Hello all. Could people please post their PC and their backstory on the thread.
Please give others a chance to post before starting chatting so most of the posts/ backstory are on the top few posts.
I will review the backstories and get the IC by Tuesday night at the very latest
Quote:
Originally Posted by DrK
A map of the tribal Kings of Ancient Britain a generation after the Elven lords were hurled back across into France. Currently the High King is Uther of the warlike Atrebates.
The land of Brigantes to the North is rife with the most freedom loving ofthe kings and intermingled with border raiders from the woad painted halflings to the North.
In the North East the kingdom of Parisi still holds close to the Elven ways and has a large contigent of the former Elvish nobility in exile from their homeland but ruling here.
Elsewhere the tribes scrap and fight in the cylcles of vilence that have gone on for 100's of years. The Eastern and Southern tribes have all seen a marked increase in religious violence as servants of the Lightbringer move into positions of powers spreading gold liberally and traditional Temples are despoiled... Religious war!
Against all of this the twisted and cursed are spreading, beast headed evil tribes are breeding in the mountains and strange curses of famine and the walk dead are spreading.
The Gods of Britain and many of the "Pagan" peoples
Bel: The sky father and Lord of the Gods. He is the greatest of the gods and commands the sun, the sky, inspires bravery in warriors and bestows knowledge to Kings. Near enough everyone in the land pays at least some homage to him and all the large towns have at least one large arched temple to him where the red-robed priests stand vigil.
Danu: The earth mother and wife to Bel. She protects and heals the faithful and is responsible for the fertility of the Earth and all things that grow in it. Loved by women her priesthood are all female and the Sisters of Danu in their robes of light browns and greens are a welcome sight at any hospice and sick house.
Kurnos: Danu’s Brother. The stag-headed lord of the hunt represents nature’s fury, the hunt and the wilderness. Less common in the cities nearly all those who live in the wilds have a shrine to the Horned God to keep them safe as they wander the wilds.
Fenrir: The wolf-like son of Kurnos, who races alongside his father’s chariot through the heavens, Fenrir is the Lord of Winter and master of battle. His followers are common amongst the warriors of all armies and even the savage blood drinking blue painted celtic half people worship him. More common in the colder northern towns his largest followers can be found near the Caledonian tribes
Morr: The dark and mournful brother to Gofannon who shepards the souls of the dead on to the afterlife. He is a dark and mournful god and his priest hood dress sombrely in black and are near silent save for funeral services. He is said to be able to see through the eyes of Ravens and if they are looking you then Morr’s embrace will sure to follow.
Morrigan: The raven haired enchantress wreathed in mist that mistress of deceit and confusion. She is Morr’s wife and lurks in shadows and mystery. Her priestesses worship in the shadows reading patterns in mist and smoke and are viewed with an element of distrust by many, as are the black cats that accompany them.
Don: The brother of Gofannon and wielder of fire. He was the first to bring fire to people as they sheltered in caves and most hearths in homes have his mark in remembrance.
Gofannon: one of Bel’s sons’ he toils deep in the mountains with rivers of fire and the bones of the earth itself crafting the weapons of the Gods. The blades Excalibur and Caldabolg are said to be two of his creations. Every blacksmith in the land reveres the smith God and sets aside a portion of the forge and a spare hammer for the spirit of Gofannon to reside in.
Manawydan: The tempestuous goddess of seas, water and rain is the daughter of Danu. She bring rain, wave and water and all river men take care to appease her with gifts to ensure safe passage.
Naith: Daughter of Danu and giver of prophecy and wisdom. She is the Lady of the stars and her priestesses often divine the future from them. They revere the clear night sky and the owls that carry her words of wisdom.
Puck: A dalliance between Kurnos and an unknown fey gave rise to the small winged and horned satyr like god Puck. A favourite of those who indulge in drink, mischief and music he is a common patron of inns.
The Dark Gods
Crom Daub/Crom Crauch: Is Lord of the underworld and Bel’s brother. But where Bel is tall and string Crom Cruach is broken and twisted, where Bel is lord of Sun Crom Daub is lord of the Dark. He is lord of the Underworld and Hel where the souls of the cursed and the dammed are sent to suffer. His followers swathe themselves in tattered black robes and skulls and blood and he demands constant sacrifice through ritual incarceration in burning wicker men.
Morai Heg: The hag queen/ Queen of Dreams is Crom Daub’s consort. Half beautiful and half twisted she is mother of nightmares and prophecy and carries dark power over the dead.
Slough Feg: Crom Daub’s dark son born from the rot and decay in the underworld. The hooded and plague ridden priests of Slough Feg wander at whim bringing plague, famine and mutation. Those touched by the Lord of Rot are said to show strange signs and have their very bodies twist and mutate under his dark influence. Learned sages credit the twisted half-human beastmen as his creation.
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Thanks to Emperor Ing for the nice Avatar
Michelle serves as a freelance spy between nations, with her secrets sold to the highest bidder. Naturally, this will have caused her to make a few enemies, so she's perpetually on the run from governments and shadow organizations both real and imagined. The constant paranoia has taken a toll on her psyche, and she's beginning to forget who she truly is beneath all of her cover identities. Speaking of cover identities, she has worked with some of these adventurers before, each in a different guise.
Shared Backstory w/ Hierophant:
Spoiler
Scholar of the Lightbringer Roi d'Esprit had ventured into the monastery many a time, his steps in the hall as pure and silent as his wispy white beard. He often caught Abbott Urthsen's ear whenever he could, sometimes to pay a compliment to the leader of the monastery and sometimes merely listening in case the Abbott came to him for advice. When Urthsen asked who the Hand of Ji-Ann should be passed to, the wizened scholar simply smiled and said one word: "Benedict."
The scholar offered to leave the monastery with the young Brother in order to protect both him and the artifact. However, a few nights out from the monastery, Benedict awoke to find Roi standing over his bed with a hand on the relic. Except instead of wizened skin and a wispy beard, he saw a young woman with gray skin and white hair. As the moonlight caught it, flecks of every color danced across the room. When Benedict asked who she was, she was silent for a long moment, her featureless face frozen in fear. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. With a sigh, she morphed her form into the familiar shape of the elderly scholar. "I was hired to steal the Hand," he said.
