Mokshai - You can flavour an item as self-created, but I won't let people use item creation to gain additional wealth before the start of the game. After the start of the game, expect plenty of downtime periods, sometimes a year at a time.
Eserelda - The same has happened to me before also, so I now compose everything in Word before posting here, including this post.
P33J - As long as you make it quite clear in your final character submission which character I should ignore. (And yes, I'll be checking it's an alias of the same account.)
If I missed anything needing a response, my apologies, it's been a little hectic at work today and yesterday.
Male Human Hunter 1
NG medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +3 Armor) CMD 15
HP 10 (1D8 + 2 con bonus)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +3
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft
Melee Bardiche +3, 1D10+4, 19-20 x2, S, reach
Ranged Javelin +2, 1D6+3, 20 x2, P
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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 (+1 BAB, +4 Str, +1 Dex)
Feats Combat Reflexes
Traits Bastard of House Medvyed (+1 will save), Suspicious (+1 sense motive, is a class skill)
Skills Perception +6, Stealth +6, Survival +6, Knowledge Nature +5, Climb +7, Swim +7, Handle Animal +3
Skill mods +3 sense motive
Languages Common, Taldane, Sylvan
Combat Gear Bardiche, javelins (5), club, dagger, studded leather
Other Gear Explorer’s outfit, backpack, belt pouch, spell component pouch, waterskin
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Hunter Spells Prepared
Level 1 (x2) Cure Light Wounds, Magic Fang
Level 0 (x3) Light, Guidance, Mending
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Special Abilities
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HUMAN:
Eye for Talent +2 sense motive, +2 to any stat for animal companion
Skilled +1 skill rank per level
HUNTER:
Animal Companion As per the druid power
Animal Focus Gain a buff for 1 minute / level a day. Persists all day on the animal companion. Swift action to activate or change.
Buffs: +2 strength, dexterity or constitution, +4 perception, swim and acrobatics, climb or stealth, +2 attack on AoO and AC vs AoO, +5 ft base movement speed, 10ft scent.
Nature Training Count as ranger/druid to qualify for feats that improve the animal companion
Orisons
Wild Empathy +0 on diplomacy checks to influence the attitude of animals
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Gear
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Studded leather, javelins (5), club, dagger, bardiche, spell component pouch, water skin
Money: 57 gp
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Animal Companion
Medve, Small Bear
Init +2; Senses Perception +5
Defense
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AC 17, touch 12, flat-footed 15 (+2 Dex, +3 Armor, +2 natural armor) CMD 17
HP 14 (2D8 + 2 con bonus)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1
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Offense
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Speed 40 ft
Melee Bite +5, 1D4+4, 20 x2, B, P and S
Claw (x2) +5, 1D3+4, 20 x2, B and S
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Statistics
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Str 17 (19 with animal focus), Dex 15, Con 13, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 (+1 BAB, +4 Str, +2 Dex)
Feats Light Armor Proficiency
Skills Perception +5, Survival +5
Special Low-Light Vision, Scent, Link, Share spells
Gear Studded leather
The man’s past steered him away from home when he was a young teenager. The never-ending taunts from other kids and the looks Arnulf and his mother got from the Erastilites and the fact he could never make a career because of his name; all of it made the boy want to run away. With nothing more than a backpack, a hand-axe and hunting bow he had left his home and ran off.
The teenager made it all the way down south to the Narlmarches, where no one would find him, where no one would bother him. Through a marriage of natural talent and necessity he learned how to feed himself of the land, sinking his teeth into the juicy meat of a hare on a good day, sucking on a rotting root to quench his hunger on the worst of days. On one such a bad day, Arnulf found himself staring at the forest canopy overhead and wondered why it was spinning: he had poisoned himself. The teenager woke up only to be greeted by a pounding headache. It took him a moment to notice the dry yellow leaf, rolled up into a crumpled ball, that was stuck in one corner of his mouth. It filled his mouth with taste so disgusting that he involuntarily gagged, spitting out the remains of the leaf. The voice of an old man reached him then, repeatedly saying “don’t!” as strong hands pushed him back against the bed. “Here, bite on this, then sleep.” Another leaf was brought to his lips, but this one smelled ever so sweet, like cinnamon. That was his first encounter with Erickos Graun, a devotee of the Green Faith, who lived in the hollowed out trunk of a giant oak.
The elderly druid had lost most of his sight and knew that now was his last chance to tutor a student. He took the boy under his wings and taught him everything he knew: how to hunt, how to treat nature and how to become one with it. But Arnulf lacked the connection to the land that he as a druid had, and no matter how much they tried, the connection could not be made. The boy missed a sense of calmth and if anything, had the desire to tame his urges and desires, not listen to them and let them be. He could not find serenity. Still, Erickos taught him everything he knew and was most pleased to see his student be able to befriend animals, taking a young bear into his care that had lost its mother, and channel the gift of nature in the most simple of spells.
But as Arnulf entered the spring of his life, so did Erickos enter his autumn. The man now needed help getting out of bed in the mornings and if Arnulf didn’t help with the cooking, every meal would be a surprise. It was this very cooking that brought doom upon the student and master. A small group of bandits, having fled a Restov border patrol after plundering a couple of farmsteads, stumbled upon the area and followed the trail that Arnulf’s cooking laid out for them: the delicious scent of rabbit stew. The four men and a single woman waited until nightfall, taking no risks, and sneaked to the entrance before storming the door. It wasn’t locked and they poured into the small room, holding the rising figures of Arnulf and Erickos at swordpoint, who realized they had woken up to a nightmare. Erickos was enraged, showing an anger Arnulf had never seen, and threatened to destroy the men. He claimed to wield the power of the wilds. They laughed, and the man who must have been their leader told Erickos to shut up or he’d make him. What happened next would be etched into his mind forever. The shape of the man blurred and arms turned into paws, nose into a snout. A bear the size of an ogre roared at his assailants. Immediately one bandit fled while the other four started to stab and hack at the druid. The leader managed to get away while Erickos mangled the remaining three, but managed to get in a parting shot. The black-feathered shaft left behind a nasty wound – the arrow was covered with poison. Everywhere the bear was riddled with cuts and punctures. The form shifted into that of Erickos and he fell onto the ground, his lifeless body laying amongst the wreckage of the three dead bandits. Arnulf’s life was in shatters.
The wild had taken care of him, but now civilization had reared its ugly head once more to ruin his life. Arnulf did not understand the final lesson of Erickos, that the old would always give their lives to defend the young, and couldn’t swallow the pebble of hate that was stuck in his throat. Erickos had been a good man. Doing the only thing that seemed logical, Arnulf buried Erickos under the foot of the oak that had been his home and then packed his stuff and left. To the borderlands of Brevoy to find a new home and protect those who needed protection.
And soon after an opportunity came by that Arnulf could not refuse. The Swordlords of Restov were looking for capable individuals to remove the scourge of banditry from the Stolen Lands. The exploration part of the mission was a side note for Arnulf. For once he used his last name, knowing well the political weight it carried: the swordlords would love having a spiteful bastard serving them and if he passed away, well, they might be rewarded for getting rid of someone else’s problem.
Broad like a bear and strong as an ox, the golden haired Brevoyan looks at the world through dark almond eyes. It’s obvious that he carries a burden with him, but a bundle of life and joy follows him in the form a small black bear. The wild clings to the man and whenever he isn’t close to nature, the man’s unease is palpable. Leaves and twigs decorate his hair, giving the impression of a druid or ranger or someon raised by wild elves. He carries with him a fiercesome bardiche and has a javelin bag slung around his shoulders, keeping five well-maintained throwing spears ever at the ready. Both the man and bear are clad in rough studded leathers: whatever their occupation is, they seem to be prepared for trouble.
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Personality
Reserved, gloomy, driven, teamplayer, opens up when drinking alcohol – awkward in large groups of people, but talkative when with just a handful of people.
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Personalia
Age 22
Height 6”
Weight 160 lbs
Hair Golden flax
Eyes Almond brown
Special A black-feathered tail end of an arrow hangs like a talisman around his neck.
Born Duchy of Medvyed
Home Narlmarches
Mentor Erickos Graun
Goals
Immediate: Find the ones responsible for killing his mentor, Erickos Graun
Future: Rid the Narlmarches and its surroundings of the bandit plague
Dream To be known for his deeds, not his last name
Fear Social gatherings involving many strangers
Like The serenity of the great outdoors, where it is you versus the elements
Dislike Social straight-jackets, an example being fashion
[i]“Arnulf Juniper! Please step forward.”[i] Fingertips roamed over the coarse paper that he now held in his hands. He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t get his head around the fact that he had been chosen – nay, honored, to be part of the expedition to rid the Stolen Lands of the bandit scourge. Sure, fine, the mission was to be one of exploration, but Arnulf knew they’d run into bandits and brigands at some point. The desire for revenge burned like a hunger inside him and the news of being chosen caused it to be overwhelming. Somehow it made Arnulf smile and be in a good mood. If only he knew how Erickos would have disapproved of that, but so is the folly of the young.
