GM Birch's Rise of the Runelords

Game Master Birch33

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RPG Superstar 2015 Top 8

GM Birch wrote:
DeathQuaker wrote:

Here is a submission:

Kalig the Tireless

Half-orc urban druid. I picked a subdomain for her (Seasons, for the Weather domain), I hope that's okay. Some of this may well be subject to change as I think about certain aspects more.

I kind of went a little crazy writing the backstory (be careful of what you wish for, enjoy the wall of text! :) ). I hope I can consider that the "story" for the character but I can also come up with something else.

** spoiler omitted **


I scrolled past the crunch, to ensure I didn't see any stats that would lead me to read into the story what wasn't there. I needn't have worried. The story is the strongest I've read so far (Miro's when you see it will run it close). I totally get Kalig, where she's from, what she looks like and how she'll react to situations.

Thank you very much! I started writing her story and really began to have some fun with it.

Feedback? It's hard. My one thought is to better understand how she'll integrate into a group when she's so distrustful. Not a big issue, but worth you thinking through.

Kalig plays it close to the hip at first but she knows she has to work with other people sometimes to get things done. She's had to ask for help before (the woman in the village). She may be standoffish at first but she will not do the "lone wolf" thing and try to go against the grain of the group just for the sake of doing so. It may take time for her to trust people but she will give them that opportunity if they give her the same.

I'd ask you to do the crunch but you've already done it. My final words for now are for you to give it at least 24 hours and re-read what you've done. I suspect you'll think of new things to add. Oddly, the more you've written, the easier it is to develop. With oly a few bullet-points, it's actually harder.

I definitely am/will let her percolate further in my head and let you know if I add or revise anything.

DM DoctorEvil wrote:

Thanks for asking for "deeper dive" I think this re-write gives you more of an overt sense of his personality as well as some adjectives that will be basis of his RP on a go-forward. As always, feedback is appreciated. Crunch is also included, for your viewing pleasure.

** spoiler omitted **...


I hope you see what I see. The story tells me so much about the character, that I don't need to see the crunch. And as you wrote and finessed that story, I suspect it cemented his personality in your psyche - so much that you'll know how he'll act in a given situation. I feel I do.

You've done the crunch, which is excellent. Any more advice? I'd review it again in 24 hours and see if you can flesh out some more crunch into the background and story.

Miro Strinder wrote:
GM Birch wrote:
Miro Strinder wrote:
Hello, this is Talon posting with Miro, my halfling rogue. Always love thoughts and feedback
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **

That works for me..

Merwyn Dreamweaver wrote:

I couldn't figure out how to rewrite the ending to make it more like a story, since it's more of a list of events. It's kinda hard to link the start of the description with the end, since the gap is something like thirty years, but I think this story that occurs after her exile and before the present captures her personality and some of her skills. Also it introduces my animal companion with its very own balancing factor. (Which you can read about in the story)

** spoiler omitted **...


I love that story and it shows the sort of imagination you have and the sort of character Merwyn is. Thanks for this. I'll be updating on where I'm at with character submissions tommorrow (my time).

Viluki wrote:

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **...


Your post is very detailed and specific but after one reading I'm not sure what I remember from it - apart from the sin Mage aspect.

I'm probably not doing it justice, so I'll sleep on it and read it again and give you better feedback. It shows imagination and style but possibly not what I was expecting. Please don't change anything ow but wait for me to come back to you again tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.

Professor Walden T. Ettinmoor wrote:

Yes, yes, hello, hello.

A small, winkled gnomish man scratches absentmindedly at his long white hair as he looks around. He adjusts his spectacles and then begins writing in a small notebook.
Well, isn't this interesting. Yes, very interesting. It seems a gathering of some importance is occurring. Yes, clearly important, as indicated by the time and the effort these humans seem to have put into their offerings. Yes, clearly offerings, perhaps part of a deeper importance to this "game" they are "playing." Fascinating, really.

Oh, oh yes. My apologies. How rude of me to neglect to introduce myself. My name is Walden Tyronius Ettinmoor, professor of history at the Stone of Seers, Magnimar. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm afraid I don't have time at the moment to tell you any of the tales of my childhood, but perhaps...

** spoiler omitted **...


You were right, it is different and you certainly have my attention. If your character background etc. matches this, then I can't wait.

Wilthorn Gwanae wrote:
I added a proper event story for the village attack, under the framing of a journal. I'll be adding excerpts from his travels later.

I'll respond properly when you've added the travels section, many thanks.

Krokod Firetongue wrote:

Hi, Ridge here with a Varisian performer turned Oracle of the flame. Hopefully the backstory will hint at where he learned a lot of his skills and so forth, though the Ignan language came with his 'origin' as it were.

** spoiler omitted **...


I love it. The timeline was a great twist and it allowed for the introduction of various traits and hints of his personality to come through. As you've done the crunch, there's no point in asking for that.

All I ask is that you revisit the character in 24 hours and review your crunch - and see where you could expand to show more.

Wilthorn Gwanae wrote:
I added a proper event story for the village attack, under the framing of a journal. I'll be adding excerpts from his travels later.


I took a peek anyway and presume you've added the excerpt already? I love them and feel they really round ou the character for me - and I hope for you. I really appreciate the effort you've gone to.

RPG Superstar 2010 Top 32

Going to submit a character, just need to plug him into the forums system.

Here is the story that I wrote for my character. Beware it is a little long.


Seventeen Years ago . . ..

Strange stars wheeled overhead. Gagged and bound to pitted stone, Moria could hear but not see the cultists chanting an invocation to their "god." The moon hung as low and as swollen in the sky as the half-elven priestess' belly.

"Abadar, forfend, even trussed up on this altar my feet still hurt," Moria mused to herself. "I'm giddy with fear," she thought, "At least it beats gibbering with it."

She could see two standing stones that had fallen together, but nothing cleared her field of vision until a dark robe figure removed her gag.

"Magistrate Dolomi, imagine meeting you here. What would the Council of Ushers think, if they knew of your aberrant worship?"

Dolomi favored her with a thin smile. "It matters not what the Ushers of Magnimar think, priestess. They are less than dust before the Key and the Gate. You, madame, have been asking all the wrong sorts of questions. You and your god of dirt and cities should mind your own business. Neither of you can comprehend the workings of the Outer Gods!"

Moria blinks at this last outburst. "I won't give you the pleasure of hearing me beg, magistrate. Kill me if you must, but I will not be the last. Abadar's faithful will not let Magnimar fall to you nihilists."

The magistrate laughs. "Priestess, what do you think is going to happen? The priests of Yog-Sothoth do not sacrifice pregnant women under the light of the full moon. We are no dark cult sacrificing babes. No, we have other plans for you. Since you have interfered with the workings of the Lurker at the Threshold, the Key and the Gate will interfere with you. No doubt in time, you will come around to our way of thinking.

The invocation reached a fevered pitch. Between the two slumped standing stones golden globes of light began to wink into existence.

"It is working!" Magistrate Dolomi screamed. "Hail and praise the Most Ancient and Prolonged of Life!"

Moria screamed as the golden globes that poured and dribbled out from between the standing stones washed over her. One of these golden balls of light even seamed to sink into the half-elven woman's stomach.

The cultists' invocation ended suddenly in wet gurgles and blood drenched screams. The golden globes of light winked out of existence.

"What!? No! Fools you cannot stop . .." Dolomi was cut off by a sword bursting through his chest.

Moria didn't stop screaming until she was cut free from the altar. Looking up at her rescuer she saw a handsome tow-headed half-elven man splattered with blood. "Kyle, you came for me."

"Of course I did, my love. I only wish I had been there when they captured you. To think a Magistrate of Magnimar worshiping a thing out of the Dark Tapestry! Are you all right? Is our child!?"

