He groaned as he woke up, the staff sergeant poking his ribs with the toe of his boot. Looking out at the dark sky, he nodded at the grumpy dwarf and sat up. as he pulled on the itchy uniform trousers, he shook his head to clear the dream. Was it really 100 years ago that he had been “saved” by fortune by rotten scandalions? It seemed longer than that. He never remembered what happened next. Putting the pieces together, being in the boat saved him when the rest of the town was flooded by the great river being re-routed by the earth quake. His next memory is waking up hundreds of miles away. The first year was spent in shock, could the great city really be gone? He spent a year making his way back to his home. Over this time he heard hundreds if not thousands of stories tell him what he would find. Yet he was still shocked. The great city, home of the 11 academies, the center for art and enlightenment had truly been wiped off the map. Where a million people once lived in gilded splendor, a few thousand now tried to live in mud walled huts. After seeing it with his own eyes, his next plan came. If his home was destroyed, he could still seek out employment with his trade in one of the other large sophisticated metropolis. After all, everywhere people eat, and everywhere rich people want to eat well. He spent the next 40 years wandering trying to find some shadow of the former glory he grew up in. As he did he learned that the tragedy didn’t just befall his home, but befell civilization across the world. Some places a typhoon, some places a volcano, but all the same story, and all the same day. He learned that he could always find a place to work, and if he wanted to travel, armies were always marching and always hungry. As he entered the cook tent he cursed to himself as he looked at the “tools” he was supposed to use to feed these people. Horrible craftsmanship, “Oh well, it matches the horrible supplies, the horrible weather, and the horrible food I will soon foist on these horrible soldiers.”

Cookie is coming out of an almost 100 year funk. Cooking bad food for that long has broken him. He’s having something of a mid life crisis. He realizes the world will never recover to the point he can cook like he dreams of. After the cataclysm, he began to appreciate the amazing supply chains that brought all those exotic foods to the academies kitchen. Those won’t be rebuilt in his lifetime. So he’s decided he has a lot of life left, and he might as well find something else he can do with it. His years of wandering have given him some small ability to forage for the foods he would like to cook in the wilds, and he thinks he could actually wind up being a decent woodsman (ranger)

Goal: To find a society in the world where the art of food is still appreciated and establish a culinary college.

RP Sample:
Wincing as his back his jarred from his stumble, Cookies hand gos reflexively to the small of his back, right over where a large scar runs. Shaking back the memories of how he got that scar, which oddly enough was a situation not unlike the one he was currently in. “Damnit, the kitchens were much safer.” He mutters to himself as he begins to move again. As he hears the whimpering, he turns to see the girl amongst the bodies. His first step is automatic, he goes to help the child, but before that foot can touch the ground he halts. Visions of yet another dark scene, where what appeared to be a young girl turned out to be something VERY different indeed. “Hey! YOU! GIRL” he barks, “Look up at me, let me see your eyes and teeth!” he shouts hurriedly. “Not making that mistake again,” he thinks to himself. Much more cautiously he finishes his initial step towards her. “Listen up. looks like you’ve had a bad day already. Well what’s coming will make it worse. You look up, let me see you aint got pointy teeth or tentacles coming out of your mouth or glowing eyes, and you and me will get out of here. But you got to do it now, I’m not waiting any more!”

[DustyParadox]

