Please post your character sheets (build, appearance, background, and personality) here. Any revisions from the original submission should be noted at the end of the post. Please also create a character stat block. Thanks.
CURRENT PARTY: Tsubasa Shou, Human Ardent - Played by CALEBROBERTS Erias the Redeemer, Tiefling Paladin - Played by PapaMidnight Rolen Knifedge, Human Ranger - Played by darkwulf 23 Achile, Half-Elf Avenger - Played by Mysteria Laeretes "Foamdancer" Sadrani, Eladrin Bladesinger - Played by HarnWinterfell
FORMER PLAYERS: Achile, Half-Elf Avenger - Played by FallenIrishPhoenix Luustoki "Lusi" Ter'n, Human Slayer - Played by BaronRed Terios, Minotaur Berserker - Played by Draidden Kithr the Fire Mouse - Played by LinYurenya Face, Changeling Psion - Played by jacques_duloque
"I don't like X, they should remove it." "I like X, they should keep it." "They should replace X with Y." "Anybody that likes X is dumb. Y is better." "Why don't they include both X and Y." "Yeah, everybody can be happy then!" "But I don't like X, they should remove it." "X really needs to be replaced with Y." "But they can include both X and Y." "But I don't like X, they need to remove it." "Remove X, I don't like it."
Until you've had an in-law tell you your choice of game was stupid, and just Warcraft on paper, and dumbed down for dumber players who can't handle a real RPG, you haven't lived.
Lady and gentlemen.... I present to you the Edition War without Contrition, the War of the Web, the Mighty Match-up!
We're using standard edition war rules. No posts of substance. Do not read the other person's posts with comprehension. Make frequent comparison to video games, MMOs, and CCGs. Use the words "fallacy" and "straw man", incorrectly and often. Passive aggressiveness gets you extra points and asking misleading and inflammatory questions is mandatory. If you're getting tired, just declare victory and leave the thread. Wait for the buzzer... and....
One, two, three, four, I declare Edition War Five, six, seven eight, I use the web to
D&D should not return to the days of blindfolding the DM and players. No tips on encounter power? No mention of expected party roles? No true meaning of level due to different level charts or tiered classes? Please, let's not sacrifice clear, helpful rules guidelines in favour of catering to the delicate sensibilities of the few who have problems with the ascetics of anything other than what they are familiar with.
Just a quick note on the MMORPG as an insult comparison...
MMORPGs, raking in money by the dumptruck full. Many options, tons of fans across many audiences, massive resources allocated to development.
TTRPGs, dying product. Squeaking out an existence that relys on low cost. Fans fit primarily into a few small demographics. R&D budgets small, often rushed to market and patched after deployment.
You're not really making much of an argument when you compare something to a MMORPG and assume people think that means bad. Lets face it, they make the money, have the audience and the budget. We here on this board are fans of TTRPGs but lets not try to pretend none of us play MMORPGs.
Something like Tactical Shift is more magical than martial healing.
Telling someone to move over a few feet is magical now? :|
I weep for this generation.
Given the laziness and morbid obsesity amongst D&Ders, being able to convince someone to get on their feet, do some heavy exercise, and use their words to make them be healthier must seem magical.
(and Jiandie and Skaepalei and Vizago and Kas and Üz)
"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken." - Fyodor Dostoevsky IntroductionShow
She wears falsely the face of an elf (like an actor who wears a mask and knows you know the lie but continues to wear the mask, with a wink, and performs for the benefit of his audience) and her outfit (a skirt patterned with unnaturally colorful flowers and a shirt made seemingly for two) tacks hard against the winds of fashion, but she sits easily upon her stool and smiles at your stare.
“You found me,” she notes with delight and surprise and she takes a long drag from her pipe before blowing out three circles, one within another within the third, which spin past her pointed ears. She dangles the pipe between her fingers, where it swings like the pendulum of a lazy musician, or the mechanism in the toy of a child of wealth. Time has slowed down in this corner, you notice, and the rest of the tavern dissipates at the edges of your conversation.
Her unfocused eyes, originally green, melt briefly white (as the actor pulls aside his mask to deliver a cheeky aside) and a minute passes before – with delight and surprise, remember? – she notices you again.
“My name is,” she says, thought apparent in her features, “Face, today. I am a professional problem solver.”
Face taps her pipe against the edge of the table and tucks it into the worn and weathered traveling pack that sits at her side. Inside, you can see glass orbs that seem to – but she leans forward and the collar of her shirt hangs open and low, distracting you. “So how can I help?”
"God has given you one face and you make yourselves another." - Hamlet AppearanceShow
As a changeling, Face possesses no singular appearance. She constantly carries with her a hodge-podge of various clothing, allowing her to jump between identities – and names – with ease. In her most commonly adopted persona, the closest to her own, she appears in the guise of a willowy, tall female elf, with long red hair and verdant eyes, dressed in unconventionally clashing skirts and shirts.
She is constantly adorned by her travel pack, which runs over one shoulder and hangs at her side. Stuffed inside the back are a collection of books, candles, and trinkets of varying use. She also tends to carry a staff with her, though its plain and unremarkable appearance reveals no particular significance. Again, as a changeling and in the course of her jobs, she wields and discards clothing, armor, and even weapons (though she has no actual talent with them) according to the nature of her act.
"The young are permanently in a state resembling intoxication." - Aristotle PersonalityShow
Face is a talented actor, a cunning manipulator of minds, and an analytical, intellectual giant, but for all her skills and genius she is still 16 years old, and immature at that. She approaches life with the enthusiasm and moral hypocrisy of a child. While she truly hates no one, and seeks only pleasure and knowledge (as well as her parents), she also feels no compunction against deceiving and using others to serve her own purposes or for her own entertainment. The arrogance and curiosity of youthful prodigy has left her fearless, and in her most true persona she is relaxed and carefree and seemingly without immediate motivation.
For all her faults, however, Face does enjoy advocating on behalf of the oppressed, and has frequently sold her skills to those who seek non-violent vengeance. Though capable, she abhors fighting, and would rather humiliate, intimidate, or negotiate with abusive authorities than tear them down. When in a fight, Face prefers to fight on her own terms; she attempts to pacify the minds of her enemies and let others strike killing blows.
She hates no one and abhors violence precisely because of her gift: the ability to peer into and sculpt minds has revealed to her the ugliness of human nature, but that same ugliness she has found universal. We are all wallowing in the confusion that is life, and Face finds this a cheerful, liberating truth. (Also: it is difficult to strike down a man when you can feel his pain and see the echo of loved ones in his eyes.)
Like most changelings, Face practices Kinism, and frequently will make offerings to ancestral and local spirits. Lastly, an important note: Face doesn’t even really consider herself female. She simply is, and while her preferred form is that of an female elf, she claims no true gender.
"Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were." - Proust BackgroundShow
Face was born Üz in the small, riverside city of Port at Three Waters. Three Waters was remarkable due to its geographic necessity, but otherwise was untouched by the swift movement of history that swept the surrounding lands. Within this barely important city, Face’s parents masqueraded as local, half-elf cartographers, who – when home from their many, many explorations -- eagerly shared maps and stories alike.
Cartography was a front, of course, a convenient cover for their true identities. Enigmatic members of a nebulous secret society, her parents often came and went on missions defined only in the souvenirs they produced. Face still remembers her parents this way, in small gifts wrapped in leather and cloth, tied tightly and caked in dust, trinkets left for her on pillows, time defined by their order: seashells that curved ever inward, from the beaches of the Seacre Islands; next, when she was 11, her parents missed her first period and brought her a mirror that reflected everything but people; and the last gift her parents left her, a staff carved in nimblewood, from the Deep Forests of the Liyllpytrm Lowlands.
(While they were away, Face stayed with close, trusted friends that, if they didn’t know of the parents’ jobs, were at least aware of their changeling nature. In the homes of these families – dwarven shipmasters, Halfling fishermen, human nobility – that Face grew comfortable picking and dropping identities with the ease that you and I changes shoes: easily and according to our needs.)
One year, Face’s fifteenth birthday came and passed (celebrated only by her and a half-mad, half-elf hedge wizard, whose ended the night with severe burns) and a second year came and Face knew, with certainty, two inescapable facts: that her parents were not coming back, nor were they dead.
And so Face set out to find her parents, tracing their carefully hidden steps through false names in forged ship registries, and extracting buried memories from the barmaids of taverns.
She did not fear for her life; Face had always possessed the ability to parse minds as easily as books, and in turn, control them. Not to override them completely, Face found out, as this was impossible, but to study and manipulate the inputs. Luckily, Face was a genius, and training at the hands of her parents – mentalists themselves, with minds seemingly impenetrable – left her an inexperienced but talented player of pandick chess and sentient minds.
The money Face made from selling trinkets soon ran out, and as her journey became slower, lost in the mire of time and her parents’ mysteriousness, Face took on other jobs: defending the accused, spying on greedy noblemen, uncovering smuggling, affairs, and the smuggling of prostitute with whom greedy nobleman had had affairs. Penetrating arcane towers, and reporting on corruption within the heart of temples, Face did it all, and soon became famous – in so far a reputation can – for offering these sorts of services.
She never stayed still, and always moved, but her calling card began to precede her. Face leveraged this fame into favors and connections, but she still failed to find any hint of the secret society to which her parents belong.
Finally, at Hyralein, her parents’ trail went cold. Face has temporarily set up shop here, keeping low but allowing jobs. A young street orphan (and member of Fishport's Chimney Rats) named Zilynd is her gopher, her voice and her fingers and her job go-getter while she, frequently, makes a game of the taverns, imitating others and hunting, patiently, for a whisper or stray memory of two changelings passing through.
“Everyone may be ordinary, but they're not normal.” - Haruki Murakami BuildShow
Face, Level 2 Changeling, Psion Psionic Discipline: Telepathy Theme: Noble Adept Background: Cultural Assimilator (+2 to Insight) Languages: Common
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 12, Dex 10, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 18
STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 12, Dex 10, Int 16, Wis 12, Cha 16
If, on a desert night, a traveler, outside the town of Balic, leaning from the steep slope, without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow (in a network of lines that interlace) on the carpet of sand illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story down there awaits its end?
Rolen is a 25 year old 5'9 male human, reddish brown hair and blue eyes. He has a small but noticeable scar on his cheek from a training accident. Rolen looks slightly thin with a little muscle tone. He is dressed in leather armor with thin loose clothes over the top dyed in greens and tan to look like the surrounding area. On his belt hangs a woman's necklace in the shape of a harp.
Rolen has worked hard not to be noticed and it shows when he is dealing with crowds. When most people see him, they often overlook him for his other companions or the crowd. Often times when he is noticed it's only by the weapons he carry. However, for an individual who pays attention to him, he seams alert, always taking in the crowd.
Rolen grew up in a small farming community so he has developed a farmer's personality. He tends to be friendly, courteous, but honest in his feelings and can be somewhat of a smartass.
Though Rolen holds value in common courtesy, he has little patience for politics and the smaller customs such as how to drink tea and to only cut your meat with your right hand, seeing them as a waste of time and only useful for the silver tonged who only treat people with respect because they want something. When interacting with others, he prefers to listen over talking and prefers straight answers to get his point across, believing that the more someone talks, the less they have to say. He is a worshiper of the gods, though favors the Goddess of freedom, Selvana, and often prays to her whenever he heads out into the wilderness, as well as carry a piece of bread or fruit for any stranger he comes across who asks for food.
When it comes to leading and following, Rolen believes in skill over status. He will defer to someone who has the needed skill and and experience to lead, but will follow someone born to his status grudgingly and only if there is a reason to follow him. When fighting alone, Rolen prefers to wait. He does not like attacking needlessly, preferring to strike when the enemies' guard is down. Among other adventures on the other hand, he prefers to focus on the biggest threat, usually the casters. When he is with a group, Rolen can laugh along with the others but has a habit of ignoring his companions to look out into the wilderness for any sort of danger.
Finally, his ultimate outlook on life is that he is somewhat of a fatalist. Rolen knows that there are too many demons in the world, too many monsters that outnumber the innocent, and that everyone should have been wiped out a long time ago. However, he also believes that the reason that the innocent are still alive is because of heroes who continue to fight for the world's peace, and that several heroes ultimately gave the world more time year by year. He adventures to start a new life but if he happens to give the world another year, than he can live with that.
Rolen is born to a farmer/shepherd in Oxton, a village to the north of Espir. He is the middle child of one brother and four sisters.