"Our son, Kyle, our son. And he will be. I'll make certain of it."

Four years ago . . . .

A handsome, blond half-elven youth walked next to a more muscular a red-headed human boy. The sounds of Abadar's temple in Magnimar echoed around them.

"No, Brandon," the half-elven youth said with a smile. "Damerrich is the Archon of Executions, while Ragathiel is the Angel of Vengeance. Two very different things one hopes."

The more muscular boy smiled at his friend. "You always were so good at remembering all the stories and lessons the priests tell, Vir. Why bother knowing who is the Archon of this and the Angel of that when Abadar has given us insight into the souls of our fellow citizens? There are so many injustices and threats to all good and civil folk in this world to bother with learning celestial hierarchies."

Vir's face fell. Looking down the boy mutters, "Abadar has not yet graced me with that gift, Brandon."

Brandon grabbed Vir's shoulders and pulled his friend close. "I didn't mean it like that Vir. Abadar has given you many gifts. You are smarter and wiser than I. There are other things one can be besides a paladin to serve our god."

Vir felt a strange and new thrill at his best friend's touch. "My father is a paladin. As was his father before him."

"And your mother is a cleric. We would make a great team you and I. You interpreting the laws and me enforcing them."

The half-elven youth shook his head. "Mother says I need a paladin's resolve."

Brandon looked at his friend dubiously. "Well, if you are going to be a paladin, we need to put more meat on your bones." Squeezing Vir's shoulder's, he continues, you will need better reflexes and more muscles if you want to be swinging a sword for justice. You will need them sooner than that. I think Squire Garrett has it in for you."

Vir laughs again. "Squires aren't like that, Brandon. They are farther than we are in our paladin training. They are exemplars of Abadar's justice."

Brandon gave Vir an arch look and sighs, "If you say so, Vir."

The two boys continued on their way to the training grounds in companionable silence. When they reached the training yard they were met by the temple's master-of-arms. "Garn, Tadal, you are both late. A paladin should always be punctual. Try to be on time from now on."

Turning from the youths, the master-of-arms called out. "Bartlett, you are up! Instruct Garn here in the finer points of swordplay."

As Vir picked up his blunted blade, Brandon whispered to his friend, "I don't care what you say about squires. Garrett has it in for you. Watch out."

Garrett Bartlett beat his practice sword against his shield. "Come on Garn. You have a lot to learn. Let's get on with teaching you."

Vir managed to keep his sword point up for the first ten minutes of training. But little-by-little the point began to drop. When it did, Garrett's sword whipped out and knocked Vir's blade from his hand.

"Pick it up, Garn, and hold that tip up. If you don't some filthy goblin will find you to be tasty meat."

Vir picked up his sword and continued. When the point of his blade dipped again, the flat of Garret's blade knocked him to the dust.

"Again, Garn. Pick yourself up. Don't shame Abadar with your incompetence."

Bruised and smarting, Vir struggled to his feet. He could keep his blade up for more than a minute. By then Garrett had knocked him back down.

Beating Vir with the flat of his blade, Garrett chanted, "Get up Garn. Get up."

"Leave him alone!" Brandon yelled.

"I'm just toughening your bum-buddy up, Tadal. You will thank me when you are older." Garrett turned towards Brandon but continued to casually beat Vir.

Neither Garrett nor Vir noticed the golden globes of light that began to coalesce and merge around Vir.

Both young men did notice when a claw knocked the training sword out of Garrett's hand. Another claw knocked the older boy down.

Towering over Garrett was a monster. Four thick legs supported a column of flesh the reached near seven feet into air. The column bent somehow, allowing the beak at the apex of the tower of flesh to snap down at the squire. Four eyes surrounded the beak, flashing with anger.

"What the f****!?" Garrett screamed.

A month ago . . . .

Vir shuffled home from the temple. "Another day, another test. I guess I'm lucky the priests didn't have me killed when I turned into a monster. I just wish Brandon were here. Why did have to they send him to Korvosa last month?" He thought.

Vir was brought up short when he noticed that his parent's home a few streets east of the temple was missing its door.

Rushing inside, Vir found his father nailed to the floor with his own bastard sword. Next to Kyle Garn's corpse was a message scrawled in blood.

"M . . . wri desk . . . f bot."

Vir ran into his parent's room. The entire house had been trashed. His mother's writing desk was lying against the wall. Through his tears Vir managed to release its false bottom.

Within lay a note.

My dearest Vir,

If you are reading this letter, it is because your father and I have been killed or taken. You have known for years that there were . . . peculiarities around your birth. We told you it was a sorcerous mishap while I was pregnant. That is the truth, but it is not all of it. Right before you were born, I was touched by something from the Dark Tapestry. The people who are after you want the power you possess for nefarious ends. Do not give it to them. We are all more than our heritage. We are more than those who made us for good or ill. You always have a choice no matter how dark the times. Tend to your inner light and it will tend you. You need to get out of Magnimar. Go to the town of Sandpoint. I have a friend there, Madame Mvashti. Tell her that I have gone missing and you need protection and guidance.

All my love.

Last night . . .

Vir unsaddled one of the caravan's mares and began to brush her down. She knickered with pleasure. Vir fed her an apple and she nuzzled his hand. Animals had always liked him, and caring for the mounts of the paladins of Abadar had given him lots of experience with them.

Suddenly, the terror of the last week caught up with him. He began to cry, face buried in the horse's neck.

"Paladin's aren't afraid. Paladin's aren't afraid." Vir thought to himself. "Once I get to Sandpoint, things will be better. Madame Mvashti will know what to do."

Personality and Appearance:

Vir Garn is a rather handsome half-elven teenager with blond curly hair and grey eyes. He is 5'10" and weighs about 140lbs.

Vir is a perpetual optimist. He believes the best in people, and he hopes that things will turn out for the greater good. He is in experienced, but he isn't stupid or foolish. He prefers stability and gravitates to strong role models.


Vir is seventeen. He is full of goals. He wants to be a paladin. He wants to control his inner power that lets him transform into a monster. More than anything he wants to find his mother. He hopes that she is still alive and doesn't let himself imagine the alternatives. Once he finds his mother he hopes to work with her to bring his father's killers to justice.

Here is the crunch:



Male Half Elf Summoner (Synthesist)
LG Medium Humanoid (Human, Elf)
Init +2; Senses Perception +4, Low-Light Vision


AC 10, Touch 10, Flat 10
HP 9 (1d8 +1)
Fort +1; Ref +0; Will +6 (+8 Against Enchantment effects)


Speed 30

Summoner Spells Known (CL 1st; Concentration: +5)

1st -- Mage Armor, Rejuvenate Eidolon (Lesser)

0 -- Detect Magic, Guidance, Light

Spells per Day:

1st -- 3

0 -- Unlimited


Str 10; Dex 10; Con 12; Int 14; Wis 14; Cha 19

Base Attack: +0; CMB: +0; CMD: 10

Feats: Extra Evolution


Magical Knack: (+2 trait bonus to Summoner Caster Level, can't exceed HD)

Outlander (Exile): +2 to Initiative checks

Racial Traits:

Dual Minded: The mixed ancestry of some half-elves makes them resistant to mental attacks. Half-elves with this racial trait get a +2 bonus on all Will saving throws. This racial trait replaces the adaptability racial trait.
Elf Blood: Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.

Elven Immunities: Half-elves are immune to magic sleep effects and get a +2 racial saving throw bonus against enchantment spells and effects.

Keen Senses: Half-elves receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception skill checks.