The man patted his companion, scratching the back of the bear’s neck as he talked to him, “We’re going to bring justice to those who harmed Uncle Erik, Medve. And after that, we’ll visit his grave and tell him how much we miss him. You do miss him, don’t you? I sure do. He was the closest thing I’ve had to a father. Everyday he’d be there for me, no questions asked. Without him I’d have died there in the forest, choked on my own bile because I was dumb enough to suck on a poisonous root. What idiot would do that, right? Well, that idiot would be me. By Asmodeus’ burning balls, without Erik I’d have never been able to bond with you.” A sense of melancholy then assaulted Arnulf and he sat down to hug Medve, realizing how much he owes the man and how he would never be able to give anything back in return. Because Erickos was gone forever.
edit - fixed the lay-out of the text .. ugh, the formatting on the forums is horrible when copy-pasta'ing from Word :x
Yeah Ill be doing that from now on. -.-
Just wanted to confirm that. Was holding off on weapons, and armour until you responded. Will finish him off, and submit in a bit.
Samy - as long as the additional traits selected are from an approved source, and from different lists as required by the feat. (ie, no taking two campaign traits, or two religion traits. And as a quick reminder, if taking a religion trait, you only gain the benefit while a member of that faith.)
RPG Superstar 2009 Top 32
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Ok, no time for crunch today - so here is the character
Description:
The heavily muscled woman projects carefully-cultivated menace, from her studded leather armor, the visible dagger-sheaths up to the battle-ready cropped hair. Even without her heavier armaments, there is no mistaking the half-orc for anything but a brute.
Anyone sparing a closer look, who happens to be familiar with the subject of halfbreeds notices tribal scarring on her cheek indicating membership in the Bleeding Eye orc clan.
Background:
Margt was, unlike many of her kind, not born to a human mother. Instead, she was born and raised among the Bleeding Eyes, one of the countless small warbands infesting the River Kingdoms. Her mother, Korth, never educated the whelp about how she came to be, but she figured that if the orcs would rape, so would their human enemies. Not that it mattered much to her, given the constant struggle for surival she was exposed to.
Orc youths mature faster than even their halfbreed cousins, and consequently, she was behind in almost everything. Her mother, for reasons of her own, kept her alive through the worst of it. That she displayed higher intellect only drove the physical superiority of the other youths home even harder. She rarely was without at least two or three minor injuries. Yet the school or hard knocks left her a competent woodsmen at a young age.
She survived by strokes of luck and low cunning for over a decade until her fortunes started to turn. The chief of their warband, Karmt Half-eye had an eye for talent, and her better grasp of higher reason and excellent eye for opportunity were obvious by then. So he decided to use her. Not by granting her any formal position of power - that was for the shaman. She joined his harem as a sixth wife.
This arrangement lasted only a year. Half-eye was a competent chief, but he also was growing older and less bloodthirsty. While being more cagey and less aggressive improved the fortunes of the clan, it meant the end of him when his son usurped him. He had no use for Margt, and escaped with the clothes on her back. After a month of travelling alone, she fell in with a group of bandits raiding the southern fringes of Rostland.
As with many raiders, their exploits ended when they graduated from nuisance to actual threat. Margt was one of the first captured, and sold out the sorry lot of them for escaping the gallows. She was sentenced to two years of hard labor.
Prison breaks a lot of its inhabitants, but Margt never cracked. She rose early, worked the quarry until she collapsed on her cot, exhausted. Yet interestingly enough, she not only made acquaintances with other prisoners, but more importantly, with the guards as well. Briefly even fancied herself in love, before discarding the idea as ridiculous. When the tame for her release came, she and the warden, Captain Donnale, had become good friends.
Donnale attempted to make a place for her in the Restov town guard, but even his pull was not enough to crate that space - not with her just released, with her being a half-blood and any number of reasons. So instead, he did the best he could - offer her one opportunity, make or break.
Roleplay example:
Margt had always though of Jales Donnale as a calm men. Brutally honest, but calm. She was all the more surprised when she saw him nearly spitting with rage. "What good is a captaincy these days, if I cannot even get one person into the watch?" he proclaimed, his steel-grey eyes nailing Margt to the wall.
She did not flinch. Despite being a guest to the captain for these last few days, being dependant on his good graces for almost everything, her red-tinged eyes met his. The contest of wills lasted for a second. It lingered barely enough to be noticable - but she won. The man lowered his eyes. They will not have me, then she remarked. The Taldane was still thick with gutural sounds. There was no surprise in her - she had expected this to be futile from the beginning.
No, they will not have you The captain responded, the anger leaving him. I argued and threatened, but in the end, I could not force my way He breathed deeply, and something inside Margt tensed. She had staid too long already. Jales' wife hated her, and she could not blame the woman. The children feared her, and had not spoken a word to her in the three weeks she had now staid in the guest rooms. Yet just as she was about to announce her decision to again strike out on her own, the captain tossed a crumbled scroll at her. This is the best I could do. I won't lie to you, it is a fools errant. The major thinks he can bring the Greenbelt to heel with some wet-behind-the-ears adventurers. The marshal wants someone who knows the area with them, and he wants me quiet too. Now prove I didn't teach you letters for nothing and read the damnable thing
Margt unrolled the parchment, and smirked. That would do.
Desired Kingdom Role:
+ Warden, Royal Assassin, Marshall (in order of preference)
Well, here is my updated submission.
Thomas Leafbearer, was born of a human mother, and an elven father.
From a young age by his dads side, he learned the smithing trade.
When he reached the age of 16, he joined the church of Iomedae, to help protect his family, and friends.
Soon after he was inducted into the church he continued the art of blacksmithing, putting it to use for the churches brethern.
He was tasked by the church to help tame the lands around Restov, and do what was needed, so he was provided a horse from the church, and thus he arrived in Restov.
Ultimate desired role, Treasurer
“Good lady, I am honoured by your trust in me. I will endeavour to live up to the faith that you have put into me.”
Thomas Leafbearer
Male Half-elf Cleric 1
LN medium humanoid
Init 0 Senses Low-Light Vision Listen +5 Spot +5
DEFENSE
AC 13, touch 10, flat-footed 13
hp 9
Fort 3 ,Ref 0 ,Will 4
OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft
Space 5 Reach 5
STATISTICS
STR 14 DEX 10 CON 12 INT 15 WIS 15 CHA 10
Base Atk 0 Grp20
Feats Combat Casting
Traits, Magical Knack Cleric, Pioneer (Perception)
Skills Alchemy +6, Armour +6, Weapons +6, Knowledge (religion) +6, Spellcraft +6, Alchemy +6, Armour +6, Weapons +6
Languages Elven, Common, Draconic, Celestial
Gear Longsword, Sling, Morningstar, Dagger, Kit - Cleric's , Kit - Dungeoneering, Kit - Cooking (AA), Kit - Grooming , Kit - Gear Maintenance, Kit - Scrivener’s, Kit - Riding, Acid (flask) (2), Artisan's Tools - common, Explorer's outfit, Light Riding Horse (From Pioneer Trait)
Finished! Yay! I think this one is better than the one I wrote last night, so Im not that upset! Hope you enjoy my unorthadox character!
Esmerelda
Human (Varisian) Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 38; Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 0)
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +5; Senses Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +4
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +2 (1d4+2/19-20)
Ranged longbow +3 (1d8/×3)
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +3):
. . 1st (2/day)—bless, magic weapon
. . 0 (at will)—brand (DC 12), detect magic, guidance, virtue
. . Domain Spellkiller Inquisition
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 17, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 15
Feats Disruptive, Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Traits Reactionary, Noble Born: You gain one of the following languages as a bonus language: Dwarven, Elven, Hallit, Gnome, Giant, Halfling, Skald, or Sylvan. Your family motto is “Success through Grace.”
Skills Acrobatics +3, Bluff +3, Craft (sculpture) +5, Diplomacy +3, Intimidate +4, Knowledge (religion) +5, Perception +6, Sense Motive +7, Survival +6
Languages Common, Sylvan, Varisian, Elven
SQ judgement 1/day, spellkiller, stern gaze, strong-willed
Other Gear studded leather, dagger, longbow, artisan's tools, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, earplugs, wooden holy symbol (Shelyn), silk rope (50 ft.), torch (3), trail rations (5), waterskin, 25 gp, 3 sp, 4 cp
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Special Abilities
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Disruptive +4 DC to cast defensively for those you threaten.