Rolen's childhood was as normal as to be expected. As he grew up he learned about farming and often assisted his family with the chores. However, because his older brother was to inherit the farm his father Tham, he decided to have Rolen apprenticed to the local elf ranger Shevan Wiledleaf instead. Shevan was an experienced ranger who taught Rolen various skills to survive. Training under the elf ranger was somewhat brutal. Shevan often times left Rolen in the wood for days, forcing him to scavenge for his own meal and randomly surprising him by shooting him with blunted arrows. Though just as often he would treat Rolen's wounds and pass on the elvin wisdom to his apprentice.
When Rolen came of age, he was often hired as a guide, guard, and forager for the local villages, as well as a farmhand for his home village when things got slow. Oftentimes, Rolen was also tasked by the soldiers to seek out a few bandit camps and report back to them the bandits position. At one time, a group of desperate bandits broke into the family farm, killing his elder brother Rand. Angered by this Rolen led a group of villagers and solders to the bandits camp and help take revenge on his brother's murderer. Afterwards, Tham gave the family farm to his eldest sister Wren and her husband.
Sometime after Rolen turned 24, the family farm turned for the worse. Through a combination of higher taxes and a few years of poor harvest, his elder sister was at risk of loosing the farm. Though Rolen helped provide a few coin to keep the farm afloat, it was estimated that even with a good harvest the farm will only last a few more years. During this time he met a traveling rogue named Sarah Quen wounded in the wilderness the day after a full moon. Rolen took her back to the village and treated her wounds. He learned that she was an aspiring adventurer who was abandoned by her companions after a lycanthrope attack. After she was better, Sarah decided to stay inside the village, working with the village healer as an assistant. Sarah oftentimes entertained Rolen with stories of adventure and fortune giving Rolen a hope on how to keep the farm within the family. Eventually, they fell in love and made plans to leave Oxton to make their fortune adventuring. However, the day that they were suppose to leave, Rolen woke up to find Sarah gone, leaving both only a silver necklace and a note.
"Do not trust any one on your journey, not even those closest to you. Please forget about me and seize your own fate."
Brokenhearted, Rolen set off on his own towards Espir to find his own fortune.
When he dons his armor he also wears a mustached mask in honor of the Great Wind Dragon, the patron of his clan. The rest of his armor is lacquered in a light grey with black accents and white trim. The intent of the armor is twofold. The first obviously is protection from harm. The second is intimidation. It is meant to conjure the image of a powerful being of the primal elements who commands the wind with absolute authority
Under the armor Tsubasa Shou is a lithe man who's bronze skin ripples with chorded muscle. He is a tall man, coming in at over 6'. He is whip thin as is typical of the Wind people.
To look into Tsubasa's swirling grey eyes is to look into the heart of the primal Wind. He wears his uniformly white hair unbound down his back. It is straight and reaches almost to his waist. Tsubasa also wears a thick moustache that elongates off the corners of his mouth while still remaining thick. His eye brows are large and tend to come to a point well off his head to either side. His expresion of often one of a serious, contemplative nature.
When not in his armor Tsubasa generally wears a tight fitting kimono style garment of thick grey cloth. His hair is always unbound and freely falls down his back. People can generally sense to force of his will and determination just by being in a room with him. He is highly courteous and attempts to observe protocol at all times. His actions generally have a sparse ritual nature to them. Every movement or word spoken carries meaning.
Honor is a core piece of Tsubasa, yet he is slow to anger and resist rash action. He is wise enough to realize that even if his honor is questioned or soiled he must not act irrationally. His honor demands that he face his foes head on wether in combat or with the arts of diplomacy.
Tsubasa knows his role on the battlefield well. His is one of quick decisive strikes that expose an enemies weakness to his allies. He uses his powers of the wind to confound foes. His powers of the mind he uses to bolster his allies, making them stronger, faster, and more resilient.
Tsubasa's life began as any other in the Kingdom of the Wind. Upon the moment of his birth a binding was laid upon by one of the "Palm's" mages. The binding irrevocably connects Tsubasa's "Elemetal Soul" to the Windlord people. The idea is that when a Windlord dies their eternal essence will migrate back on the win and be reborn to his people once more. This practice is universal throughout the Kingdoms of the Elements for they believe that there are a fixed number of elemental souls which are continuosly reborn as long as the binding is laid. There may be some truth to this because the populations of the Kingdoms reamin basically fixed in numbers and proportions.
Early in life Tsubasa began to manifest Talents of the Mind as is the same with all who are born into such power. For some reason the Windlords manifest the most with the "Talent" out of all the Elements. Children are watched closely in the nursery, especially when among other children. Most often one with the Talent can be seen by their effects on the other children around them. When children around Tsubasa would begin to cry or fight one of two things would happen. Either the child wold let out a wail then look around with wide eyes and become quite right away, looking content. Or if they were fighting then the fights would escalate rapidly out of control. Infants would be literally assaulting one another. Tsubasa could always be seen staring intently at the infants in conflict or distress.
As is customary Tsubasa was placed with others of the Talents on an isolated air island away from the Throne of Air. They were not deprived or abused, simply isolated. They were still taught the ways and knowledge of the Windlords and in all other respects taught to be people of the Wind. He lived this life until the age of about 9 years.
Every 5 years an envoy from the Academy of the Mind makes a journey by boat to visit the Kingdoms of the Elements and specifically those among them of the Talent. They come to pick up those that are 5 years of age or older. The Windlords enroll all that are eligible. It is a sad time for the families of those leaving. Even though the children have been sequestered for most of their lives, their families have remained an active presence. The families have known that this day was bound to come but they are still giving away their children.
The new enrollees are flow down on an Airship to join the rest of the Talented children in the armada the Academy always brings. All the eligible Wind children join about half of the Talented from the other Elements. For some reason the Windlords fear the Talented much more then the other Elements.
So Tsubasa finds himself aboard a large ship for the first time in his life. He is one of the oldest children aboard and certaintly one of the most talented. He is so powerful in fact that he must be accompanied by a Shielder the entire voyage back. The Shielder job is to project a bubble of emotional neutrality around those that are powerful but have not yet learned control. Yet Tsubasa still acquired a group that followed him around through not fault of his own. His natural affinity for leadership and command still shone even though it was decoupled from his Talent.
Once at the Academy all the students are rigorously tested to determine the parameters and limitations of their Talents. Tsubasa's first test was that of Telekinetics. He failed totally, failing to even nudge the stick on the table. Discouraged be began to berate himself internally. Because the test must be administered unshielded his emotions leaked out. The judging panel, the most experienced Psionicists the Academy has to offer all begin to cry and wail. They know what is going on yet cannot defend themselves from the onslaught of emotion. Eventually a shield is again placed and control is restored. Tsubasa is talked down from his feelings of extreme failure. Apparently he did not understand that the test was only to determine his aptitude of different Talents. He though he was going to be cast out and knew that his people did not want him back until he was reduced to his soul again.
After several hours the master manage to talk Tsubasa down. They explain to him that no further testing is needed, that he passed as possibly the most powerful Emotional Psionicist ever discovered. They explain to him that he will be taught control and the ability to shape his power as he desires. His natural sense of control and his Windlord discipline agree internally and he pledges himself, unasked, to the Academy of the Mind.
Tsubasa trains for years at the Academy. It takes him a long, frustrating two years to learn control. His first initial success comes after only a few months when he learns to turn off his emotion completely. In his mind this is a great victory for he feels that he could return to his people and live among them once again. This is not that case his teachers explain. By turning off his external emittance he is simply bottling up his power and that it will one day release in a violent and deadly explosion. After only a few days he is able to open up again and as a result two students that were nearby send each other to the infirmary with broken bones. This incident convinces Tsubasa that his initial severity will not work.
Shortly after this he is deemed ready to begin training in the martial arts as well as his Talent. Most students of the Academy are trained in martial arts as a way to focus their minds and train their discipline. Tsubasa shows great aptitude for the polespear. This comes as no surprise as this is the traditional weapon of the Windlords and Tsubasa most likely has some training with it before he was even "enrolled." Tsubasa begins to integrate his Talents into the mock combats that are run with some of the more advanced students. During one of the first "battles" Tsubasa participates in he breaks the leg of one of his opponents. Without realizing it he is able to enhance the young boy's body and force it to heal the break in a matter of seconds. Yet another Talent is discovered in Tsubasa.
The man who's leg Tsubasa broke becomes his best and in truth, only friend, at the Academy. Hurm Taletreader, a githzerai telekinteic. Together they grow to dominate the "battles." Hurm throwing their opponents around and Tsubasa forcing his immense will upon them, making them vastly easier to defeat.
After 15 years Tsubasa is deemed ready to venture forth and find his way. At 24 he is one of the youngest of the Talented to ever be deemed ready. His harsh Windlord life view has never left him however and he feels that he has failed by taking so long to learn. He feels that he is being cast out once again yet he holds this feeling inside showing outward confidence and courage. His teachers know this is the case yet they tell him he is finished. They know that he is not a danger to others now that he knows control. They also know that he must experience life on his own to truly learn that he is not a failure.
Tsubasa is given all the he requests and a small stipend of coin to see him through the next few months. He is told to seek out the Guard of Espir who routinely hires the Talented into their ranks. He is told that Espir is ten days travel to the West along the coastline and is provided with a map. They do not force him out the great doors of the Academy but once he is out the doors are abruptly shut. Alone he begins to walk along the dirt road. Broad, leafy trees shade his days and shelter his nights. He spends the time in contempltion, endlessly rehersing his practices and reinfocring his expert control.
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When this adventure begins Tsubasa will have just entered Espir and found where the Guards are located. He will be walking to me them.
If you leave the Port of Espir and travel east you will spend many days traveling along grassy and lightly wooded shores. Every 5 or so days you would likely come across a villae or small town that specializes in suppling merchant vessels. After about a month the vessel would come to a small peninsula.
On that spit of land a large stone monolith stands. What was inscribed on the stone has long since eroded away but captains know that beyond that rock lies the Kingdoms of the Elements. Four groups dominate the race of humans that lives there.
Watershapers
The Watershapers are the first a ship would encounter. Their small islands actually float on the sea itself. They are said to be propelled by aincent devices in their cores that can only be controlled by the most powerful of Watershapers. The people that inhabit these islands live a an existence that is both above and below the sea. Fully half the structures on the islands hang from the underside below the waves. Outsiders and even other People of the Elements have never seen what goes on below the surface.
The water people live in a comunal type political environment. Each island governs itself in totall autonomy. Some islands are ruled by "kings," others are republics of a sort, others have no discernable government at all.
Watershapers come in all temperaments but they tend towards calm and even keeled most of the time. However, if one of them is pushed to the brink they will unleash their mighty, unrelenting fury upon the perpetrator. Often one shaper's storm is enough to pull others into the fray and create a whirlpool of destruction.
The water people that have traveled beyond the monoliths most often work as navigators. They can control the sea to some degree and can always read "The emotions of the waves" as they put it. The main export of the Watershapers is fish. They are able to cultivate fish much like land people cultivate cattle. Thus they produce huge amounts at a relatively good price.
After one gets most of the way through the Watershaper islands two things become apparent. One is that there are what amount to islands floating in the sky above you and that there are three huge volcanoes dead ahead.
Windlords
The sky islands are the realm of the Windlords. Their islands vary immensely in shape and size. The largest of which is called the Throne of Air. The majority of the Windlords live on this land mass which is at least 10 miles long and 2 miles wide. The other, smaller islands tend to house academies of one sort or another.
The Windlords tend to be scholarly by nature. Many outsiders think this is due to their relative isolation from being up high. They are master magicians and keepers of records. Some say that one can retrace the origins of the world in their vaults spread through out the islands.
The people of the wind are serious, honor bound individuals who do not take insults lightly. They will initiate a duel in an instant if they feel they have been slighted in any way. They are intolerant of outsiders and thus the least is know of their society of any of the Kingdoms.
No ladders or ropes connect the Windlords to the outside world. They have many specially constructed air ships that are navigated by powerful mages to ferry supplies up and down. The people of the Wind export powerful magical devices of all sorts but they do not make weaponry nor armor.
Their people are ruled by a lord that is known only as "The Palm of the Wind." This person rules with absolute authority in a benevolent authoritarian style.
Few Windlords are found beyond their home lands. The only known so far are those that manifest the Talents of the Mind. For an unknown reason the Windlords and to a lesser extent the rest of the Elemental Kingdoms fear any who manifest Psionic powers.
