A warm breeze blows across the Tarsos Sea, the smell of salt water thick in the harbor of Cabernaum, capital of Icathia. People mill about doing their everyday activities, yet this is a special day for some. A day of departure, a day of new beginnings.
Skarr:
You stir from your sleep, fragments of nightmares clinging to your first moments of awareness. You have been staying at the remnants of the royal palace of Cabernaum, now a boarding house for those on the fringes of Icathian society. It is not entirely pleasant, but discreet enough for an orc like yourself. The humans here are drug-addled and attribute your appearance to hallucinations. Despite your grasp of common and the fact that you don't ramapage about, people outside of the boarding house have been quite leery of you.
Thankfully, the barracks where the Icathia Royal Army operates from isn't that far and the only people likely to see you are the young "white dragon" users who cavort around the courtyard of the palace, spouting useless wisdom. You depart from your room and find that you are perhaps the only one awake at this time. It is Third Hour (time is measured in hours after dawn [6 am]), but the halls are eerily quiet. You shrug, prepare yourself and head to the barracks.
You need only cross the courtyard to arrive at the barracks and, as expected, you see the young drug addicts playing their usual game of "King and Court", where one pretends he is the late King Cygnus I and the rest his loyal attendants. Sometimes the game degenerates into a sexual romp, but it is a little too early for that. You notice some new graffiti on the palace walls, but you cannot determine whether its something intelligible or some half-assed piece of art.
You approach the barracks and a young guard is standing there. He snaps to attention as you approach.
"What do you want, greenskin? You wanna fight? There ain't no babies for you to eat here!" he bellows at you, accenting his last statement by spitting in your face.
He makes ready to approach you, but a large hand (perhaps as large as your own) catches the young guard in the chest, knocking the wind out of the boy. You look up and see a nearly 7 foot tall man, bulging with muscles and his face criss-crossed with scars. You see a tankard in one of his meaty hands. He flashes you a drunken grin and beckons for you to enter.
"Wotcher 'ead," he says as he lowers his head to enter into the barracks. "Seems like they made this place for 'alflin's."
He walks over to a large oaken desk and offers you a seat. He settles himself in what looks to be a throne. Given the scratch marks, it was probably looted from the palace. He groans as he fidgits in the large seat and refills his tankard from a nearby keg. He take a large drink, then wipes his lips with a royal blue cloak draped over the back of the throne.
"I'm Battlemaster Verrin an' I suppose yer 'ere to join the Icathian Royal Army. Ain't much of an army nowadays, but we still 'ave pride. I 'eard of you, Skarr. Blackwater's group weren't much of a secret. Buncha thugs really, no 'onor. Maybe that ain't yer case, maybe you do 'ave some 'onor and yer out to reclaim it, eh? "I won't bore you. There's a job that needs doin' and you should fit the bill. Icathia's in real trouble and we don't have a pot to piss in. Summa us 'ave a plan. Involves an island nation called Za'vroma. You'll be going with a buncha members o' the Icathian Explorer's League, they 'ave more of an interest in Za'vroma than I do. So, the job is to protect these people and make sure they don't get killed. You'll be 'eading out on the Blind Maiden, captained by a Rando Saltspray. You'll find 'im at the docks."
He stands and shakes your hand, a strange gesture to you. He hands you a badge. "Wear it wi' pride."
He escorts you to the door, where the young guard is still recuperating. Verrin gives him a kick and sends you on your way.
Cyna:
The summons from the Green Circle comes at dawn. You had been told of their plan for a few weeks now, so the paper sliding under your door and the loud knock wasn't unexpected. Apparently, the Icathian Explorer's League had a plan to "save Icathia" and it involved some strange land called Zahvroma. But Eldest Sister, leader of the Icathian chapter of the Green Circle, isn't sure of their plan.
You get yourself out of bed and pick up the envelope. Breaking the seal, you see that the brief note tells you to come to the Royal Gardens at once. You get yourself ready and head to the Royal Gardens. The sun is not quite up and only the laborers are out and about. Though you've seen a few tieflings in the city, many people have given you a wide berth. The weather is comfortable and the empty streets somewhat soothing. You arrive at the remnants of the royal palace where the Gardens are.
Skirting around the transients, you make your way to the rear of the palace and enter into the Gardens. Eldest Sister is the only one present. She looks at you intently.
"Thank you for coming, Cyna. You are aware of the journey you must make to Zahvroma. But I don't think that the Explorer's League is aware of the dangers in their venture. And if they are...it is necessary more than ever to be wary of their intentions. Zahvroma is a land that is steeped in evil. "Long ago, in the last age, a group of wizards and their followers rose up against the lands of Alarion. They sought to bring everyone under their rule through the darkest of magic. They were persecuted and killed, but thirteen of them survived and fled to Zahvroma. It is their that they fortified themselves from the outside world, conducting various experiments of the foulest nature. Though I do not know the full extent of their depravity, the presence of the undead in these lands is a legacy of their work here. "In addition to that grave threat, there is also an artifact of a sinister nature which resides in the land of Zahvroma. I have sent others before you, but none have returned. I fear it is something cataclysmic in nature. It threatens not only our lives but the lives of all you dwell in Vesaria. "Take this shard," she says as she hands you a green, shimmering shard. "This should destroy the artifact and purify the land. Be careful, Cyna, and may the gods watch over you. The ship you will be taking is called the Blind Maiden and its captain is a halfling named Rando Saltspray. Watch the members of the Explorer's League carefully and determine their intentions. If need be...eliminate them."
Members of the Icathian Explorer's League:
You each find a note taped up to your respective doors that reads:
Thank you for volunteering for this most urgent of missions. As you know, the land of Icathia is in danger not only from without but from within as well. There are many who would sell out our culture for false promises of safety. We have determined that exploration of Zahvroma would be in our best interests, not only to preserve our culture but the lives of Icathia's citizens. You will be commissioned to explore Zahvroma and determine whether it is possible to settle there. Take notes on the climate, the soil quality and if there are other settlements there. You are given authority to negotiate peace and conduct business on our behalf. Determine whether the natives will be amenable to our settlement there. As per request of our benefactor, you will also be commissioned to seek out any artifacts of the Zahvroman culture. We have been informed that there was a civilization of interest in the prior age and we would like to investigate further. You will be paid extra for each artifact that is brought back. Despite the importance of your first duty, this one is not to be neglected either. Report to the Blind Maiden at the harbor. Rando Saltspray, captain of the ship will be waiting for you before noon.
Cyna takes the shard and stows it safely on her person. "Thank you Elder. Your trust means a great deal to me and I vow I will not fail. My brothers and sisters before me they had similar objects? If I could find them or their remains, in case I should lose the one you've given me."
More nightmares, the orc thought as he pulled himself out of his pile of filthy bedding - the movement sending the rats that were his neighbors most nights scattering. Nights like last always left him on edge. They put him in a state that made it hard for him to ignore his baser instincts. In a way they brought him a little closer to being the monster that many accused him of being.
The trip to his rendezvous point did nothing to help his mood. The scatterbrained streetside addicts did little but provide a target for his dark thoughts. More than once he considered grabbing the biggest strongest one he could find and beat him until his knuckles were bloody and raw or perhaps a pretty one to bend over a low wall and sate his needs on. Maybe another time... he had business to see to.