Earplugs +2 save vs. hearing effects, -5 hearing-based Perception.
Inquisitor (Spellbreaker) Domain (Spellkiller Inquisition) Deities: Any (with GM approval).
Granted Powers: You gain the Disruptive feat as a bonus feat (even if you do not meet the prerequisites).
Judgement (1/day) (Su) Variable bonuses increase as the combat continues.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee.
Spellkiller (+2 Sacred, DC 12) After defeating enemy, gain +2 sacred bonus to AC for 1 minutes. End the effect when hitting an arcane spellcaster to stagger your opponent.
Strong-Willed (Ex) At 1st level, a spellbreaker is able to stand strong against magical effects that seek to control, compel, or persuade her. The spellbreaker rolls twice and takes the best result when making a Will saving throw against a mind-affecting effect.
Esmerelda stands about 4’10” tall. Though small in stature, she is confident and walks with her head held high. Her skin is a honey-hue; her hair is long and braided with every color ranging from vibrant red to soothing blue. She always has a calm smile on her face and her demeanor is a peaceful one. Her armor and skin are painted with nothing but the finest pigments. Her armor is repainted once a month to embody a place she has been and her skin is done daily as she prays to her goddess Shelyn. Always done in intricate designs, the paints also use the entire color spectrum.
Esmerelda’s family was one of noble stature; her mother was an artist (mainly sculpting), her father an architect. They were very good at what they did; Esmerelda wanted for nothing. She was a happy girl, always prone to wander off and come back with supplies to make art with like stones, wood, and clay she would make with her own hands. Her parents, being worshipers of Shelyn, saw their daughters passion to make art and sent her to study with the priests and clerics down in Varisia proper.
The moment she arrived, she felt at home. The clerics and priests taught her the way to worship Shelyn in all manners of beauty. After about 4 years, she had taught herself how to make art with a bow; to make music with a dagger. She had always wanted to travel, and though her goddess is one of peace, there are some out there who do not agree in Shelyn’s teachings. She vowed to herself to protect all things Shelyn finds precious; love, life, and art. Those who try to destroy these will be firmly asked to rethink their actions, for all life is beautiful and all those who are alive have some sort of love for beauty. If there is no changing their mind, then Esmerelda must do whats necessary to protect the beauty and safety of her goddesses tenants.
Esmerelda became restless after a few more years, so she made her way east along the continent. She came to realise that she needed to bring the knowledge of Shelyn to all and to try and help those who have fallen to see the beauty of life and love again. This brought her, at long last, to Restov, where she truly began her duties as an inquisitor of Shelyn. She would sing to those in the courtyard, make small trinkets for those around the city, and teach archery to those who were interested in learning the art and beauty of it, not just the practical usage.
One day while as she was working for Shelyn’s glory in the plaza, a representative of the Swordlords handed her a roll of parchment. As she read it, her eyes lit up. This was a chance to make something new, a big something new that many people would eventually come and see! She gladly accepted and began to gear herself for the scouting expedition.
Esmerelda was confidently working in the town square. All she needed was a few small chisels and the right piece of stone and she was ready to create whatever came to mind. It was the morning hours, her time to be with Shelyn and to honor her name. As she carved, she hummed a quiet, gentle hymn to Shelyn. Her sculpture was just beginning to take shape when a man appeared out of nowhere.
”The Swordlords ask your help. Take this charter please and report your decision ASAP.”
Esmerelda smiled. ”Thank you, sir. May Shelyn’s blessings be upon you.” She took out a small flower and handed it to the man. He smiled and walked away, though down the road she watched him toss the flower aside. ’Oh well… I will work on him later in the week. So many people need to learn to respect beauty and love!’
Almost forgetting about the parchment, she opened it and began to read. A larger smile creeped over her face. This was perfect! This is why Shelyn sent her here! To boldly go where no one has gone before! How wonderful! ’I will go there once my worship is over! Tell them straight away!’
Though she was very excited, she took her time; art is never to be rushed. Once finished, she left the small sculpture there, with a small note to the person who finds it, and ran to accept the charter. She had never been so excited!
Counsilor, High Priest, Treasurer
Submitting poor Moira, who made it into a Kingmaker campaign that died like a week after starting. Poor thing.
Female Human (Taldan) Wizard 1
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +4
Defense
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex)
hp 7 (1d6+1)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +3
Offense
Speed 30 ft.
Melee quarterstaff -1 (1d6-1)
Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +6):
1st—silent image (DC 16) [S], color spray (DC 16), mount
0 (at will)—acid splash, detect magic, prestidigitation
Statistics
Str 9, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 12
Feats Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (illusion), Spell Specialization (silent image)
Traits arcane temper, noble born - orlovsky
Skills Diplomacy +6, Knowledge (arcana) +8, Knowledge (geography) +8, Knowledge (history) +8, Knowledge (local) +8, Knowledge (nobility) +8, Perception +4, Sense Motive +4, Spellcraft +8
Languages Common, Draconic, Gnoll, Orc, Sylvan
SQ arcane bonds (arcane bond [familiar]), extended illusions, opposition schools (enchantment, necromancy), specialized schools (shadow)
Gear quarterstaff, acid flask, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, familiar satchel, ink, black, inkpen, soap, spell component pouch, spellbook, trail rations (5), waterskin, 95 gp, 1 sp
Graduating from under Master Cairsson's tutelage, Moira moved back to Eagle's Watch, but felt uncomfortable. She'd been called a noble for her entire life, but never felt as if she were one. Living in New Stetven during her training had only reinforced those feelings as she was able to openly see how the ruling family lived on occasion. Learning of an expedition into the Stolen Lands, she has decided to see if she is worthy of her "noble" lineage, and perhaps carve a name out for herself, as well.
Moira is often well-spoken and chooses carefully before deciding on a course of action. She tries to weigh all of her options if possible. She is compassionate and caring of those less fortunate than herself. She holds to her word and places the lives of her friends and family high.
She takes a deep breath, merriment playing in her eyes, ecstatic to finally have arrived in Restov, "I could definitely use a warm bath after that gruesome road. Might you have a room open? I do apologize for the short notice, but I just recently arrived, and with no opportunity to make plans beforehand," she mutters apologetically while a small thrush cleans its feather on her shoulder.
Updated the list, let me know if anyone is missing or if I put your character under an unsuitable or incorrect heading.
Martial
Ary Bishop LG Human F Ranger
Lucius Baradain NG Human M Fighter
Malak Niitei N Half-Orc M Ranger
Lothar von Junigar NG Human M Fighter (Swordlord)
Ralph Flannigan CN Human M Slayer
Wreck NG Half-Orc M Fighter
Sikandir NG Human (Garundi) M Cavalier
Altain Kerranhert LG Human M Paladin of Iomedae
Arnulf Juniper NG Human M Hunter
Divine
Durielle Omenstar CG Elven F Oracle of Time (Seer)
Paza NG Human F Druid (Feral Child)
Aldarion the Sage NG Half-Elf M Druid (Treesinger)
Thomas Leafbearer LN Half-Elf M Cleric of Iomedae
Arcane
Borem Falnotas CG Halfling M Master Summoner
Geliglee Geerwander CG Gnome M Wizard (Shadow)
Moira de’Karne NG Human F Wizard
Skilled
Bartholomew Grimtongue CG Gnome M Bard
Quellina Esstanov LN Human F Inquisitor of Tanagaar
Ahto Uhlrych LN Human M Inquisitor (Sin Eater) of Abadar
Kira Holt CG Human F Bard
Esmerelda NG Human F Inquisitor of Shelyn
Too much time on my hands right now... so here is a breakdown for the 21 applicants so far:
Divine: 4
Arcane: 3
Skilled: 5
Half-Orc: 2
Dwarf: 0
Elf: 1
Half-Elf: 2
Halfling: 1
Gnome: 2
Female: 7
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I hope I am not too late to apply. I humbly present Liza, a ranger form the edge of the stoden lands.
Liza carefully bushes the dust and dirt from her clothes once again.
Why me? I don't understand. I was just helping with the hunting, nothing much. When the Lady's horse took off in fear, well I couldn't just let her die, could I? I didn't think what I did was all that much!
She looks at the charter again.
"Are you sure you want to give this to me. I am sure there are many others more deserving than me."
Liza bushes her clothes again, self-conscious of how gruby her clothes. She just wasn't given time to clean up after the horse race. The scribe smiled at her "I don't believe the regent makes mistakes do you?" he asks as he gazes at the women standing before him.