Umak Stormslayer Art by: Fedelacelli - Link Name: Umak Stormslayer (Pronounced OO-mak) Race: Half-orc (might use a human chassis if that is allowed tho for the wizard build / if it isn't, no sweat) Class: Wizard (Order of the Scribes or Bladesinger) or Barbarian (Wild Magic or Ancestral Guardians), whichever would more suit the story - I've written the RP sample with the assumption that he's a wizard but it's not hard to flip it Background: Anthropologist for the Barbarian Outlander for the wizard Personality traits: 1 - Through Foreign Eyes: Despite his deep interest in foreign customs and ways, Umak tends to still view the world through the cultural lenses imposed by his upbringing, leading to occasionally comical, and occasionally critical misunderstandings. 2 - Self-Centered: Umak comes off as a very reasonable individual, but do not mistake patience and willingness to talk for signs that he is easily persuaded or manipulated: Umak, ultimately, does what he wants to do. Ideal: People. People are just so interesting. They are worth more alive than dead. Unless they're undead, in which case they might be worth an equal amount so long as they can communicate intelligibly. Bond: Respect: A teacher taught him almost all of what he knew - Umak now seeks to do the same. Flaw: Complexity Addiction: Umak generally assumes situations are more complicated than they appear at first glance, and has trouble seeing simple situations for what they truly are. Backstory:   To tell Umak's story right, we need to stop by the land of his birth, and to stop by the land of his birth, we need to remember a word. And that word, to the surprise of many, is not 'Cataclysm'. It's 'The Mountain Which Fell That Way and Crushed God Into Paste.' Okay, okay - it's more succinct in the original Orcish and can be roughly transliterated as 'Guarlagmactacmubbliyegetpatay' and kind of does reference the Cataclysm after all, but the point still stands: no one living in the Guarlag Mac Tac Mountains cares about the Cataclysm. Even to the orcs that live there, the name is a curiosity, the times Before when orcs worshipped any god but themselves having long receded into misty memory. In Guarlag, a genuine city of hundreds if not thousands, which lies within a sheltering valley between the two mountains (Mac and Tac) of what is otherwise an icy alpine wasteland, a meager existence can be eked out of mushroom farms and yak breeding, while a far more lavish existence can be squeezed out of punishingly expensive tolls for those merchants seeking to go through the valley paths, as well as the taxes on the silver mines whose products those merchants are most interested in. Here, orcs look forward to the future and in that striving they find a strength that escapes most other broken nations which crawl backwards through the glass shards and ashes of the past. Orcs, y'see, don't really give a **** about all that nonsense. To a species amongst which a frail, venerable elder had been fifty years old before the Cataclysm; post-Cataclysm, orc life expectancy went completely to pot - half a dozen generations or more have passed since the waves rose and a mountain fell and a complex web of interconnected warren kingdoms, valley countries and mountain nomads known as the Alliance of the Adamant Hoof fractured forever. However, not only do the orcs of Guarlag not remember more than scraps passed down as fey stories from the times Before, they don't even have a firm memory of what an 'orc' really is. Truth is, no 'pure-blooded' (for lack of a better term) orcs live in Guarlag anymore, it has become a nation of what others would call 'half-orcs'. No one is quite sure why - it was overrun long ago, but whether by human or by orc is a matter of intense speculation by largely useless academics. What is for certain is that the orcish way of life predominates and that the definition for orc is at once both extremely broad and extraordinarily restricted. If you can speak orc, and can walk across the treacherous paths which are all that remain of the Mountain Which Fell That Way, retrieve a shard of snow white obsidian which are said to be the bones of a dead god, and present it to Guarlag's chieftain in a ceremony known as the Trial of Bones, you're an orc. If you can't, you're either a unproven whelp, an enemy to be exterminated, or a goblin - a word that has come to denote something between minion, slave and useless refuse probably better off dead. (There's also seven years of military service as an alternative to the Trial- but that was a recent innovation by the newest Chieftain, and not yet totally accepted by the older generations.) If you can't speak orc and miraculously both managed