Some time after, Michelle manages to flee from Benedict with the Hand of Ji-Ann. As such, he attempts to track her down, which leads him on a spiraling path through foreign lands and eventually to Saxon lands. He approaches her about the relic only to find that she has traded it away to the Saxons as a way to keep herself out of jail. He petitions the Saxons for its return, and they agree under the condition that he help find the missing farmers. Since Benedict views Michelle as responsible for them having it in the first place, he asks her to help on the case.
Shared Backstory w/ Toliudar, Chambers, and Menteith:
Spoiler
The Celtic halflings know her as Adalia Three Trees, a savage oracle who lives by herself in the forests yet seems to know the comings and goings of all. The elders of various Celtic tribes will often send messengers into the wilderness to seek her council, and sometimes travel to her themselves for advice in settling disputes, either between their tribes or between their people and the neighboring Saxons.
The Saxons know of Adalia as well, but in a different light. They view her as an asset and dissident amongst the Celts who lives among them and feeds misinformation to them at the request of the Saxons. She brings back information about the movements of the Celtic tribes, but the Saxons don't realize that what she feeds them is the same recipe of half truth, half deceit that she's been feeding the Celts in order to subtly influence events on both sides of the border.
When the fires break out, she is the one to tell Silene's tribe when the others are reluctant to do so. She leads them back to the flames and meets up with Saendry's tribe, who is upset with her for bringing in the Dragon clan. However, this is the least of her problems when she sees Mailoc--her most recent lie to the Saxons has been revealed, and they have had enough--there is a standing order to kill her on sight. Tired of his King's aggressive orders, the human agrees to interrogate her alongside the Celts. One of the Saxon mages happens to have a true seeing effect up, and catches the double agent's true form. When she is forced to revert to her natural form, the three unlikely allies see a sad woman with gray skin and opalescent hair. Her pale lavender eyes plead for clemency. Her thin lips move to speak, but no words emerge. Though her hands are bound behind her, her bare foot scribbles a simple message in the dirt at her feet: I can help.
Shared Backstory w/ Togo
Michelle's POV:
Spoiler
It's said that, when you want something done right, you do it yourself. However, when you want something done with absolute military precision, you call a Prussian. It was because of this that, when the Temple Riots began, the priests of Kurnos turned to Winston Wolff. A stout dwarf with an accent as thick as his beard, the little man had a reputation for making problems or people disappear without a trace. The members of the shrine gathered their gold and paid an exorbitant amount to the dwarf for his assistance in dropping off the grid. As they were escaping the temple under cover of night, Winston was brought down by the arrow of a Lightbringer sniper. Kurn was the last of his fold, and he turned back to see if the dwarf could be healed. However, instead of a portly dwarf, he found the crumpled body of a young woman. Instead of leathery, ruddy skin he found it smooth and gray. In place of the thick blonde beard and crown of hair, there were soft, feminine features and a full head of white hair that shimmered with small spots of every color. The dwarf's crisp, blue eyes were gone, replaced by a vacant stare from large, almond-shaped lavender eyes. Whoever Winston truly was, she was dead.
Kurn summoned forth the guidance of the spirits to pull this girl back from the brink of death (OOC: using your Recall Spirit ability). As she came to, she nodded silently in gratitude before morphing back into the form of Otto right before Kurn's eyes. "Vat are you vaiting for?" the dwarf asked incredulously, "ve need to move!"
Kurn's POV:
Spoiler
Kurn trudged through the night, yawning. Everyone was very busy, rushing around, which meant he didn't have anyone to talk to. That was a shame because he'd had a marvelous vision of them riding in a boat, a real boat, the kind that went to France and beyond and brought back gleaming gold, thick wines, and spices that made him sneeze.
He wasn't going to France though. He should tell someone that, he supposed, but they were busy. Or they'd smile and nod, and maybe give him an oatcake. Being kind.
They didn't want him along anyway. He'd accidently overheard them arguing, in the small stuffy room behind the sanctum, where the fox crept in most nights. They didn't know that if you accidently pressed your ear to the wall, and accidently stopped breathing, you could hear just about everything. They didn't need the Seer, they said. He'd only give them away, they said. They'd said a lot of other things, and Boris had helped him to try to peice them together, but then Boris had found wood pigeons in the bushes, and got into a fight with them, and once all the feathers had settled and Boris had stopped grumbling about the injustice of being ganged up on, he's quite forgotten what else was said. Boris often got distracted like that.
He'd tried to help anyway. He'd told them it would rain, and he'd given Haerviu the waxcloth hat, for when his coracle started to sink during the escape in two nights time, so he could bail it out. But he'd just looked at him, and muttered about loose lips, which was odd because his seemed happy on his mouth where they'd always been. And then Judoc had just said, no, he was just being the Seer, and smiled, and nodded, and given him an oatcake.
He didn't know what a Seer was, exactly, but it seemed to involve a lot of oatcake.
Of course Judoc was dead now. He'd seen her, limbs sprawled and pale, in the wreckage of the shrine. He didn't feel too good about that. He could go back and see her, he supposed. She'd be bustling around her empty house for at least the next few days, but that would only be a memory, and memories never had anything anything interesting to say. Nothing was as forgetful as a memory, which is why they stay sharp and clear for so long.
The group cleared the rise, and headed downslope. Kurn nodded. They were making straight for the old road, which meant that they were going to turn aside at the last minute and strike out north towards the coast. They'd paid money to the dwarf for a clever plan, and clever plans never involved doing just one thing quickly, because that might have worked without being clever, and then what would the cleverness say to all its friends?
Death bothered him. His face was getting wet. It bothered most people, who seemed to get all quiet when it happened, as if they were embarassed. Sometimes death got contagious if you talked about it too much. He knew becuase he'd heard some people talking about someone who been killed, and they said that if anyone talked too much about it, they'd die too. There had been a lot of contagious death around the last few months. Maybe that's why all those people had pulled the shrine down. They'd wanted to burn it down, but the swamp spirits liked to pull their wet gleaming bulk into the timbers of the shrine, where they could listen to the druids and play with the smoke from the fire. It would never burn, Kurn could have told them that.
Noone ever asked Kurn these days. They just smiled and gave him oatcakes. He liked oatcakes, but the smiles made his stomach hurt.