"But if you don't want it..." he held his hand out expectantly.
Liza looks at the paper in her hand then at the hand held out in her direction.
"I do believe I will keep this. Thanks! She turns briskly hoping to leave before someone changes their mind and tries to take the charter back.
Lol WTG Lucius. That is an awesome list!
I liked the list better when Durielle was the only one in the Divine category (since Paza was initially overlooked). :P
But indeed Lucius, your list will certainly be of use to the GM when it comes time for the decision making.
It's going to be tough. I really like that you hyperlinked all the applicants. Now I can study the competition and think how I could have done things differently.
Thank you for the list, Lucius, though there is actually one other important attribute worth sorting by: campaign trait! No worries though. When noon on Friday comes around, I'll be compiling everyone into an Excel spreadsheet, so I can rate everyone more effectively. (7 for background, 9 for roleplay, etc)
Anything more you need regarding my submission, Inneliese? I know my RP about Durielle's acceptance of the charter was kind of oblique. If you need something a little more specific, please let me know.
Finally finished! The history's much shorter than I intended, and I've got more information in my mind that I'll continue to work on and hopefully have available. For now, though, I present once more Avaru Zandoleski. Everything's in the profile, and I've got the new information posted below.
It was one of these failed jobs that led to Avaru finding himself in an impromptu duel with one of his marks, a Brevic mage-duelist who was traveling Avistan in training before joining the Aldori Swordlords. Amused and impressed by the young man's talent and sharp mind, the duelist all but kidnapped young Avaru--who had given up hope of staing with his family, as they'd grown tired of his failures--taking him along on his journey back to Brevoy.
Throughout these travels, Avaru trained with the duelist, both in swordplay and in magic, for whch he showed some aptitude. He also learned of his new master's homeland, and though his mind absorbed the details on some level, his rash personality displayed no care for such political schemes. Only in the thrill of the fight did Avaru shine, his agility and speed making him a natural fencer.
Upon their arrival in Restov, Avaru's master claimed his place among the Swordlords, and Avaru continued his studies. It soon became clear, however, that the impetuous youth couldn't remain in this setting, as he devoted himself to nothing more than combat and magic. After starting one too many duels over perceived slights, Avaru was taken aside by his former teacher and handed a Charter to head south and explore the Greenbelt, supposedly to continue his practical training. Of course, should he learn some self-control and return a better man, that would be excellent--and should he fall to the forests, on a practical note, it would be a natural way of weeding out the weak.
Steel cleared steel and blades flashed from scabbards in the Restov yard as the fencers drew their swords. Then they swept toward one another, blades extended.
The taller man went on the offensive, lunging forward with his blade. Parry, quarte. The sword crossed over, slapping away the extended blade aiming for his left shoulder. The attacker responded with a second slash, coming at the opposite side, spinning the sword with the momentum from the first parry. Sixte. The sword came back and caught the other sword again. A third, weaker slice came at his head. Disengage.
Avaru Zandoleski ducked his head and stepped back swiftly, bringing his sword up reflexively to block any incoming attacks. But his master, the new Swordlord Lucien Aldori, was also stepping back, raising his sword. The two squared off on the yard's piste, prepared for another pass.
After a split second, Avaru acted. Lead with Iobari's Assault. He quickstepped once, twice, then spun quickly and jumped forward with a flunge, a slashing, leaping attack aimed at Lucien's right shoulder. But the older fencer brought his blade up quickly, flicking Avaru's to the side and bringing it forward with a riposte. Quickly adjusting his feet, Avaru leaned dangerously to the side, narrowly ducking the attack. He and his master spun, trading sides on the strip, and they stepped back once more.
Bringing his sword up, Avaru gripped it in his second hand, holding it out parallel to the ground. Hazashami's Defense. The stance enabled him to quickly react to any attack--proving useful, as Lucien feinted high as he came in quickly. His attack started with a short lunge, his arm barely half-extended, but then he performed a prise de fer, subtly altering the line of his strike so his blade slid upward along Avaru's, driving at his collar. As the Varisian leaned back, the Swordlord entered a remise, suddenly extending his arm and pressing the assault without withdrawing. The move once again caught Avaru off-guard, and he stumbled back and fell.
Working quickly, Avaru brought his sword back and forth several times, only once deflecting a half-hearted attack, as he jumped back to his feet. Lucien grinned, and that was the last straw for his student.
Avaru started with a ballestra, stamping his back foot and taking a short hop forward, which kicked him off into a full flèche, launching himself at his teacher with a fully extended arm. He sprinted forward, bringing the blade across and turning to strike as he passed, intending to dash by and avoid an attack--
Lucien's sword dipped at the last moment, and Avaru glanced down just in time to see it catch between his legs. Without time to think or react, he sprawled forward, landing heavily on the dirt strip of the yard, his sword jostled from his hand as the side of his head collided with the ground. He blinked, tried to clear the daze, reached for his sword, and spun to see Lucien's blade pointed at his nose.
"Yield?" The Swordlord grinned again. Avaru glared, but then his shoulders sagged and he nodded. Lucien extended a hand and helped him to his feet, and they both sheathed their swords.
"That was a poor victory. I taught you better, Zandoleski." Lucien frowned now, his eyes disappointed. "A fencer half your age should have seen the folly of a drive like that." He shook his head, not giving Avaru time to protest. "You've skill, Avaru, and your studies of the arcane have come along nicely as well. But you're rash. You have no control. You overextend in every strike, slash too wide, leave yourself open. And you start too many fights."
Avaru opened his mouth but Lucien swept his hand and uttered an eldritch word. Avaru recognized the spell but could do nothing as he felt a ringing slap cuff his ear. He clenched his jaw, not wanting to show weakness. His master stared at him for a moment, and then drew a scroll tube from his belt and handed it out. Avaru took it and opened it, unrolling and reading the parchment inside.
"It's a Charter," Lucien said, his tone blunt. "You're being commissioned to go explore the Greenbelt. You'll get training, and maybe learn a thing or two about actually surviving a fight instead of just winning one."
Avaru looked over the Charter and nodded. When he raised his head, his eyes were filled with a fierce determination, a rise to the challenge that showed before every bout, every duel, every new spellcasting. "When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow morning. I've purchased some gear for you, including a horse. You'll ride to Oleg's Trading Post--you know where that is, I trust? Good--and from there it's up to you. Explore. Learn. Fight. And don't come back until you're good enough and smart enough to be a real duelist. Understood?"
Avaru looked down to the sword at his belt. For years, he'd trained. For years, he'd fought, thinking he'd found a place he belonged, far from Korvosa. But he had a fight before him still, more to prove of himself. He tightened his belt and nodded.
"I'll do it."
Quick question. I know Inner Sea World Guide is a Hardback but I was just wanting to make sure if you were allowing stuff from it.
It's the final countdown... ^^
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*guitar solo*
Crap, probably not going to get my background in on time then...
Märche Novak - And also Inner Sea Gods. I can't think of anything relevant from Rise of the Runelords Anniversary Edition, but that would be a valid source too.
Altain Kerranheart - 29 hours left right now.
Thankies :3 should have a completed character done in a bit.
*pokes Esmerelda*
*pokes Liza*
*pokes Aldarion*
Eep! What? :D ahh! Neverhome!
:3
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RPG Superstar 2009 Top 32
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Now with crunchy bits, I present to you... Margt:
Stats:
Female Half-Orc Ranger 1
N medium humanoid (human, orc)
Init +1; Senses darkvision 60'; Perception +2
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13
hp 11
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +2
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee: Greataxe +4 (1d12+4)
Ranged: Shortbow +1 (1d6) OR Dagger +1 (1d4)
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Statistics
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Str 18, Dex 12, Con 13, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +1; CMD 10
Feats: Power Attack
Special abilities: Favored Enemy: Humanoid (human) +2, Track, Wild Empathy, Intimidating, Orc Ferocity, Weapon Familiarity
Skills: Handle Animal (Cha) +4, Heal (Wis) +6, Intimidate (Cha) +4, Perception (Wis) +6, Survival (Wis) +6, Swim (Str) +8
Traits: Brigand, Scrapper (UC)
Posessions: Studded leather armor, Greataxe, 5 Daggers, Shortbow, 60 arrows, Poition of CLW, 9 GP
Description:
The heavily muscled woman projects carefully-cultivated menace, from her studded leather armor, the visible dagger-sheaths up to the battle-ready cropped hair. Even without her heavier armaments, there is no mistaking the half-orc for anything but a brute.