Firecrafters
Once a ship has made it underneath most of the floating islands it will come to series of three volcanoes. The closest is a volcano that is a several miles in diameter. It is the only volcano that is still able to generate lava and thus is the focus of the Firecrafter civilization. Small outer settlements ring the roughly circulare mount. Each has a small dock which is attached to a building that looks to be grown of obsidian. These are ports where Armor and Weapons are traded for.
Firecrafters are a wild people as befits their elemental affinity. They dance and sing in loud uproarious voices almost constantly when beyond their tunnels. They are not as xenophobia as their Windlord cousins and they hide none of their lands from outsiders as their Watershaper relatives do. They wear their hearts on their sleeves for all to see. If they hate you they'll tell you . If they want to take take you to bed you can bet they will try their hardest.
The people of Imix, as they call themselves, are master smiths. They use the heat of the world's core to forge amazing metalworks deep in their tunnels near the center of the volcano. Their works are sought after even beyond the masterpieces of the dwarves.
A Firecrafter might spend years reworking and refining a piece. It is not that they take their time but that they constantly want to try something different and thus are always changing the design or intention of a work. This constant reforging in the worlds heat imparts certain magical qualities into the weapons and armor produced. Fire enchantmant is of course common but the raw energies in the magma are able to imprint any sort of elemental enchantments, even cold. The end result is entirely random and uncontrolled by the Crafter.
The people of Fire live in small enclaves similar to that of the Watershapers. Each enclave creates and maintains its own tunnel to the core. Each enclave also specializes in a type of weaponry or armor. So if one was wanting a one handed longsword they would visit a particular enclave. There they would be able to choose from whatever was to be offered at the time. Around the other side or the volcano they might find exactly the type of Full Plate they have been wanting or the chainmail shirt that completes their dress armor.
Earthforgers
The last people of the Elemental Kingdoms are the elusive Earthforgers. They were once great miners but also great farmers but no one has heard from them in the last century. All those that have gone looking for them have never returned. The Firecrafters will tell you that the Earthforgers still live beneath the other two extinct volcanos. The only way into their what is now their realm is to go up to the rim and climb down into the caldera. According to the Firecrafters there is always a guarded door somewhere down there that leads deep underground.
If the stories are to be believed then the Earthforgers were a race of immense people. Most are said to have stood seven feet or taller. They delved deep for riches into the earth and were obsessed with gems and precious stones. These are just stories though and no one seems to remember the truth.
NOTE: I used the names of the Primordials from 4E but these deities should not be construed to be exactlly that. They are more forces of Nature and diffuse power sources then actual beings. Perhaps they could coallesce into physical entities if the need arose but this has never happened in Human recollection.
The peoples of the Elemental Kingdomes each worship all of the dieties to some extent. They tend to honor the entire Pantheon while still gving special attention to their patron element. Below are the four main deities of the Pantheon. All minor deities are combinations of 2 of the elements. I will not be detailing the minor deities here but they can be fleshed out as needed.
There is a common theme that all four of the Great Elements share. They all are seen overall as forces of Neutrality in the world. Thus they are the granters and also the takers of life. Each element is seen as possessing two equal opposing forces. Actions of Nature are always seen as a rebalancing of the world. The gentle life giving side slowly and contantly accumulates, growing stronger and stronger. At some crucial point it becomes to strong and the desctructive, life taking side reacts to bring the world back into order.
Water Water is the calm seas and the raging storm, the gentle mist and torrential downpour. It is named Ben-Hadar and also Olhydra. It is both at the same time. Each seeking balance with the other.
Ben-Hadar is the constructive side. It is the water in a mothers womb and the soft rain on the land. It is the puffy clouds in the sky and the morning dew. It is the mirror ocean on a calm day. The holy places of Ben-Hadar are the homes of midwives. Midwives also happen to be the priestesses of Ben-Hadar.
Olhydra is destructive side. It is the tidal wave, the whirlpool. It is the flash flood and the waterfall. It is the dark, cold depths of the seas. The holy places of Olhydra are in the deep holes at the bottom of the sea. Only the Watershapers dare venture there and only then during times of great need for a sacrifice to always demanded of those who visit the Cold temples.
Wind Wind is the angry gale and the lightning strike. It is the filled sail and the sweet smelling breeze. It is named Chan and it is named Yan-Si-Bin. It is both at the same time. Each seeking balance with the other.
Chan is the constructive side. It is the in the windmill turning and the bird soaring. It cannot be seen directly yet the existence of it is undeniable. The holy place of Chan is anywhere a calm breeze touches someone's skin. Everyone is a preist or priestess of Chan at least some time in their life when they are touched by the gentle breath.
Yan-Si-Bin is the tornado and the gale. It is the lightning storm and the in the torn sail. Yan-Si-Bin is much more visible then it's counterpart. Its holy places are places of lightning strikes and the touchdown zones of tornado. Those who's lives are touched directly by Yan-Si-Bin, such as people who live after lightning strikes them, are considered holy. These people are revered and their graves become places of worship.
Fire Fire is the heat of life and the warming blaze. It is the consuming flame and the spewing volcano. It is named Imix and it is named Zaaman Rul. It is both at the same time. Each seeking balance with the other.
Imix is the Destructive side. It is the funeral pyre and the flowing magma. It is fever and it is a forest fire. Imix is a quick and decisive presence. Once Imix reaches the critical point it cannot be stopped until if burns itself out. The holy places of Imix are the calderas of volcanos. Mortal cannot approach them directly so most worship around the caldera rim. Those who feel dedicated to Imix often brand themselves, thus they become marked by fire.
Zaaman Rul it present in everyday life. It is widely known that living is worshiping the Inner Heat. Zaaman Rul is considered the companion to Ben-Hadar. Ben-Hadar is the bringer of life but Zaaman Rul sustains it by the inner heat that all living beings possess to one degree or another. Everyone is a holy site of Zaaman Rul as long as they live.
Earth Earth is the dirt from which life springs and it is the sculpture uncovered by the chisel. It is the mountain slide and the grave. It is named Sunnis and it is named Ogermoch. It is both at the same time. Each seeking balance with the other.
Sunnis is the planted field and the sandy shore. It is the rocky cliff and the precious gem. The most holy of places for Sunnis are freshly tilled farm fields and their priests are the farmers who's hands have felt the soil.
Ogermoch is the dark mine and the immovable boulder. It is the landslide and the sinkhole. The holy places of Ogermoch are deep within the earth. The deeper a mine or cave is the holier it is for it is closer to the fabled caverns of Ogermoch. The holy ones of Ogermoch are those that have ventured deep and spent large amounts of time in the dark bowels of the earth. Their skin becomes pale in the course of their worship and thus they are easily recognized as the Holy of Ogermoch.
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Bharhas, Level 3 Human, Warlord | Sorcerer Human Power Selection Option: Bonus At-Will power Languages: Common, Elven Theme: Gladiator
CURRENT STATUS: Phase of the Sun: *At the start of your turn, each enemy adjacent to you takes fire and radiant damage equal to your Strength modifier. *You also gain resist 5 cold.
VITALS AC: 18 Fort: 18 Ref: 15 Will: 17 HP: 40/40
Surges: 6/6 Surge Value: 10
Initiative: +1 Speed: 6
CURRENT ABILITY SCORES STR 18, CON 10, DEX 11, INT 10, WIS 8, CHA 17
Kithr's skin is darker than that of most Halflings, and his eyes are black as coal, with thin red-hot lines leading out from his smoldering red irises. His toes are clawed, and bony protrusions decorate his shoulders, elbows, knees and brow. His fair hair is black and covers most of the protrusions on his forehead. When he wishes it however, his hair turns aflame and fire bursts from his limbs, flames licking along the surface of his skin, turning it an even deeper shade of black and his eyes burn bright as hot coals.
Because of this Kithr almost always wears thin robes that have been especially treated to withstand most fires. On his right hand he wears a ring around his middle finger. He had it clutched in his hand the day he woke up from recieving half a loaf of bread from a beggar. The ringShow
Kithr is skittish as a mouse, unless when he finds himself faced with an opponent. Then he sometimes has the tendency to bite off more than he can chew, but when he bites, he doesn't let go. He is fiercely loyal and would jump through hoops to keep those he considers his friends safe. He despises leaving a job before it is finished, and while he does not have the most ambitious mind, he still dreams of a time when his guild of thieves will call the entire city of Espir their home.
Kithr the Fire Mouse was once Kithrayel Nurawen, one of many sons of a Halfling musseldiver. His father never could afford his own food, let alone provide a living for his ugly wife and his many children, so it wasn't long before Kithrayel found himself scouring the streets for breadcrumbs, the waste from fishshops, and on daring days a moneypouch from a passing merchant. If Father had a bad harvest he often shoved his children out the door so he would not have to share his meals with them, leaving the young siblings to care for themselves. They would band together, using their combined numbers to scare off the beggars outside the fish shops so they would get most of the leftovers. It was all a great game, when he was young, and many of Kithrayel's fondest memories are of the moments spent with his brothers and sisters out in the open, squeeling with laughter as they jostled for the scraps.
But he grew up just the same, and after several years and many guardsmen's beatings the fun started to wear off. His brothers and sisters mostly took to stealing, many found floating facedown in the docks or simply vanished in the night. To this very day only two of his siblings still live, to the best of Kithr's knowledge.
He was only eight, a night after another bad harvest. The Nurawen siblings had been forced to flee from their usual fishmonger stakeout, and they had scattered all along the dockside. It hadn't been the first time that the guards had chased them away, nor that they had to find their own food, but Kithrayel had not been successful in finding anything else. He had spotted a forgotten brown ball of lettuce, but a dog had run off with it before he could snatch it off the ground. His stomach grumbled in protest as he sagged against the wall in a narrow alleyway, too tired to hunt for a morsel of food. His clothes stank and clung to his body, but that was no different from usual. However, his companionship was a new occurence.
Kithrayel prided himself on knowing every face on the South Docks, but the beggar sitting a little to the side across from him was a stranger. The man wore thick green robes covering his entire body, and Kithrayel would have sworn he saw goldthread stitchwork under the layer of dirt and grime. A large wicker hat was pulled down low to obscure his face, but even so the Halfling child could smell the heavy scent of alcohol on his breath.
"Hungry, boy?" the man said. Kithrayel sneered at him, but nodded. There was little use in lying when his stomach shouted the truth, and he was too tired to get into an argument over nothing. Not to mention the small spark of hope the question brought the little Halfling. "Here, I had a good day, so I'll be a good man, for once." Kithrayel's eyes grew wide when his hope became reality as he watched the man pull a loaf of bread from somewhere in his robes. He sat up, one hand sticking out eagerly towards the bread, but the man shushed him back. "A moment, boy." The man's voice was soft, and Kithrayel could hear the smile on the man's face.
The beggar crossed his legs in a lotus position and put the bread on top of his legs. Kithr faintly recalls the man mouthing an incantation while drawing figures in the air, but his eyes had remained focused on the food in front of him. After what seemed like hours the beggar traced a finger along the bread, then picked it up and broke it in two pieces. He tossed one half to the child Halfling in front of him. "As one, boy. May the Bright One gaze upon you, always."
Kithrayel nodded quickly before eagerly wolfing down his share of the loaf, not even thinking to save some for the next day. Once he was finished he considered speaking more to the stranger, but sleep was creeping on him quickly, so all he managed was, "Thank you, kind sir. What is your name?" The man had grasped the edge of his hat with his fingers in a sign of respect, and replied softly. "Bothor, boy."
The next day Kithrayel woke early, his body aching from sleeping on the cold dirt. He climbed to his feet, taking off at a dash, screaming and laughing as he ran the stiffness from his limbs. Grown men and women cursed at him as he darted between their legs and up and over their stalls, but nobody was fast enough to catch him, so the Halfling child did not care. He ran and played all morning, and come noon he was chasing another child down the Fishrut, the major road leading out of the South Docks, in a game of thief-and-guardsman.
The kid, another Halfling runt named Tyames, darted into Codbone Alley, but Kithrayel did not follow to catch him. His eyes had found a big fat waddling Half-Orc merchant coming into Fishport, with a heavy tinkling golden apple of a moneypouch at his belt. His face broke into a grin, already imagining the faces of his siblings as he brought them this prize. With fingers on the knife tucked into his dirty old vest, Kithrayel slithered to the side of the road, hiding behind a barrel to avoid being noticed. The fat Half-Orc seemed almost careless, the way he was flaunting his money in front of all the poor fisherman, yet keeping his gaze focused lazily in the distance.