So now most people were dead, and the dwarf had been paid for a clever plan to let some of them reach France. He's asked the whale in the harbour about that, the one made of silver light that only came out when the moon was full and noone else was around. She'd said they weren't going to make it to France, because they'd stick on a sandbar until dawn. He argued with her for a bit, and then traded her his old knife and his special bead on a string and she changed her mind, and said they'd make it after all. But he wouldn't be going she said. And laughed at him. Whales always laughed at him. He didn't mind, but he wished he knew why. They knew the deep waters, while he'd always stayed in the shallows, where it was safe. One day deep waters would come for him, she'd said, and he'd drown. But he said she was a whale, and he was human, and humans brought familiar things with them, to stop them sinking when the water got deep. He'd half expected her to smile and give him an oatcake, but she didn't. That's what he liked about spirits. They were too pure to be kind.
Like Amaranthe. She was smart and he liked talking to her, even if she mainly just wanted to take his clothes off. He'd asked old Maedoc about her, and whether she was a spirit like Boris and he'd dropped his cup and spilled his drink all over the floor. He'd said that no, she was a dryad, and very dangerous, while Boris was a kind of spirit called a hallucination, and that he should be careful doing anything that he suggested. Boris had crowed about his special status for days, although Kurn privately thought the old man had meant that he should be careful to ignore Boris, not to listen to him. Amaranthe had just laughed, and said he'd have to sneak out to see her instead, so they met out in the woods instead, which was colder, and a bit prickly, but Amaranthe didn't seem to mind.
He was just thinking that he ought to see her again, when the dwarf dropped dead at his feet, with an arrow in her throat. She was lying in the same way as Judioc had been, and as he stared in shock at her, lying there, he could feel the future breaking up around him, like ice on a pond, cracking up, and floating away. Everyone would die because of this. He could feel his vision darkening, was dimply aware of the dark ones lurking behind bush and hedgerow, closing in on the harvest that was to come.
No.
He could feel the icy stares of the stars looking down on him, Boris' shrill panicked whine, the sense that here, and now, things could break in a way that could never be repaired, would never be fixed. Most of all he could feel the silken stretch of her spirit between his tightly clenched fingers.
He wasn't going to let her go.
The trouble was, on the other side was a Claw of Morr, trying to take her through the gate to the lands of the dead. Kurn could imagine he wasn't going to let go either. He could feel the momentum of the moment gathering around him, vast forces inerlocked, like the gears on a mill, He needed a focus, a reason, a...
He jammed his hand into a pouch, fumbling for what he needed. Then he pulled it out, and threw.
He leaned over her watching as Boris stuffed her spirit back inside her body. He was a little concerned that he was putting it in upside down, but Boris said that lots of people weren't packed very well into their bodies, and she had so many different locked rooms in there that it was a wonder that she'd fit at all. Besides, if he tried to tidy up there would be no end to her complaining.
Kurn bit his lip. He told her that it was ok, that he'd given the Claw of Morr an oatcake, and that meant he had to let things be and go away, because that's what oakcakes do. That all the little voices had told him that she was needed for the things that hadn't happened yet, and that's why he'd had to...
She coughed, and her almond shaped eyes fluttered open.
..bring her back. He finished awkwardly, not sure of what or how much she'd heard. Lots of people didn't seem to hear him, even when was explaining things very carefully. She was missing her beard, and he was half tempted to look around, in case it had crawled away.
She gave him one of those looks, the ones that say that there's something so important to be said, that she's not going to say it. Then she somehow had her beard back, and was shorter, and started shouting again.
He started moving again, but his thoughts were whirling. He'd been 'kind' to the Claw, in the way that makes someone go away. He'd never been 'kind' to someone before, because it seemed like a cruel thing to do, but the Claw was probably fine, and he couldn't have just let die. And Morr was probably just as happy with an oatcake as with a soul. Probably.
But if he could do that, he could probably talk to all sorts of spirits. The big serious ones that were usually too busy. He felt a brief sense of misgiving, like he should go away and eat an oatcake, but he didn't have an oatcake any more. The oatcake was dead, and everything that went with it. There wasn't, he realised, anyone left to eat oakcakes for.
So, where to start. He pictured the carved wooden representation of the great god Kurnoss that had loomed above the altar. That seemed like the kindly sort of spirit that would appreciate a chat about what Kurn should do next.
Excited, he decided to slip away somewhere quiet and do just that. It's not like they wanted him on the voyage anyway. He drifted sideways, and then quietly walked into a slow moving stream, and lay on the bottom. Some water spirits came up to tell him he ought to be drowning, but he told them he was too busy to drown, and they'd have to come back in a few hours time. He settled back on the stream bed and tried to think about the deity.
Almond shaped lavender eyes flashed across his mind.
He asked Boris if he'd noticed anything strange about that dwarf. About her shape. Boris rather testily replied that he wasn't any more interested in this girl's shape than he was about the last fifty girls he's asked about. Kurn frowned. He didn't know much about dwarves, but something about the way she'd suddenly changed shape and back again nagged at him as being unusual in some way. Maybe he should ask Amaranthe about her, or about what he should do next. However, as he rested in the clear dark water, he wasn't thinking about Amaranthe. He was thinking about the future, about Kurnos, and about lavender eyes.
Shared Backstory with Void
Spoiler
Perhaps he first encountered her as Lady Blodeuwedd Berwyn, a Welsh noble that encouraged his employer to remain neutral years ago in what she called "the coming storm," the tensions that are currently boiling over. After one meeting between the nobles, the Lady accidentally left a parasol in the foyer. Olaf noticed it and attempted to follow after her in order to return it. However, he watched as the noblewoman veered away from the luxurious mansions he was used to and ventured deeper and deeper into the city. His gaze never left her as he features and clothing changed multiple times, almost like some sort of elaborate shell game played with a crowd. Finally, as she entered the slums, he saw her face shift one final time, to that of a beautiful young changeling woman with opalescent hair. She ducked into a crooked shanty, and Olaf went back to report what he had found.