Anyone sparing a closer look, who happens to be familiar with the subject of halfbreeds notices tribal scarring on her cheek indicating membership in the Bleeding Eye orc clan.
Background:
Margt was, unlike many of her kind, not born to a human mother. Instead, she was born and raised among the Bleeding Eyes, one of the countless small warbands infesting the River Kingdoms. Her mother, Korth, never educated the whelp about how she came to be, but she figured that if the orcs would rape, so would their human enemies. Not that it mattered much to her, given the constant struggle for surival she was exposed to.
Orc youths mature faster than even their halfbreed cousins, and consequently, she was behind in almost everything. Her mother, for reasons of her own, kept her alive through the worst of it. That she displayed higher intellect only drove the physical superiority of the other youths home even harder. She rarely was without at least two or three minor injuries. Yet the school or hard knocks left her a competent woodsmen at a young age.
She survived by strokes of luck and low cunning for over a decade until her fortunes started to turn. The chief of their warband, Karmt Half-eye had an eye for talent, and her better grasp of higher reason and excellent eye for opportunity were obvious by then. So he decided to use her. Not by granting her any formal position of power - that was for the shaman. She joined his harem as a sixth wife.
This arrangement lasted only a year. Half-eye was a competent chief, but he also was growing older and less bloodthirsty. While being more cagey and less aggressive improved the fortunes of the clan, it meant the end of him when his son usurped him. He had no use for Margt, and escaped with the clothes on her back. After a month of travelling alone, she fell in with a group of bandits raiding the southern fringes of Rostland.
As with many raiders, their exploits ended when they graduated from nuisance to actual threat. Margt was one of the first captured, and sold out the sorry lot of them for escaping the gallows. She was sentenced to two years of hard labor.
Prison breaks a lot of its inhabitants, but Margt never cracked. She rose early, worked the quarry until she collapsed on her cot, exhausted. Yet interestingly enough, she not only made acquaintances with other prisoners, but more importantly, with the guards as well. Briefly even fancied herself in love, before discarding the idea as ridiculous. When the tame for her release came, she and the warden, Captain Donnale, had become good friends.
Donnale attempted to make a place for her in the Restov town guard, but even his pull was not enough to crate that space - not with her just released, with her being a half-blood and any number of reasons. So instead, he did the best he could - offer her one opportunity, make or break.
Roleplay example:
Margt had always though of Jales Donnale as a calm men. Brutally honest, but calm. She was all the more surprised when she saw him nearly spitting with rage. "What good is a captaincy these days, if I cannot even get one person into the watch?" he proclaimed, his steel-grey eyes nailing Margt to the wall.
She did not flinch. Despite being a guest to the captain for these last few days, being dependant on his good graces for almost everything, her red-tinged eyes met his. The contest of wills lasted for a second. It lingered barely enough to be noticable - but she won. The man lowered his eyes. They will not have me, then she remarked. The Taldane was still thick with gutural sounds. There was no surprise in her - she had expected this to be futile from the beginning.
No, they will not have you The captain responded, the anger leaving him. I argued and threatened, but in the end, I could not force my way He breathed deeply, and something inside Margt tensed. She had staid too long already. Jales' wife hated her, and she could not blame the woman. The children feared her, and had not spoken a word to her in the three weeks she had now staid in the guest rooms. Yet just as she was about to announce her decision to again strike out on her own, the captain tossed a crumbled scroll at her. This is the best I could do. I won't lie to you, it is a fools errant. The major thinks he can bring the Greenbelt to heel with some wet-behind-the-ears adventurers. The marshal wants someone who knows the area with them, and he wants me quiet too. Now prove I didn't teach you letters for nothing and read the damnable thing
Margt unrolled the parchment, and smirked. That would do.
Desired Kingdom Role:
+ Warden, Royal Assassin, Marshall (in order of preference)
position he would go for is the Councilor
Dominick spent most of the day gathering thing what little supplies he would need to make it to his first stop of the long journey ahead of him so he could leave at sunrise the next morning just as he gather all his supplies and double checking his mentor and teacher grand master Ambrose came to his room
grand master Ambrose: Dominick my pupil i know you are leaving the monastery to take a journey why are you acting shady about it?
Dominick: i'am sorry grand master but i feel that staying here will not be the punishment Sarenrae has willed for me i need to set out to help others that follow in the path i was going down all those years ago
grand master Ambrose: Dominick Sarenrae has forgiven u only now do u have to seek forgiveness of your soul but i will let you go and it will do your soul good to be away from you past so you can come to peace with your self i bless you take this journal and keep records of you travels your travels
Dominick thank you grand master i will not disappoint you or this monastery as for my punishment have you not said Sarenrae forgiveness is two fold one own soul and her blessing so with out both being in harmony you are not truly forgiven so i will travel and burden my self till i have obtained true forgiveness
Dominick says his good byes to his friends and family
dawn comes and he sets out for restov with the monastery line up to see him off on his journey
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Thanks Inneliee, this is P33J final character submission. Pyotr Orlovsky Warrior of the Holy Light (Paladin), servant of Abadar
Human (dual-talented) Paladin of Abadar (Warrior of the Holy Light) 1
LG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +5
DEFENSE
AC 15 T 10 FF 15 (+5 Armor)
hp 11 (1d10+1)
Fort +4; Ref +0, Will +2
OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee great sword +5 (1d8+6/19-20)
Rangedlight crossbow +1 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks smite evil 1/day (+3 attack and AC, +1 damage)
Paladin Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +4)
At will—detect evil
STATISTICS
Str 18, Dex 10, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 16
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 16
Feats Noble Scion: Scion of War - +1 to Know Nobility and it’s always a class skill; Use CHA in place of DEX for determining Init
Skills Diplomacy +8, Know Nobility +6, Know Religion +5, Perception +5
LanguagesTaldane, Hallit
SQ aura, code of conduct
Combat Gear great sword, light crossbow, 10 bolts, Scale Mail, dagger; Other paladin’s kit
Traits Eyes and Ears of the City (Religion Worship of Abadar) +1 Trait Bonus to Perception or Sense Motive and it becomes a Class Skill, Noble Born House Orlovsky +1 CMD and add +1 to choice of Acrobatics, Bluff, Diplomacy, or Stealth
Yet what stood out more than his physical appearance, was the way he carried himself. There was almost a predatory aura of aloofness. As if this were a wolf walking amongst sheep. His square chin rose slightly than the average man, as he cut through the throng in a straight line. Never once did he move to make way as he strode across the courtyard. Though he did pause, ever so slightly when a small child ran through his path, nodding knowingly to her elder sibling who chased exasperatedly after.
And molded he was. At age four, young Pyotr was entrusted into the care of Abadaran Priest Nikolai Byreshnev. Byreshnev tutored Pyotr diligently, teaching him first how to read and write then immediately introducing him to the books of law. Pyotr took to books quickly. Devouring text after text as Byreshnev instructed him in the finer points of civilization. Instilling in the boy a definitive sense of justice and an unwavering devotion to order. Young Pyotr soon was a darling in his Cousin’s court with his precocious treatises on honor, justice and the law.
As the boy grew older, his physical talents began to manifest. He quickly grew to be the tallest boy on his father’s estate. Standing nearly a head taller than many of the stable boys and squires who served his father and were several years older than Pyotr. His thin arms, belied a reservoir of strength and vitality that survived those who provoked his ire. While his confidence and looks demanded attention, inspiring envy in some and attraction in others.
Sensing his son had the makings of a Knight, his father arranged for his studies with Priest Byreshnev to end and for him to foster with his cousins in House Orlovsky, sparing no expense and invoking several favors to secure this honor. During his time among the main branch of his house, he learned strategy, tactics, and skill of arms. All while he maintained a close correspondence with his Mentor as well as his father, learning the tenets of the Law Giver’s faith.
It was during his time in his cousin’s house, that Pyotr learned gentleness. His youthful bravado and temperament was tamed by the relationship he struck up with his younger cousin, Elyza. Elyza was 5 years Pyotr’s younger, and afflicted with a debilitating disease, that no doctor or healer could seem to relieve. Pyotr’s sense of familial duty and honor drove him to spend time with the sickly child, who was often confined to her father’s solar. But over time, duty and honor were replaced with brotherly love and compassion. Pyotr and Elyza became inseparable, with the young boy taking breakfast with her, carrying her to the practice yard to watch him train, proudly wearing her favor, a blue hair ribbon, in tournaments and reading to her stories of brave knights in the wee hours of the night.
But it was a friendship that was fated not to last. Four years after meeting Elyza, his cousin died. All of House Orlovsky mourned the passing of the little girl, and Lord Orlovsky requested that all families recall their fostered children as he and his wife mourned. Pyotr was sent back to his father, at the age of 17.