to pantomime acceptance of this strange custom and succeeded at it (no easy thing given the many horrors which prowl within the mists) you're considered something on its way to becoming an orc, not quite there, but still worthy of respect. This does mean Guarlag has become quite the melting pot, ostensibly under orcish rule, and yet quite openly accepting of other sufficiently strong and callous creatures willing to risk life and limb for the white obsidian so-prized by the residents of Guarlag. Hobgoblins and elves alike have been called orc, as have goliaths and dragonborn. Make no mistake though, Guarlag is a cruel, callous land, where might makes right, and peace and prosperity is bought at the expense of the weak. Goblins and kobolds, halflings and gnomes make up a downtrodden underbelly of this burgeoning civilization and take care of most of the menial duties such as raising crops, tending to livestock and staffing the punishingly cruel silver mines. None of them are forced to stay, indeed, they are often encouraged to attempt the near-suicidal Trial of Bones and become a true orc, but such are the times that these wretched creatures would prefer this bondage to the freedom to die of exposure in the snowy, alpine wastes that exist beyond Guarlag. Let's now talk of Umak. Umak was born a strong and healthy babe, and quickly grew to become a strong and healthy whelp. He didn't know exactly who his parents were but that was no source of trauma: he was raised communally, like most native Guarlagians, every other orc being some sort of aunty or uncle. As a child, Umak roughhoused with the other orclings and went on the usual adventures all orclings went on - sneaking up on and riding on the ramtop goats, provoking and then dodging infuriated yaks, sledding down slopes on old shields and stealing scraps from hearths and cook fires. And yet, Umak was different. He wasn't sure when it had started, or even why, but Umak was... well, some would say he was soft, others stubborn. In the permissive environment of Guarlag where social norms were enforced not by edict, but rather by example, strength and social disapproval, Umak was an orc apart, completely oblivious to the growing concerns others had for his tendency to try and drag goblin whelps into orcling games, or visit goblin elders and ask them questions, or his willingness to even - gasp! - learn non-orc languages. The longer this went on the more inevitable it became for a promising youth to be looked on with disdain. Rumors flew that Umak was, in his hearts of hearts, a goblin, and not an orc and his orcling friends slowly abandoned him, though it took Umak some two fortnights to realize he was being shunned. Some avoided his gaze when he asked while others told him quite forthrightly that although he was a good pal, it couldn't be helped: it'd be weird being friends with a future goblin. So, at the tender age of ten winters, Umak attempted the Trial of Bones. He is certain that he failed. Mac and Tac are the mountains that lie to the East and West respectively, while the Mountain Which Fell Sideways collapsed towards the north. A stone wall was quarried and built along the southern boundaries of Guarlag - but the North is its own natural barrier. No one knows for sure what dwells there - the glacial mists which haunt the land obstruct the eye almost as much as they rob the living of heat and all who attempt the trial return without memory of their feat. He doesn't remember returning to Stormslayer Keep, filthy and covered in wounds, one of which, to this day, covers his right arm in an angry, jagged red mess of crisscrossing scars, nor does he recall retrieving the white obsidian shard clutched in his hand. He only remembers attempting to deny his success and being told that he was a full-blooded orc, worthy of the Stormslayer name, his much, much taller, stronger peers hooting and hollering at him to drink, drink, drink-! That entire month went by in a bit of a haze. As an acknowledged orc, Umak was free to do whatever he wanted with the goblins, and if that meant eccentrically conversing with them as if they were, well, orcs, well the lad was still young, he'd soon learn better. And, truth was, he might have. It wasn't a spark of immutable goodness which moved Umak to act the way he had and treat his social lessers as equals: it was a preposterous degree of self-confident self-centeredness combined with an utter inability to read social cues not to mention the naivety of the young. But, in the depths of the silver mines, bringing goblins water and food in exchange for the stories that so entertained him, he met her - one of the fair-skinned, straw-haired goblins who in other