Private Backstory for DM
Spoiler
She has been struck by a curse--Michelle Easton is unable to speak in her natural form, and even in the form of another is rendered incapable of telling the unblemished truth about her identity. As such, she's started to forget who she is. This curse was placed upon her by her employer, a dark figure unknown even to her who is the one behind all of Michelle's subterfuge. Whoever her master is, they are weaving a delicate web so intricate that even the seasoned spy has no idea what their endgame is.
Cuonkurnos (lit. Hound of Kurnos, or alternatively lesser son of Kurnos) being a mouthful, most people call him Kurn. He was a temple orphan of the old faith in Stettingheim, and raised by old priest there, who was kind to what most regarded as a feebleminded bastard left to die of exposure.
When the Lightbringers came, and set up their own temple in town, there was a certain amount of tension between the two religions, but a truce was brokered by a wandering warrior called Benedict (see hierophant).
A few years later the shrine to Kurnos was attacked in secret. Kurn initially escaped with some of the others, led by a mysterious Prussian dwarf (see OMG Ponies), but decided to stay and look for survivors and a new purpose rather than flee to France.
As the old priest and his acolytes were dead or scattered, he raided the surviving temple treasures for what he could carry, and fled into the marshes. There he survived living alone, except for the company of the Dryad Amaranthe. The locals were sympathetic, and occasionally left him food and clothing, but there's a big new temple to the lightbringer
now, and the priests of Kurnos, at least in that area, are gone.
After a few years living in the wilderness, training, praying, getting closer both to nature as to his god, Kurn is ready to move on. His god has a purpose for him, the spirits whose voices he hears constantly are warning him of some great event to come. He has travelled north, looking for concentrations of the priesthood (and not finding them), and is shortly to arrive in York.
Notes
1) - The Iceni of the old faith pronounce CU as a K, the people of the Lightbringer are more prone to pronounce it as a CH.
2) - Stettingheim is a town near the Wash, an expanse of water that forms a barrier between the Iceni and the Corieltauvl. It's fairly large by local standards, and features craftmen working on goods brought in either from the rest of the country to the southeast, or by sea.
Appearance
Spoiler
Kurn is a savage-looking stringy youth, with a mass tawney hair tangled into knots and matted with mud. His clothing of linen, leather and beads is crisscrossed with home-striched patterns, and tied with countless leather, bead, and bone charms and fetishes. His soft curious brown eyes give him a more smypathetic air.
Proposed timeline
Spoiler
Present - PCs meet in York
6 months ago - Kurn starts his tour of the east coast. Polk and Silene start exploring the wider world.
1 year ago - Riots - Shrine to Kurnos gets pulled down and several priests are killed. A mysterious dwarf sneaks many of the rest safely to a boat, and helps them cover their tracks
3 years ago - Lightbringer worshippers build a shrine, and spark a furious backlash. Intervention of Mailoc prevents the situation getting out of hand, and a pattern of uneasy coexistance lasts for the next two years.
Kurn's reasons for going to York. Basically, he wants to join an existing shrine or set up a new one, and find a place he can be useful and call home. He is however, aware that he stands little chance of achieving this by himself, particularly if he has to actually say anything.
Spoiler
They walked in silence.
Or rather Kurn walked in silence. Boris didn't need to walk, because he wasn't really there. Didn't stop him talking though.
I mean a chicken, really?
Kurn noted wearily that the road seemed to be heading uphill again. How many hills did one road really need?
That man at arms will be picking feathers out of his clothes for a week.
Kurn looked at the sun again, shading his eyes. He wasn't making much progress. He wasn't expecting to. This entire trip was increasingly seeming like a bad idea.
Kurny, talk to me.
Kurn looked up. Boris sounded worried. He hadn't sounded worried since the incident with the jar, the dog and the treacle.
What's wrong?
Kurn sighed.
It's this trip, Boris. That last village was the best we've seen since we set out.
They had an old guy and his apprentice living out in the forest. They were kinda dull.
That's what I mean. It wasn't much, but so many of the Parisi don't have a shrine at all. And when they do, it's always out in the wilderness. Away from people.
Um.. you know Kurny, Kurnos is a god of nature, and you do tend to find more of that out in the forest than-
I know I know, but the towns are where people talk about stuff. People don't go to the shrine unless they've already decided to go.
Well yeah. You want them go when they've decided not to? I guess we could rig a snare or net, and then drag-
No, no, it's just that... Look, back home we were part of something, part of the village. People knew we were there.
There was a long pause.
They knew you lot were there, Kurny. We know that because they dragged everyone of the shrine and killed them.
Ok, granted, but they wouldn't have been attacked if they hadn't been making a difference.
So... being murdered is a good thing.
Yes! Well, no. That is...
You want to be annoying enough to get into trouble, but not enough to actually die.
Precisely! Kurn frowned. It didn't sound so good now that he said it out loud.
Wouldn't it be easier just to sleep with someone's wife?
Kurn shook his head. It has to be for a good cause, for Kurnos.
So we only want to annoy bad people. How we you know they're bad?
Um.. Well... they get annoyed with people like me? There was problem here, Kurn felt. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Boris seemed satisfied though. Oh, so you want to acquire enemies to show your valour, like in the old poems.
Um.. yes?
That sounds great. You find someone really evil, and then... sleep with their wife?
Boris!
What? What? Well, what's your plan?
Kurn nodded, getting in his stride. Well, there's a really big village called York, and they have a big stone circle really nearby... Now if I were to help them keep the circle, and maybe do the headman a favour or two.
Like what?
I don't know. They probably already have people to treat the sick and injured. I guess I could... find lost cows? Or something. I just want a place to.. to be mine. If only for a while.
Um.. Did you say York?
Yes.
That's.. quite a big village, isn't it?
Kurn shrugged. This had in fact been bothering him quite a bit, but he knew enough not to let Boris see it.
And you'll just walk up to the biggest hut and start talking.
Um.. Previous variations on that plan had not gone well. Maybe I could find someone to help with that bit...
Beats walking I guess.
Well I've walked a long way now. At some point you've got to stop walking and...
..and sit? Stand?
They reached the top of the hill. The road ahead stretched out before him.
Yes. Make a stand.
Shared incident with OMG ponies is in the post above
Shared link with hierophant is in the background above.
Kurn talks in Dark Red
Boris his spirit guide, talks in slate blue.