The loudmouthed guard almost earned the full extent of the hulking orc's pent up frustration but the unknown big human intervened in time. Seeing the mouthy little man crumple to the ground brought a smile to Skaar's crude features. He was going to get along with this Battlemaster.
***
Skaar rotated the badge in his massive gnarled hand and considered the task.
Without a word, he took the badge and shoved into his hide vest over his heart. So much force was used that the badge's edge dug deep enough into his thick hide to draw blood. He watched with morbid interest as a line of crimson dripped down his visible pectoral across the tattoo he'd gotten upon joining Blackwater's unit. The big orc offered a bass chuckle and nodded.
"I'm yer man. I'll keep the little 'uns in one piece."
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
A beginning:
The Vanara puts the note into his robe, gathering his things without delay.
It was good to be doing something. Harakhty wasn't sure if the explorer's league was interested in his abilities or merely wanted a diverse delegation for a more disarming appearance, and it made no difference to him. Those outside his contacts with the church took him at a generalization in this center of civilization. Primitive. Monkey. The names wouldn't bother him so much from some, but it was nearly everyone. It was perhaps just this stereotype the league wanted the Zahvroman's to see so they wouldn't feel threatened by a bristling regiment, rearing for war.
On the other hand, a select few prior to his engagement with the league learned the young acolyte to be quite observant ... obnoxiously so. That was his place at the church though - those secrets of import people didn't want discovered were exactly what the mages demanded of him. Others' expectations of his alien nature made it easier to deceive them or threaten them with broken speech when he chose (though by now his common was at a very comfortable level of proficiency, albeit with an accent), but he preferred to eschew the interaction altogether. This evasion of what was portrayed on the surface, the desire to find the unknown would also be a very desirable trait for one of their explorers, Harakhty realized.
Making his way to the docks, Harakhty was quite ready and determined. Little would dissuade him from this task. He didn't intend to tarry, for he longed to be runnited with Naeem.
His superiors in the temple had him go with their blessing. What could be better than exotic information from abroad? They were hoping new texts on the study of magic would come to light, wishing to expand their knowledge of the arcane. Hopefully, these cultural artifacts - if any were found - would not provide a conflict of interest to Harakhty.
As the tall, slightly pale, youthful man read the letter, his mother's voice piped in. So they set you loose like a hound to sniff in the dirt? Pathetic. Crushing the note, Drago replied under his breath, "Silence, you souless wench."
Now is that anyway to speak to your mother?
The Sorceror closed his eyes and pushed her out of his mind, like so many times before. Gathering his things, Drago left for the dock. Upon entering the street, the blinding sun forced him to pull the hood of his crimson cloak up. Will I ever get used to the sun, he thought to himself. As usual, peoples heads turned as they saw a man wearing a crimson hood over clothing that was dark blue trimmed with silver. Other than that, Drago reached the harbor without incident. After a few inquires, he was directed to Captain Saltspray.
"Good afternoon Captain Saltspray, I believe I am to sail with you to the island of Zahvroma?"
"They did," Elder Sister replies. "Rather they were a bit more powerful than the shard you carry now. I feared that the shards have been calling out to the corruption of Zahvroma. I did not want to put you in unnecessary danger, but the shard you carry should be adequate. Even more so if you find one of the others, but it is unlikely that they would still be around."
As you approach the halfling leaning against a lantern post, you notice that the Blind Maiden is not an average ship. The prow of the ship is made from silver, the bowsprit has been shortened and, instead of a figurehead, there is a large blade that looks like it could cleave another boat in twain. Engraved on the blade is a blindfolded nude woman, perhaps the inspiration for the boat's name.
The halfling tips his hat slightly, drawing on a hickory pipe. Though he doesn't look threatening, the eyepatch over his right eye lends a much-needed gravitas to his demeanor. He nods at you almost halfheartedly. "Aye, I be Cap'n' Saltspray. By th' looks of ye, ye must be from the Explorer's League. Ye be early, so I reckon ye can go on board and see if the Blind Maiden is t' yer likin'."
He spits in the water and motions for you to board the ship. You see a few sailors milling about, adjusting the rigging and polishing the cannons that line the deck. The crew looks at you with slight interest, but they look more exotic than you'd imagined. They quickly resume their duties, glancing down the dock occasionally.
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
Such a little man. Harakhty had seen but a few halflings since his entry into the city, and their stature was still surprising to him at times.
Walking onto the ship, he gave Drago a look-over. Hopefully, he'll help me get the job done. The technicality did remain it wasn't really for the nation Harakhty needed to secure land, but rather his tribe. Both would have to do, and it would be another obstacle if this Drago's interests lay at cross-purposes somehow.
When the opportunity arises, if I could get Drago's present appearance and the racial diversity of the crew, that would be great.
Though hoping he wouldn't have to make use of them, the Vanara eschewed no armament. He wore the robe of his church, an unadorned cloth black on the right half and white on the left. The bright magelings of the temple sometimes studied engineering; a few crafters of crossbows were among them. One of their accomplishments was creating a model small enough to be wielded accurately in one hand - perfect for jobs of intimacy. Though Harakhty had never slain anyone, a bolt here or there provided sufficient motivation for information to be divulged from most targets. The crossbow now hung on his shoulder in a holder, and he hoped it didn't have to be used. He brought a staff with him in place of his spear, less prone to puncturing sacks and whatnot for the trip; it was held by him in his left hand about halfway up the hilt, occasionally tapping the ground. A quiver relied on his other shoulder.
Underneath the robe, he wore only a loose pair of half-trousers; a cut was made to accommodate his tail which fished about under his robe, occasionally lifting it up an inch or two. Harakhty's striped fur kept him warm in the current season without much on top of his coat, and no shoes were worn by him. He carried a pack lower down on his back which contained his chain tunic and a few other items. A on his belt hung two pouches, one which jingled slightly, and another, slightly larger yet softer satchel.
The appearance section of his profile can supplement the above description.
Once on board the ship, he turned to his new partner. "I am Harakhty of the Suntooth tribe. It seems we are to explore this new land together."
The crimson cloaked man responded to the Halfling, "Thank you sir." At which point he boarded the ship and searched for a way below deck. He didn't get far, for he was asailed by a strange individual of a race he had not seen before.
Looking up from his hood, the Sorceror replied, "So it would seem. My name is Drago Skorzeny. I hail from......east of Icathia. Where do come from?"
The wind suddenly kicked up and blew open his cloak to reveal a tunic and breeches of dark blue trimmed in silver, black boots that came up to just under his knee, and a belt that held three pouches, a leather cylindrical object, a quiver filled with bolts, and a dagger that looked of Elven make. Slung over Drago's left shoulder was his crossbow, and his backpack slung over his right, bedroll and waterskin attached to the outside of it.
Keep an eye on the boys and girls from the Explorer's League on their little trip to Za'vroma. Make sure they come home in one piece. Easy money.
The greenskin brute managed to get aboard the vessel with surprisingly little trouble. A couple sailors flashed him a nervous glare - a look that said, You don't belong here, but they backed off when they spotted the badge pinned proudly to his harness. Once aboard the deck of the ship, the big orc stands tall, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath enjoying the salty sea air.