lands might be called an elf. Her name was Gweyhir, and she was the scrawniest, filthiest thing he had ever seen, combining the stench of a lantrine, the dead eyes of the undermountain fish, the self-mutter of an orc gone senile, the grime of an iron cooking pot, and a nest of fleas which buzzed in her hair and dislodged, every now and then, a disgusting dandruff snow. He was going to avoid her, but then she saw his arm, grabbed it in a surprisingly powerful grip, and said, in the goblin-dialect of the tree dwellers, "You are marked." "I am Umak," he replied hesitantly. "I am Gweyir, Marked One," she said, voice deep and gravelly, like the elders who liked to trade pipes as if they were prizes. "And though it has been a long, long time, my penance is nearly over." Then she sang the word [SWORD] and stabbed him with her mind, ghostly blades forming in the air before angling to skewer him, and, before they could, the scars on his arm flared a painful, angry red as he spoke, and it was like his body knew the word without his conscience mind being aware of it, the word [SHIELD] exploding out of his mouth and a crackling white circle made of glyphs written in an icy brightness caught the phantom blades, sending them spinning away. "Good," said Gweyir. "You are the-" But Umak, who wasn't so oblivious that he didn't know what an attempt at violence looked like, blades made of air, and shields made of words all being quite beside the point, wasn't listening, yelled "Ahhhhh!" and punched her in the face. Thus began the curious apprenticeship between an elf who had seen the world fall and an orcling who had never known aught else and didn't much care to. She would teach him the little magics she knew as a Once-proud eldritch knight and how to write in languages other than the crude dwarven alphabet that orcs used to transliterate their spoken tongue. (Open spoilers for his childhood.) But that is a story for another time. As for us, our concern is for the orc sitting in the back of the caravan, book at his side, sucking thoughtfully on the end of a quill, comically delicate between his massive fingers, before beginning to make another entry in his journal. A raven flaps its wings and alights besides him. "Hoo, hoo," it says. He pushes the false spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "That's not what a raven sounds like," Umak points out mildly. Eat guano, the raven replies telepathically, communication a riot of mental sounds and images and impressions, before shaking its wings. I prefer being an owl. Or even a cat. "What does it look like?" he replies. A dismissive snort. Po-dunk town, hundred or two hundred people at most. The journal snaps shut. "Perfect." Goal: Why is your character adventuring? Umak is looking for his master's family (master as in master-apprentice, not master-slave) to bring them news of her death. This seems to be a fool's errand as she A, last saw them pre-apocalypse and B, isn't dead. Still, he dutifully asks every elf that bears a passing resemblance to her if they know Gweyhir. Umak was marked during the Trial of Bones and he seeks answers about the mark still. What do they want to accomplish? Umak has no grand goals, no lofty aspirations. But he does have a dream - if he had known about them, he might know that he dreams of founding his own college, but with little conception of such a place, he has a vague inkling that he would like to create a place of learning, where individuals might trade insights with one another. RP sample: write your character’s response to this scene You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time. It took a moment for the improbability of the scene before him to register, and once it did, Umak could hear Gweyhir's gravelly soprano intone, if she's the bait, where's the trap? Maybe it left. Maybe she was the bait and trap both. Maybe he was overthinking this and about to get a spiked tentacle through the eye socket for his trouble, and it'd be richly deserved. Wha'd'we do, Boss? Ajax sent, black wings flapping furiously to keep him in place. Hmm... Boss? Tell her... he thought, hand dipping down into one of his oversized pockets to grasp a piece of lint, mouth reshaping itself so that it might pronounce the words. Tell her to be like stone. Then he spoke and reality, ever so gently, took a nap. Ajax, in raven form, landed next to a weeping, nondescript pile of rubble surrounded by the dead and dying as the sound of boot-shod feet receded into the distance. "No matter what you do," it told the stones that had once been a girl, and for all intents and purposes, absolutely still were, "do not make a sound." (Umak used still image and then continued running away)