Pyotr returned to his father’s house with a new outlook on duty, honor and the law. That they must be tempered with kindness and mercy. And that the highest goal of civilization is to create a world where no innocent should suffer. He requested from his father to train him to become a Paladin of Abadar—a knight like those in the stories he read to Elyza as she lie dying in bed. His father, proudly acquiesced to his son’s request, knowing that in his heir, he had achieved his goal of bringing glory to this once cast-off Cadet branch of his house.
Six years have passed, and Pyotr has completed his training. With his father presiding he was ordained a Paladin of Abadar. Again the Law Giver smiled on Grigori Orlovsky’s son, as Pyotr’s ordination coincided with the call of Restov for an expedition to lay the groundwork of civilization in the Stolen Lands. A patch of disparate soil that stood as an affront to everything the young Paladin and his God stood for.
And so, with his father’s blessings and gifts of armor, arms and supplies Pyotr has traveled to southern Brevoy, to the city of Restov to accept the Lord Mayor’s charter and bring glory and honors to House Orlovsky.
The tall youth smiled politely and nodded. Even without his armor and weapons, his frame still took up most of the ornate Sette in the Lord-Mayor’s antechamber.
He crossed his legs, and then uncrossed them. Nearly cracked his knuckles, before stopping himself from the ignoble habit.
Are you nervous Pyotr… He thought to himself, half-amused at the thought.
He hadn’t felt that emotion since the day he left for his fostering. It excited him more than it worried him. Nerves to Pyotr were an indication that he was challenging himself and as such was pursuing a noble course of action.
The door to the Lord-Mayor’s office opened and a haggard looking man exited the door. He gave a look to the imperious youth on the Sette and then quickly lowered his eyes. But Pyotr’s gaze followed him closely, taking in every detail he could. From the man’s height, at least 12 hands, to the slight drag of his left foot—either an old wound or a concealed weapon the Lord-Mayor’s guards missed.
Pyotr, himself, was unarmed. He had surrendered his weapons to the Lord-Mayor’s guards happily upon arrival.
The young woman who had spent most of the last thirty minutes stealing longing glances at Pyotr, excused herself and entered the open door. A hushed conversation could be heard from behind the door, but Pyotr refused to allow himself to eavesdrop. The Lord-Mayor was a noble and as such deserved the young Paladin’s respect.
Finally the door opened again, and the young girl exited, followed shortly by the Lord-Mayor himself.
”Ser Orlovsky, I presume,” The mayor asked.
”Correct my Lord,” The young Paladin answered in his basso-baritone voice.
”Come in and have a seat,” the Lord-Mayor responded with a gesture.
Pyotr crossed the room in a pair of strides, following closely behind the Mayor and accepting his offering of a fine chair in front of the massive oaken desk of the Lord-Mayor.
”By the gods, you’re a tall one,” The Mayor half-laughed and Pyotr approached.
”I was well-fed my lord.”
The Lord-Mayor chuckled.
”I should say. So tell me Pyotr, are you of the House Orlovsky?” his voice hinted a semi-accusation, as if Pyotr were using some thin line of descent from Horse Orlovsky as a pretense to claim nobility.
”No my lord, a Cadet House. Though I fostered with Lord Orlovsky as a youth.” Pyotr responded without hesitation.
”Fostered with Lord Orlovsky, that’s no small honor lad. Your father must have pulled quite a few strings.”
”My father spared nothing in my upbringing your Lordship.”
The Mayor laughed; ”Well he definitely ensured you knew how to address your betters.”
Pyotr smiled congenially at the implied insult. The Lord-Mayor watched him closely for a reaction and seeing none nodded.
”You control your reactions well boy, that’s for certain. Had a said that to one of those damned Aldori bravos, I would have to be screaming for my guards by now.”
Pyotr allowed himself a laugh. Then composed himself.
”My lord. A Paladin of Abadar cannot expect to promote the cause of civilization, if he, himself, is not civilized.”
To that the Lord-Mayor grunted in approval.
”You just might do lad, you just might do.”
Thanks Marche. I appreciate that :)
:3
Okay, I'm more or less done with my crunch. Ready!
I recognize that funny smiley anywhere, Märche. ;) And howdy to you as well, Liza. :)
Okies Märche (Rysky) is ready to the best of my knowledge:
Ability Score Racial Traits: Human characters gain a +2 racial bonus to one ability score of their choice at creation to represent their varied nature.
Size: Humans are Medium creatures and thus receive no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Base Speed: Humans have a base speed of 30 feet.
Languages: Humans begin play speaking Common. Humans with high Intelligence scores can choose any languages they want (except secret languages, such as Druidic). See the Linguistics skill page for more information about these languages.
Focused Study: All humans are skillful, but some, rather than being generalists, tend to specialize in a handful of skills. At 1st, 8th, and 16th level, such humans gain Skill Focus in a skill of their choice as a bonus feat. This racial trait replaces the bonus feat trait.
Heart of the Wilderness Humans raised in the wild learn the hard way that only the strong survive. They gain a racial bonus equal to half their character level on Survival checks. They also gain a +5 racial bonus on Constitution checks to stabilize when dying and add half their character level to their Constitution score when determining the negative hit point total necessary to kill them. This racial trait replaces skilled.
Weapon and Armor Proficiency: Bloodragers are proficient with all simple and martial weapons, light armor, medium armor, and shields (except tower shields). A bloodrager can cast bloodrager spells while wearing light armor or medium armor without incurring the normal arcane spell failure chance. This does not affect the arcane spell failure chance for arcane spells received from other classes. Like other arcane spellcasters, a bloodrager wearing heavy armor or wielding a shield incurs a chance of arcane spell failure if the spell in question has somatic components.
Bloodline: Each bloodrager has a source of magic somewhere in his heritage that empowers his bloodrages, bonus feats, and bonus spells. Sometimes this source reflects a distant blood relationship to a powerful being, or is due to an extreme event involving such a creature somewhere in his family’s past. Regardless of the source, this influence manifests in a number of ways. A bloodrager must pick one bloodline upon taking his first level of bloodrager. Once made, this choice cannot be changed.
When choosing a bloodline, the bloodrager’s alignment doesn’t restrict his choices. A good bloodrager could come from an abyssal bloodline, a celestial bloodline could beget an evil bloodrager generations later, a bloodrager from an infernal bloodline could be chaotic, and so on. Though his bloodline empowers him, it doesn’t dictate or limit his thoughts and behavior.
The bloodrager gains bloodline powers at 1st level, 4th level, and every 4 levels thereafter. The bloodline powers a bloodrager gains are described in his chosen bloodline. For all spell-like bloodline powers, treat the character’s bloodrager level as the caster level.
At 6th level and every 3 levels thereafter, a bloodrager receives one bonus feat chosen from a list specific to each bloodline. The bloodrager must meet the prerequisites for these bonus feats.
At 7th, 10th, 13th, and 16th levels, a bloodrager learns an additional spell derived from his bloodline. These spells are in addition to the number of spells given on Table 1–4. These spells cannot be exchanged for different spells at higher levels.
If the bloodrager takes levels in another class that grants a bloodline, the bloodlines must be the same type, even if that means that the bloodline of one of the classes must change. Subject to GM discretion, the bloodrager can change his former bloodline to make them conform.
If the bloodrager takes levels in another class that grants a bloodline, the bloodlines must be the same type, even if that means that the bloodline of one of the classes must change. Subject to GM discretion, the bloodrager can change his former bloodline to make them conform.
Fey: One of your ancestors was fey, or the fey realm somehow intermixed with your bloodline. It affects your bloodrage in tricky and surprising ways.
Bonus Feats: Combat Ref lexes, Dodge, Improved Initiative, Lightning Ref lexes, Mobility, Step Up, Intimidating Prowess.
Bonus Spells: Entangle (7th), hideous laughter (10th), haste (13th), confusion (16th).
Bloodline Powers: The power of the natural world saturates your being, and manifests itself when you bloodrage.
Confusing Critical (Su): At 1st level, fey power courses through your attacks. Each time you confirm a critical hit, the target must succeed at a Will saving throw or be confused for 1 round. The DC of this save is equal to 10 + 1/2 your bloodrager level + your Constitution modifier. This is a mind-affecting compulsion effect.
Bloodrage (Su): The bloodrager’s source of internal power grants him the ability to bloodrage. At 1st level, a bloodrager can bloodrage for a number of rounds per day equal to 4 + his Constitution modifier. At each level after 1st, he can bloodrage for 2 additional rounds per day. Temporary increases to Constitution (such as those gained from bloodraging or spells like bear’s endurance) don’t increase the total number of rounds that a bloodrager can bloodrage per day. The total number of rounds of bloodrage per day is renewed after resting for 8 hours, although these hours need not be consecutive.