Kithrayel's hope almost got dashed when he noticed a Human boy-child named Tir sneak up on the merchant. He would reach the man a lot sooner than Kithrayel ever would, and the merchant still seemed oblivious to the world around him, but the Halfling's unconscious prayers were answered when it became obvious Tir had misjudged his approach. A wagonwheel nearly took his foot off, blocking the boy from the fat merchant and ruining his chance.
Then Kithrayel found his chance. With the speed of a man with a Kraken at his heels he darted out into the street, using his tiny size and the many legs to keep his approach undetected. With a quick swipe he neatly cut the rope that tied the leather pouch to the towering figure of the merchant, and for one blissful moment Kithrayel knew glory and success, almost peeing himself with excitement. Then a hand clasped the back of his head, claws digging painfully into his scalp as he was lifted off the ground.
"...but I was burned before I could savor its taste."Show
The world turned, then got blocked by the face of a mean-looking Shifter. "Well, well, looks like I found myself a little mouse." The furred man purred with an evil joy, then shifted his eyes to look at the fat Half-Orc. "Almost lost your down payment, boss. Too big of a hunk of cheese for this mouse, don't you think?" The cat-man's claws dug even deeper into his skull as he once again turned his eyes on Kithrayel. He easily snatched the moneypouch from tiny clutching fingers and handed it over to the merchant. The Half-Orc turned to look upon the one that had come so close to robbing him, his stinking yellow tusks making his savage smirk even more evil, terrifying the little child. He motioned the Shifter to follow him, then walked off the Fishrut and into Beetle Alley.
Once they were well hidden from the main road, a place where Beetle Alley had a little open space before it continued towards the docks, the merchant turned on Kithrayel with a silent fury. He did not speak to the Halfling child, but his fury was undeniable. It must have lasted only a second, but to Kithrayel it felt like hours before he finally spoke to his guard. "Make him drink flames." The Half-Orc did not stay around to look, waddling back towards the Fishrut while the Shifter cracked open Kithrayel's jaws, poored the contents of a large vial of alchemical fire down his throat and left him to die.
But Kithrayel lived. He lay in the alleyway, cringing in agony and wracked with feverish shivers, but he did not die. Beggars tried to move him, but his skin had grown so hot that their fingers burned when they touched him. They poked him with sticks, but they smoldered and caught fire. Within a week he became a sight for all the scum of the South Docks to see as he lay there in the halls of their grand stinking castle. One foolish man even brought a sword to try and cleave the little boy in twain, but before his blade even touched the child the Halfling erupted into flame, scalding the flesh of the swordsman's bones and ensuring nobody else would attempt harming the boy again.
Finally, after over a month, the Halfling boy woke. His eyes had turned black as coal, with thin red-hot lines leading out from smoldering red irises. Flames licked across his arms and legs for a day, until he learned that he could quench the flames at will.
The following years were tough on Kithr. His father denied him entrance to their house altogether, and the children that he used to play with had grown fearful of him. However, he managed, slowly regaining the trust of his siblings and the many children roaming the South Docks, and learning how to control his new abilities.
At age sixteen he and a couple of his friends decided to create their own gang, ensuring that when one tried to filch a merchant's money, the guards would have a harder time finding and catching him if he got noticed. They flourished, at least for residents of the South Docks, going to sleep every day with a belly full of food and oft as not a whore at their side.
Their numbers grew, and after a couple of years it became increasingly complicated to manage their numbers when everybody had a right to a voice, so a general decision was made to make Kithr their leader. More years passed, and more beggars and child pick-pockets swelled their numbers, until finally the self-dubbed Chimney Rats had the strength to lay a claim to the South Docks, ensuring that no other gangs would come into their territory and take what the Chimney Rats felt was rightfully theirs. No longer did each member go to sleep with a full belly, but the situation had certainly improved for those living out on the streets. Each member got his share of the winnings when it was his turn to recieve, and Kithr never chose to take a share each day simply because he was the leader. He suffered in hunger just like the rest of them.
"...and the beggar once again seeks to change my life."Show
Kithr has grown into a vibrant young Halfling male, in the prime of his life and seeking to enjoy every moment of it. However, the day after the beheading of the traitor, Mulhirin, a letter came to him from an old acquaintance, a man whom he had seen only once in his life, but to whom he swore he owed his life.
My friend,
The boy has grown into a man, and now the Mouse must become the Hunter. I must ask you to put aside your care for your streetwalkers, for bigger events are destined to call upon your attention. It will happen soon, stand prepared.
The Bright One The Sun God, God of Fire. One of the major gods, but only a few feel the need to praise him on a daily basis. He is most often worshipped during childbirth, and many merchants have adopted the custom of calling on his name the day before a major business deal. The tradition started out of the simple observation that rain did not put people in a trading mood, but it has grown to such an extent that it is now viewed as bad luck to strike a deal when it is raining. The Bright OneShow
The South Docks, Fishport The harborside on the southern end of Espir. Most fishermen come to port here, to stay clear of the large trading vessels that dock elsewhere in the city, and as such it is among the poorest quarters of the grand city of Espir.
The Six The prominent Guild of Thieves in Espir. The guild is allegedly led by six master thieves, and are said to have their headquarters in the Bazaar itself.
The Chimney Rats A small group of pickpockets, thieves and beggars that have claimed Fishport as their territory. The Six view them as rivals, but they have never sought their wealth in one of the poorest districts of Espir, so they have felt little need so far to take action against this 'band of amateurs'. However, lately the Chimney Rats have taken to roaming deeper into the city.
Bothor once was a simple farmer's son, but resentment against rising taxes which eventually led to his father's death and the loss of the family lands made him take a grievous mistake. By chance he managed to slay the King himself with his father's sword, and only the help from a family member in the King's service prevented his head from parting from his body.
He travelled far from his land, which lies far away, beyond even the Lands of the Elements. He became a beggar and a drunk, yet once again luck graced the young man. He recieved the chance to save a small Elven Kingdom, and together with several trusted companions he won a place in legend.
The Elves gifted him a silver goblet to thank him for his services. By now Bothor had long forsaken both alcohol and man-made weapons, and he had found a deep peace within himself. He drank from the goblet, filled with the most pure water, and slept.
When he woke, he was bathed in fire. With new powerful abilities coursing through his body he rose, then ascended high into the heavens, taking his place as the Bright One.
Ferocity: make basic melee attack when dropped to 0 hp.
Goring Charge
Heedless Charge: +2 AC against OA while charging.
Vitality: gain one extra healing surge.
Class Features
Arid Desert: gain +3 AC and +2 reflex when wearing cloth or no amror and no shield. Gain resist 5 fire at 4th level, 10 at 14th and 15 at 24th.
Berserker Fury: enter fury until end of encounter when you use a barbarian primal attack power or as a minor action when bloodied: defenders aura ends, melee basic attacks deal 1d8 extra damage(2d8 at 11th and 3d8 at 21st)
Reaver Starting Feature: gains viscious assault power
On the opposite side of the world from Itare is a large island named Minos Roth (think Australia). The island is a fairly desolate place consisting mostly of arid deserts and mountains territory. On this island are two major factions, the goblinoids and the minotaur. For the most part the goblinoids stay towards the center of the island hiding in the huge mountains there, both above and below ground. The minotaur control the outer coastlines of the island with only a few small portions which the goblins have small settlements. The minotaur are a seafaring race. Their settlements range from 3 or 4 large cities to several medium sized ports to many smaller villages along the coast. The minotaur are actually broken into two groups. One group is the more civilized group that lives in the larger settlements and makes a living on the sea by fishing and trading mostly. They have large ships which sail all over the world trading in whatever they can make a profit off of. And then there is the other group, the barbarians of the north. They are more like the Vikings of our world. They do trade with others, but their main form of income is attacking and pillaging other ships or villages. This is the group that Terios is from.
Terios was born in the small reaver village of Klontos. His father, like almost all of the males, was a sailor/raider and his mother, like all the females, stayed in the village raising children, maintaining the house and raising what crops they could, which in the arid climate was not a lot. At the age of 10, like all children, Terios started receiving training in fighting and sailing. By age 15, he was a very skilled swordsman and quite proficient at sailing. Of the two he was better with the sword. His best friends were Dantier (male) and Finreal (female). They did most everything together as they grew up. This friendship became strained when Terios and Dantier both fell in love with Finreal, but they strove to remain friends. Finreal tried hard not to show more favor to one over the other, but as things progressed Dantier became darker and more brooding about the situation and she naturally started preferring being around Terios, but still did not profess her love for fear of causing a fight between the two males.
Eventually the time came when the two males were old enough to partake in a raid. Both were nervous, but Dantier was more anxious to spill blood than anything else. Others were talking of the loot they would capture and bring back, but Dantier was only curious as to how many he could kill. This was not completely unheard of in the reaver tribes, but the Klontos tribe tended to be less bloodthirsty than other tribes. Terios was not certain that he really wanted to kill anyone, but knew that this was how his tribe survived and knew that his tribe was less likely to completely slaughter an entire village than some of the other tribes. Five longboats were part of the raiding group. They sailed far from home not wanting to anger their neighbors by raiding them. Instead of raiding a village though the group came upon a small fleet of three trade ships. The morning was foggy so they actually managed to get very close before they were spotted. For that matter they were very close before they spotted the ships. Needless to say the fighting was intense as the trade ships had more guards than was expected. During the fighting Terios found himself near Dantier who was completely lost in his bloodlust. So much so he did not see a human coming up behind him and about to stab him in the back with his sword. Terios let out a bellow of warning and pushed Dantier out of the way. He took a small cut on his arm, but deflected the humans attack and quickly dispatched him. When he turned back to check on his friend, he found Dantier rising and looking at him with tat crazed bloodlust in his eyes. To his horror Dantier attacked him. He was caught by surprise and barely managed to block the first attack. Most of the other fighting had died down and other of the minotaur started to notice what was happening. They moved closer and started calling out for the two to stop fighting. Terios replied that he would love to, but Dantier seems to have lost his mind. The others moved in to try to restrain Dantier. In his rage Dantier committed a major crime and killed one of those trying to subdue him. When Dantier finally came out of his rage he blamed Terios for the others death claiming Terios had attacked him first. Terios explained about the human about to stab him in the back, but Dantier refused to believe him. Do to his actions and his lack of repentance for killing a member of the tribe Dantier was banished. He was left on the trade vessel when the rest of the tribe took the loot and left. Terios is not certain what happened to Dantier. He assumes that he probably stole one of the small life boats on the larger ships and escaped. But so far he has never heard anything of him.
Terios returned home and was congratulated on his part in the raid. He and Finreal were married about a year later. Two more years went by and life seemed good. Then he returned from a raiding trip to find the village had been attacked while they were gone. He discovered two things. Finreal had had a baby boy while he was gone and that they had both been taken by the raiders. One of the few survivors described the raiders as a mix of races and that Dantier was with them. He was directing the attack. The survivor had heard some of the raiders mention they were looking forward to getting back to Espir and not liking the crew they got mixed up with, especially the minotaur.
Terios packed up and left as fast as he could. His kinsman took him to one of the southern minotaur cities and he was able to join on as crew to one that was heading for Espir. It has taken six months, but he has finally stepped off the ship onto the docks of Espir. Now he needs to find some work before his money runs out and figure out how to go about finding Finreal and his son.
Terios deep down is a happy young minotaur. He enjoyed his life at home. Like most from his area he loves to fight. Not because he is a brute, but because he believes that there is honor if fighting and showing ones skills. He will never pick a fight with someone he sees as weak and unable to defend themselves and will actually go out of his way to protect and defend those people. True honor and glory come from fighting those who are strong or who have skill with weapons. There is where you prove you worth to the gods and earn the right to join your ancestors in Fields of Victory. However, recently the theft of his wife and son have put him in a foul mood which gives the impression that he is ready to attack anyone that looks at him wrong. This is only partly true. In his anger he is much more ready to respond to harsh words or actions with his fists or weapons as a way to release of some of the fire that burns in him. Luckily he has not completely lost control and manages to keep his anger in check and let wisdom rule out most of the time.