[Tiger Basilisk]

What a tale! I really enjoyed reading about Umak Stormslayer and the society he hails from.
The world of orcs you have created is highly compelling. I like how you explored the instability of a short-lived species in the context of the cataclysm. Umak's individual story is intriguing too, and his personality is most unusual. He really is an orc and not an orc. Ajax is an entertaining fellow in the little capacity he exists.

[DustyParadox]

Originally Posted by Tiger Basilisk

What a tale! I really enjoyed reading about Umak Stormslayer and the society he hails from.
The world of orcs you have created is highly compelling. I like how you explored the instability of a short-lived species in the context of the cataclysm. Umak's individual story is intriguing too, and his personality is most unusual. He really is an orc and not an orc. Ajax is an entertaining fellow in the little capacity he exists.

That is extremely kind of you! I will admit that the limitations of character creation did help here: I wanted to justify having a human with tusks that considered himself an orc and kind of designed a society that would justify that premise before finding the deviant art picture and admitting to myself I really like BIG TOUGH GUY doing nerdy things dichotomy and ended up deciding it wasn't that crucial for him to be human in the end.

I hope our characters end up interacting - Umak's kind of the perfect audience for someone like Aphelion, but on the other hand, he represents something very new and perhaps also kind of distasteful from the point of view of those who treasure the past? Because while Umak likes stories of the past, he isn't particularly invested in bringing any of it back. There's that generational tension that I hope he and the younger characters will evoke from the older characters.