(Note that, unless the DM rules otherwise, Boris is a hallunication inside Kurn's head that can not be heard, seen, detected, or otherwise interacted with.)
Item and feat requests
Spoiler
Items
]I like the flavour and style of the following relics from the Magic item Compendium. Would it be possible to have them and reflavour them for Kurnos?
-Cornucopia of the Needful (p155) - Transfer from Yondalla to Kurnos
-Millennial Chainmail (p20) - Transfer from Corellon Larethian to Kurnos.
I'm also requesting:
The Rainment of the Four (p.203), as they seem to fit the elemental spirit style very well.
Bracers of Lightning (p.206)
Survival pouch (p.187)
I would also like to add stat bonuses to those items (to help repair my rather dire rolling), as per the normal rules.
I have craft wonderous item and am intending to use it - do we start halfway through 12th level, or will using my feat mean I drop down to 11th until we get some xp?
Feats
Requesting Nymph's Kiss from the Book of Exalted Deeds (if you don't have the book, google should give you the meat of it). It fits the background for the poor spirit deluded boy so well, and means I can actually get some useful skills despite my int of 6!
Finally, I couldn't find precisely the flaw I wanted, so I made one up, loosely based on a homebrew one I found. Does this seem about right?
Spoiler
Imaginary Friends
You talk constantly to your imaginary friends, which sometimes causes you to slip up and say things you don't mean to let slip.
Basically, he talks to invisible spirits only he can see, some of which don't really exisit outside his own head. I would have just put all charisma-based skills, but the rest aren't social skills at all, so it didn't seem appropriate.
Olaf was the fourth son of Gunnar of the Night Wolf Tribe, whom reside with-in the fjords of Norway. His father taught him hunting and tracking, but fighting came natural to him. At a young age, even for the Viking tribes he earned his place upon one of the long ships. His sword work earned him the nick name, “the Dancing Wolf”, not only with-in his tribe but through-out the surrounding tribes and raided lands. His skills and leadership also earned him command of his own long ship.
Roughly three years ago his long ship was returning from a raiding trip on the French coast when it was caught in a storm in the North Sea. The storms forced his ship onto the rocks of the Parisi shores. Most the men aboard his ship had been slain or injured in the wreck. One of the lords arrived at the crash site with a contingent of soldiers. He recognized the ships figure head from before he was exiled from France. In hopes to earn pardon of the exile the noble hope to capture ‘the Dancing Wolf’ and turn him over to the authorities of France. This battle waged, though what was left of Olaf crew was scattered during the fight and Olaf forced to flee into the forests of Brittan. He was chased for some time before traveling into neighboring kingdoms. When he reached whales he found solace in a small hunting village. Here he met Alice, his first love. At first he hunted with the rest of the village for food, but it was not long before the lord of the land hired Olaf on as Man ‘at Arms.
About a year ago a Welsh noble hand a conflict with a boarding Parisi noble. The owner Olaf's land had an alliance with the welsh nobleman and so sent Olaf to the conflict. The conflict took place over an eight month period. During the deciding battle of the conflict Olaf saw the elf noble who greeted him on the shore line that stranded him in Brittan those years back. Dancing his way through the guard Olaf met the noble elf toe to toe. The fight was short lived wolf left the nobleman’s body viscously butchered upon the ground. This single act turned many of the Parisi solders fleeing the battlefield. Forcing the invading forces back to where they came. The high king forced a truce between the warring noblemen. During the length of the conflict the area in which Olaf now called home a plaque taken seed and blossomed.
Olaf returned home to find his village all but dead. The disease had not only taken the lives of many of the villagers, but given it back in the most unnatural way. Without thought for his own wellbeing he fought his way to his long house. The building was blockaded and it was clear those who had survived the plague tried to defend themselves here. But now there was no one to be found. That night Olaf picked up and began wandering the land.
Appearance
Spoiler
Olaf is still a young man. Do to the tragic events 6 months ago he had let himself go and only recently started cleaning himself up again. He stands 6'2" with a slim yet musculer build. His blonde hair runs down to his small of his back in which he normally has braided with a silver ring tied in the end. He has a clean cut beard. His eyes are rich blue that show a wisdom and pain of his past life experiances.
Olaf has recently found himself in York, in hopes to find a new path for his life. He is considering heading back to Norway, but we will see what is to come.
__________________
Thank you Mr Saturn for the Avatar.
Silene Dragonward is an idealistic young halfling warrior whose courage and compassion are only outstripped by the simplicity of her worldview. Her lack of nuance can be quite refreshing, but can also make those twice her age take a deep, slow breath and sigh "oh, sweetie." Silene will speak in purple.
Polk, ironically, while only a few months old, is actually much more subtle and thoughtful in her worldview than Silene. [Squirrel!] Until she gets distracted by something shiny, or that tastes like blueberries, or that presents a more interesting intellectual puzzle. [Hey, that cloud looks like a spiral staircase, doesn't it?] She is especially fascinated by humanoids, and looks forward to learning a great deal about them. Polk will speak in dark orange.
Brief backstory:
Spoiler
The Iceni halfling tribe have, for many generations, been under the protection of a family of gold dragons. This has, naturally, given them a sense of superiority that is not particularly earned, but also a sense of obligation and a larger vision about how the world can and should unfold.
The Iceni assign one member of the tribe to each young dragon, to act as both guide and servant. Sometimes, this individual becomes a magical adept and helps the dragon unlock these abilities in him/herself. Sometimes they become a warrior pairing. Sometimes they are simply friends and colleagues. Typically, the Iceni becomes eligible as a Companion after their fortieth birthday, and roughly one is trained each decade (dragons don't come along that often).
Silene was selected to become one such guide, and threw herself into training to ride, support and learn about dragons. Unfortunately, Cilead, the designated Companion for the freshly-born Polk, died unexpectedly (flesh out as needed), and Silene was pushed forward into service at an unusually young age.
The initial experiences were initially fraught with misunderstandings as Silene struggled to keep up with the precocious Polk, and to literally rein in the dragon's enthusiasms. They are getting closer to an understanding now.
In order to give them an exterior focus for their energies, the Iceni elders (and the matriarch of the dragon family) have decided to send them off together, following up on a lead that takes them south. Perhaps in the company of other halflings, or of the human holy warrior Mailoc, depending on how selections happen.