When it comes to combat Terios knows the value of team work. Although he may come off as a big brute that smashes his way through all obstacles he is always mindful of where is allies are and if they need assistance. He will rush to the aid of smaller people over the stronger ones and will tend to go to the aid of females before males, but not to the extent of letting a male, who is truly in danger of dying, die while he helps a female.
If you truly want to anger him and push him over the edge, mistreat a child or a woman in his presence. At the very least he will beat you senseless. If you used a weapon against them then may the gods have mercy on your soul, because he won’t.
Terious is a tall minotaur with rippling muscles along his arms and legs. They are not as defined as a body builders, but more as one who is athletic and keeps his body tone and fit. His body is covered in a light brown fur with it turning thicker and darker brown around his head and shoulders. There is a scar of lighter fur on his right arm from an old injury, but the rest of his body seems to be free of such marks. His eyes are an amber color and give off the impression of burning gold. And the look on his face is currently a very serious and determined look, but one can tell that the face is not used to that scowling look and normally has a more carefree look on it. His horns are a black and gold mixture and stick out only about 7 inches from his skull as he is still fairly young. The horns are actually longer than that as they come off the sides of his skull and then curve down slightly and then back up until pointing up off is head with a slightly forward tilt.
His clothing consists of a pair of dark, brown, leather breeches and a light fur vest which is a mixture of grey and black, his arms and chest are left bare. A thick leather belt wraps around his waist with a pouch in the front, light war pick on the right, Falchion on the left and unknown to most a dagger hidden on the back under the pack he carries. Each horn is adorned at the base with a silver band with gold inlay.
Wash: "Yeah well, if she doesn't give us some extra flow from the engine room to offset the burn through, this landing is gonna get pretty interesting."
Mal: "Define interesting."
Wash: "Oh god oh god we're all gonna die?"
Mal: "This is the captain. We have a...little problem with our engine sequence, so we may experience some slight turbulence and then...explode."
Surprise / Initiative Notes: When you hit a creature that has not yet acted, it takes a -4 {Cha} penalty to attack you until the EoynT. Special Senses: Low-light vision Special Movement:
Ability Scores:+2 Cha, +2 Con Skill Bonus: +2 Bluff, +2 Stealth Blood Hunt: +1 racial bonus to hit bloodied creatures Fire Resistance: You have fire resistance 6 (5+lvl/2) Infernal Wrath: See Powers
Divine Defender Proficient: Cloth, leather, hide, chain, scale, plate, H and L shields, simple melee, military melee, simple ranged. Holy Symbol. Defenses: +1 Fort, Reflex, Will Divine Challenge: See Powers. Channel Divinity: See Powers - you can only use 1 Channel Divinity power per encounter. Divine Sanction: When a power causes divine sanction, you mark the target with the duration specified in the power. While marked, the taget takes 7 {3 + Cha} radiant damage the first time in a round it attacks NotYou. Divine Sanction complements Divine Challenge, and can mark different creatures.
Improved Defenses (campaign bonus): You gain a +1 feat bonus to Fortitude, Reflex, and Will. Imperious Majesty (1st): You can use Charisma instead of Dexterity to determine your initiative modifier. When you hit a creature that has not yet acted in the encounter, it takes a -4 {Cha) penalty to attack rolls against you until EoynT. Mettle Proven (2nd): When an ally succeeds on a saving throw granted by your use of divine mettle, the ally can spend a healing surge.
Standard Attack Bonus: +9 {4 Cha, 3 prof, 1 inherent, 1 lvl/2} Standard Damage Bonus: +4 {Cha} Basic Attacks: MBA: See Virtuous Strike RBA: none.
Infernal Wrath
Tiefling Feature
Divine Challenge
Paladin Feature
Encounter
Fire
At-Will (1/turn)
Divine, Radiant
FreeAction
Close Burst 10
Minor Action
CLburst 5
Trigger: an enemy in range hits you
Target: trigger
Target: 1 creature in burst
Effect: The target takes 1d6 +4 {Cha} fire damage.
Effect: Mark target. Mark lasts until you use the power again, or EoycT if you do not engage target. While marked, target takes 7 {3 +Cha} radiant damage 1/rd if it attacks NotYou.
Shield of Devotion
Knight Hospitaler Utility
Virtue's Touch
Paladin Feature
Encounter
Divine, Healing
Daily
Divine
Immediate Reaction
Cl Burst 5
Minor Action
Melee Touch
Trigger: An ally within 5 sq takes damage from an enemy attack.
Target: One creature
Effect: The target regains 4 hit points {Cha}. Until the EoynT, you gain a +2 power bonus to your next attack roll against the enemy that did the damage.
Effect: You remove one condition from the target: blind, dazed, deafened, slowed, stunned, weakened.
Special: Use 2/day {Wis}
Divine Mettle
Paladin Feature
Divine Strength
Paladin Feature
Encounter (CD)
Divine
Encounter (CD)
Divine
Minor Action
Cl Burst 10
Minor Action
Personal
Target: 1 creature in burst
Effect: Do +0 {Str} as extra damage on your next attack this turn.
Effect: The target makes a saving throw w/ +4 bonus {Cha}. See Feats.
Virtuous Strike
Paladin Attack 1
Bolstering Strike
Paladin Attack 1
At-will
Divine, Radiant, Weapon
At-Will
Divine, Weapon
Standard Action
Melee W.
Standard Action
Melee W.
Target 1 creature
+9 vs AC
Target 1 creature
+9 vs AC
Hit: 1d8+4 radiant and you gain a +2 to saves until SoyNT.
Hit: 1d8+4 and gain 2 {Wis} THP.
Special: Can be a MBA.
Valorous Smite
Paladin Attack 1
On Pain of Death
Paladin Attack 1
Encounter
Divine, Weapon
Daily
Divine, Implement
Standard Action
Melee Weapon
Standard Action
Range 5
Target: 1 creature
+9 vs AC
Target 1 creature
+6 {Cha} vs Will
Hit: 2d8 +4 damage. Each enemy within 3 sq. of you is subject to your divine sanciont until the EoyNT.
Hit: 3d8+ 4 damage. 1/rd, the target takes 1d8 damage after making any attacks on its turn (se)
Miss: Half damage. 1/rd, the target takes 1d4 damage after making any attacks on its turn (se)
Touch of Grace
Paladin Utility 2
Avenging Smite
Paladin Attack 3
Encounter
Divine
Encounter
Divine, Weapon
Minor Action
Melee touch
Immd. Reaction
Melee 1
Target: 1 ally
Trigger/Target: An enemy adj. to you hits your ally.
Effect: You transfer to yourself one effect on the target that a save can end.
Attack: +9 vs AC. Hit: 2d8 + 4 dam. and target is immobilized until the EoYNT.
Erias can almost conceal his demonic blood, when necessary. With a cowl over his head, a long cloak covering his tail, and gloves, he might escape casual notice, but he cannot live that way.
Erias looks like a monster. Ivory horns curve wickedly from his forehead. His skin is brick-red, darkening to purple at the sharp nails. Glossy black hair bristles over his head and down his neck. After his ritual morning shave, soon Erias has stiff black stubble on his lip and chin. His eyes are unnerving golden orbs, whirling with hidden fire, never closed, only dimmed in sleep. His tail is thick, bright red and studded with small purple ridges.
Just as he lives to cleanse his soul, Erias carries himself in defiance of his form. He keeps his plate clean and polished. His shield device is the symbol of the Hospitaller, a rearing unicorn. When not arrayed for battle, Erias wears white robes, trimmed with silver. Whenever he is in public, he walks with deliberate slowness, standing tall with a quiet, reverent air.
Erias is very self-conscious around other people. He is always mindful of his behavior, thinking about how he might be misconstrued. He deliberately tries to act like a knight, using a knight's weapon and armor, learning courtly graces and so on. He fears every temptation, still suspecting that his blood will betray him to evil.
He believes with all his heart that his actions define him. He holds a secret hope that one day, the Lightbearer will find him worthy and remove the demon-taint from him. He has great respect for the church and the gods, knowing full-well the frailty of mortals.
"Friar Brekke and her husband Erron raised me in the temple. They taught me my letters, named the stars and were my family. Sometimes I would play with their grandchildren. I was so lonely most of the time, I would put up with the teasing and name-calling. Urik was my best friend, only friend, really. His father Walren is Luminous in Narill now. When the lay council came to get me, Urik told them about me. Brekke had taught me the parables, but it was Urik who convinced the council that I lived by them. Though I had endured evil, I had never committed an evil act."
"Shortly before she passed, Brekke told me what she knew about my parents. 'You will be a grown man soon,' she said, 'and you will decided for yourself what must be done.' My mother left me at the temple the day I was born, and she fled the city to become a Maiden down in Espir. Brekke sent several letters to her, but never heard an answer. When I asked about my father, she went silent, deeply troubled. 'Your father… Tieflings are born of demons, and your father was either a summoned fiend, or a man possessed by one. A demon cannot enter into an unwilling host.. your father is irredeemably evil.'
"I love Hyralein. Only here, in all the world, could a monster prove himself worthy of the Knights Hospitaller. I am more than my demon's blood. The Lightbearer saw my devotion, my commitment, and blessed me with his grace. My sponsor was Sareth, a knight of the shield. He chose me above all the others. 'You have endured trials worse than any of our tests of devotion," he told me, 'I pray your example will inspire us to look beyond reputation and appearance, and to measure our fellow mortals in their deeds.' It was the best day of my life.
"I remember looking out at the assembled knights, aspirants and dignitaries, all the faces so unlike my own. But there was one that, though human, seemed familiar. How many hours have I wasted looking in the mirror, willing my horns to fall off? This face seemed as familiar to me as my reflection? Master Lockyer, of the Mines Guild. He stared at me, inscrutable. One advantage of these fiendish eyes, no-one can tell where I'm looking. All I had to do was hide my fears; I somehow knew he was my father."
"How cruel are demons? That they may hide themselves inside mortals without a trace, but their ruinous work cannot be hidden. I knew Master Lockyer was possessed, a traitor to gods and mortals both, and had been for years. He was a powerful man, among the richest men in Narill. It was easy to learn the lie he had spun; his wife had died in childbirth, and he was too brokenhearted to ever remarry. I had no proof and knew I could not accuse him - all my life people have watched me, waiting for me to become the agent of evil I so resemble.
"After some months, I discovered where the cult was meeting. The hills have networks of old mines, long since played out and boarded up to prevent accidents, and the Guild had unquestioned control over them. I went to my friend Urik with my suspicions, and he asked to help. A scout of some skill, Urik watched the hills and discovered the cult's secret lair. With his help, I convinced the wizard Olwen and the cleric Marcus to join us to investigate the mines.
"What awaited inside was a parade of horror. Dark deeds had corrupted the very walls, grasping and tearing at us. In the ritual chamber, we destroyed undead and hell-hounds, guardians when the cult lived their lives. There we found scrolls, sealed in wax. I could sense the evil of them, and could hardly touch them without feeling defiled. Instead, I took the wax seal from one, which could lead us to the man or fiend who last used them.
"On our way out of the cultist's mines, we met one more resident. I saw her only for an instant, then she fled deeper into the gloom. I've tried to forget her, but she haunts my dreams even now… her eyes, just like mine, her tail slipping out of sight.
"Olwen and Marcus fled the city, fearful of the cultists' reprisal, but Urik stayed true to me. He and I brought our suspicions to his father, Luminous Walren, He listened to us, unmoved. Lockyer was his friend and partner, he said, and no demon. He would have arrested me then and there if Urik had not sued on my behalf. He ordered me banished, and forbade his son to ever see me again. Could Walren himself be part of the cult?
"I was lost again. Who would believe me now, with Urik lost and my father alerted? I still had the wax seal, but it was not enough to move against Master Lockyer and his cabal. I needed allies outside of Narill, and I thought of my mother. Her word could aid me, and perhaps she and I could sway Espir's Luminous to assist us.
Lusi sits in the dining room of one of numerous inn’s that saturate the seedier parts of this town, looking over the rim of her clay mug at the hearth fire. She’d spent so much time in the cold of the mountains that warmth, any warmth, feels good. Seeing as it was late spring in this part of the land, she was alone in enjoying the warmth of the flames this evening. She hears someone shuffle up from behind and stop at her table, silence for a few moments, then a slight cough. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees a boy of 7 or 8 years standing beside the table with a plate of food in hand. Thinking back on the few hours since she had arrived at the inn, Lusi notices a strong look of the bartender / innkeeper about him. His son, more than likely.