[theclaytster]

Character Concept Name: Alice Bien Race: Human (Variant) Class: Wizard (Necromancer) Background: Far Traveler Personality Trait: 'I honor my deities through practices that are foreign to this land.' - Alice is fascinated by death and all things supernatural. She believes death is an extension of life, part of the natural cycle and thus there is much knowledge to gain from the deceased. 'I begin or end my day with small traditional rituals that are unfamiliar to those around me.' - Alice burns incense to ward off the evil eye at night. Flaw: 'Inquisitive. Everything is new, but I have a thirst to learn.' - Unlocking the mysteries of life and death is worth ignoring old religeous and established traditions, even if it goes against the establishment. Bond: 'I hold no greater cause than my service to my people.' - Spirits exist and she is determined to understand how to use them. Some spirits have unfinished business and need guidance while others possess knowledge and insight, and still others are willing to assist for a price. Ideal: 'I consider the adherents of other gods to be deluded innocents at best, or ignorant fools at worst.' - Fate has gifted Alice with her talent to feel and interact with spirits. She is obsessed with understanding her unique this gift regardless of how others perceive her actions or their moral implications. Backstory Inside a small earthen hut in Balaat in Lindolond's southern desert region, an exhausted mother, having given birth, cradles and rocks Alice, her crying newborn daughter, while a midwife cleans up the bloody mess from the floor. Alice was stillborn, her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, and had just taken her first breath. The old woman, having deposited the mess into a wooden bowl, places it on the doorstep, returning to tend mother and child. Alice's mother hears a strange wet snuffling noise from the doorstep. Staring at her was a black jackel. It licked its nose and twitched its whiskers. The eyes, however, were wrong. They were a bright, glimmering blue, the same blue as her daughters's. Alice saw the fox and smiled a wide toothless smile, making a high-pitched sound of delight, reaching out with his chubby hands, waving at the beast. Her mother frantically made signs to ward off the evil eye as the old midwife scrambled to grab a broom, the jackel gave a sly, tongue-hanging grin before snatching the bowl's contents and dashing off. Alice laughed, and babbled nonsense at the jackel's back. Alice is an only child. Her father perished the day of her birth outside the ruins of Nubtwas while scavanging for old-world items. Hard times ensued after her father's death. Her mother took any job she could find, from barmaid to chamber maid to even a lady of the night to make ends meet. When work ran out, they moved, never staying in one village for long. That was the excuse given by her mother. In reality, it was far from the truth. It was Alice's gift, her connection to the underworld which forced their continuous uprooting. It started with imaginary friends, but she never outgrew them, they just manifested themselves differently. Her mother did not fully understand this gift, but she used it to their advantage when they could keep it hidden. Palm reading, bone and wax readings. These were favorites, easily concealed or discard if suspicion or rumors of working with unforeseen forces were aroused. Their safety hit a crescendo after their run-in with the Leona High Priest Alger of Lindolond. The High Priest sent agents of the church to locate her, coming close on a few occasions.   The Encounter At Mills Crossing Hocktide Festival, a small girl yanks violently at her mothers hand, pulls free and runs towards a growing crowd. "Alice!" the mother calls to her child in frustration as the girl disappears into the mass. A crowd has gathered in response to a rare visit by the Lathander High Priest Alger of Graynard. Squeezing though the mass of legs and bodies, Alice stumbles into the High Priest. He stops for a moment annoyed by the child, steps to one side and starts walking as though the child does not exist. Catching her balance, she tugs on his robe. "What is it?" he says with a fake annoyed smile. Alice stands back. "That lady asked me to give these to you." In her hands is a single Daffodil and Gladiolus which she reaches up to give the High Priest. "She said for you to remember what she use to tell you about them." Alice adds. The fake smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled and slightly open-jawed expression. Leaning down and trying grab the Alice. "Where did you get these!" he demanded as memories of his mother slowly flooded in; his voice trembling a bit. The flowers were his mother's favorite as they symbolized rebirth and remembrance; the many stories of how everybody should honor their ancestors. As Alice points to where the old lady was standing, her mother appears. With the High Priests head turned, embarrassed, she curtsy's, grabs her daughters hand firmly, and quickly pulls her daughter into the crowd. "I don't..." the High Priests voice trails off as his attention switches between the now departed girl and where she said the lady was. Away from prying eyes and ears, Alice's mother gets on her knees. "What did we talk about?" Alice protests, "But mommy, the lady wanted me to give him those flowers. She insisted! She said it was important." Her mother exhales heavily, and in a loving but stern voice, "I know, but remember others cannot see her. Only you. If somebody finds out..." Alice interrupts. "I know. Beware of those with hollow souls and shallow minds as they will feed you to the wolves." Alice leans over and hugs her mom. After a bit, "We need to go." Her mother takes Alice's hand. They would be leaving another home this night. While travelling through The Sea of Trees forest north of Lodge, her mother fell gravely ill, ultimately succumbing to a horrible disease resulting in the necrosis of her limbs. Alice became mad, truly angry. She did not the skills or understand to save her mother. The spirits whom she spoke with often went silent. All she would do is watch her mother die a terrible death. In the distance, the earie gecker of a jackal is heard. It was at this time Alice met Schmee, an old female hermit considered by many to be a witch for her unothrodox methods. Schmee found Alice leaning against a tree with her mother's body a few paces away. Normally she would have left Alice for dead and let nature take it's toll, but while watching Alice, a bugo owl flew down, resting near. Alice lashed out, screaming at the innocent creature. It immediately fell dead. Schmee had had a similar vision. The gods had spoken. Schmee took Alice in as her apprentice, studying both traditional arts of healing and the mystical. It was under Schmee's tutelage that Alice discovered not only she was a conduit for spirits but could utilize spirit manifistations to cast spells.   