This is intentionally brief and vague. Both Silene and Polk (especially polk) are meant to be fresh faced and inexperienced, gifted rather than grizzled, and un-set in their ways. My hope is that their essential character will be shaped by experiences in game.
Appearance:
Spoiler
A young celtic woman, dressed in a simple homespun dress with a shirt of mail over top, paces back and forth. She seems impatient about something. Her hair is long for the warrior she seems to be, the dress cut low enough to reveal a muscular form underneath.
Polk is an adorable little dragon with gleaming golden scales, a pair of golden bracelets, a golden amulet and a golden saddle. She giggles a great deal. Polk has beautiful, luminous wide eyes.
Oh, and remarkably sharp claws and teeth. She keeps forgetting about that.
__________________
Peridot avatar (complete with demon consorts) courtesy of the very talented Telasi.
Despair favours the status quo. It is a luxury we cannot afford. ~ Andrew Nikiforuk
"Humans and dragons share the same weakness: pride. Makes them easy to manipulate, causes them to forget reason and fear. They won't realize the trap they're in until it's too late."
Image
Spoiler
Background
Spoiler
Tribe. For generations uncounted the Warder Tribe have cared for the souls of the Hin in the North. The shamans of the tribe were spiritual leaders across all the tribes and sought to remain neutral in politics, dedicating themselves to ensuring the Hin lived in harmony with the land and each other. As the hostilities with the Saxons grew the elder shamans called for peace, and were answered with scorn. When the strength of the tribes was broken and the Hin scattered the Warders retreated furthered into their sacred groves; the other tribes rejected them for their pacifism and expelled their shamans from their tribes. Living deep within the forest the shamans keep to themselves, waiting for the time when the tribes may be reunited again.
Family. Within the tribe not all are shamans. It takes many hands to feed a village and the Underbough family have long been the game hunters and border wardens for the tribe. Saerny lost many siblings and cousins during the war and I'm the skirmishes that followed.
Self. Saerny never expected to become a herald for his tribe. He thought he'd follow in his family tradition, but the shamans had a vision that he would play an important part in the history of his people. The shamans focused their attentions on him, granting him advanced tutelage under them so that he would be prepared to tend to the spiritual needs of his people.
Though he believes what the shamans prophecise, the pragmatism of his family is ingrained deep; as the saying goes, pray for rain and dig a well. The shamans allowed him to continue training with his family as they prepared him spiritually.
Enemies. The Hin have lived in the North for centuries and it seems as though their enemies have been against them for just as long. Neither stronger nor bigger than their foes, they were forced to be quicker and smarter. Don't strike until the battles been won is a common Hin saying, and it amuses then more that their enemies think it means to be cowardly. To fight like a Hin is an insult among humans, but for themselves it means to choose your battles wisely and strike when your opponents strength has become his weakness.
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Been busy recently, so I haven't had time to fill out his background info on the character sheet. I plan on having it all finished later this day though. Looking forward to the game.
Edit: Alright, I've got rudimentary background info up. Didn't have as much time today as I thought. I'll work on expanding it tomorrow.
Saerny will speak in Bold Olive.
__________________ The Great Wave off Kanagawa by Hokusai Me. "We have sent many to Hell, to smooth our way," said I, "and we are standing yet and holding blades. What more?"
Mailoc Deas, also known as Mailoc of the Sky
CG Human Champion Cleric 3, Paladin of Freedom 4, Fist of Raziel 5
For too long the people of this land have been tormented by the things that walk in the shadows. They have been bled white in service to those who should protect them. No more will I stand idly by when I can help them. To hell with the consequences.
Brief Background
Spoiler
As the youngest son in a minor noble family, Mailoc was never spoiled for choice. As a child, it was decided that he be inducted into the traditional priesthood, learning the ceremonies and practices that would appease the spirits of the earth and sky. While he was a dutiful lad, who honestly did his best to learn, he had little patience for the soft lifestyle that had been chosen for him. At the age of fourteen, against his family's wishes, he joined the military, and was immediately sent off into the raging conflicts to the north.
In all, he spent eight years in the service. He spent his first campaign as a medic's assistant, taking over the post when his superior took an arrow through the head. He had a knack for healing, and displayed no fear in combat, always staying in the thick of it, watching out for those under his care. His presence itself was a calming one for those around him, and he cut an inspiring figure on the battlefield. He slowly climbed the ranks, refusing any promotions that would take him away from direct combat, and gaining a reputation for fairness, honesty, and honor - and for a streak of stubbornness whenever his orders interfered with his own personal code.
During what would be the final campaign against the northerners, Mailoc was ordered to scour the land, to destroy the homes and noncombatants in an effort to demoralize the enemy. Instead, he forged new orders, withdrew the forces under his command, and personally delivered a warning to the tribes he had been ordered to assault. Knowing that he couldn't return to his home, and to help atone for the many lives he has taken, Mailoc has devoted himself toward helping every sentient being freely; he knows that he has the power to aid those in need, and freely offers his service to those who need it. He has spent the last six years on his own, traveling mainly by foot, and rarely spending more than a few months in any location, lest he draw the attentions of his former superiors.
Personality and Appearance
Spoiler
Mailoc is a bluff, hearty man who wears his travel-stained armor like a second skin. He has a thick, heavy sword strapped to his side, and a massive steel shield loosely attached to his back. He is quick with a smile, easy to laugh, and fond of the simple pleasures in life. He has a cheerful disdain for authority - if they're willing to work with him for his own goals, he'll get along fantastically with them, and welcomes aid, but he has no problems breaking laws if that's what he thinks is the right thing to do. He accepts those of all races and creeds, though he's more than happy to introduce individuals to his own, unique, view on the gods, should they ask. He seeks only to do the right thing, and finds that doing good is its own reward. He hates violence (and hates that he's skilled at it), and will try and find a way to come to a peaceful resolution whenever possible.
From his blunt, scarred fingers to the tip of his broken and set nose, it's apparent that he's no stranger to violence. His hair is a dark brown in the areas where it hasn't been bleached near white, and is kept closely cropped. His green eyes sparkle with a barely contained jest, as does his constant smile. He moves slowly and deliberately - he doesn't shift his weight, or toy with his hands. His happiness and contentment is almost palpable, as one who can live purely in the moment and take genuine pleasure in simply being alive.