Skaar is a massive specimen, a full-blooded orc standing well over two meters tall and weighing near thirty stone. His hulking frame is covered in mossy green hide and coarse dark hair sprouts from his head and along his body. Scars and tattoos decorate his naked flesh liberally. Despite his musclebound appearance he moves with surprising grace for a creature of his size.
He's clad in a leather harness composed of straps wrapped tightly across his burly torso. Pinned to one of these straps is a badge indicating his connection to the Icathian Royal Army. His tree trunk-girth legs are clothed in dirty hide leggings and worn travelers boots bulge with the effort of containing his feet. He carries no weapons aside from an almost comically tiny dagger in a sheath hanging from his waist.
He pauses when he sees a handful of strangers, equally new to this experience.
Ruins, eh? Well you two should have loads to talk about. His mother said in his mind. With a perturbed look on his face, Drago closed his eyes and thought sternly, I said, SHUT IT!
Regaining his composure, the Sorceror's eyes snapped open, replying, "Sounds a bit uncomfortable."
The orc shrugged his brawny shoulders dismissively. It was a gesture that would mean little coming from most, but it was almost comical when performed by the massive brute.
"Not so bad. I's had worse. 'Least it was dry. Beats sleeping in the mud."
"You Explorer's League?" he grunted almost as an accusation.
Cyna takes a moment to enjoy the cool air and probably her last moments of peace and quiet for sometime before heading out to collect her horse and loading up on feed for the journey ahead. She guides him up the dock and into the ships hold to be stabled before heading top side to introduce herself and get a look at her fellow travelers.
She is wearing her usual attir attire of furs and leathers and exporers outfit with white cloth and her wooden holy symbol of Sarenrae hangs near her hip tied to her Scimitars scabbard.
Miss Singer greets those who have already arrived. "Guten Morgen gentelman my name is Cyna Singer, of the Green Circle, and that was my steed Brimstone. Nice to meet you all. "
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
Drago seemed decent enough. His dress indicated he may be like many of the people in the city Harakhty had paid visits to at the request of the church - well-dressed and well-spoken. "The temple of Nethys housed me while in the city, but my tribe comes from the grasslands to the West. Our grove is the second past the river. They have migrated though,"/[b] relayed the Vanara with a pang of sadness. [b]"I don't know where they are now."
As a giant creature walked up the plank, his sadness turned to fear though. Harakhty had seen the halfbreeds, but never a full Orc. They were monstrous. Skarr towered over him, a green tower on the ship. It was his girth which made the young investigator nervous though; his arms were bigger than his legs, and his legs as large as his torso. The thickness was all muscle, leaving no doubt as to his purpose on this journey. In his younger days, when he was still taken on hunts, beasts of his size had given him a gash or two, and the unnerving feeling had never quite left him. He was determined not to let this worry show through to Skarr, lest it give him any ideas; he'd heard the stories of Orcs brutally taking slaves before, and in a land away from order, what was to stop him?
Bluff to conceal fear of Skarr:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
"Y-Yes, I'm with the league. Harakhty," he managed. His eyes noticed the badge pinned to the leather strap on his bulging chest. "I don't recognize the sign. What is it from?" he inquired, his curiosity taking control.
The woman boarding shortly thereafter hailed them with a greeting he did not understand. Her attire was familiar to Harakhty, putting him more at ease."Likewise - I'm Harakhty. I hope our journey is a safe one."
He gave the lion's tooth pendant on his neck a touch for good luck, as usual. They might need it.
Rando looks at the two newcomers with a mixture of contempt and amusement. "What's this town comin' to when landlubbers walk on yer ship without so much as a how-do-ye-do to th' cap'n?"
"Sersel!" he bellows at a young nagaji woman. "Stable the lady's horse."
As Harakhty looks over the crew, he sees a diverse mix of folk.
Assuming you take the time to go around the ship and see everyone, you find that there are 20 crew members: 6 human males of varying races, 1 human female, 2 halflings (the ship's cook and a woman you figure is the captain's "wench"), 2 vanaras (brothers from the Starseer tribe from a far-off continent called Lakkara), an undine female, the nagaji woman, a kitsune male who serves as the lookout, 2 half-orcs, a standoffish vishkanya male, a hobgoblin male, a dwarven male, and a half-elf male.
The big orc studied the vanara as he did the same. The way he nervously shifted his weight and stammared was something he was used to - he'd seen it all his life. Fear. Most people he met feared him on sight, others hated him, some showed him an equal mixture of both. The worried man's question snapped Skaar out of his introspection.
"Royal Army", he grunted at he tapped the tiny symbol with a meaty digit. "Battlemaster Verrin says you's headed to a place called Za'vroma. He says I need ta go wit'u. No worries. I's strong. I keep all ya little 'uns safe."
Seeing the vanara is still anxious, Skaar cranes his neck down in an effort to get down on Harakhty's level.
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
"Sorry, it seemed your thoughts were elsewhere; I didn't mean to interrupt." A quick glance of the deck, while not enough to survey the entire crew, was plenty to tell Harakhty they hailed from distant lands. "It seems you're no stranger to exploring. From the looks of it, you've been across many a sea."
He would have to speak with his kin later. Though their fur identified them as those of a different tribe (he knew not which), it would be good to see if their society worked differently. After all, those in the city lived different lives than they did in the savanna. There were definite benefits to city life, but Harakhty missed sleeping under the stars; it was too dangerous to do in the city with pickpockets about. Perhaps this trek would allow him to reconnect with the land - even if it was a different one.
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
As Skaar leans down towards him, Harakhty takes a step back. The Royal Army was not one of the organizations he knew much about, but Skaar's military admission made him think the Orc had snapped many necks in his day. His tail twitched twice in nervousness.
"I can see that, S-Skaar. Thank you." It was clear (at least to Skaar, as he saw through Harakhty's veneer) he was not convinced there was nothing to worry about. Neither was conviction of hostile motive present in his eyes either - just uncertainty. Nethys protect me, I haven't even set out yet.
Rando makes his way up the gangplank and looks at you.
"'Tain't is jus' like humans to be th' last ones to show?" he asks to no one in particular, loud enough for anyone on the deck to hear.
The non-humans laugh heartily, though you can tell some of it is feigned. The humans chuckle nervously, which causes Rando to spin around and face one of them. He strides up to the crew member, an older human with a pegleg.
"When th' cap'n says somethin' funny, th' cap'n expects a laugh!" Rando exclaims fiercely. He drives a hard fist into the crewman's groin. "Now! Weren't that funny, Jitty?"
"A-aye, c-cap'n," Jitty groans. "H-ha ha."
"That's better," Rando says with a smug smile, turning back to you. "I'll have Sersel show ye yer quarters when she's done stablin' the horse."
He walks back over to the stern of the ship and resumes watching over the railing for your other companions.
Finally, Dr. Savage bursts forth from his room. "Godsdamnit! You got to die somehow! Might as well do it in the a$$&@!$ of the world!" He spins around, looking around the ship until he sees the gathering. "Aha! Company! A company, right, I suppose? Cayden's Frothy Morning Diarrhea, what a menagerie! Ah, but you know, I believe a humanoid from any race, no matter how vile or ignorant, can be just as productive as the godsdamned Royal Family, inbred, bleeding, gummy-mouthed!" He then approaches the group. "Doctor Stephen Savage, at your service. I have the recipes for when we all turn cannibal."