Multitalented: Half-elves choose two favored classes at first level and gain +1 hit point or +1 skill point whenever they take a level in either one of those classes. (Summoner) (Paladin)

Skills: Handle Animal: +8, Knowledge (Planes): +6, Knowledge (Religion): +6, Spellcraft: +6, Use Magic Device: +8

Languages: Celestial, Common, Elven, Varisian

Favorite Class: +1/4 Evolution Point (Summoner)

Class Features:

Fused Eidolon: A synthesist summons the essence of a powerful outsider to meld with his own being. The synthesist wears the eidolon like translucent, living armor. The eidolon mimics all of the synthesist’s movements, and the synthesist perceives through the eidolon’s senses and speaks through its voice, as the two are now one creature. The synthesist directs all of the eidolon’s actions while fused, perceives through its senses, and speaks through its voice, as the two are now one creature.

While fused with his eidolon, the synthesist uses the eidolon’s Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution, but retains his own Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma. The synthesist gains the eidolon’s hit points as temporary hit points. When these hit points reach 0, the eidolon is killed and sent back to its home plane. The synthesist uses the eidolon’s base attack bonus, and gains the eidolon’s armor and natural armor bonuses and modifiers to ability scores. The synthesist also gains access to the eidolon’s special abilities and the eidolon’s evolutions. The synthesist is still limited to the eidolon’s maximum number of natural attacks. The eidolon has no skills or feats of its own. The eidolon must be at least the same size as the synthesist. The eidolon must have limbs for the synthesist to cast spells with somatic components. The eidolon’s temporary hit points can be restored with the rejuvenate eidolon spell.

While fused, the synthesist loses the benefits of his armor. He counts both as his original type and as an outsider for any effect related to type, whichever is worse for the synthesist. Spells such as banishment or dismissal work normally on the eidolon, but the synthesist is unaffected. Neither the synthesist nor his eidolon can be targeted separately, as they are fused into one creature. The synthesist and eidolon cannot take separate actions. While fused with his eidolon, the synthesist can use all of his own abilities and gear, except for his armor. In all other cases, this ability functions as the summoner’s normal eidolon ability (for example, the synthesist cannot use his summon monster ability while the eidolon is present). This ability replaces the class’s eidolon ability, bond senses, and life bond.

The following class abilities function differently for synthesist summoners.

Fused Link (Su): Starting at 1st level, the synthesist forms a close bond with his eidolon. Whenever the temporary hit points from his eidolon would be reduced to 0, the summoner can sacrifice any number of his own hit points. Each hit point sacrificed this way prevents 1 point of damage done to the eidolon (thus preventing the loss of the summoner's temporary hit points), preventing the eidolon from being killed and sent back to its home plane. This ability replaces life link.

Summon Monster I (Sp): Starting at 1st level, a summoner can cast summon monster I as a spell-like ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + his Charisma modifier. Drawing upon this ability uses up the same power as the summoner uses to call his eidolon. As a result, he can only use this ability when his eidolon is not summoned. He can cast this spell as a standard action and the creatures remain for 1 minute per level (instead of 1 round per level). At 3rd level, and every 2 levels thereafter, the power of this ability increases by one spell level, allowing him to summon more powerful creatures (to a maximum of summon monster IX at 17th level). At 19th level, this ability can be used as gate or summon monster IX. If used as gate, the summoner must pay any required material components. A summoner cannot have more than one summon monster or gate spell active in this way at one time. If this ability is used again, any existing summon monster or gate immediately ends. These summon spells are considered to be part of his spell list for the purposes of spell trigger and spell completion items. In addition, he can expend uses of this ability to fufill the construction requirements of any magic item he creates, so long as he can use this ability to cast the required spell.


Sor-Kathoth (Quadruped)

Description: Sor-Kathoth appears as a thick column of flesh supported by four legs. A pair of arms sprout from the midpoint of the trunk. The top of the trunk is crowned with four eyes surrounding a wicked beak. This head can swivel in any direction, while the trunk itself bends to a surprising degree. It's front legs end in sharp claws.

Init +4; Perception: +4 Darkvision


AC 14, Touch 12, Flat 12
HP X (1d10 +2) + 9
Fort +1; Ref +2; Will +6 (+8 Against Enchantment effects)


Speed 40

Base Attack: +1; CMB: +3; CMD: 15

Attacks: Bite +3 (1d6+2), Claw +3 (1d4+2), Claw +3 (1d4+2)


Str 14; Dex 14; Con 13; Int 14; Wis 14; Cha 19

Evolution Points: 4

Evolutions: Arms, Bite (Free), Claws (1), Legs (2) (Free), Pounce
Features: +2 Natural Armor, Dark Vision, Share Spells

I've never really played Pathfinder, so if my crunch is wrong please let me know. For example, it's unclear to me whether when fused the character uses the physical saves from his Eidolon. My numbers assume he does not.

*edit* Saw you'd given feedback in the discussion thread. Ill add some fluff to the story to show more skill/trait/feat stuff.

I humbly submit my services for your consideration.

Description & Personality:

Gwernach is a male dwarf approximately 4'2" with dark brown hair. He has distinctive white streaks of hair throughout his head and beard. His tanned skin shows prolonged exposure to the outdoors.
Gwernach was raised with really only one choice in whom to believe in. He found no satisfaction in his parent's beliefs. As he grew older he discovered that there in a multitude of gods and deities to believe in or follow. But this left him with a dilemma, who is the right god/deity for him? Which of them best represented what his moral compass tells him is right?
A reformed skeptic, Gwernach has found what he thinks is his purpose in life. He believes in a higher force, something above the gods themselves which has granted deities like Cayden or Angradd the powers they have. He is driven to find that source to confirm without a doubt that he is heading down the right path.
Gwernach knows the path he has chosen will be fraught with dangers. To help him succeed, he has surmised he will need a strong defense to keep his attackers at bay. To this end, he has chosen paths of divinity with strong defensive characteristics. From the light he sees the message of purity; light is the strongest power, it is the giver of life. From the path of deception, Gwernach sees the metaphor of deception as being representative of our lives. Masks are not just physical walls to hide behind. On an emotional level, we all wear masks of ourselves; we put on a different mask when we are at work than the mask we might wear when
around family and friends. Gwernach wants to break through these masks and the best way to see through them is to live with them.


Gilbar & Helil Nickelbeard hail from Janderhoff. Both have a long history of mining in their families but share adventurous hearts. Shortly after their marriage, they accepted a position from a group of adventurers overseeing a new mining operation in the Fenwall Mountians. The party, led by a barbarian named Telonius, had stumbled upon the mine years ago however pressing concerns elsewhere prevented them from staking their claim until later.
The two dwarves joined the group on their mission to clear out the mine of its unwanted in habitants. As followers of Angradd, Gilbar and Helil reviled in the thrill of battling the wild creatures of the Fenwall mine. However, Telonius was eager to get the mine up and running. Once the upper levels of the mine were cleared, he quickly put Gilbar and Helil to work.
When it came running Fenwall, the Nickelbeards were tenacious. It was a war between dwarves and the mine; each battle a test of skill, strength and ingenuity to capture the treasured metals from the mountain imprisonment. They succeeded at this task with military precision. Times were good and a few years later, Helil became pregnant with Gwernach.
Gwernach's birth was difficult. Breached and entangled by the very life cord which joined him to his mother, Gwernach's entry into the world very nearly cost both his life and that of his mother. The cleric called upon to their aid was Colin Gumbery, Telonius' oldest friend. A follower of Sarenrae, Colin called upon her divine intervention to save the lives now thrust into his hands. Gilbar also prayed for assistance, but from Angradd. Answering their prays, the two dieties infused Colin with powerful magic such as he had never been able to produce before or thereafter. This divine intervention saved both Helil and her baby.
So great was the divine magic that Colin had summoned, that he mistook this gift as a sign of his increased understanding of divine focus. Unfortunately, his hubris lead to his demise. Telonius decided it was time to continue cleansing Fenwall of its creatures. Along with Colin and his friends, they ventured lower into the mine. There they encountered one of Fenwall's most dangerous inhabitants - much to the party's dismay. Neither Telonius, Colin nor the rest of the group was heard from again.
The Nickelbeard's did not share in the Telonius' misfortunes. Having stayed on in the upper chambers, the Nickelbeard family were safe. When the combat below resulted in a major cave-in, Gilbar did his best to come to his friends aid. But the damage to the tunnels leading down was beyond Gilbar and Helil's skills. Gilbar sealed the mine, vowing to one day return.
Three years after Gwernach's birth Gilbar and Helil were offered a much safer position at a mining company in Baslweif. The Nickelbeard's prosperity continued and Gwernach grew up in relative comfort. He was even fortunate to have private dwarven tudors to educate him. However Gwernach was never comfortable with his families diety, Angradd, spending much of his time feeling empty on a spiritual level.