A bloodrager can enter a bloodrage as a free action. While in a bloodrage, a bloodrager gains a +4 morale bonus to his Strength and Constitution, as well as a +2 morale bonus on Will saves. In addition, he takes a –2 penalty to Armor Class. The increase to Constitution grants the bloodrager 2 hit points per Hit Die, but these disappear when the bloodrage ends and are not lost first like temporary hit points. While bloodraging, a bloodrager cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration.
A bloodrager can end his bloodrage as a free action. When the bloodrage ends, he’s fatigued for a number of rounds equal to twice the number of rounds spent in the bloodrage. A bloodrager cannot enter a new bloodrage while fatigued or exhausted, but can otherwise enter bloodrage multiple times during a single encounter or combat. If a bloodrager falls unconscious, his bloodrage immediately ends, placing him in peril of death.
Bloodrage counts as the barbarian’s rage class feature for the purpose of feat prerequisites, feat abilities, magic item abilities, and spell effects.
Fast Movement (Ex): A bloodrager’s land speed is faster than is normal for his race by 10 feet. This benefit applies only when he is wearing no armor, light armor, or medium armor, and not carrying a heavy load. Apply this bonus before modifying the bloodrager’s speed due to any armor worn or load carried. This bonus stacks with any other bonuses to the bloodrager’s land speed.
Noble Born
You claim a tangential but legitimate connection to one of Brevoy’s noble families. If you aren’t human, you were likely adopted by one of Brevoy’s nobles or were instead a favored servant or even a childhood friend of a noble scion. Whatever the cause, you’ve had a comfortable life, but one far from the dignity and decadence your distant cousins know. Although you are associated with an esteemed name, your immediate family is hardly well to do, and you’ve found your name to be more of a burden to you than a boon in many social situations. You’ve recently decided to test yourself, to see if you can face the world without the aegis of a name you have little real claim or care for. An expedition into the storied Stolen Lands seems like just the test to see if you really are worth the title “noble.” Choose one of the following noble families and associated benefits.
Lebeda: Your family’s history of trading along the shores of Lake Reykal pervades your blood. As a deft merchant of the region, you gain a bonus language: Dwarven, Elven, Hallit, Gnome, Giant, Halfling, Skald, or Sylvan. Your family motto is “Success through Grace.”
Eyes of the Wild (Green Faith)
Having spent much time immersed in the wilderness, you’re now attuned to its ways. You gain a +2 trait bonus on Perception checks in natural settings.
Skill Focus (Linguistics)
Choose a skill. You are particularly adept at that skill.
Benefit: You get a +3 bonus on all checks involving the chosen skill. If you have 10 or more ranks in that skill, this bonus increases to +6.
Special: You can gain this feat multiple times. Its effects do not stack. Each time you take the feat, it applies to a new skill.
Fey Foundling
You were found in the wilds as a child.
Prerequisites: You may only select this feat at 1st level.
Benefit: Whenever you receive magical healing, you heal an additional 2 points per die rolled. You gain a +2 bonus on all saving throws against death effects. Unfortunately, you also suffer +1 point of damage from cold iron weapons (although you can wield cold iron weapons without significant discomfort).
This youth is sporting a heavy but thin red and gray coat with sleeves going past his hands. Wrapped around his neck is an ocean blue scarf that almost touches the floor, a distinct parallel between his long silky black hair and mismatched eyes of blue and gold. Underneath this he wears a simple and loose black tunic and gray slacks while going barefoot. Due to his height and very feminine appearance most people mistake him for a girl until he speaks, his honey gravel like voice giving him away, usually.
Lajon Lebeda was a moderately successful merchant who thought he could deal on equal ground with not only Elves and Dwarves, but also the Fey. It was with this confidence and hubris that after completing a deal where he only slightly came out ahead, for he knew not to trust any deal from a fey that gave him too good of an advantage in their dealings, that he left the docks with an elegantly carved box filled with gold coins, thinking back almost too eagerly after he had simply touched the box.
Of course they Fey of the wilderness had prevailed, for when he finally arrived home to remove his earnings he found instead of gold a beautiful baby girl with mismatched eyes. Tucked inside her swaddling was a note from the Fey addressed to Mr. Lajon. Detailed within the fey spoke of how they had spirited away the child from her Hag mother in the deepest parts of the forest, lest she grew up to be a monster like her. Also detailed within were the the grievances they would take out against Mr. Lajon, his family, and his workers if he attempted to dispose of the child or if her mother managed to retrieve her.
Distraught at how his luck had turned he poured vast amounts of wealth into inquiring about Hags and the children. Learning of the "call" these hag daughters experienced as they grew older he devised a most extreme plan. Learning that Hags only had daughters, and that only the daughters grew up to be Hags Mr. Lajon purchased from an alchemist a most peculiar potion. Only slightly hesitant as to the side effects of what the concoction would have on the infant as opposed to letting her age into womanhood only to be demoned away by her mother he fed the girl the contents of the bottle. And the girl became a boy.
Among other things the child's name was mentioned in the note and due to the bewitchings of her mother the Fey and Mr. Lajon both found to their ire they were unable to change or call the girl anything different. Until he gave her the potion. As soon as her body begin to change Mr. Lajon could feel a shackle about his mind begin to drift away. And while not able to completely obscure his name Mr. Lajon was able to change it to help allude the mother, if only in the slightest. And that is how Märchenerzähler Novakova the girl became Märche Novak the boy.
-
Growing up it became apparent that although Märche enjoyed the traveling and dealing with foreign people and places he had little to no interest in his "Father's" business or the politics and inner workings and dealings of those around him. He would rather spend his days playing in woods or the rivers alongside the animals and occasionally the Fey, who would give Mr. Lajon a knowing look and grin whenever he would worriedly come to collect the boy, lest he find him disappeared.
Another knack he had alongside his animal and fey dealings was not only his complete enrapture by music, stories, and poems but also his propensity to get into fights. Although there was not a hateful bone in the boys body he found always found himself all too eager to slug it out with anyone who challenged or offended him or his friends. Never any hate or malice but joy and excitement filled Märche's fists whenever he got into a bout with someone, fighting was something he truly enjoyed in the same vein as an artist or actor enjoying their craft, though he was quick and sincere to apologize if he actually managed to wound his opponent beyond mere bruises and busted lips.
It was right after a friendly spar with some of the guards in training that he heard of the Swordlords call for Adventurers that he was filled with glee and quickness that he gathered his belongings from home and, leaving his Father a note saying he was taking a vacation to the countryside, set out for Rstov. Mr. Lajon would not know what to think when he returned weeks later from his business trip to discover his son gone.
Either Consort or Royal Enforcer, or really anything that let's Märche be out and about among the people.
A group of Swordlord aspirants had gathered around the dueling ring, with one of their best, Zhukov, was finally getting to deal with the youth that had been harriering his fellows as well as some of his instructors. Circling around each other in the ring Märche retained only the basic comprehension of the dueling form, let alone the tactics of a Swordlord. As they boys stared each other down as animals about to pounce one Swordlord asked the more renowned one next to him, who was serving as a referee lest the duel with dulled swords get too out of hand, "Why do we keep letting that buffoon in here to prance about and call it 'training'?" The last bit while said with a voice of contempt was easily buffeted by what the Elder Swordlord said as the two duelists engaged.
Focusing on his form Zhukov lunged first, spiraling the blade towards Märche's chest. If the youth tried to dodge to the side or block like someone trained in fencing would the momentum and curve of the blade would carry the strike true. This was the grace of of the Aldori school of swordsmanship. Instead, Märche did neither of these things. As the blade approached Märche kept forward at Zhukov, or more precisely, his approaching blade. With their combined momentum Märche easily came in alongside the the reach of the blade, using Zhukov's bigger build and longer limbs against him. As the two met Märche greeted the older boy with a goofy grin on his face and a headbut straight to Zhukov's nose. There was a loud Snap! as Zhukov's back immediately gave way to the ground behind him. Cheers and Jeers surrounded both boys as Märche offered a hand to help his combatant up, which, to his credit, only took a few moments for the world to stop spinning like an overwrought waterwheel.
"Always be wary of an idiot wielding a sword. You never know what they might do." is what the Elder Swordlord had said.
Anything I missed or any feedback would be greatly appreciated.
I would like to submit Zeruko Stjarndamm for consideration.
His kingdom role choices would be Ruler, Grand Diplomat or Councilor.