Image (In armor)
Spoiler
Mailoc will speak in Bold Dark Green, if that's alright.
__________________
Theory and practice are the same in theory, but differ in practice.
Benedict was raised in a small monastery in the south of Britain. Founded by the saint Ji-Ann, who supposedly was divinely inspired with the knowledge of the fiery Lightbringer's Fist attack, the monastery has been cut off from the main body of the church for some time, and is not quite as strict in its dogma as it once was - which conveniently keeps it out of the current three-way schism.
Keenly aware of his differences even from an early age, Benedict kept to himself moreso than the other acolytes. Devoting time instead to his studies - both scholarly and martial - his skills were honed to the point where Abbott Urthsen entrusted him with their order's most prized relic, the Hand of Ji-Ann.
Lately, the neighbouring villages have been requesting the monks' aid more and more frequently. Dark forces are at work in the world, and the Light must go forth once more to battle.
For too long, Benedict has been distracted from his investigations into the dark happenings of recent times.
But the theft and retrieval of the sacred Hand of Ji-Ann have led him to meet others with similar goals, and it may yet be the will of the Lightbringer guiding him.
Appearance:
Spoiler
Dressed in plain travelling clothes, this unassuming man keeps his reddish hair cut short, revealing the hint of elven heritage in his ears.
Dark blue eyes gaze out at the world with a lingering trace of wistfulness.
Personality:
Spoiler
Reserved in social situations, Benedict always found comfort in solitude - whether studying scripture or travelling the countryside.
Despite this, his compassion often drives him to offer assistance to those in need.
Hoping that by helping others he may find the inner peace that has long eluded him, the young monk has abandoned the safety and quiet of his home for the life of an itinerant.
Only time will tell if his faith is up to the challenges faced by a warrior-pilgrim, or if the doubts in his heart will blossom into heresy...
Benedict will speak in bold sienna.
Last edited by hierophant : 08-06-2012 at 08:52 PM.
If everything was as it seems, then the foolish wouldn't hold all the respect they do! A good illusion reveals as much as it conceals, don't you know! -Caelin
Caelin is a man in practical clothes, but of masterful make. He travels in a black vest worked in intricate silver embroidery around the edges. His pack rests easily on his back, clasped with silver buckles and black tracery. His pants, well-cut traveler's pants, have lines of silver scroll work down the outer seams. His boots are the only simple parts of his outfit. Plain black leather boots, they are worn and shined to as far as they can go. On his left hop sits a dull, ancient-style longsword in an ornate golden etched sheath. He eschews the more modern styles in favor of this large, heavy blade. A beautiful badge in the shape of a saxon [insert the symbol of an old kingdom] holds his cloak closed. His cloak is apparently a fluttering patchwork amalgamation of brightly colored and reflective patches. Upon further examination, you can see that Caelin has sewed all these different material patches to the cloak, so that even in the lightest breeze, it flutters and twinkles in the eyes.
Background
Spoiler
My father gave me three things in my entire life. My boots, my sword and my wits, I'd rather die before I gave any of them up. -Caelin
Spoiler
Caelin was born to a pair of simple craftsmen in a British village, two days south from the frontiers of the dwarven lands. For years, the only traffic the town had were rare traders, occasional armies in each direction, and most importantly. traveling Bards. Caelin loved their stories as soon as he could understand them. Every day he dreamed of what adventures he could have. Everyday he lamented his life in this tiny town. And everyday, he studied what few books there were in the town, and learned every story he could find in town. He constantly practiced little dances and storytelling tricks every chance he got. By the time he was 14, few nights in the tavern lacked his voice, or the laughs it caused. His father was a hard master for his neglected apprenticeship as a alchemist. His father pushed him constantly to be smarter, more diligent, and more dedicated. Caelin was rarely allowed even the slightest slack in his studies.
Unfortunately, peace didn't last for ever. When Caelin was 14, the local King went to war with the dwarves. Caelin and his father were swept up in the militia, and ended up marching to war with the dwarves. They never reached the fight. One night, around the fire, while Caelin and his father sat with their militiamates, the sergeant of the squad arrived, quite drunk. He began harassing the soldiers, and demanding their rations for their day. When Caelin's father stood up for himself, the sergeant taunted him, and insisted that his authority put him in total charge. The sergeant mocked Caelin's father, and eventually grabbed his single piece of bread and jerky, their meager rations for the day. Caelin's father tried to stop the sergeant physically, and the sergeant stabbed him in the gut. Caelin's father bled out slowly over the course of the night, and as he died he bequeathed his son the family's ancient sword and Caelin's grandfather's dragonskin boots.
Caelin raged against this huge injustice. He went to the higher officers, and was told that he had a duty to obey his superiors, and that his father got what he was coming to. By the time Caelin had finished protesting and arguing, Caelin had spent a week being flogged, was branded a traitor, and run out of the army campy.
From this horrible injustice, Caelin began to wander Briton. In the 19 years since he left the army, Caelin became a crusader for justice, freedom and peace. He began to practice the trade he longed for, as a Bard, but unlike his childhood daydreams, he didn't wander just to make himself happy, and make people laugh, he had a bigger mission. He strived to stop fighting, humiliate the unjust, and set the people free of petty kings and tyrants. He learned early that the greatest foe to injustice is happiness, and that Tyranny can little stand hope. Tricks and wits were a greater tool than any blade, but when the time came, he never neglected to use the blade his father gave him.
His first wanderings were full of danger, and often failure. It wasn't until he met a half-elven bard, wandering briton despite the distrust he received. Caelin feel deeply in love with the half-elf Xira, and they traveled together for more than three years. In total bliss, Caelin's hateful response to tyranny and injustice mellowed to a strong dedication, and his rage eased to resolve. From her, Caelin learned grace. Both of blade, and of heart. With her, Caelin learned the power of a laugh and a quick trick, and he became the famous trickster he is now. But beauty is not eternally lasting.