When Gwernach was older, Gilbar and Helil sent their son to Axel Warbell in Janderhoff. A staunch Angradd follower and expert on Dwarven weaponry. Gwernach learned a few things about axe wielding from Axel but the two did not get along on a spiritual level. Arguments often erupted and despite Axel's best efforts, he failed to bring Gwernach closer to Angradd. Instead, Gwernach felt even more alone. A few years with Axel was enough. Their differences became too much and Gwernach left Janderhoff in dispair to return to his parents in Baslweif.
It was a long journey. Gwernach stopped at several temples of different theologies along the way. He spoke with many priests about their deities and always left feeling let down. His journey home eventually led him to a pub where Gwernach met an old cleric, Montgomery Finch, a devotee of Cayden. Finch's easy going outlook on life put Gwernach at ease. Perhaps Finch could give him the answers the dwarf was seeking. The two became fast friends and travelled together back to Baslweif.
Along the way, Finch saw potential in Gwernach and offered to teach him of Cayden. Gwernach and the old cleric spent many years working together in Baslweif; reading divine writings and exploring Cayden's work. With Finch's mentorship, the dwarf found inspiration. But rather than inspire Gwernach to convert, the dwarf saw in Cayden's ascension a different path. He took it upon himself to learn the languages spoken in the outer worlds. Then, using these skills he sought out the ancient books and began to research many of the other known gods, seeing in them a commonality; a pretension to do good, come to the aid of those in need and respect for one another. Finding spiritual peace at last, but not as a devotee to Cayden or any other god, Gwernach found his own inner peace and a desire to put his spirituality to the test.
Too old for adventuring, Finch and Gwernach part ways. Gwernach joins a caravan heading east to Sandpoint and a new life...

Here is my submission, Eltanin Titansglade.

Appearance and first impressions:
Eltanin Titansglade is a half-elf woman standing barely five feet tall and at best slender. She either holds herself perfectly still, listening or watching or reading a book with her full attention, or she speaks with moving hands, expressive in voice and face and gesture. She can be long-winded - she occasionally forgets that inquiries can be answered simply and loves to provide details. Her skin is light tan, her eyes green and her hair is dark and grows just to her neck.

Ellie has a good speaking voice but only a warbling, alto singing voice. She does have a recorder, however, and will happily provide the harmony to anything. She travels light, but always carries a massive satchel which seems to contain an endless supply of powders, fluids, and odd containers. Whenever she opens it, the weird chemical smell is quite strong but when it's closed it's not too bad.

She openly wears two daggers, and keeps a third one concealed in a boot sheath.

Ellie has an interest in any creature that combines plant and animal features, especially fey. She also has an interest in architecture, although her skills are not usually very inspired. But nothing will get her attention faster than a tale of a fallen knight.

And here, some moments from her background:

A little girl, the points of her ears seeming to gleam in the light of the rising sun, plucks a blue flower from near the wall just outside her family compoud. She isn't supposed to be there, not at that hour, but like many of her clan she doesn't keep what most would call regular hours. She is awake, and sneaking out to explore. Gladehome has been made safe for decades; her grandmother, who is watching in secret, is not truly fearful. She plans to give the child a swat when she comes back in, just to emphasize the rule, but she permits the child to break it just the same. She wants to see what the child will do with the flower.

Will she make something beautiful with it? Put it in water? Use it to cast a spell, a child's magic that will give some hint that the family is raising a new wizardess? A sorceress? Or maybe just a farmer or architect. That would be a nice change, for the Titansglade folk.

The little girl deliberately breaks off as much of the stem as possible - so much for putting it in water - and picks up a handful of dirt. She chooses the dirt more carefully than she did the flower, studying the ground as intently as her six years permit to find just the right loam for her work. Now she cups the dirt in one hand, the flower resting on top, tracing the fingers of her free hand around the flower's edge. She has seen me, her mother and her aunts and uncles casting spells in various ways. Will she cast? Will she try and fail? Or is she just making art? Will she chant? Dance? Mutter?

The little girl does none of these. She clutches the handful of earth, dropping her free hand to crush the flower in a tomb of dirt, her face squinched as she bore down. Oh please, in the name of mercy, let her not take after her grandfather. Let her not have my husband's blood.

The little girl, Ellie, flings her dirt and the crushed flower into the air, straight up, heedless of the fact that much of it will rain down on her own head. A swat and a quick bath for that one, her grandmother reflects, before noticing the most important thing that will happen that day. If the light of the dawn weren't so good, she might have missed it.

The flower does not come back down. But a tiny blue butterfly traces erratic circles in the air over the beaming little dirtspattered girl.


"Ellie!" She heard her name, but the rest of her father's speech was muffled in the cellar's echoes.

"What was that?" she yelled back. "I heard you say something, but I couldn't hear what."

He poked his head out of the storm door. "I said 'hand me the garblewarblefarble." Grabbing his entire toolbox he disappeared back under the house.

"It's a good thing I didn't hear you" Ellie replied. "That's a real thing, referring to the interstices of elemental patinas non-colored pollen. If I had handed you that, your closings would have opened and Morlaki's gel in the eyeball would have spumed vociferously..." She was capable of going on like this for some time if provoked.

Palos hustled back out. "Enough! I know you're my daughter, we have the same birthmark, so I can't figure out when you became half-gnome!" She saw that he was putting his tools away, and found herself suddenly sad. This is the last time I'm going to help him build anything until I get back. And any last time could be the last time ever.

She didn't have long to contemplate that, crushed as she was in her laughing father's arms. It was nearly impossible for someone of Eltanin's size to hug her father without being lifted entirely off the floor. Rumor had it there was orc in his ancestry; if true, it certainly didn't show in his daughter's frame. The half-gnome joke was a common one in the family, easy enough given her size and the prattle that had become only that much more incomprehensible after her Galdurian training.

"I know what you're thinking" said her father, neither putting her down nor letting her get enough air to interrupt. "Only a year back and you're going off again. This time with no bodyguard of cousins and such to walk you hither and thither. You'll be on your own mission, and you'll probably wind up somewhere uncivilized, and have to put some of your noisier teachings to good use. Just remember that Gladehomers don't have all the trusty people in the world. You'll find some on your own, and you'll be fine."

With that he finally put her down and held her at arm's length while she caught her breath. What he saw was a small and slender half-elf, much like the woman he had married, possessed of the unusual talent for rendering mundane objects and substances into magical ones. Perhaps someday she would be his true partner, 'improving' the works of his strength and his sweat with her own gifts, making Gladehome safer and stronger as had he and the rest of the family.