Skaar narrowed his eyes and furrowed his heavy brow.
"Nobody'll hurt lil' striped 'Nara when I's around."
Without another word, the massive greenskin turned his attention elsewhere.
"I'ma find somein' to eat", he said as he lumbered off.
***
While the crew's preparing to depart, Skaar will ask around for some basic information with all the charm he can muster. Specifically he's looking for who is in charge of food/meals, who is a surgeon/healer if he or one of his charges gets hurt or sick, does the ship have a regular 'morale officer' aka prostitue, and who is in charge of ship justice.
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
A little - though not completely shocked - at the Captain's display of dominance, Harakhty was doubting he'd enjoy the sail as much as he'd hoped. The Vanaras were no pacifists, but they eschewed violence more often among themselves than humans did - and Halflings it seemed. Common sense told him a blow to the loins would be most unpleasing, but he'd never endured one from a person (though landing on a branch askew was another story). His people held bearing children as a sacred right of any couple, and an attempt to void that ability wasn't quite seen as sacrilegious, but it was surely taboo - even if Harakhty, who had no use for his seed, was a victim. His opinion of the captain dropped a notch. Then another outburst caught their attention.
Stephen's exposition was certainly attention-grabbing. Though his quick and colorful speech was a little hard to follow, Harakhty got the gist. He approached the doctor and outstretched his hand, happy for an excuse to get away from the captain. "Harakhty Suntooth. Don't be so sure about our ends down there - I plan on returning."
A slightly embarrased Miss Singer replies to the capt."My apologies captain I.. uh.. didn't see you..."
-----
Cyna smiles at Stevens rather exuberant personality, and view of the world's more questionable races. "That was quite the entrance Dr., but hopefully I can keep us all feed enough so that dosen't happen. "
Skaar, in his wandering about the ship, is introduced the halfling chef, Robardi, who claims that he's cooked for worse. The nagaji, Sersel, turns out to be the vet/surgeon (animals and people are the same, right?). Only the captain has a "morale officer", the rest of the crew waits until they're in port, though the half-orc female gives you one of those bedroom looks as you walk by. The vishkanya introduces himself as the bosun, though you learn that he's pretty much the captain when Rando's asleep or "indisposed".
"'Bout time yer lily-livered arse showed up!" Rando hollers to Stephen as he boards. "SERSEL! I've got another horse fer ye! It's damn near sixth hour now! Yer next companion better'd be a whale t' drag us out at low-tide! By Besmara's blood-soaked teats, I hate owin' favors!"
The halfling is in charge of grub, the snake-woman can patch us up, and the other snake-woman was in charge when the captain was busy with his whore.
The big brute caught the female half-orc's gaze and recognized her expression. He wasn't the sharpest pair of tusks around but he'd been around the block enough times to recognize the difference between a woman in heat, one looking for coin, and one likely to get guards after him. He returned her look - Be Ready - and gave her a little flex to get her excited before heading back up to the deck to find the rest of his charges.
Returning to the deck several minutes later, Skaar spots Savage chatting with the others.
He must be an Explorer too.
The massive greenskin approached and, after a moment of thought, extended his hand as the Battlemaster had.
"Well I'm just pleased to meet you, Skaar. I'm Dr. Stephen Strange, and I am a seeker of truths. I am also a seeker of a drink right about now ...do you like whiskey, Skaar?"
This is what happens when I leave you alone for a few hours, I have a novel to read. Lol.
Keeping quiet during the exchanges, and Dr. Savages enterance, Drago waited for the right moment to duck out of the sun and into his cabin. Well this promises to be an interesting trip.
Once his gear was stowed away, he returned to the deck.
M Vanara: AC 19 /15/14 / HP 30 / F +8* R +7* W +11* / Init. +7 / Perc. +13/ Sense Motive +16 Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) / 6
Overhearing the chatter between the odd man and Skaar about getting a drink, Harakhty takes advantage of the opportunity to move about the deck. He had a hunch the captain was also a bit nervous, but who wouldn't be with that Orc around? He just hoped the alcohol didn't make him too rowdy...
He approached the Vanaras from another tribe, smiling as he greeted them. "I hardly expected to find cousins here. It's good to see some of our own, even if from other tribes. Would you mind showing me where I can put my pack? We could talk on the way." Usually not the talkative type, a little taste of home changed Harakhty's tune quickly.
Seeing the Vanara go off to some other part of the ship, Drago decided to speak to the other members of the group. Walking up to the Orc and the strange man, he asked, [b]"So Dr... Savage is it? What brings you on out little adventure? I understand Skaar here is to be our security, but what is your expertise?
"Gah!" the Doctor flinches wildly at the entrance of Drago into the conversation. "Sorry, there, my good man. I'm unaccustomed to sudden questions from the mouths of not-me. Me? I've been a traveller, a reporter, a loathesome lothario. Deep down inside, I suppose I'm a scientist ...top secret, hush-hush, need-to-know and all that. I'll be experimenting on the local flora and fauna. Medicinal properties! Yes! One never knows what colorful plant or repitlian anus might hide the next great thing, am I right? But enough about me! Skaar here was just about to join me for some whiskey. Do you drink?"
The two vanaras glance at you, then at Rando. Rando nods his head. The two brothers eagerly offer to take your belongings, except what you deem to be personal. They carry your gear with ease and, smiling at you, they gesture to move below deck.
"I am Maviv, that is my brother, Saviv," the taller of the two says. "We are pleased to see a cousin as well. We have been sailing with Captain Saltspray for many years now. How many, Saviv?"
"About four now," Saviv replies cheerfully.
Maviv resumes as you move along the narrow hallway. "Don't mind the captain's outbursts. He is a good man. He fought for our village. He is nervous because of this Maximillian Vonder. This Vonder...um...I suppose you would say "blackmailed"...the captain. Horace the Red has a bounty on Captain Saltspray. We came to Icathia to resupply. Vonder found out and tricked the captain. But it is all for good, since we get to meet."
Saviv opens a door at the end of the hallway. It is a sparse room with six hammocks, you can see some of your companions' gear stowed about.
"It is not much," Saviv says sadly. "But there are good things too."
Saviv knocks on a board above one of the top hammocks, revealing a secret compartment. "We'll put your stuff up here, so it is not disturbed. Anything else we can do for you, cousin? Just ask."
"Ah, the more the merrier, that's what some say, though I've reason to believe it isn't totally true in all situations, I do believe the three of us can enjoy a delicious beverage or twelve whilst we depart. It's how the sailors do it, drunken buggerers all." Stephen begins to lead the two back to his cabin.
It is the year 251 AS (The Age of Separation), the fourth age in the world of Vesaria. A vicious war draws to an end on the continent of Alarion and new kingdoms have arisen from the chaos. However, for one kingdom, these new kingdoms threaten its existence.