Zeruko enters the manor hall, his hair wild and eyes twinkling like the stars outside.
His friend, the lord of the manor, greeted him by saying, "I knew you would be here. The comet told that it was time for your destiny to be fulfilled."
Zeruko smiled at his old friend. "Yes, the night I saw the comet I knew it was time to come back. My destiny what ever it is lies here."
The manor lord replied, "Yes. This very night the Swordlords' messenger arrived with news that they are giving charters to explore the Stolen Lands."
Zeruko smiled even more. He loved exploring, it was really nothing more than wandering around and discovering new thing. His grin got even bigger. "Yes, just the kind of thing I love. I guess I will be going to the Stolen Lands then."
@ Trawets71 - I got dibs on that avatar ;-)
Good luck to all. ^^
Wow... Talk about a last minute submission. Sorry if I'm late, alas I stumbled upon this thread only recently!
If recruitment is already closed (time zones and all that), do feel free to disregard this post.
Without further ado
Half-elf Paladin 1 (Divine Hunter)
LG M Humanoid (Half-elf)
Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +4;
AC 17, touch 12, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 9 (1d10 -1)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +2; +2 vs. enchantments
Immune sleep
Speed 20 ft.
Melee dagger +2 (1d4+1/19-20)
Ranged longbow +3 (1d8/x3)
Special Attacks smite evil 1/day (+3 to attack and AC, +1 damage vs. evil)
Paladin Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +4)
at will-detect evil
Str 13, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 17
Base Atk +1; CMB +2; CMD 15
Feats Skill Focus (diplomacy), Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Skills Diplomacy +10 (+11 vs. sexually attracted), Knowledge (religion) +6, Perception +4, Ride +6, Sense Motive +4
Languages Common, Elven, Celestial, Sylvan
Traits Pioneer, Charming
SQ aura, code of conduct, elf blood
Combat Gear arrows (40), Other Gear scale mail, longbow, dagger, backpack, bedroll, winter blanket, rations (5), wooden holy symbol (Erastil), explorer's outfit, 7 gp, 9 sp
“Well met, traveler. May Erastil’s favor watch over your path, and lead it to hearth and roof before nightfall.” a willowy, long-legged figure just shy of 6 feet greets you warmly. As you raise your gaze to meet hers, you recognize her graceful, slender curves as a likely sign of partial elven heritage, though it’s in her face that her mixed ancestry becomes evident: sharp, angular features, high cheekbones framing vaguely almond-shaped emerald eyes clash with a gentler jaw line and full lips with the slightest hint of a pout. From a tangle of auburn locks, a couple of pointed ears barely manage to peek out.
A quiet life, made rich by the blessings of our friends and families. Xelani remembers a time when these words, often uttered by her father in his sermons, carried no actual meaning to her. Or better, when they carried the same meaning as the very concept of water would to a fish: something so pervasive as to become evanescent, an idea taken for granted upon which it would be foolish to ponder for too long.
The only offspring of the unlikely union between a human priest of Erastil and a Calistria worshipping elf from Kyonin, Xelani spent all her life in a remote village hidden somewhere between the rolling plains of southern Brevoy and the untamed wilderness of the Greenbelt. Even though her father raised her as a devout Erastilian (hoping that she might one day take his place as the local priest and leader of the community), it was the time she spent with her mother, hunting and riding through the surrounding wilderness, that the young half-elf cherished the most, much to her father’s (more feigned than not) vexation. Despite his good-natured remarks that she would never find a suitable husband if she didn’t lay down the bow and pick up some cooking skills, Xelani soon blossomed into a beautiful and amiable (if headstrong) woman, fell in love with the local shepherd’s son, and married him at sundown during the annual Archerfeast festival in her 18th year of age, having managed that same afternoon to win both the beauty and the archery contest (a first, as her parents were fond of proudly repeating to whomever would listen).
But just as news about Brevoy’s political climate began getting more and more unsettling, the storm that would make their peaceful life come to an abrupt end suddenly befell from the very opposite direction. Even though bandits’ raids were a common occurrence, suddenly an unusually large and organized force of brigands came out of the nearby Stolen Lands, burning down villages and pillaging the countryside, all the while facing little to no opposition from the meager local militias. On the wake of its passing, Xelani found herself (by chance or higher plan, she still can not, or would not, say) the sole survivor among smoldering ruins, as her house, her parents, her husband, and the life that was growing within her were no more.
Clinging to her life with the force of her faith, she finally understood the meaning of those words that had always eluded her: a quiet life, made rich by the blessings of our friends and families. She vowed to Erastil that she would fight so that others could enjoy what had been torn from her. She vowed that she would eradicate banditry in the Greenbelt. And she vowed that, should she ever succeed, she would settle down, and rebuild.
Thus her personal crusade began. But as it is often the case, she soon discovered that such a colossal undertaking was too great of a burden for her shoulders alone to carry. After barely escaping with her life on the aftermath of a particularly ill-fated clash, she started insistently petitioning the Swordlords (whose lands her village nominally belonged) to take a more active stance in reclaiming the Stolen Lands.
“Another merchant caravan attacked. Recurring raids into the southern farmlands. Dark things in the woods. The…”
“I’m more than sure I’ve got a rather precise idea about how that list goes on. That’s not the first time you came knocking on our doors to recite it, I’m led to understand” the tall woman interrupted her abruptly, as she paced over Xelani’s kneeling figure and across the private audience room. With an elegant swirl of her gown, she sat on an elaborate chair just under a vast window, allowing an imposing view of Restov’s main square.
Xelani bit her lips. “This is not going well” she thought. “Are they all so self-conceited that they can’t see what’s happening on their very borders?” She knew better than to voice her thoughts out loud, though. Many would call Restov Swordlords nothing but petty nobles, practicing flashy dueling techniques as a way to attain an aura of southern sophistication among the barbaric northern frontier – but few in their presence, and none to Lady Jamandi Aldori’s face.
“It is getting longer with each and every time, though” she instead opted to retort.
“Indeed, it is. My own sources confirm that” the Swordlord said with a barely audible sigh. “You may rise, by the way, Lady Xelani” she added, her serious tone betraying a slight amusement.
“Thank you, My Lady. Though it’s just Xelani. You would be hard pressed to find even an ounce of noble blood running through my veins, I’m afraid”.
“This might change soon enough, should your mettle be what I think it is” she replied with a cryptic smile, almost to herself. “Nonetheless” she pressed on, not giving the paladin time to ponder the enigmatic statement “regarding the matter of your visit. I’m afraid neither the Council of the Swordlords, nor the Lord Mayor can fulfill your request of dispatching a contingent of men-at-arms to fight the rampaging banditry in the Stolen Lands. These have been, as you sure know, troubled times for the whole nation of Brevoy. Until the matter of the succession to the Dragonscale Throne is dealt with, Restov can’t spare even an ounce of its forces in dangerous ventures outside its borders”.
A sensation of bitter disillusion washed over Xelani. She opened her mouth as to utter a response, but before she could speak even a single word Lady Jamandi cut her short. “However, there is something the Council of Swordlords and the Lord Mayor are willing to do. We are issuing an exploration charter, calling for adventurers loyal to Restov’s cause to explore and bring law to the Greenbelt. Should they succeed, we’re willing to recognize any claim they would make on the newly reclaimed Stolen Lands… provided, of course, they’re in turn willing to swear allegiance to Restov and its Swordlords”.
“Very cunning. They must think that even if their attempts fail, they lose nothing. And if they succeed, they secure their borders and gain an ally” she bitterly thought “but even then…”. Some of that bitterness must have shown through her face, for her noble interlocutor was currently staring at her with a quizzical look, waiting for a reply. And when it came, it was obviously less enthusiastic than the one she was hoping for.
“Adventurers” her resentment very plain in her voice ”Sounds more like mercenaries. With all due respect, how can you be sure they’re going to be any better than the bandits? How can you be sure you’re not merely replacing a disorganized threat with an organized one?”
Still keeping her calm façade, Lady Jamandi Aldori reached for a pocket and pulled out a roll of parchment. Her tone was calm, amused even, as if she somewhat expected a similar reaction “Of that, my dear, you can make sure yourself. Persistence pays, I guess. Here is your own charter. You're leaving tomorrow... if you so wish, of course”.
Looking forward to see who gets picked. Hopefully, I'm in there when the dust settles. :-)
*crosses fingers*
Oh and obviously... Best luck to everyone!
Yep, best of luck to everyone :3
Good luck!!!
Yes, good luck to everyone! Going through the entries, I found a quite a few nicely done ones. Some very stiff competition!
Looks in hopefully.
Lots of good characters here.