"Oh sure" she finally said. "I will. I'll be back in a while, and I'll write, and everything will end up fine. I just have no idea who is going to drive nails once I'm gone." Another family joke, little-girl Ellie had refused to let anyone else use the carpentry hammer. As a matter of tradition, she had been his nail driver for most of her life.

He sighed. "Your grandmother says she'll step in again. She taught me, after all. It's just not the same."

Ellie looked mollified. "Oh, it's all right then. She'll learn. For a sorceress, she's a good scout."

"Speaking of which", her father's craggy face suddenly looked more serious "she wants to see you. Before dinner. It won't wait, that's why I'm cleaning up now. Your mother and I'll be there while she fills you in on a little family lore, but I won't be saying much. It's her story to tell."


Canali Titansglade looked scarcely older than she had eighteen years before, when she had watched her little grandchild Eltanin send a flower soaring skyward with just a little infusion of her growing power into a handful of dirt. Now that same child was sitting in sturdiest chair in her study while her parents sat on a sofa nearby, inheritor of a remarkable skill at building and knowing, and of a family whose history began three generations before but already included a few secret chapters.

"Ellie, your sojourn begins tomorrow. While it will start in Sandpoint I am hoping it will go further, and I am certain that it will not go in completely plannable directions." Canali eschewed the seat behind her desk, instead sitting on a tall stool near the window. This permitted her to guard against eavesdroppers, at least in their more mundane forms.

Ellie was comfortable but anxious. Her grandmother had a way of getting a person's undivided attention. Tall and willowy, she could go from almost innocuous to fearsomely imposing in a heartbeat. Eltanin fancied that she had gotten her grandmother's expressive face but little else. Her hair might have been a similar shade but it never grew so long, it's darkness contrasting brilliantly with the paleness of her skin. Ellie, on the other hand, had what her classmates at the Twilight Academy had called a farmgirl's tan. It just made her short and dark hair look - short and dark. She wasn't terribly critical of her appearance, knowing that wasn't where her gifts lay, but she did rather envy her grandmother at times. Canali's life was easier, in some ways, than her unprepossessing grandchild.

But seeing little flashes of old pain in her grandmother's eyes as she struggled to say something more poignant, Ellie knew that she had burdens that Ellie would be glad not to have.

"In the course of your journeys, you might find yourself learning more about The Blackgilt Knight, Savelle. You know already that he tried to destroy Gladehome shortly after we build it, and that we beat him though at great cost."

Ellie had a glimmer of intuition, guessing what might be coming next. "I know about the demons he led, and the people he killed, and how much of the keep had to be rebuilt when he was finally dead. But I know he did more than that, didn't he? Evin and Taranost write songs about him, but you and Uncle Isao and others of your years keep glancing at each other when they play them."

Canali nodded. "Oh, there is more. The most important thing to know about him is that his body was never found. The oracle from Whispersong said that the 'blackgilt blade is broken,' but that doesn't mean the man is dead, necessarily. You should most assuredly be on your guard. We took the name Titansglade to cut ties with those who knew us under old names, but there might very well be those abroad who mean ill to that name as well."

"But that's not the real secret. Part of the reason we took a new name was to hide from my husband. Your grandfather. A shining soldier, armored in golden light when we were first married, We deliberately refrain from speaking of how he died, and why he never joined us here in Gladehome. The trouble is, he did."

Ellie nodded, her eyes wide, her voice calmer than she felt. "Oh. Yes. We sometimes talk about the loose ends in the stories. Now it makes sense. He fell, somehow. Grandfather became the Blackgilt Knight."

Canali nodded again, glad that Ellie had gotten there quickly. "Somehow, yes. That is another reason to be on your guard. We know that power like his does not curdle into what he was without some sort of fiendish influence, but we have no real idea of where it came from or what was at work in his life. He deliberately kept himself aloof from me for months at a time. After our children started coming, it was easy for him to keep his movements secret from me. My spells are more vigorous than perceptive. But he couldn't hide the fact that his edges were growing sharper with the years; even our youngest, your mother, saw it. But I supposed that it was just a cool few years, not a deep change, just something we could work on."

"But now I'm going to tell you what I saw one night, what my husband did and said to make it clear that the change was deep indeed, and why we and many others fled Taldor even as young soldiers and leaders were claiming that a new rulership was arising. And I'll tell you what I suspect about why the revolution happened in Galt, but never Taldor."


And the next day Eltanin Titansglade began her sojourn, as had many in her family before her. Starting in Sandpoint and from there to Argavist Island, her public mission was simply to find trading partners and opportunities for her tiny village of Gladehome. Privately, she was to study history and stories, trying to find the beginnings and the final fate of her grandfather (though surely that would be a long journey indeed, but she had the time and her family's blessing.)

But her true mission, the one in her own deepest heart, was to explore the phenomenon of Symbiosis, especially the connections of plants and animals. She had already, unknown to others, begun work on achieving more plantlike features in her own person...

Here's my entry. I'll add more tomorrow, its been a long day.

Ixos wrote:

Here is the story that I wrote for my character. Beware it is a little long.

** spoiler omitted **...


I’ll start by saying that the story was gripping and I really enjoyed reading it. It seems unfair to point out any negatives but as gripped as I was, it was at the events. Looking back, I’m not sure how much of his personality comes through? I remember he likes animals and that he wants to be a paladin.

Looking at the bottom, you state he’s an optimist and believes the best in people. I wonder if you could weave that into the story so that by the time I read these lines, I’m expecting to see them. If anything, he lacks a little personality – the monster is such an overriding part of him.

I am nit-picking but if you’re agreeable to look at these couple of points I’m sure it will improve the overall character.

Ixos wrote:

Here is the story that I wrote for my character. Beware it is a little long.

** spoiler omitted **...

Don't worry about the crunch yet - plus the other players always chip in with advice on the mechanics if I'm found wanting ; )

Gwernach Nickelbeard wrote:

I humbly submit my services for your consideration.

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **...


A great start – it’s always good to know who I’m reading about right from the off. Your description was excellent.

To echo feedback for other submissions, it was a lot of tell and less show initially. It helped me understand his religious beliefs but it read more like a list than a story. I wanted to ask you to add of a few ‘why’s’ and encourage you to incorporate them into a story narrative. I even went as far as thinking, “Why did he come to that conclusion? Was it an event or through reading or teachings of a wise person?”

Then I get to the main story and it steps up a gear. I can see the personalities of his parents and can imagine his upbringing. And my questions from above were answered. I totally get his background, his training and why he is where he is in his life. I’m less sure about his personality but perhaps I’m nit-picking?

I’d ask you to work on the crunch but I see you’ve already done it. If I had any constructive feedback it would be around his personality. It’s a personal thing but I’d like to see more. As a GM, I’d like to know what buttons to press to get him to act in a certain way – how he’d react to certain NPCs.

Regardless, thanks for an excellent submission.

DeeL wrote:


I like the fact I know who I’m reading about straight away. The physical description is good and I immediately start to see her personality.

The early reading is more of a list than a story and...

The story had me genuinely entranced. It wasn’t a standard A to B story, I genuinely had no idea where it was going and I really enjoyed that. And then I was lost in the moments in her life and each one showed me more of her personality. Not in a clumsy way but in a delicate peeling of the layers.

Not sure I can add anything of note. I’d love you to add the crunch that goes with this. That process may require you to add details into your story – as I’ve said to others, I prefer to find out in prose how you can speak that language rather than see it in a stat-block.

Thank you so much for your submission.

Brand Firestorm wrote:
Here's my entry. I'll add more tomorrow, its been a long day.


There are back-stories and there are back-stories!

I’m glad you were open about bringing an old character into the game – despite my misgivings about introducing one you’ve prepared earlier. That rule was to stop people peppering me with characters that fell out of other games that they’ve put forward for 100 others since.