Icathia, staunch ally of the kingdom of Alarion (now divided in two, East Alarion and West Alarion), has lost the majority of their nobility and their treasury in the Great War. Minor nobles and petty politicians are the new government, most willing to cede to the adjecent kingdoms of Brannum and Talathel. Matters are also made worse by the orcs to the north, who hold a sizeable territory of their own and are eager to plunder Icathia.
Hope seems a dream for the young. It is only a matter of time before Icathia becomes another victim of conquest, but three groups have developed interest in a forgotten island kingdom to the south: Zahvroma. Forgotten since the end of the last age, Zahvroma seems like the last resort for the Icathians. Either the people of Icathia can immigrate to the new land, seek assistance from the Zahvromans, or plunder them to bolster the near-empty coffers of the kingdom.
However, Zahvroma has secrets...
The heroes will be commissioned by one of three groups of their choice to explore Zahvroma and report their findings. These groups are:
The Icathian Explorer's League: A privately funded venture mainly concerned with historical relics. The IEL seeks to explore Zahvroma, determining its fitness to support an new colony for immigrating Icathians.
The Icathian Royal Guard: Formerly the military of Icathia, the group turned mercenary in order to survive. Battlemaster Verrin seeks to restore the glory of his organization by any means necessary.
The Green Circle: Mostly comprised of druids and rangers, the Green Circle attempts to root out corruption in nature. The Green Council isn't so sure about the safety of Zahvroma and the rumors surrounding the island do little to ease their minds.
The Basics: 4-6 players (it's homebrew so I'll take what I can get), 20 pt. buy, average starting gold + 500 gold commission, anything out of the core hardbacks [CRB, APG (some archetypes may not be good fits), ARG (except custom races), UM, UC, UE], a group must be chosen for your character to align with, be sensible with your alignment choice as cooperation won't get you killed. I don't use hero points or traits, but, if you make a compelling case, I might change my mind.
If you're wanting to play something from a 3PP, just supply a way for me to look it over.
The Biggie: I want to be able to introduce themes that I usually can't with my usual gaming group. This is intended to be a mature game, dealing with things such as homsexuality, transgenders, torture and so on (in as tasteful a manner as possible). If you can't be (or pretend to be) open-minded about such subjects, please don't apply.
Schedule: I work nights except for Mondays and Tuesdays, so one or two posts a day is acceptable (and probably all you'd get out of me :D). If you hate the game, have other commitments or cannot keep up with the posting requirement, please let me know so I don't have to guess if you're coming back or not. I know this is not always possible but I'll make a judgment call if you haven't posted in two weeks.
If you have any other questions, feel free to post and I'll answer back as soon as I can.
The case I'll give for traits is that you can add that one essential skill to your idea that your class doesn't have ...my roving journalist lore oracle should be able to bluff a bit, right?
Dotting for interest as an Wizard, probably Teleportation subschool.
Right now actually thinking about following the Royal Guard as last son of a fallen noble house. Stripped of his nobility, joining them just seemed as the best idea, afterall the war lost them almost as much as him.
Rolled up my lore oracle ...a fair amount of his money went towards booze. And a horse to carry all the booze. He'll be a buffer/healer, heavily armored but only actually fighting when necessary. I'll post it soon.
@Dr. Stephen Savage: I have a fairly full day ahead myself, so it's all good. I'll allow traits, just make sure that they aren't two from the same group.
@Stratos: I'll be using the Pathfinder Pantheon, minor gods from Gods and Magic included. The only notable differences (at this time) is that Urgathoa's following is more of a cult with spreading undeath being their primary concern, Aroden's impact was much less than in Golarion (he's more akin to St. Cuthbert from 3.5), Arazni was just a mortal and remained that way, and there is no Razmir.
Icathia's capital, Cabernaum (rip-off intended), lies directly on the coast and, as such, was a major trading hub. It is also on one of the safest trading routes in the world. Due to the war, the Icathians decided to focus on building up their navy, so trading has fallen to the wayside in recent years. Cabernaum is a parallel of ancient Alexandria during its Hellenistic period. The city remains cosmopolitan, a mixture of wanderers and citizens from various cultures. The current population is in the low 200,000's. During its peak, Cabernaum had over 500,000 living within its walls. Icathia's income was mostly from trading, the southern clime of the continent better for livestock than agriculture. Secularism has thrived in recent years, so most religions share temples, except for Iomedae and Abadar. Her temples serve as the judicial branch of the government. So courthouses = Iomedae's temples. Abadar's temples also double as banks.
Icathia's government is shifting from a monarchy to a republic, but is currently in a transition state, so lawlessness is a bit more commonplace.
Brannum, to the west of Icathia, is under the dictatorial rule of Horace the Red, a famed pirate. He secured his kingdom during the war by allying with whoever would fight for him, so the kingdom is more hospitable to monsters than any other. Not many know of what goes on in that kingdom, save those who live there. Horace values his mystery and privacy above all else and will kill to keep it that way. A great number of refugees have come to Icathia from Brannum but are reluctant to talk about their lives there. Conquering Icathia seems like a logical step for Brannum in order to secure a safe trade route. The western coast is plagued by pirates who owe no allegiance to Horace.
Talathel, to the east, is an elven nation composed of immigrants from the north. The northern elves have suffered under human slavers and are a little xenophobic as a result. They are willing to broker for peace but won't hesitate to capitalize upon Icathia's weakness, as a safe harbor would facilitate their immigration efforts. Talathel often trades with Icathia, but this is done through intermediates.
The orc territory to the north has no formal, recognized name. It is inhabited by 103 different tribes and territorial disputes usually spill over into surrounding lands. The orcs have no apparent demands or agenda, but they have a strong desire to conquer other lands and no qualms about killing any non-orc.
I hope that paints a better picture of the area. I use this world for my campaigns at home so I try to think it through.
Think I just hit on a piece of inspiration. Blackblade magus whose blade actually originates from Zahvroma and drives it's weilder to go there.
Now just a matter of whether a black sheep noble who picked up the first available weapon from the family treasure room when their House fell (Icathian Royal Guard Affiliation) or a down on their luck explorer who came across the blade while trying not to get killed by pirates (Icathian Explorer's League Affiliation)
GM and applicants alike, please give my background a read and tell me what you think. It's posted in the spoiler below.
Background:
Fate can be fickle.
Around the onset of the wet season one year was a potent storm. These storms happen every so often around this time, and this particular one occurred in the savannas outside of Cabernaum. Sporadic clusters of trees dotting the landscape there were home to tribes of Vanaras. Regarded by the more civilized races of the cities proper as primitive – and rightly so – they were treated with disdain and left alone mostly due to their skill as hunters; pelts fetched a fair price at the market, and those which curried favor with the tribes found their stalls stocked. One tribe – the Suntooths – had manes of golden hue and tales of luster to match. Tribal elders passed down legends, prophecies, and traditions from generation to generation. One notable tradition of the Suntooth tribe was that of Two Spirit (as per the native culture). The society's day-to-day business was mostly run by the matriarchs, but wise individuals thought to embody both the spirit of man and woman were often chosen to be the high shaman which made decisions of import – such as war and migration. Generally bearing no children of their own, the role of leadership was not hereditary, but instead chosen by the council of matriarchs once the current leader moved into the next world.