The boy stands beside the table a moment longer, looking at Lusi before asking “Are you a soldier?”
Lusi turns to face the boy, and despite having heard his questions, answers with an inquisitive “Hmm?”
“My da told me to take this to the soldier. Are you a soldier?”
Lusi considers how to respond for a moment, and decides to indulge her curiosity. “I might be; can’t you tell?”
The boy doesn’t hesitate in answering. “You don’t look like one... your armor and weapons ain’t shiny, and you’re a girl. An’ you don’t have a shield or colorful clothes or a hat shaped like an animal!”
“They’re called helms.” Lusi leans a bit closer to the boy, causing him to do the same. “Let me tell you a secret, kid. Not every soldier wants to dress like a knight or a paladin.” Lusi glances over the boy’s shoulder and sees his father attention wrapped up with other customers. She quickly grabs his tunic at the collar and pulls his face to within a few inches or hers, making certain he couldn’t help but see the pale scar leading down her face. “In fact, the very best soldiers, they wouldn’t ever dress like that.” She lets go of the boy’s shirt and he take a step back, wide-eyed. “That answer your question? Do you think I’m a soldier?”
The boy, becoming very earnest, replies with an exaggerated nod and a quick “Yes ma’am!”
Lusi smiles warmly at the boy. “Then that must be my food. Just in time too, I’m starving.” She takes the plate from his hands, and chuckles as he runs back to the kitchen, tripping over a bench along the way.
As she’s enjoying her quail and whatever rooted vegetable passes for edible in this particular plain, Lusi wonders if the boy will pretend to be a knight the next time he and his friends play war or if, just maybe, he’ll pretend to be something else.
Race: Human Class: Slayer Role: Striker (Defender Secondary) Alignment: Unaligned
Luustoki was the born in a large village named Laridae, the only daughter of a half-elf and human parents. Her mother, Casilin, came from a long line of human divine servants, both human and elven. Her mother’s patron god, as well as that of Laridae, was Scientia, the goddess of knowledge and prophecy. Casilin inherited much of her elven mother’s proportions, in particular her light colored hair, lithe form and swift reflexes. Luustoki’s father, Trell, was a human who’s family had lived in the valley around the settlement for generations. He served as the town’s only blacksmith, as well as armorer and weaponsmith in a pinch when the necessity arose. His look was a stark contrast to that of Casilin, being her equal in height, broad of shoulder, heavy of muscle, with fair colored hair (both on his head as well as the thick beard he kept).
The village of Laridae itself was a quiet, unimposing village, home to 500 humans, elves, and a handful of dwarves. It was located in valley, buried in the foothills of the Halecalo Mountains, located along one of the mountain passes leading from the human kingdoms of the forests and plains to the dwarven kingdoms in the mountains and beyond. The town had grown as a travelers camp, a place for various caravans to rest and restock. As the camp became a settlement, it attracted the Order of Scientia as a quiet place to locate one of their temples. While the village was far from the pinnacle of knowledge, its location in proximity to numerous races as well as accepting population made it attractive enough to draw more and more servants of the goddess over the years. As both town and temple grew, and agreement was reached that the martial forces of the Order would assist the lawmen of the town with their defense, and in return the town would share their prosperity with the Order.
Laridae was a fine town to be raised in for Luustoki. The temple of Scientia assured that she would be well educated, regardless of what life she later chose for herself. Her mother, an Oracle Invoker, ensured that she was raised with a respect for knowledge and craft. Her appreciation of the latter was reinforced by her father, who dabbled in creating jewelry, decorations, and weapons for the townspeople as well as traders. As the family’s only child, he also required her to assist in his duties, which ensured that she grew up knowing the value of labor, and along with inheriting her father’s physical prowess, late in her teens she was stronger than all but a few of the men in the village.
As Luustoki reached adulthood and was forced to consider her future, rumors began to pass among the caravans, that a great and ancient city had been discovered between the dwarven mountains and the human kingdom of Tarrosh, to which Laridae pledged fealty. As word of the treasures within that city spread, and were confirmed, the Order of Scientia dispatched many of their most knowledgeable servants to join in the dwarven expedition exploring the city. Luustoki’s mother was among those who journeyed the weeks required to cross the mountain passes to the distant city of Crestwall. Word of the city’s sudden fall arrived quickly after the events, being sent over the mountains by raven during the early fall months. All those in the city at the time of attack were killed or missing, and included in that list of fallen was Casilin.
Luustoki and her father grieved for their loss, as well as the other score from Laridae that had been lost. They harbored their grief, and by the time the winter had waned and the passes began thawing, their loss had faded to a dull ache that was never likely to vanish. The first caravans to arrive were unlike any the people of Laridae had seen in memory: those of refugees. The war had spread swiftly from Crestwall and into the frontier and trading towns in the mountains. Rumors of the enemy were most dire and often vague. Distant kin of the giants had taken the intrusion into Crestwall as an unforgivable sin, and sought to punish and erase those who had been responsible for the trespass.
By all accounts from the weary and frightened travellers, the war was going ill for Tarrosh, losing both battles and grounds, causing the miners and traders from the mountains to flee. Along with those fleeing were emissaries from their lords, calling for aid and assistance in their battles. Luustoki, being an adult, distraught by the loss of her mother, and not wishing for the life of a blacksmith nor that of a wife, volunteered her skills as a blacksmith and scribe to one such emissary. Bidding her father farewell, Luustoki packed her meager belongings and set off into the mountains to find one of the frontier towns where the forces were being marshaled.
Luustoki found work as a scribe, writing orders to be carried by courier or raven to the front lines, as well as transcribing messages that had been returned with updates from various locations. It quickly became apparent to Luustoki that the war was going even less well than many thought, with successful retreats and draws being touted as great victories when dispersed among the forces. It didn’t take long for her physical prowess and alertness to be noted, and within a year she found herself being fitted for armor as well as a sword and shield, before being sent with the next group of human recruits being sent to the front line. The first engagement she participated in was a disaster. A well laid trap brought an avalanche of scree and rubble roaring throgh the center of their army, sending hundreds of her fellow combatants screaming off the the mountain pass and into the valley far below. The enemy then attacked the rear half of the column, where Luustoki had been marching, leaving the front trapped on the hostile side of the landslide.
She had read descriptions of the enemies they were fighting in the dispatches, scoffing at accounts of their strength and calling them giants. The entire time, she had envisioned them as a man she had known in Laridae, Malar, who it was joked was the offspring of a goliath, standing nearly 7 feet tall and massive to boot. She had been very, very wrong. The beings that set upon her army were easily 8 feet tall, likely more, and after one had swatted the young woman aside with a glancing blow, she figured they must weigh as much as the horses they had used to till their fields.
While Lusi’s first battle remains to this day a blur, she recalled it was a complete route. Her column had walked blindly into an ambush, and was devastated first by a landside and second by the giantkin. Split, and without leadership, the army of humans was quickly routed, the plainsman trying to run away from the giants down the road. A few of those who grew up nearer the mountains, Luustoki among them, chose instead to test their luck on the mountain slope, scrambling down the loose scree in a desperate attempt to make it to the valley floor and across the rushing river. Despite numerous cuts, bruises, and sprains, during their descent it became obvious that they had chosen correctly. The sounds of battle and violence continued to rage on the pass above, but none of the enemies looked to be pursuing those who had fled to the river.
Several of those who found themselves following the valley and river out of the mountains formed a small band for protection. They shared no delusions about their chances if they were set upon by a group of giantkin, but the company made the weeks of slow travel more bearable, and presented less of a target to the hungry and displaced beasts of the mountains. Eventually, one of their scouts spotted signs of a likely ambush ahead, but having seen no alternate exit they had no recourse but to march forward cautiously and pray for the best. Rounding a bend, despite their watchful eyes, they found themselves surrounded by heavily armed dwarves. Humans, fortunately, weren’t so large to the dwarves that they are likely to be confused for giants, and while suspicious the dwarves invited the group to their camp after merely confiscating their weapons and armor.
The band, called the Ransilorn, were an oddity to Luustoki. While the ambush party had been comprised of dwarves, the company consisted of nearly every race Luustoki had heard of, and a few she hadn’t. They were an irregular force, operating outside of the military structure, with a loosely defined mission. In time, Luustoki found out that mission was counterinsurgency, which the Rasilorn commander defined as both ambushing raiding parties trying to slip past their lines, as well as hunting down those that succeeded.
Once their wounds had been tended to and healed, as well as proving themselves allies of the combined armies, the Rasilorn sent a courier to meet up with the great forces, and offered to guide those willing back to report the main armies. Luustoki and two others instead asked if they could volunteer for the Rasilorn instead, as their previous armies were destroyed, and they themselves were likely considered dead and not to be missed. The idea of hunting these giants and their creatures in small forces sounded like a less fatal proposition than fighting in armies of thousands in the mountain passes or river plains. The irregulars, being somewhat unpopular among the war’s leaders, were rarely assigned replacements, and were never one to turn down any willing body with three or more limbs remaining.
Luustoki, who chose instead to go by Lusi (after one too many unfortunate shortenings of her name), was given a longspear, and taught the art of combat both up close as well as at range. As a hit and run company, the Rasilorn rarely stood and fought with the giants determining that to be a quick form of suicide, which made her previous selection of sword and shield somewhat irrelevant. When her squad joined back up with the main force of Rasilorn, she found herself in an independent and eclective group of soldiers. The somewhat unusual chain of command and seemingly lax but competent approach to soldering agreed with the young woman.
It didn’t take long for Lusi to develop and appreciation for the life... the fight hard and live harder notion that those who expect to die can adapt, environment willing. Operating in smaller squads, they rested in inns and taverns as often as in the field. Among the Rasilorn, she quickly developed what was dubbed ‘A Soldier’s Sensibility,’ which was the appreciation of nearly any vice available to a soldier on the march. Long march and early mornings quickly taught the need for moderation, but Lusi enjoyed ale more than anyone in her village would have approved of, and discovered the passion of a bed could be shared with either gender, as well as most races. Despite the looming presence of a violent death, the life in the military, or at least in the Rasilorn Irregulars, agreed with Lusi.
As the war pushed the Rasilorn out of the mountains and into the foothills, names familiar to Lusi began to be uttered, she was given leave from the company to return to Laridae. As far as she knew, her father likely considered her dead, and even though she had every intent of returning to the irregulars, she felt the need to see him and let him know that she still lived, and to give him her best. Lusi took the horse she had rescued in one of their raids, and rode along the mountain range, looking for the road that would lead deeper into the mountains, and to Laridae. After several days, she found the right road and headed towards the village. She was entering the valley as the sun was setting behind the mountains. She noted that the gate at one of the watchtowers that was kept by the Order had its gate open. While it was common during the day, most often at dusk they would lower the gate and instead hail anyone passing on the road. The gate remained open, and no one called out to her as she passed. While she knew she looked like a single soldier heading to town, the lack of any signs of life tugged at the back of her mind. She made camp an hour outside of town, and all through the night she heard nothing but the sound of the autumn wind.
The following morning, she struck camp early and made it to the edges of town just as the sun was illuminating to peaks of the mountains beyond. The growing light made it obvious that tragedy had struck Laridae, and even in dim light it was easy to see that the buildings in town had been destroyed entirely, or burnt to their stone foundations. Having seen the results of the scouts of the giant armies, there was little doubt in her mind that Laridae had been quickly sacked by their enemy. As she investigated the town, her numbed mind choosing to start at the town hall and spread outward, the attack had happened weeks past, perhaps even more than a month. Lusi decided that based upon the bodies, left to the elements and scavengers, the she might have been the first person since the attack to enter the town. Caravans were rare in the fall, and since the dwarven lands were all but conquered, only the foolish or desperate would have traveled to those roads.
Still in her detached state of mind, Lusi set out to find her father. She found him outside his forge, smithing hammer in hand. A sad smile crossed her lips as she imagined her father charging an 8’ tall monster armed with nothing more than a hammer and leather apron. She spent much of the day investigating the town, and that evening left to investigate the temple at the edge of town. Where the town had obviously been sacked, the temple merely looked to be abandoned... The difference between those two states struck Lusi like a slap. There was almost no damage to the temple gates, and none to be found on the temple grounds themselves. The courtyard was overgrown, but the lack of damage and bodies hinted that no violence had reached the inside of this building. The story was the same throughout the stone structure, nothing damaged, but nothing remaining either. All the clothing, books, flatware, pottery had been taken, leaving nothing but furniture and empty barrels of salted meats. That night, Lusi couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the village, instead sleeping in a hidden valley cove where she’d spent days as a child. The more she considered what she had seen, the more her stomach knotted... The giantkin forces she had seen cared nothing for the plunder of their lands... other than livestock, the giants took nothing. Particularly those parties that killed and destroyed in the foreign lands, they could not afford to be weighed down by anything, let those companies like the Rasilorn catch up to them. No, anything missing would have to have been removed by humans, elves, or dwarves.