It was not a rule to stop a well-thought through character being introduced. I’d like you to do the stats for me and once created, could you craft something that pulls together the skills and languages if the current version doesn’t cover them?

Thank you so much for your submission.

Keth Longstrider wrote:
*edit* Saw you'd given feedback in the discussion thread. Ill add some fluff to the story to show more skill/trait/feat stuff.

Latest Feedback:
I've see the additions and they really help. I'm still in two minds about the wolf if I'm honest.

If you wanted me to switch to a hunting dog, Im cool with that...and can leave the wolf to be picked up later. Id leave the background as is though, just weave in a hunting dog to the backstory

Keth Longstrider wrote:
If you wanted me to switch to a hunting dog, Im cool with that...and can leave the wolf to be picked up later. Id leave the background as is though, just weave in a hunting dog to the backstory

It's less the fact it's a wolf and more the fact that it's an extra character to accomodate. Plus I'd feel terrible if he died!

That's not a 'no' by the way I'm still thinking.

So, we have (in order they were presented):

1. Kaddok Bear-Kin – a Shoanti barbarian
2. Delgata Pesur – a Varisian rogue
3. Kalig the Tireless – a half-orc urban druid
4. Merwyn Dreamweaver – a gnome sorcerer
5. Galen Zanderholm – a Chelaxian paladin
6. Miro – a hafling rogue
7. Wilthorn Gwanae – a human giant slayer
8. Viender Kast – a human sin mage
9. Walden Tyronius Ettinmoor – a gnome wizard
10. Keth Longstrider – a half-orc ranger
11. Krokod Firetongue – a Varisian oracle
12. Ixos – a half-elf summoner
13. Gwernach Nickelbeard – a dwarf cleric
14. Eltanin Titansglade – a half-elf magic user of some description
15. Brand Firestorm – a human sorcerer

I don’t think I’ve missed anyone – but shout out if I have. My first thought is how promiscuous humans have been with the other races. That thought aside, I’m overwhelmed by the volume of applicants. The quality is awesome but I expected to have to wait at least a week to get to this stage.

I’ll sound the 48-hour claxon now – so that allows new characters to come forward and existing ones to be refined if need be. As it stands, even with two adventure paths, I can see me having to put people on a stand-by list and that feels harsh given the effort you’ve all made.

So, it’s RotR and…? I had considered selecting one group and asking the second group to vote but I think it will help me if I start by choosing the campaign I most want to run – and then invite the second group to see who’s still up for it.

So, the ‘other’ adventure path will be Carrion Crown. I thought long and hard – as I’d love to GM them all – but in fairness to you all, the characters created are less urban than many of the other adventure paths would dictate.

If any of you have a particular desire to be in CC rather than RotR (or can’t be, due to having played it), please let me know and it will help me plan accordingly.

I won’t be asking players to re-write characters by the way (unless you really want to) but instead change the campaign trait and tweak where you are and why. 95% should remain as is. I’ll likely start it a week after RotR to allow me to prepare and to get the other game properly under way.

Thanks to everyone for their patience thus far.

Is this the time to construct the crunch (as in the full-blown crunch, instead of a general idea crunch) or should we wait until selection?

Merwyn Dreamweaver wrote:
Is this the time to construct the crunch (as in the full-blown crunch, instead of a general idea crunch) or should we wait until selection?

Crunch won't be a deciding factor in being chosen, so it's up to you. When I announce the group for RotR, I hope to start posting straight away, so if the crunch isn't done, it needs to be done soon thereafter. It won't be essential for first posts as I expect some banter as you travel into sandpoint - but you may have a random encounter of course!

Im good either way. If I was chosen for Carrion Crown, Id likely change his FE though.

I would have built a Paladin though if It was Carrion crown, just FYI ;)

I tend to build for adventure paths, but it might be fun to run something built for one in another :D

RPG Superstar 2015 Top 8

I'd prefer RotRL for this character, although Kalig would probably also work for Carrion Crown. I've got another character in my aliases I built for Carrion Crown that I'd rather use for that campaign though, Nadiya, who was in one of the many campaigns I've been in that died shortly after starting. Actually, she's another "wanders from town to town helping people" sort, but her motivation, purpose, and personality are rather different.

I also would prefer RotRL. I am planning to run Carrion Crown myself and would hate to get ahead with the group to see spoilers! Not saying I would decline an invitation to either game, it is just my preference.

Fearful that my rogue will be overlooked because he is a rogue I submit to you another entry for RotRL. (This has been lots of fun writing backgrounds, will make a alias if he is picked)

Haddard (Wrath Devilson):

Long is the bloodline of Devilson. When Cheliax was climbing to the summit of power it sits on today it was the Devilson family that ensured unchallenged strength through cleverly written deals with devils. The name Devilson was adopted from the matriarch several hundred years ago when she had taken a beast from the Nine Hells as her mate; needless to say she gave birth to a son of a Devil and the line of powerful Devilson sorcerers begun. Over the centuries the family has calmly maintained control of what they owned but wished to expand their influence to the new Vasarian colonies. Some of the family fought for the opportunity to represent the Devilson name on the expansion. Much inner turmoil, assassinations and blackmail occurred until there was a Devilson worthy to be a representative in the new world. Things started off strong in Magnimar, their Nobel house began with its roots digging deep and became a much respected super power of the city-state. This continued for some time until one hundred years ago with the death of their god. After Amodus’s death all communication was lost to the Devilson family members that traveled to the new world and those in Cheliax proper. Those who traveled to the colonies were left to fend for themselves Cheliax sending no further aid. It was a quick blow of politics that crippled the noble family to its state today, other noble families in the colonies ganged up to challenge the Devilson family to ruin the name. But the line of Devilson persevered and is buying time to strike back and regain the power and rule of Magnimar.

Wrath is the fourth generation born to this deluded noble state, the eldest son of a once long a noble line, this burden weighs on him. His father had six other children all named from the seven cardinal sins, wrath being his father's favorite so he named his first born. After his seventh child was born Wrath's mother was taken to a dungeon and never heard from again, having the correct amount of children she was of no more use.

In his infancy he showed the customary traits of his blood, jet black hair, a redder than normal complexion, ears more pointed then not, and a strong nose; all these traits sought after highly in Devilson blood; over the years they faded to show more common human features. He grew with time sheltered within the walls of his family's manor that at one time was the envy of Magnimar. It was in these walls he played with his siblings and was taught by tutors, the best his family could afford. Linguists from Vasaria brought to teach the native tongues of the peoples he would strive to rule. Teachers that made art, science, poetry, and math available to a fledgling mind cluttered his day. He was given etiquette classes and learned of the noble families of power, and plans to reward the other families that put the Devilson name to ruin. Sword masters from all over the world were at his disposal to learn from, Tian, Andorian, and even Osirian. The classroom bored him almost to death, he was only a good student because of the disciplinary sessions that were arranged should not do well in class. These session took place on the rack, under the skilled hand of a master torturer, no marks were left on his skin but the lesson was learnt quickly, obey or be punished.

Contrary to the belief that all Devilson children are schooled ruthlessly until they are smarter than their enemies, which are many, or Devilson children are born from bile and fire and aged until their malice was ripe, Wrath had a semi normal childhood for noble blood. Playing with a large collection of toys, sugar candies, large parties on his birthday, and playing make believe with some childhood friends.