In the Suntooth tribe, one pair of mates – Umi and Sharifa – gave birth to a son named Harakhty during the aforementioned storm. Severe it was, and a bolt of lightning lashed out, striking the tree where the couple made their home. Umi was slain by the burst from the heavens, his mother shocked but alive. The child lived as well, but in that lash of lightning could something queer be seen; instead of the usual tan skin, a pallor shade covered Harakhty. Sharifa warded-off grieving over Umi until she was certain the child was safe the next morning. Then, as was custom, the tree-village welcomed the child with all their blessings. As the tribe raised children collectively, aside from feeding, Sharifa wept over her slain husband. Not long after Umi's pyre, Harakhty's fur began to grow, but, as his skin, something was amiss; black and white stripes of varying angles and widths enveloped his coat. Not a trace of gold could be seen.
With this development, many of the lorekeepers of the tribe regarded the child as an abomination. Superstition did not allow for coincidences easily, and the birth of a son at the death of the father was thought to be no act of chance. The council aligned a dark omen with the child's birth, a prophecy stating the years of plenty would come to an end with strife in dawn and dusk in its place. One rather learned crone – Hasina – dissented, insisting instead this act was the work of Nethys. The fur coloring matched the magical god as did the two-faced nature: destruction of the father for protection of the newborn. She believed he perhaps could be a blessing in disguise.
Sharifa began to subconsciously blame Harakhty for Umi's death, hardening her heart towards him. During his younger years, Hasina took special interest in Harakhty where his mother did not. The hag had spent some time among the cities of humans and knew more about sums and the outside world than the rest of her tribe. Harakhty absorbed the information like a sponge, though she never let on about the elders' thoughts of him. The boy was seen as a message from the gods, and though most held him in contempt, they dare not provoke the gods' wrath by slaying him – or giving him knowledge of the believed divine intervention to let Harakhty act on it. The Vanara made few friends, the fondest of which was easily a companion by the name of Naeem, nephew to the high shaman, Tumaini. While Harakhty was studious, Naeem was strong, a promising master of the hunt once he reached adulthood. The two made odd friends, each mocking the strengths and weaknesses of the other. This playful bickering allowed them to look past many of their differences.
That acceptance would be crucial as the pair reached adolescence. By this point, Harakhty had been shunned by most of his tribe and knew he was an outcast – but not why. As he'd been acclimated to this, he thought perhaps that's just the way some people were. Most of the time, his eyes held a deep sadness, and the aging Hasina took pity on him. She made him her star pupil, learning to speak common with the occasional humans which came to trade in pelts, preparing spiced meats with the techniques only she knew, and rebuffing snipes or insults from the tribe at him in Harakhty's stead when she could. The student's eyes changed to orbs of happiness around Naeem though – he was the only peer harboring no grudges against him; Naeem didn't place much stock in omens or prophecies, and he admired the uniqueness of Harakhty's stripes. As time passed, Harakhty realized his feelings for Naeem weren't just platonic. The usually timid Vanara confessed to him one day after a particularly good hunt (where his spear actually hit its mark for once). Though a little surprised, Harakhty's dispositions towards him over the years made sense with his statement to Naeem after a few moments, and being kindhearted in temperance to his powerful frame, he could not see himself rejecting his friend, leaving him to sorrow. Naeem embraced him. In the tribe's Two Spirit tradition, it was considered a great honor to be chosen by one of the dual nature, as not one soul desired you, but two. After that day, the two were nigh inseparable – and it showed. Harakhty told Hasina the next day, and she smiled knowingly. However, the admission by him meant it would be time to announce a new young shaman was among them when they moved to their own tree. It was years before the move, but it happened.
The announcement was received with outrage by the council. It was one thing to have an abomination among them by divine signal, but quite another to have such a monster advising them or, perish the thought, leading them one day. No longer were they content to sit by – they acted. While they had been caught at times between skirmishes in the wars of the land, the Suntooths took part in no side. The council's prophecy did seem to come true regarding Harakhty's birth in that regard, as the roaming armies stymied the animals the land provided for food. They knew Tumaini did not want his son as an abomination's mate, so they hatched a plot with him. A tribal meeting was called, and Tumaini stood on a small hill outside their grove as he addressed his people:
“Times are dark, and night only draws closer. Our land is ransacked by war of men, the herds growing smaller with each year. While the weather allows, we must migrate.” Soft chatter could be heard among the crowd as this had not happened in many years, but it seemed to be murmured agreement, albeit with regret. “I know this will not be easy, but years ago, that creature was born,” indicted Tumaini, his finger thrust towards the black-and-white menace. “As prophecy held, the coming of such a monster foretold the hard times which are upon us now. Bringing him with us would only curse our new home as well.” Embers burned in the crowd's voices. “Harakhty, you are exiled.” Silence took the crowd. “We leave with the dawn!”
Most of them anyway. Naeem began to shout in protest, but was blunted with the hilt of one of the sentry's spears; he'd joined the tribesguard last year, and their desertion or dissent with the high shaman was punishable by death. Only the high shaman could relieve them of duty, and Tumaini sought to use this leverage over his nephew to keep him away from dark gods' workings. Hasina saw this shallow fraud of justification for what it was and fumed. Though her body was frail, her mind was as swift as a lion. She rose her voice above the not-yet-raucous crowd.
“What of the rest of the prophecy, or have you forgotten?” She screamed. The rest of the council looked at her in surprise. “It does not end there. The stormchild will lead us to a land of peace and plenty. Are you so quick to disown your son?”
Mixed emotions took the crowed as the high shaman stared back at the old woman with daggers in his eyes. It took him a moment, but he found his response. “You know I am not a cruel man, Hasina, but I will not endanger our people. Of course I did not forget the prophecy's end.” Tumaini painstakingly turned towards a tearful Harakhty. “You … son … may return to us if you find such a land for the Suntooths. If not, you must live in trees apart, for your blight will taint us no longer.”
With that, the shaman stepped down, and tribesguards grabbed Harakhty to escort him away from the grove. Before they did so, Hasina convinced them to let her pack some things for the young man. Handing him a pack, she gave him a few words of advice. “I've taught you all I can child, though I tried to keep this quiet for as long as I could to keep the two of you safe. The tribesguards will surely hold Naeem at spearpoint until you are far gone from use.” She put her hand on Harakhty's face and brushed away some of his tears. “But there is hope. The land of Zahvroma is said to be an opportunity – it must be your opportunity. Find a way for us to live there safely and return. I'll miss you!” She gave him a long embrace. “Start your journey by heading to the great city. There, seek out a priest of Nethys and tell him of your birth and story. A quick study like you should be welcome there.” With that, the tribesguard whisked him away.
She was right. Though a bit of culture shock took him at first, Harakhty was in his element in the library at the temple. Though priests regarded his story with skepticism at first, the colors of his fur were impossible to deny and the Vanara did offer them knowledge of happenings out in the savannah – and knowledge given freely begged for knowledge given freely in return.