Xira and Caelin wandered into a terrible marsh. There, they found themselves in a tiny thorp forgotten by the world outside the marsh. The thorp, ruled by a terrible mind flayer, had been made complete slaves. Caelin's laughter and Xira's cheer and grace had little power over their shattered minds. Finally, the two bards came face to face with the beast, and eventually faught it to the death. But there was a terribly casualty, Xira fell prey to the aberration's incredibly mental power. In the very moment of it's death, she became it's willing slave as her mind was crushed. She grieved over the foe she had just killed, and it was far beyond the limited arcane power of Caelin to help her. He spent months doing everything possible to heal her, before he found that her mind, that Xira herself was gone forever. He put her out the pain she suffered from the mind flayer's death. With his childhood gone, and his love passed from this world as well, Caelin set off once more. His heart was frozen by a first death, and warmed by the one who passed second.
In the 12 years since, Caelin has accumulated a thousand stories, and as many exploits. All with laughter and joy on the outside, and a hard-earned wisdom inside.
Arrival in York
Spoiler
The last month has been good to Caelin. A minor baron forced to admit to the child he fathered and the mother he wanted killed, a deceptive merchant tricked into donating food to a starving villiage, and a young couple shown how to share their love without fear of rejection. But, as is Caelin's way, he must once more wander the land.
Three nights ago he heard a rumor in a small pub, a rumor that caught his interest and chilled his blood. A whole village disappearing into dark fire? What could that mean? While Caelin has heard little of corrupt lords, devious aristocrats or other corruption near York, perhaps some other source of injustice has arrived, and investigation is due...if it is more supernatural, or Gods forbid, natural, he will simply provide aid and wander once more....
There you go guys, I would *love* for Caelin to get picked. I haven't played a real Scoundrel type in a long time, Superhero morality is boring lately, let's do some other styles!
In the competition for best sidekick, it's currently neck and neck between Polk and Boris. Great writing and interaction between PC and sidekick from both Toliduar and Togo!
Going to get my detect thoughts roll, probably won't get a chance to do a good post until my lunch break in 5 hrs though. or when I get home from work. Hate posting from my phone.
(1d20+8)[28]
__________________
Thank you Mr Saturn for the Avatar.
__________________ The Great Wave off Kanagawa by Hokusai Me. "We have sent many to Hell, to smooth our way," said I, "and we are standing yet and holding blades. What more?"
Tolidur, I'm getting kinda confused about where Silene and Polk are from. You've said Silene is Iceni, which is about 120 miles south of York, but then you've mentioned not being familiar with southerners and people this far south. Am I getting turned around?
Incidently, loved Polk's folk wisdom about only have one mouth...
Tolidur, I'm getting kinda confused about where Silene and Polk are from. You've said Silene is Iceni, which is about 120 miles south of York, but then you've mentioned not being familiar with southerners and people this far south. Am I getting turned around?
Incidently, loved Polk's folk wisdom about only have one mouth...
Ah, my apologies. I'm getting confused about the various names for the communities and nations. Are the Celts humans from the north, or halflings? What are the names of the people where we are now? I'll happily amend to correct my geopolitical blundering.
Polk is becoming a LOT of fun to write. Love your interior dialogue (the hedgehog was especially memorable). At this point, I'm just trying to figure out if we'll ever meet Boris.
__________________
Peridot avatar (complete with demon consorts) courtesy of the very talented Telasi.
Despair favours the status quo. It is a luxury we cannot afford. ~ Andrew Nikiforuk
The Iceni are from the southeast (in what is now norfolk), in one of the flattest and marshiest areas of the island.
York is historically in Brigantes territory, near the top of the map.
My undertanding is that all the tribes are prodominantly celtic, and thus halfling. However other races would be reasonably common, as the island gets invaded on a regular basis, more recently by the saxons (humans), and then the elves (from France).
I've been playing a Saxon who was livining in the Iceni area. Whether that makes him iceni, or just a hanger on, I'm not sure.
If you want to come from further north, then you could ask to be pict. Or if you just want a remote mountain area then the Dumnonil might do.
I'm not particularly concerned, and if the DM wants to handwave it, that's fine. Some of the Iceni moved north (historically they did a lot of sea trade) and settled towards the north of the map, becoming Northern Iceni.
Ah, my apologies. I'm getting confused about the various names for the communities and nations. Are the Celts humans from the north, or halflings? What are the names of the people where we are now? I'll happily amend to correct my geopolitical blundering.
Polk is becoming a LOT of fun to write. Love your interior dialogue (the hedgehog was especially memorable). At this point, I'm just trying to figure out if we'll ever meet Boris.
The Iceni are from the southeast (in what is now norfolk), in one of the flattest and marshiest areas of the island.
York is historically in Brigantes territory, near the top of the map.
My undertanding is that all the tribes are prodominantly celtic, and thus halfling. However other races would be reasonably common, as the island gets invaded on a regular basis, more recently by the saxons (humans), and then the elves (from France).
I've been playing a Saxon who was livining in the Iceni area. Whether that makes him iceni, or just a hanger on, I'm not sure.
If you want to come from further north, then you could ask to be pict. Or if you just want a remote mountain area then the Dumnonil might do.
I'm not particularly concerned, and if the DM wants to handwave it, that's fine. Some of the Iceni moved north (historically they did a lot of sea trade) and settled towards the north of the map, becoming Northern Iceni.
DM preference?
First off - sorry for those who don't know UK geography York is indeed in Brigantes. Most of Englad is populated by the Saxons or mixed Celt/Saxon ancestry.
THe Celts are mainly from scotland or Brigantes are typically refer to both the halflings who are nearly all Celts and humans of Celtic culture and language.
__________________
Thanks to Emperor Ing for the nice Avatar
In this game would "Celt" be assumed to be a uman, a half long, or either? Is Scotland predominantly a halfling society, or do humans &halflings coexist in relative harmony?
__________________
Peridot avatar (complete with demon consorts) courtesy of the very talented Telasi.
Despair favours the status quo. It is a luxury we cannot afford. ~ Andrew Nikiforuk
In this game would "Celt" be assumed to be a uman, a half long, or either? Is Scotland predominantly a halfling society, or do humans &halflings coexist in relative harmony?
The latter. Nearly all halflibfs are tartan wearing woad painted celts but they co exist with humans, and some human tribes are as extreme as the most radical halfling tribe. Celt normally means "scottish". No matter the race.
__________________
Thanks to Emperor Ing for the nice Avatar
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