He often spent time in the stable with the horses learning how to brush and care for the beasts. He loved riding; he was fond of a cream colored mare with light brown patches on her coat. Butterscotch named after her color, she was the fastest horse the family owned. Every morning he would rise early to ride butterscotch, and brush her before he retired for the night. One holiday Wrath brought Butterscotch to the country, he spent endless hours riding the green open fields. On a warm afternoon on a particularly long ride he was waylaid by a pair of highwaymen. They pulled Wrath to the ground, still a boy no older than twelve he would stand no chance. Butterscotch kicked with her hooves and bit with ferocity she must of known the danger. The first bandit was kicked to the ground and stomped on until unrecognizable. The second bandit struck the wild horse in the neck with an axe, Wrath yelled and punched at the man distracting him enough for Butterscotch to strike powerfully with her hind leg, landing her hoof square in the center of the highwayman's back. The man fell to the ground spine broken trying to cry out in pain as he dragged himself away. Butterscotch was mortally wounded; the axe blow had severed her windpipe. She collapsed to the ground in a heap of confusion, fear in her eyes, trying to get back on her feet frothing from the gaping hole in her throat. Wrath ran to her and comforted her as she fell beyond the embrace of death. He held that horse for hours, feeling the warmth leave wishing she would wake back up unharmed. Wrath still dazed picked up the axe that fell Butterscotch, and followed the trail of pressed grass the surviving highwayman left as he crept away with his broken back and no longer working legs. The trail was long but easy to follow, over the hours he spent grasping on to the dead horse the man had traveled far. The highway man could see him approach, a frightening site with a blood spattered axe in his hand. The man’s pleading fell on deaf ears, Wrath took the axe to him like a butcher to a side of beef. Night fell and Wrath was lost in the wilderness, covered in a dead man's blood, carrying the axe that cut down his prized possession. He had lost his way, sleeping in the open field, unaware on what to do next, and not caring anymore. It took several days of wandering and starving for the youth to be found. The grey iris of his eyes had deepened with a rage, intense, and held from that day forward to a pure black hue of the wrath he felt in his heart. All the Fury of Hell, that is what he brought back with him from the wilderness, cold and ridged, he always kept a cold glare and firey eyes, unsettling those he met, Wrath was overfilled with wrath.

Fighting was the art Wrath excelled with, it was his passion; and fitting to his name. After he struck down that highwayman it was the only thing to quench his anger. Wrath could never just win a match; he humiliated his opponent whenever he won, spitting on the worthless loser, kicking them when they were down, or verbally abusing them at his feet. As prosperous as Wrath became as a fighter he was always viewed as a failure, never being able to tap into the arcane heritage of his devilblooded forefathers. Specialists were brought in to awaken the arcane powers but all failed, as all his siblings began to show their powers Wrath became upset and focused on other paths. Martial combat was his passion and now it would be his life, he gave up on the pursuit of magic. Slowly attending classes with his tutors less and less and spending as much time as he could afford with the weapon masters without the threat of being sent for more disciplinary sessions. His passion of combat became obsession; he fancied to be the deadliest blade in Magnimar, Vasaria, then the world.

Xu Lan Der, a Tian sword master was to be his next teacher that would propel him to his goal of being the ultimate warrior. Wrath waited for his arrival growing impatient on the delay that had become weeks. Finally this tiny foreign man arrived, aged, and looking brittle. Wrath was furious, waiting weeks for this ultimate sword master to arrive only to find a geriatric twisted fingered man in the foyer. Wrath began to yell at the old man, hovering two inches from his upward looking face. Like lightning a twisted finger shot into Wrath's nose, a loose skinned arm grabbed the base of his skull, an arthritic knee pulled out Wrath's footing, and the old man's age spotted brow never showed a hint of anger as he guided Wrath to the floor. The pain was unforgettable, years after he would always feel those knotted fingers up his nose pushing him to the ground. After Wrath begged and pleaded to be set free for what seemed for an eternity the little Tian man released his grip and weakly slapped Wrath across the face. "First lesson, you will no longer be angry". The next months were hell for Wrath, this Tian sword master never taught him any techniques of the blade, he would just slap him around abuse him and make him angry. Throwing hot coals, slapping, kicks to the groin, wet fingers to the inner ear, spit, awakened by a bucket of milk, chairs pulled from beneath him, his food thrown on the floor, tripped as he walked, pantsed infront of young ladies on the street, and having an eyebrow shaved off in his sleep; all tortures he endured under the apprenticeship of the Tian sword master. Whenever he protested it was a finger up the nose and to the floor in pain. It took months but eventually the anger left and Wrath began to try and think on how he would be abused by this little man during the day, he would try and be a step ahead of Xu. One day as Xu threw a hot coal at his pupil, which was a customary morning greeting, Wrath threw a cup of water at the coal extinguishing it. Xu was impressed, “water counters fire, well done”. Xu also noticed Wrath now worn a strip of leather over his nose to protect it, “mask counter finger, you win.” Xu taught him it was more to being a great swordsman than just being a large strong man, it was a balance of technique, and focus. Knowing your enemy was key, the rest is all just there getting in the way. Xu stayed a year and taught Wrath to focus, think practically, meditate, think like his enemy, and how this could be used to defeat them it would be the most enlightening year of Wrath’s life. Xu never taught him any blade techniques. When Xu departed Wrath was calmer, he was still prey to fits of rage but it was a focused rage.

Several more years past and Wrath continued being taught the way of the sword from many teachers. He also became involved in his family’s affairs, loaning money, and collecting with interest due. This was something he was good at, Wrath was an intimidating man, tall and muscular, black hair, black eyes, chiseled facial features; he was known as the Devilson devil and none of the people indebted to him defaulted on the money loans. He also began to understand lessons that Xu had taught him, which at first he did not understand. He continued with the meditation daily and that is when he discovered the rules to govern life as Xu had told him. He would uphold his family tradition seeking power, he would follow his personal code, and this standard would be his to live by. He would keep his body and mind strong, unleashing his hatred and wrath on those that deserved it. He would strive to become more honorable and reliable without becoming a zealot, as his teacher Xu. Freedom, choice, and diversity do not matter just the ends to a means. Enlightened he struggles to hold these concepts, and believes them to be true.

Last week, his father a proud man had just taken his life, as the head of the house hold has done twice before, feeling he failed to reclaim his family's prestige. Wrath has been given the mantle of this burden at the age of twenty, and he is afraid he too must one day take his own life in part to failure. After his father's funeral and cremation Wrath fled Magnimar in disguise to escape his family and his fate. He is not ready to defend his household from the squishing heel of the other noble houses of Magnimar ready to bury the Devilsons. Knowing that he is a candidate for assassination Wrath hides his identity as best as he can, posing as a traveling sword for hire by the name Haddard. He is most concerned with surviving the near future then returning to lead his family from destruction, a dead man is of no use. When he is ready he will return and challenge the other nobles, or see the same fate as his father and fathers before him, suicide by disgrace.

Viluki wrote:

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **...

Feedback 24 hours on:

Once more I'm impressed by the story and your imagination and again I'm not getting an overwhelming understanding of the character other than the desire to return matters to former glories.

My challenge is that we're arcane heavy at present and I'd need to see a lot more character to pick this mage over any other. I know this sounds negative but it is trying to be realistic. I'd be happy for you to invest more into the character but I'd also understand if you decided not to.

I've done a quick and dirty view of what the two parties might look like. We're arcane heavy in characters to choose from - and party balance will have to be a factor in my final decision.

Just letting you all know...

Updated with stats, I think the skills and languages are covered as you asked, if not just let me know what I've missed.

My preference is RotR, but Carrion Crown would be a lot of fun too.

I will take a few hours to think about how to incorporate your feedback. I had intended for Vir's initial defense of Squire Garrett to show his rose-colored glasses, but I'll try to do more to bring his optimism front and center. There is a careful balance between trying to show a young man who is more than a little overwhelmed by forces outside of his control (He is after all being buffeted by events) and one who has a dearth of personality.