Harakhty nearly gave into despair in the first few nights, thinking he would never see Naeem again. The more he read though – the more it seemed a mere person could do. Magic was not a common factor in his tribe, but through study and prayer, he became able to wield some of it himself. Before too long, the church recognized him as a member, and he began to run errands in the town – errands of information discovery. Not only did he learn things for the church, but he accrued information about The Icathian Explorer's League for himself. It turned out despite his obviously alien appearance, accented common, and lack of experience with deep relationships with many people, the Vanara's native talents of the wilderness come in quite handy with finding people that didn't want to be found or staying hidden himself.
Try as he may though, he wondered if there was some special purpose Nethys had for him. Why curse him with such strained relations with his tribe? Why have him embark on this quest? Did the god of magic have a reason for taking Naeem away from him? He fondled his lion's tooth necklace his companion had given to him on the day he reached adulthood when he came to mind; it was the only memento he had. The charm gave him hope though.
It also gave him resolve. Over the next few months, the once-quiet Harakhty become more outspoken, though terse. He honed his skills in self-defense he'd lacked aptitude with in his younger days, supplementing his training with the spellcraft and technology found in the city. He began taking initiative for arrangements within the church, slowly accruing wealth he would need to strike out with the explorer's league. Before much longer, the time had come, affection and destiny calling him out into the world once more...
I haven't finished the mechanics of his profile yet, and I'd like to see if the story meets with approval (meshing both with GM and players) before proceeding. Critiques are welcome!
The Biggie: I want to be able to introduce themes that I usually can't with my usual gaming group. This is intended to be a mature game, dealing with things such as homsexuality, transgenders, torture and so on (in as tasteful a manner as possible). If you can't be (or pretend to be) open-minded about such subjects, please don't apply.
So what is Icathian society's stance on LGBT issues (and any other mature things you intend to deal with)?
So it occurs to me that since Black blade doesn't happen until level 3 this may not work the way I would've liked. What kind of rate of progression are you considering, assuming starting at level 1?
@Mark Thomas 66 - You could always say the blade was in a "dormant" state until you hit third level. That's when it awakens. Think of the RP you could write when it does. Just my two coppers.
@Mark Thomas 66 - You could always say the blade was in a "dormant" state until you hit third level. That's when it awakens. Think of the RP you could write when it does. Just my two coppers.
This is what I have done and it has worked well.
I just roleplay my blade's appearance when I use my arcane pool to augment it.
Given the item's cost, I'm going to have to say no.
@Mark Thomas 66: I forgot to state that we're starting at level 1 in my attempt to get the relevant info out there. But I think having a dormant artifact suddenly "waking up" as you're exploring this strange land would be very interesting indeed.
@Bearded Ben: I have a hard time thinking of an answer that doesn't sound like an expression of my personal beliefs, but I guess the short answer would be: homosexuals, heterosexuals and bisexuals are treated equally in Cabernaum. The church of Shelyn campaigned for equal rights over the past decade and, given the fallout from the war and other tensions, the Icathian government consented (something about having better things to do than interfere with people's private lives). So LGBs are allowed to marry, own property and such. Since the city was not reduced to smoldering rubble, most people are tolerant about it. There are a few citizens who see it as wrong, much like real life. Transgenders are marginalized, mostly because they are rare in Icathia, but they are granted some basic rights.
As far as torture, murder, rape and other rights violations, the ideal for Cabernaum is to punish such things swiftly and justly. Even with savage races, it is viewed as better to give the benfit of the doubt to the victim. Though the courts often turn a blind eye to those who cannot control their "baser instincts".
@Feral: Savage races are fine by me, but are not considered citizens nor given any rights (but they cannot be owned as slaves). Reasonable folk give them the cold shoulder in hopes that they get the message and move on, but cold-blooded murder is not unheard of. Half-orcs are commonplace and have full rights as a citizen, though some folk may still give them the stink-eye.
@Argyros: Traits are fine for anybody who wants them as long as they aren't from the same trait group. If someone doesn't, that's fine too.
@Stratos/Harakhty: Wow, that's a great backstory. *thumbs up*
So, as far as concrete characters go, I have:
Harakhty Suntooth - Vanaran Inquisitor
Argyros Amyntas (or is it Amyritas, like in your profile?) - Aasimar Fighter
Dr. Stephen Savage - Human Oracle (Too bad the first name wasn't Clark...I so wanted to call you "Doc Savage:The Archenemy of Evil")
As he meets with your approval, I will update Harakhty's mechanics in profile today. He will be more of a curious sleuth and explorer than a fighter, if other applicants are interested.
Again, feedback on the background is appreciated from all; I consider it the most important part of any character, and it is crucial to a party's members being able to work together.
From what I've read, their interests seem to be the same in discovering things, though Harakhty now has a lean towards knowledge between him and his goal; information regarding effects of Nethys, this new land of opportunity, and, most importantly, the location of Naeem will steer his interests the most.
I don't see a background for your Stephen though, so it's hard for me to say how she would mesh personality-wise.
Mechanically, they seem similar, though Harakhty does not care much for actual combat. When in it, he takes precautions to defend himself first, offense seconds. At least during hunts; he's rarely had any skirmishes with humanoids. Never has he killed one, either.
"A new assignment, a new diversion. A new land! Sure, yes, the government wants us to move there, I mean, of course, we're f~*!ed otherwise. G!$@#% war and g!!$$% politics--same g*+@~~ thing, really, except one looks more impressive (blood, guts, mud, valor, cowardice)--the old homestead is looking poorly. So! An island! Safe! Fresh resources! Away from the sort of squabbling and pissing other nations hold so dearly and we pretend not to hold so dearly.
"Ah, but is it? If THEY, you know the ones, say it is, it probably isn't. Virgin land? Sounds like dangerous native wildlife if you ask me. F@%+ing jungle wizards, snake-men, plants that seduce young girls, you know, all that sort of explorey nonsense. The truth, it's in there. The truth, that slippery eel, that elusive lay, that invisible rule. Packed my case, only bringing booze on this one ...if I'm to smoke something I'll try what the natives prefer. Can't be any worse than that last bit of goblin dust that rat bastard editor gave me. I'll f$*#ing show that fascist son of a b+@#$! Goblin dust, he thinks I'm some g#+*+& ratfolk s&~+f!@#? No! I am the pursuer of truth. MENTAL NOTE: PRETEND YOU DID NOT ALREADY RECEIVE AND THEN SPEND YOUR COMMISSION --MORE BOOZE WILL BE NECESSARY. Probably getting their by ship ...buggery, disease, nausea ...I f**#ing hate boats. Told that dictator s%%+ monkey to get me a teleport spell, can't believe he got so mad! Perhaps I did spend the money instead on a rather fine meal with that nymph (was she really a nymph? can I say I was raped then?) but that is not his concern! Getting me, the good Dr., to this Gods-forsaken s%$~hole we're supposed to swallow like geographic panacea ...that's his concern.
"He's soured my mood again! Time to see what drugs I have left."
@Suntooth: While that may not have been a write-up I think it's a fair vision of who the Dr. is. Paranoid, mistrustful of authority, ever-curious, and more than a little hedonistic. In combat he'd likely be hiding behind his shield, cursing loudly in abyssal while shooting his crossbow.
@Suntooth: While that may not have been a write-up I think it's a fair vision of who the Dr. is. Paranoid, mistrustful of authority, ever-curious, and more than a little hedonistic. In combat he'd likely be hiding behind his shield, cursing loudly in abyssal while shooting his crossbow.