Given what was taken included personal mementos of no values, Lusi came to the conclusion that only the members of the Order would likely have taken. As she pieced together in her mind what had happened, it made her ill. The damage to the temple gates wasn’t significant enough to be caused by giants, it was the damage that would have been caused by villagers trying to get in. Panicked villagers. Those within the temple had barred the gates to the villagers when the giantkin forces had attacked. She had seen none of the temple’s warriors among the dead in the streets, so it seemed likely that the Order left the town completely defenseless before the onslaught. Pale and ashen, without having slept, Lusi spent the following day burying her father’s remains, as well as those of any kin and friends that she could recognize. The other villagers would have to wait for their own family, and in her dark mood and the way the war was going, Lusi thought that wait might never end.
As she rode out of town, Lusi turned to investigate the guard tower she had passed days before. She feared what she would find their, and what that revelation might mean, but investigated all the same. The gate remained open, and as she entered Lusi could quickly see that the same events had occurred here as well. The tower was abandoned, and undamaged by any recent act of violence, the warriors here had simply left. The members of the Order of Scientia, even if they were not all family as Lusi’s mother had been, were friends of the townspeople of Laridae. They were not the types to cower before a fight, and Lusi believes that if they had been taken unaware that the warriors of the temple would have died to the man, just to buy the time needed to gather the villagers to safety. But that was clearly not how it had played out... The warriors had remained behind the walls, uncaring to the fate of those beyond. The only way Lusi could see this coming to pass was is the High Cleric of Scientia himself issued the order to abandon those people to their fate... An order which many, if not all, of these servants of Ioun obeyed.
As her horse walked onwards down the road, Lusi was lost in despair and violent thoughts. Why would the Order have allowed such a massacre to take place, of a people they had been sworn to protect. From her teachings, Lusi could think of only one thing: knowledge. The giants had offered the order some piece of lost or forgotten knowledge so great, that the priests were willing to trade the lives of 500 people to purchase it. And, in doing so, purchase their own safety as well. The thought of the latter made the bile rise in her throat. The former was horrific, and they would have to answer to their goddess for that. For the latter... Lusi decided that they would have to answer to her for that. Anyone from the temple at Laridae who yet lived, Lusi declared their lives forfeit. She would see them all dead, fate willing.
Lusi returned to the Rasilorn Irregulars, and resumed her duties as a soldier. She was quieter, meaner, and more bloodthirsty than when she had left. Her fellow soldiers noticed the change, but never asked... many of them had walked her shoes themselves. Instead, the war provided an outlet for her rage, in an attempt to keep it from consuming her entirely.
The war continued through the winter and into the spring as it had before, cities, land, and battles were slowly but constantly being lost. Lusi was beginning to wonder where they were even finding people to fight those battles anymore, the peoples of Tarrosh and its allies were hardly inexhaustible. Until one day... word reached the irregulars that the giantkin had retreated from a battle: a battle that they had been winning. The pursuing Tarroshi forces were so cautious, that they never caught sight of that giantkin army again. Word of other armies retreating reached their ears, and word of new battles ceased entirely. The kindgom was left dazed and utterly confused. Scout after scout confirmed, there were none of the enemy left... the bravest, or most suicidal, of those scouts saw the enemy returning across the bridge at Crestwall, where they had first appeared. And even those most suicidal of scouts refused to follow them any further than that.
And so, with a little more than a whisper, the greatest war her people had seen ended. Lusi and the other irregulars quickly found themselves without a job... The way they lived during the war would not suffice, else they would quickly be deemed thieves, raiders, and brigands... Peace doesn’t allow the flexibility in options that war does. A majority of the Rasilorn returned to their homes, or returned in those directions hoping they might find something to return to. Lusi, knowing that no such thing awaited here anywhere in the world, instead turned back to her buried rage. She re-evaluated her self-imposed role of judge and execution, and found the notion continued to appeal to her. She knew that such a task as lay before, that she was likely to become distinctly unpopular. She would need prestige, and money, to find the people she sought, and to pay the right people to look the other way at the opportune moment. She hoped her story alone would be enough to sway some, but knew better than to think that would work for all.
Time had passed slowly for Lusi since the war. She worked ex-soldiers' jobs where she could; caravan escort here, collecting payments from every type of character she could imagine. The last vestiges of her upbringing rebelled against some of the seedier jobs, and more than once she found herself skulking out of town after learning just how unsavory the job she had accepted truly was. She made a living, such as it was. And it brought her closer to her goals, she was able to buy and barter for the information she sought. While she dearly desired not to keep count, four of the Order of Scientia members who had been in Laridae had perished in various unfortunate ways. One had fallen off a wall in Morwold, one had been killed in an ambush outside of Crestwall, and a third had slipped in the rushing spring melt of the Cresting River.
And soon, there would be a fourth. She had found another priest, recently promoted from an Acolyte, in Morwold. She had chased down the leads as best she could, and had recognized the man the moment she had spied him leaving the local temple in the company of others. Never being one to rush, Lusi had taken a position at the local blacksmith to assist with the rush of work that came with the pending planting season, smithing shoes and repairing plows. She spent her off hours watching the priest, trying to learn his habits. And it was that learning that still might cost her everything. She was following the man as he left the house of Ioun alone, and was walking along the trade streets after the dusk bell. As she had rounded a corner, she nearly collided into the man, who had stopped next to a beggar. As the priest turned to her, recognition began to spread across his face.
As he opened his mouth to speak, or perhaps greet her if his memory was good, Lusi struck without thinking. A quick slash and accompanying thrust with her greatspear was more than sufficient to drop the man’s lifeless body to the cobblestone alley. Her heart pounding in her throat, Lusi looked down at the corpse and tried to calm her mind. This was the last way she wanted this to happen... Too messy, and given the most recent deaths, perhaps too sudden as well. She looked to the beggar, who was stalwartly looking at his own filthy feet; perhaps out of fear, or perhaps out of drunken stupor. She knew she couldn't bear to leave what very well could be a witness... But holding her weapon in her hand, she couldn't fathom striking him down. The priest had been sent to a judgement he rightfully deserved, but the beggar shouldn't pay for Lusi’s own carelessness. Instead, she sheathed the spear over her back, spun on her heel, and made for her inn and the smithy. She would collect her pay, buy some travel rations, and run.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lusi’s flight had taken her from Morwold, and into the frontier wilds along the Convial Mountains. The population in both the foothills as well as the mountains themselves had been displaced or killed during the recent wilds, making the mountain passes the easiest to travel, and the least likely to be observed upon. There was still fear in Tarrosh that the giantkin who had wrought such devastation would once again crawl out from behind whichever boulder they lived and finish their destruction of the Tarroshi people. Lusi didn’t hold to that particular belief, and so the prospect of travelling the mountain roads into neighboring lands seemed the most logical choice.
Descending into the hills and then forests at the eastern foot of the mountains brought her into lands which she had only heard about in passing, from merchants and comrades she had known in the past. She knew the land to be named Lamuella, a fairly small and reclusive nation. While the land wasn’t poor, it was obvious to to Lusi from her time scavenging in the wild that this was a land to make living hard. The dark forests would not yield easily to agriculture, and the darkness seemed more pervasive than shadows alone would account for. The people seemed to shy away from the warrior, though from what she could see they shied away from many other things as well. As Lusi passed the palatial ruins of their capital, the chill the buildings emanated helped her understand these people’s plight a bit better. While they weren’t starving physically, there was something in the air that starved the soul.
Even before the disconcerting time in the capital, Lusi had planned to travel through this kingdom, attempting to distance herself from lands that her people (as merchants and clergy) were likely to visit. As competent a scavenger as she was, the prospect of travelling along through what was likely to become an increasingly foreign land didn’t appeal to the warrior. Several evenings at the local taverns had offered an opportunity as a caravan guard for a shipment of furs headed to the coastal port in a neighboring kingdom. While the pay was so low as to invite insult, it was a secondary concern. Port cities offered opportunities... more work than this marginal land provided, and the option to travel across the seas to lands only the merchants and Historians of Scientia knew the names of.
One the caravan passed through the forests of Lamuella, the stark difference of kingdoms was impossible to miss. The dark woods gave way to richer farmland, and more importantly for the caravans, the rutted earthen roads gave way to first, roads with paved tracks for wagon wheels, and in time, fully paved roadways. The speed these roads allowed the caravan wagons made the travel time nearly negligible. Within two weeks of departing Patter’s Wall, Lusi found herself at their destination, the port city named Espir. Once paid, Lusi departed the company of the caravan and its other guards; it wasn’t a horrible life, but she had no desire to return north for the immediate future. Which left two options: find work in this city, which should be a simple task for a competent fighter, or to book passage on a ship. Having her meager pay and no skill with boats (and perhaps a bit of trepidation at sailing on water one couldn’t see the bottom of), Lusi opted for the former option.
Lusi quickly learned that merchants not only ran this city, but the entire nation of Hyralein. The number of staff some of these families and guilds employed boggled the fighter mind. With some marginal success as a caravan guard and mercenary, Lusi decided to start with the largest (and ruling) family; perhaps the one most willing to employ and instruct, or at least tolerate, foreigners. In the case of Espir, this wound up being the Sadrani family, a long ruling exceptionally successful family of Eladrin merchants. The application process wasn’t difficult, it was obvious to anyone who knew the craft that Lusi knew hers as well: battleworn armor, weapons, and flesh spoke more honestly than all but the most honeyed voices. Despite her confidence, Lusi couldn’t help but feel that every captain, bookkeeper, or even recruit, she talked to were interviewing her, no matter how mundane the conversation. It gave the seasoned warrior the eerie feeling of being watched, constantly.
Despite this constant tone of paranoia, Lusi was granted a position in the Sadrani’s household guards. No matter which capacity they employer her skills in, Lusi began to appreciate the prospect of an honest job, and the possibility of calling a place home again. Thinking back, she hadn’t had one of those, a home, in nearly 6 or 7 years... Here then, perhaps.
Events have changed Lusi’s personality drastically in the past few years, and where her personality will eventually settle remains uncertain.
Prior to the sacking of Laridae, Lusi was a vibrant, carefree, and reckless spirit. Her time in the armies brought about some cynicism in the young woman, but even on the endless marches she found something to smile about. While an independent sort, she is not alone: the road is a much less droll place when one travels with company. The life of a soldier, particularly one on the losing side, brings about a devil-may-care attitude, where one lives for the day knowing it may be their last. As such, while in a city Lusi is prone to enjoying any drink or diversion she can get her hands on. But she retains enough discipline to limit such excess in the field, where being careless can get you killed in the blink of an eye.
After she left the destroyed Laridae, Lusi was a much quieter and less boisterous person. Her outlook on life seems tempered, she’s not as quick to lose her temper, but also not as quick to laugh. Her newer demeanor makes her seem cold to some people, particularly those who catch her while she is brooding. Her actions in the war, she never felt that her goal should be to kill the enemy, but rather to deny them their goal by any means necessary. With her newer outlook, she believes she is willing and able to take the role of both judge and executioner. She hopes that should she ever find any of the surviving priests of Scientia from Laridae, that she will not hesitate to strike them down. This desire lead to her self-imposed exile from Tarrosh and its surrounding lands.
Lusi is her father’s child, inheriting nearly all of his physical attributes and almost none of her mother’s. Lusi is tall for even for a human, standing taller than many men at 6 feet. She’s full figured without being overweight, having none of the lithe figure that her elven heritage might have given her. Her blond-brown hair and green eyes likewise match her human family. She does have a grace that is uncanny for someone as tall and solidly built as she, giving her an advantage in many fights. Her fair skin is weathered and tan, showing the years she spent outdoors as a child, and more recently as a soldier. Her face would be considered attractive by most, aside from a single scar that runs from her hair, straight down her face, and ending at her jaw. She bears the mark with pride, figuring it serves as a warning to those who might find her overbearing in a conversation.