Training "No no. Lass." Schmee exhales with a bit of exasperation. Three rabbits are individually caged in small wicker boxes about 5 paces from Schmee and Alice. One died a few moments ago by Schmee. A larger box behind them holds maybe a dozen more creatures. Alice was frustrated. She had not fully comprehended how to entice a spirit to perform a task. She can sense them all around, see many, but interact with just a few. Through Schmee's tutelage, she had taken the first steps by grasping that small fragment of it's former life. Now she was trying to coax it's desire to performing a task. "Snap out of it, girl. You were close the last time." The strike of the thin willow branch across her back did not leave a mark, but was enough to get her attention. "You know what drives the spirit. It's the same as placing a carrot in front of a donkey. It wants to eat. It's the same here. They only want to continue with what they did in their past." "I know, but I'm tired." Alice threw that out as an excuse, but it was true. Spell casting did take a small toll on the body. It takes a bit of your energy to provide the spirit or entity with the small amount it needs to complete the task you ask of it. "Oh Pish Posh!" Schmee retorted. "I've seen 76 winters that I remember. Do you see me getting tired? Stop the excuses or I'll leave a mark on your back." She states with the one smile you never wanted to see from Schmee. Alice refocused. She chose a spirit who attached itself to her years ago. This spirit, she sensed, had once been a female whose life was filled with tremendous sorrow and despair. Alice looked at the rabbit once again, this time ignoring the slight drain she felt as a tiny filament of her energy was offered to the spirit for it to torment the rabbit. Alice watched the creature move its ears as trying to hide the momentary sound of the dolorous bell ringing in its ears. The rabbit collapsed and died. The energy used, the spirit left. Alice watched, her mouth open, then smiled, then giggled. She understood. And the draining feeling seemed to be offset by a euphoria. Before Schmee could say anything, the final rabbit met the same fate. Alice started clapping like a child receiving a gift. Turning to Schmee, "That was easier than I thought. Oh my." Her heart was pounding. "This is fun." "Fun?" Schmee looked at Alice with the intent to scold her. "Child. Fun is not the word I would use. You are performing acts which most think is blasphemy, and those that may understand it, want nothing to do with it." Her tone changes to more of a mentor. "What others don't realize is that we can perform similar tasks that mimic other forms of magic. We just use spirits and other entities to accomplish this." "Ok. Maybe not fun, but I did do it. I can't wait to learn more!" Alice responds quickly. To her, it was fun regardless of what Schmee thought. "Calm down." Schmee laughs. "Your enthusiasm may be more than your body can handle. That was a minor offering. It get's harder as you want them to do more. In some cases, it takes multiple entities to complete the task you ask of them." Alice did not realize this. And then her eyes opened as she started to contemplate what could happen. It was like cooking. Each ingredient by itself was useful, but together, it made something special. Schmee looks at the dead rabbits. Alice follows Schmee's eyes and looks at the rabbits as well. At the same time they both say "rabbit for dinner?!" They look at each other and laugh. Preparing the nights dinner takes some time. While Alice skins the rabbits, Schmee watches her with interest and trepidation. She learned quickly. But did she enjoy it too much? Alice's understanding of not only the body, but of the spirit world grew. She hungered to know more. Her mother did not need to die. If she had only known more, been able to speak with the spirits, maybe her mother would still be alive. And oh how she wished to speak with her. Schmee knew her own limits and could not guide Alice further. And there was now word of the High Priest Alger's men nosing around in the area. Having helped Balder Hall in the past, she learnt of a caravan of his heading to Octam. Arranging for Alice to join, debts met, she watched Alice leave knowing she would see her again in the next life. Goal Alice seeks old-world knowledge, truths, regarding the afterlife. She believes death is an extension of life, a tool to be used. The vast knowledge held by the dead is incalculable and could be used to counter the suffering persistent today. The drive to speak with her mother and advert what happened to her fuels her thirst for this forbidden knowledge. RP Style You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time. *** Alice, out of breath, hand resting the alleyway wall supporting her, looks as the blood stained girl sitting amongst the dead. There are spirits hovering around the girl, she can sense them. Sense the concern. For a moment, their she watches the final few struggled breaths of her mother. She remembers the warmth of her moms body, the expression on her face, one of final longing. Then the tears. The howls as she shook her mom trying to wake her, but to no avail. Nobody to help. The loneliness. Why did she die? She sees in that girl herself. Those same questions. Those same feelings. The crashing sound of the creature getting closer snaps Alice back. She knew she would not be able to defeat this creature. She had too much more to learn. She leapt towards the child, grabbing her, putting one hand around the child's mouth and a finger up indicating to be quiet. "Shhhh." It was a soothingly soft sound she hoped would keep the child calm. She curled the child up in her arms. Alice's hand grabbed a white rabbit's foot she had tied around her neck. As she had done so many times before, she opened herself up, offering one of the spirits near the child a chance to regain some warmth, some energy in exchange for assistance. If she had to guess, it was the child's father by the strength of it's feeling towards the child. Holding the rabbit's foot, she mumbled a few strange words. She felt a bit of her life's energy merge with the spirit. It had taken the payment. An instant later where there had been four bodies, all torn open with their innards spilled out, blood everywhere, and a child, the child was now gone. The illusion complete. All that remained were the bodies in their horrid state. Alice could feel the spirit manipulating the area in front of them, hiding them from the creature. She only hoped the child would not make a sound and the nastiness around would hide their scent.