Indeed. Though I did get Create Water, I don't have a Conjure Soap spell with which to wash out his mouth.
This interests me. At the moment, this character is still written up for Kingmaker, but I will re-read your world background & adjust as necessary, tomorrow.
As is likely obvious, she would be affiliated with the Green Circle.
Since I didn't have the problem with recruitment that I was expecting, I'm going to give everyone tomorrow to finish submitting characters and I'll make a decision on Saturday.
The orc named Skarr has a past that's as ugly and dangerous as he is. He doesn't remember much about his childhood, except that he fought a lot and was always hungry, but he does vividly remember being approached by the grizzled Icathian captain that started his life in the military. The old solider explained the benefits of service to the crown and with nothing to really hold him back, Skarr signed on.
Military life proved perfect for Skarr. He chafed a bit at the regimented lifestyle but the opportunity to do violence freely and several square meals a day were a better deal than he'd had his whole life. He even got close with a few of the other soldiers, knowing friendship for the first time in his life.
Things changed when he was moved under the command of a Sergeant Eli Blackwater. Blackwater was the head of an Icathian Kill Squad that took it upon themselves to handle targets and jobs the main army and its leaders couldn't or wouldn't do. Skarr's size and ferocity made him a natural fit for the unit.
At first, the change was a welcome one. Skarr found himself among warriors that could keep up with him step for step and for the first time in his life he was surrounded by folks that didn't think a thing about his savage appearance, but quickly changed. The bloodshed became more frequent and often there was no glory in it. Many times his unit was tasked with killing women and children in their sleep or weakening enemy soldiers by poisoning their water supply. Worse though, was his new peers. They were deadly and able combatants but many of them enjoyed their bloody work too much - some seemed to get a sort of physical pleasure from it.
When the orders came down from on high that his unit was to be disbanded, Skarr happily parted without a second thought. Once again alone, the orc was suddenly faced with the things he'd done and the blood on his hands. He was tormented by nightmares and would spend days on end without sleep.
Finally, he came to a resolution that helped him find some peace at least temporarily. First, he would join the Icathian Royal Guard. They were little more than mercenaries but he saw in them a sort of honor he missed when he joined Blackwater's Kill Squad. Second, he would forsake all weapons made solely for war until the blood he saw on his own hands was forgiven.
Man lives freely only by his readiness to die, if need be, at the hands of his brother, never by killing him.
Appearance:
Although city born and bred, Skarr is physically a perfect physical specimen of orc-kind. He stands seven feet tall and tips the scales at four hundred pounds, most of which is hard muscle, bristling nerve, and fiery anger. His skin is a mossy green and dark coarse hair sprouts from his head and along his body. Scars and tattoos decorate his naked flesh.
Persona:
Skarr is a creature of instinct that leaves little to the imagination. He's quiet most of the time but can quickly switch to roaring laughter or dark melancholy. He has no problems speaking his mind when prompted.
Build:
Skarr
City-Born Orc Wrestler 1
CN Medium Humanoid (orc)
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +3
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex)
hp 19 (1d12+7)
Fort +5 (+4 vs. hot or cold environments and to resist damage from suffocation), Ref +0, Will +2
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee Dagger +5 (1d4+4/19-20/x2)
. . Unarmed strike +5 (1d3+4/x2)
. . Grapple Unarmed strike +5 (1d8+6/x2)
Special Attacks Bulldog
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Statistics
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Str 18, Dex 14, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 8, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +6 (+8 Grappling); CMD 17 (19 vs. Grapple)
Feats Endurance, Improved Grapple, Improved Unarmed Strike, Toughness +3
Traits Bred for War, Indomitable Will Skills Acrobatics +2 (-2 jump), Intimidate +7, Perception +3, Swim +4 (+8 to resist nonlethal damage from exhaustion)
Languages Common, Orc
SQ Other Gear Breastplate, Dagger, Backpack (empty), Rope, Waterskin, ?? GP
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Special Abilities
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Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Endurance +4 to a variety of skill checks. Sleep in L/M armor with no fatigue.
Improved Grapple You don't provoke attacks of opportunity when grappling a foe.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Uncomfortable Strength (Ex) A wrestler’s unarmed strikes deal damage as per the monk class table. His bonus is a die size higher than the monk’s, but he applies his bonus damage only against a target he is grappling.
Crushing Grip (Ex) While using the damage option after maintaining a grapple, the wrestler deals damage 1.5x his Strength modifier damage as though he were using a two-handed weapon instead of just his Strength modifier. This also applies to wrestling techniques which use the wrestler’s unarmed damage.
Grappling Techniques (Ex) Bulldog (Double): The wrestler may declare he is using this technique after successfully maintaining a grapple. The wrestler grabs ahold of the target’s head and jumps forward (though not far enough to actually change spaces), dragging his target to the ground. The wrestler deals his unarmed damage, and the target becomes pinned.
Sorry to only post now, my laptop (or rather the windows installation) broke down yesterday morning and it took some time to get it running again.
This also leads to the character being slightly rushed so far.
Harland is the youngest son of the minor noble house Hareshunt, though by now formerly noble would probably be a more fitting description.
While Harland himself was off to the academy for the last few years, being trained as a wizard and officer, his father committed himself ever deeper in the war. His house always was rather strongly associated with the Icathian military, the younger sons usually serving at least for a few years if not for all their life, this time they would pay a great cost for their loyalty. While the countries coffers drained ever faster the government asked for ever more help from the noble houses, draining their coffers too and forcing them to press money out of their subjects. Most nobles at some point just reduced payment, but Harlands father was devote. He forced every last penny out of his peasants and even send a good dozen soldiers, almost all he had, to support the war effort. Starvation and hardship took root in Harlands small hometown and one day not so long ago the people had enough.
They rioted, burned the small, mostly unprotected castle to the ground and killed every last Harehunt they could find, which was almost all of them.
When Harland returned home after his training, all he found were smoldering ruins and a town which, while the rage had waned, didn't want to hear anything about nobility anymore, now being proudly ruled by a Council of Citizen and all. All that remained of his nobility now was a worthless name and his fathers signet ring, saved and returned to him by the old miller, one of his fathers last loyal subjects.
With nowhere else to got Harland sought to continue his career as an officer, only to find that the Military had largely dissolved and need for penniless, inexperienced noble officers was at an all time low. But he also heard that the former Royal Guard turned mercenary after loosing their employer and he is thus now trying to swear allegiance to them.
Being a city-born orc, Skarr is without a really good connection to his heritage. Beyond a couple tattoos indicating the units he served under in the military (including the infamous Kill Squad), his tattoos are largely formless designs intended to be decorative (and make himself more intimidating) rather than meaningful. He knows his people are known to have a rich tradition in connection to body art but he doesn't know much beyond that.
Skarr - Orc Wrestler
Harakhty Suntooth - Vanara Inquisitor
Dr. Stephen Savage - Human Oracle
Harland Hareshunt - Human Wizard
Aurelea - Human Magus
Aka, the many-lived - Goblin Druid
Argyros Amyntas - Aasimar Fighter
And possible characters from Davachido and Fallen_Mage