When seen in public, she look every the inch of a warrior, menacing many as she navigated her way through a crowd. She wears dark grey colored scale-mail, with leather so aged and oiled below to be black. She walks with a great spear in her hand, very rarely trusting to sheathe it in the sling across her back, preferring instead to have it at the ready, and is more than willing to use its steel heel and worn wooden shaft as a walking stick. Strapped across her right hip are a trio of short-shafted tridents, tips hooked into leather sheaths that are a part of her armor. These are situated such that when she sits in a chair or on a stool, the weapons hang off to the side. Over her left shoulder she wears a small soldier’s pack, containing only the barest of necessities one would need to travel the road, as well as those needed to maintain weapons and armor that see regular use.
Achile has come of the belief that it is the fire burning inside of someone that makes them, not the clothes that they where. As such he has chosen to keep his appearence rather simple. He wears his dark hair cut short with a natural tendancy to spike and stand up. His skin is tan from time lounging in the sun basking in its heat and a childhood growing up on Firecrafter Island. His arms and chest are marked with several burn marks and numerous criss crossing scars. Achile's eyes have been known to catch the attention of some since they are deep gray with flecks of red and gold through them.
When it comes to clothing Achile's comes not from his strength of arm but from his power of faith. As such he wears no form of armor and dresses in simply sleeveless tunics of varying color, dark breeches that go barely past his knees and has decided to wear only clothing wrappings around his feet and a pair of leather bracers on his arms. Since his clothing does not affect his abilities in combat his clothing does not change regardless of the situation.
The only form of personal items stand out rather noticeable on the young half-elf's simple style. Across his back is a fullblade sword. The sword itself is solid black metal, honed to a razor sharp edge that is stands at five feet from point to the end of its hilt. Engraved along the blade but only visible at certain angles are images of flames raging and a powerful warrior wielding a similar blade. The blade is carried across the youth's back with a unique scabbard. Instead of being a full length piece of leather the sword is held in place by a large metallic clip that Achile can easily blade the blade in or remove without being slowed down draing his blade despite its size.
The other item of note hangs around Achile's neck. A leather thong leading to a disk of obsidian hanging around his neck. Within the obsidian is what appears to be a flame bute if one where to look closely they would see it is actually the Primordial Rune for Wrath. The necklace is actually Achile's holy symbol representing his devotion to Tevana Nui, the Firecrafter Deity of Vengeance and Retribution.
Achile is a young half-elf who lives his life through belief and faith His life has been geared along a path set before him by Tevana Nui, his patron deity. In battle he fights with faith on his side and belief. He swings his sword believing it will strike its foe, he wears no armor because he trusts in his god that a fatal blow will not strike until his time is done. He enjoys drinking, eating, dancing and sleeping with whatever woman of the night he can find when combat has ended the time for rejoicing has commenced. This comes from the culture of his people where passion and emotion are the very fire of the soul and must be embraced, not repressed in any way. His manner has been described as some to be loud, undisciplined and something of a braggart but those that can all him friend know him to a fierce ally and a true companion.
In terms of beliefs Achile's life has shaped his view of the world. He sees rogues and thieves as cowards and fools. Warriors as noble but people who sacrifice themselves for no reason when one could simply out smart their enemy and never fight them on even ground.
He has something of a different view of the use of divine powers and those who wield the mental abilities of The Talented. Achile does not see merit in holding one's hand out praying for a power from on high to grace them with whatever one would request, ironic since he draws his own powers from faith but in a different manner. He sees clerics and paladins as "beggars" while he has earned the boons granted upon him, they are as much a part of him as his own skin and are part of his bond to his god. Of The Talented he is uncomfortable around them, for those who would wage war within the mind is something left usually to demons and monsters of a lower caliber. While he dislikes the use of these powers he certainly will not judge someone who wields them negatively, merely give them a more careful watch until they have proven themselves trustworhy.
Achile has spent his entire being led by a dream. The dream first dominated his nights for as long as he could remember with the image of a sword. Not just any sword either, no it was a blade almost the size of a man, power etched into every facet of its edge and clearly was a blade of heroes. Achile dreamed night after night and in almost every dream he could recall the sword took precedence in those dreams. When he asked his mother, an Elven traded who decided to remain on FirecrafterIsland and his father a native known for his size, strength and skill as a blacksmith they both had different interpretations.
His mother felt that the dream was a foreboding of a dark future, one marked with strife and war and she was not pleased that it was all her son could dream about. His father, a blacksmith in his own right, felt it meant that they boy would follow in his footsteps. In order to encourage his beliefs of what the dream meant as soon as Achile was big enough to lift a hammer and sturdy enough to withstand the flames of the forge he set out to have his son craft the sword of his dreams.
Achile was very specific of the blade he wished to create and spent countless days heating the metal and pounding the blade to a razor sharp edge. It was sword unlike any most of the natives to the island had ever seen. The sword itself was considered a fullblade because it stood nearly the height of a full grown man. It’s width was wide enough that it could act as a shield if need be and was a full tang weapon. Curious enough the blade was straight edged, not curved as the islanders tended to favor and it possessed no crosspiece or guard. It was a sword meant to strike only, no aspect of it denoted defense of any kind.
Once Achile finished crafting the blade he was met with disappoint as his tiny arms where unable to lift the weapon at all. When he complained to his father that the weapon was too heavy the man simply replied, “Then become strong enough to lift it my son.” Achile took those words to heart. From that moment on the boy never went anywhere without the sword. The joke of the island was that you could tell where he had gone by simply following the deep drag lines all over the island.
As time passed and Achile grew strong enough to life the blade his dreams began to change. No longer did they center along the sword itself but instead it became more focused on the hand that wielded the blade. The figure was a powerfully built Firecrafter who wielded the sword in countless battles. While the man was familiar to him Achile could not place who exactly he was.
While the dreams continued Achile began to use them as a form of instruction as to how to wield his sword. Far from prying eyes he began to practicing swinging and handling the blade, learning how to use his own body weight to counterattack the weight of the sword. He began adept at using the weapon’s own momentum to continue its swings so as not to tire himself out after only a few swipes. The half-elf’s skill grew and before long he could handle the blade much like a duelist would handle their slender rapier.
Achile’s dreams began to intensify and he was no longer simply viewing the dreams but instead he was taking an active part in the dream itself, as if he was the hero of them! In the dreams he could hear himself making decrees of retribution and vengeance. Still confused about these dreams he asked his parents again what they might mean but this time they where both unable to provide an answer. Instead they guided him to speak to the oldest living members on the island, perhaps they could shed some light.
After consulting with the Elders Achile came to learn of a deity once worshipped on the island known as Tevana Nui. Nui was a hero of his people whose fame and infamy raised him (see Created Lore) to the level of god hood in a way. The Elders felt that while worship of the deity had all but faded into nothingness over the years that perhaps he was calling out to Achile, guiding him along a path the god had set before him.
Achile felt that maybe, just maybe the Elders where right. After much contemplation and many vivid dreams the youngster believed that indeed the Elders could be right.. Taking up his sword and what coin his parents could spare Achile set out to follow the path before him and wherever it may lead.
He bartered passage on a merchant ship and set off into the world. His choices at time seeming random as he followed along the path his god has set before him. Lessons being learned, power being gained and more importantly with every step Achile’s faith in his deity growing stronger by the day. His travels have led him toe streets of Espr where both strange ally and angered enemy have both been made. Has felt drawn to this city and feels as if there is some greater purpose within its walls that requires his blade.
Tevana Nui- Tevana Nui was once a popular deity and figure in Firecrafter culture and history. Story tells that long ago when merchants and explorers first traveled to Firecrafter Island they where instantly impressed with the skill and ability of their metal crafting. Rather then trade with the natives for their goods these outsiders instead attack the village they had discovered, capturing many of the Firecrafter's and Blacksmiths to take as slaves back to their home.
Tevana, an adolescent of the village at the time, felt a deep rage burn in his heart at the thought of his family being made into slaves. The youth set forth and in one night crafted a mighty blade the size of man and with the power to split enough the toughest of armor. The youth then traveled from the island and sought to free his captured people. When time came though he felt it was not merely enough to simply retrieve his kin but believed that a price must be paid by their captors. Nui proceded to kidnap and capture all who had a hand in kidnapping his people and brought them back to Firecrafter Island where they where to live their lives out as slaves to the natives they had once captured.
Once his quest was complete Tevana set back out into the world, he felt that there where wrongs that needed to be made right. He became an exemplar of vengeance and retribution. It was his goal to distribute justice in a form of retribution to those that had harmed and wronged the innocent. It became his quest and even though he was never seen on the island after he left many of the villagers still prayed to him and supported his noble quest and belief.
Over time with never being seen nor heard of again the Natives began to lose faith in Nui. They felt that some of their more primitive beliefs would be shocking to those that came to their island in hope of trade. While aspects of Nui's faith, such as acceptance of strangers and judging them solely by indvidual actions alone, was accepted, the more violent tendancies was repressed and absolved.
It is uncertain as to what happened to Nui after he left but there are some who still remember him and what he once represented to his people.
Scarblade Bastard Sword 1d20+18 vs AC. 1d10+8 Damage Hungry Spear Greatspear+3 1d20+19 vs AC. 1d10+9 +2d8 to damage in Bersker Fury.
Ranged Basic Attack: Hungry Spear Greatspear+3 1d20+19 vs AC Damage: 1d10+9
Jarring Smash: MBA + target grants CA until end of my next turn.
Run Down: MBA + target is slowed until end of my next turn.
Defender Aura: Aura 1. Enemery takes -2 to attacks rolls that do not include me or ally with this aura active. Marked enemies not subject
Vengeful Guardian: OA. Enemy subject of defender aura either **** or makes attack that targets an ally without targeting me or ally with active defender aura. MBA+2d8 extra damage.
Badge of The Berserker- The movement of charge attacks does not provoke OA
[] Stone Panoply [X] Savage Cut Used [] Brutal Slam [] Second Wind [X] Nomad's Rush Used [] Earthforger's Passage [X] Furious Assault Used [] A Thousand Ways to Die [] Curtain of Steel [] Hungry Spear Encounter Power
Encounter: Roots of Stone [] Rough Strike [] Mountain Hammer [] Form of Winter’s Herald attack [] Goring Charge[x] Mark of Thunder [] Elven Battle Hide Armor [] Boots of Free Movement []
Daily: Form of Winter’s Herald [] Boiling Cloud: [x] Boiling Cloud Attack: [] Endure Pain [] Treacherous Ice []
Tall with the lean body of a dancer or duelist, Laeretes honey-blonde hair has glow about it in the light as if it were finely wrought gold and his eyes are orbs of slowly swirling blues and greens as if the sea lived within his gaze.
Efficient is one of the words most often used in the description of Laeretes. This eladrin has little use for diplomacy or for intimidation. He prefers to leave that to those more interested in the politics of Espir at this time and those that are intent on airs of one sort or another. Laeretes simply does what he says he shall do. If he states that he will sink your vessel if you do not surrender and prepare to be boarded then that is what he does when failure to comply arises.
He is physically quite attractive but tends to be abrupt and to the point and as such does not cater as much favor as other members of House Sadranis. He is cool and polite in his relations with others outside of those who favor the freedom of the seas and does as is commanded and expected of those of higher station within the family. He has a pleasant laugh that catches one quite offguard when he is moved to mirth enough to indulge himself in revelry.
Upon the sea is when this eladrin truly opens up and is most friendly though as quick as the sea can change so too can his demeanor.
Guarded Flourish: Do not provoke OA's for Spells cast with blade. +1 to skill checks sea related when aboard vessels see Theme. Feats: War wizards expertise, improved defenses, eladrin soldier
Laeretes ran his hand lovingly over the damaged prow of his trireme and whispered to it as one would to a lover, "Rest easy. In no time we both shall be back dancing upon the rise and fall of the deep blue." He turned and nodded to the shipwrights of Cloudside, confident in their skill and abilities to repair the damage of the horrible battle that they had both just barely survived.
"Captain Laeretes?" came a voice from behind him and he turned to gaze down upon a courier who bore a satchel and wore a teal and crimson tabard. "Your presence is requested by the House." Laeretes face tightened and he nodded and slid his white horsehair plumed helm back atop his head. With a parting gaze upon his vessel he turned and marched away, crimson and gray cloak swirling behind him.
The intent of the armor is twofold. The first obviously is protection from harm. The second is intimidation. It is meant to conjure the image of a powerful being of the primal elements who commands the wind with absolute authority