[Togot]

I'm seeing a lot of excellent applications. this is shaping up to be a memorable game

[Drachenspirit]

Originally Posted by Togot

I'm seeing a lot of excellent applications. this is shaping up to be a memorable game

You have some great character submissions here to choose from, Togot. reading through the competition almost makes me want to "revamp" my applicationI don't like my chances on getting selected, nor envy you having to choose who to bring into your game.

[IrishKatt]

Kaal Bloodsmane
Mountain Dwarf Barbarian


Background
Outlander

Personality Traits

I love a good insult, even one directed at me.

I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won't save you
from a hungry owlbear

Ideals

Friendship. Material goods come and go. Bonds of friendship last forever.

Sincerity. There's no good pretending to be something I'm not.


Bond

I will bring terrible wrath down on the evildoers who destroyed my homeland.

Flaw

I have trouble keeping my true feelings hidden. My sharp tongue lands me in trouble.


Backstory

The pick forgets, but the Mountain remembers, a dwarf saying that proves true to many that survived the cataclysm. The older lived races felt the bitter cut of the cataclysms effects as their ancient empires crumbled, and their long standing traditions fell away to ruin. Races set in their ways watched those long lived cities, empires, and people waste away to nothing in the VERY short span of time for them. Many became closed off, some joined with whoever was close in hopes of strength in numbers, and some; still set in their ways faded away into nothingness as the world salted around them. Kaal was none of these, as when the mountain crumbled he an his kin were not beneath it, but atop it, and the watched the world fall to ruin around them.

Not even 50 summers old when it happened Kaal can vividly recall the days during, and freshly after the cataclysm, brutal, and harsh as they were the only difference it made to him and his kin was now more people were apt to try and cause you harm than before, but it takes a real lack of common sense to think its smart to try and pull up on some mountain dwarfs expecting to come out on top, or even unscathed. The Mountain dwarfs that called the Crown-Spire mountain home were known for their strength, ferocity, and reliance in battle, but also for their abrasive, and raucous nature, and tempers.

One of the first things Kaal will tell someone is how unfair the world really is, as one of the oldest memories he has is choking the life out of an elf who tried to kill, and rob him as a youngling. A vivid playback that constantly reminds him how harsh the world is, and how even those that have wealth can come after what little you have. The only true way to get ahead in this world is to remain on top of it, and never let the mountain crumbling beneath you bring you to your knees. With all of this in mind Kaal swore that one day he would find who, or what was responsible for the cataclysm, and bring down upon them the same anguish, and brutality they wrought upon the world for no person or creature should have to witness the horrors the world ending events brought down upon them.

Being a gruff, mountain barbarian Kaal seemingly has no fear when confronting, well anything, but this is more due to his philosophy than classical "fearlessness". Kaal has lived through his fair share of battles, ambushes, monster attacks, and worse, and has always approached with a calm ferocity, until the heat of battle that is. His philosophy is that fear is your body telling you what MIGHT happen, but action is what decides the final outcome, and hells below can he put to action. Because of this philosophy he was raised on he has no time for those touting titles, or flaunting wealth as those are in consequential to survival. Though he works as a mercenary most of his wealth is either stowed away, or used on feasting, and celebrating survival.

Goal

Kaal doesnt really have a goal aside from punishing who or what was responsible for the worlds ruin, other than that his goal is simple. Survive.

RP Sample

Melcath's Mucusy Meathammer! Swearing aloud at the damnable trash he tripped over while getting a better vantage point for the beast, the smaller entry point being the perfect place to bury his great axe when it reared it's disgusting "head" if you could call it that. As he looked around raising to his feet he noticed the sobbing girl, the bodies, and the blood, and wondered if he had stumbled across an actual child, or the infant of the beast chasing him. Despite what lay before him he grinned, his fiery red beard swaying as he readied himself, and his great axe; loosing it from his back, he turned away from the bodies, and the girl, and faced what horror had decided today was it's last on this world, and let out a ferocious bellow. His long braided beard, and head of hair flew wildly at the gesture, his scarred muscular form flexing, and rippling as his grip on his axe found its familiar spot.

As the beast began to lurch out into the alley way Kaal did what he did best, survive. In an explosive bout of force the mountain dwarf struck at the beast with the might of a mountain crushing down upon it, his great axe finding purchase in it's strange rubbery hide, but a clean blow was not victory, so Kaal followed through with his mighty weapon, and made to strike again before feeling the familiar burn or a claw across his exposed flesh.

As the warm almost itchy sensation of blood trickling down his body hit his senses he bared his teeth, letting loose a deep, almost deranged laugh that came from deep within him. "Least now it's a fight!" he roars as his axe finds purchase in the monster once again, but this time removing a hefty piece of the creature in the process. With a shrill unearthly roar the beast writhes in agony before taking off back out of the alley way choosing instead to preserve its own life, than risk losing another limb to the stout savage with the axe.

Wiping thick dark blood from his face, and smattering it to the ground, he lowers the axe, and looks toward the sobbing girl, surrounded by the corpses of what he can assume is her family. "C'mon kid, get up. Th' monsters gone." He pauses, "lets get you looked after, an see about seein to your folks"