I would also prefer to play RotR, but in the end I just would like to play. :-)

Thanks for your interest. I've added a thing or two to my personality. Hope you like it :)


As a boy Gwernach was obedient and respectful. To this day, he has remained respectful to his parents and his kind. As one of the more fortunate, Gwernach grew up enjoying all the things dwarf do; good ale, good food and good pipe tobacco. When he is not eating and drinking, Gwernach is happy to while away the time with his head in the clouds. Daydreaming has always been a childhood pastime and it is something he has never given up, claiming, " helps mae to understand tha grreater mysteries of this rrealm an' beyond."
He shares a dwarf's suspicion of other races, but unlike most dwarves, the time he spent with Montgomery Finch taught him that actions speak louder than words. Other's have the right to do whatever it is their culture and beliefs ask/demand of them. This valuable piece of advice has helped Gwernach learn to be tolerant. He understands that it is not right to be so quick to judge. However, he also has an strong need to rebel.
Of all the people in his life, Axel was one of the more controlling. While Gwernach appreciated Axel's methods in training, he found Axel's religious views oppressive. Leaving Janderhoff against Axel's will was Gwernach's way of saying he was not going to be controlled.; "...just daun't push yer beliefs on mae."
Gwernach is particularly careful about where he steps. Like most dwarves, Gwernach has never had much experience with 'heights'. Unsurprisingly, he likes to have his feet firmly on the ground; he'll never be the first to volunteer to go jump off a bridge, "Aye, well then, you ferst...". And yet it is not just heights that will stay his footfall; insects too cause him some pause. Most good aligned gods, especially those who attach themselves with the protection of innocent life, all share respect for life. All living creatures serve some purpose. They should be allowed to fulfill this purpose. If given the choice, Gwernach would rather step around a trail of ants, or avoid an innocent spider's web than tread on it.

Gwernach was raised with really only one choice in whom to believe in. He found no satisfaction in his parent's beliefs. As he grew older he discovered that there in a multitude of gods and deities to believe in or follow. But this left him with a dilemma, who is the right god/deity for him? Which of them best represented what his moral compass tells him is right?
A reformed skeptic, Gwernach has found what he thinks is his purpose in life. He believes in a higher force, something above the gods themselves which has granted deities like Cayden or Angradd the powers they have. He is driven to find that source to confirm without a doubt that he is heading down the right path.
Gwernach knows the path he has chosen will be fraught with dangers. To help him succeed, he has surmised he will need a strong defense to keep his attackers at bay. To this end, he has chosen paths of divinity with strong defensive characteristics. From the light he sees the message of purity; light is the strongest power, it is the giver of life. From the path of deception, Gwernach sees the metaphor of deception as being representative of our lives. Masks are not just physical walls to hide behind. On an emotional level, we all wear masks of ourselves; we put on a different mask when we are at work than the mask we might wear when
around family and friends. Gwernach wants to break through these masks and the best way to see through them is to live with them.

I added one last story onto the my alias page, and a full crunch write up. This will probably be all I'll be writing for the character for now, except for tweaking what I have as I notice errors and get better ideas.

I'm only posting now to let you know that I am capable of posting on a daily basis. Monday has turned busy for me, and I haven't had so much as time to spend the first 25 points.

I am so unfamiliar with RotR and CC that I have no concept for what would work and what wouldn't. Accordingly, I have plans to refine Eltanin but not to drastically change her. However, upon reflection, I suspect I could change her to be a divine spellcaster without too much drastic carnage to the story. Would that be of help?

If so, clue me in by tomorrow morning - serious crunch will be coming by the end of the day.

Hey, GM. I made a character for a Runelords game that died, and I'd like to submit him for that campaign. I'd have to tweak his statblock slightly - he was built with rolled stats - and adjust his backstory to account for the caravan to Sandpoint. I have a lot more backstory and personality specifications that I never got around to putting in the alias, but he's the most developed character I've ever played. He started out cliche (prettyboy arrogant bard, focused heavily on performance, masterpieces, and charming his way out of trouble), but the more I played him, the more persoanlity and life he developed. If you don't mind a character that was built for a different game, I think he'd be a great addition to round out a party. (Though I'd probably make a seperate alias if he was accepted, because I hold onto hope that the game he was in will pick up again someday...)

The rest of Walden's information!

Physical Appearance:

Of an average size for a gnome, Walden stands at approximately hip height compared to a human man of average size. Slight of frame and somewhat wizened, to the casual glance he appears almost to be a tiny, doddering old man, shuffling along in ink stained robes mumbling to himself quietly. Long, wispy white hair and small spectacles complete the image. Upon closer inspection one notices a faint blue tint to the petite man’s skin and hair, and dramatically large facial features: fat, floppy ears which stick out straight from his head, and a large bulbous nose. His eyes shine bright and blue, sparkling with a light which seems at odds with the oddly muted nature of his other features.
A little under middle aged, those who do not know Walden often guess that he is much older, a fact which can be attributed to the onset of the bleaching he’s begun experiencing.
A large satchel is slung around the gnomes shoulder and hangs to his hip, the insides stuffed with scraps of parchment, stoppered bottles of ink in various colors and several quill pens.

Walden’s Background:

Born roughly 90 years ago (he has never bothered to actually count) to parents as curious and academically orientated as he would later become, Walden had the advenuresome childhood befitting a proper gnome. A dabbler in the arcane and a seeker of lost secrets, Walden’s father packed his partner and their young son on many of his expeditions and explorations. His mother, passionate about the flora and fauna of the natural world provided instruction and encouraged obsessive observation in her young son.
Their lives were wild and unpredictable, and while other races would shake their heads at the precocious gnomes standard for parenthood, to the Ettinmoor’s life seemed perfectly normal. This carefree life changed however when Walden was still a young man. Exploring lost ruins in the jungles of Mwagni, Walden’s father took a desperate risk that placed the young lad and his mother in terrible danger. While Walden survived, hiding in the underbrush as his father fended off the foul beasts that attacked their camp, his mother did not.
Plagued with a terrible guilt, Walden brought his son back to their homeland of Varisia, and settled into Magnimar. Using the expertise he’d gained throughout his adventures, Walden’s father soon found himself an employed academic at the Stone of Seers. He began studying from books and lecturing, and encouraged a down to earth pragmatism in his son that Walden had never before experienced.
Still shaken by the death of his mother, and seeking the lighten the burden on his father, Walden acquiesced to his father’s wishes and pursued academic studies at the Stone. The unruly gnome continued to struggle to reign in his wild and adventurous nature however, and often found himself before a disciplinary committee for some trick or prank he had perpetrated.
While they never spoke of it, Walden was increasingly worried about his father, who spent more and more time shut in, refusing to leave his study.
As the years progressed Walden graduated and continued pursuing his independent study in history. He was particularly captured by the ancient secrets Magnimar seemed to hold, the great monuments and feats of engineering that no academic could work out. The name of ‘Thassilon’ was but a whisper of something in a distant past, another time, and the mystery of it excited Walden and became his secret passion.
He took small trips throughout the surrounding countryside, visiting this ruin or that, but always when he returned his father would urge caution, prudence, and that he best stay within the limits of the city.
The Bleaching had begun working in earnest in his father, but rather than venture out, rather than attempting to turn the tides, Walden’s father devoted his life to researching it.
“If we could cure the bleaching Walden,” his father would say, “then our race would not be plagued with this needless frivolity. We could avoid so very much tragedy.”
Walden attempted to honour his father’s wishes, though over time his father fell further and further into the Bleaching, eventually going mad, and finally dying.
On that day Walden spent several hours noting and studying the interesting grain in the richly stained wood of his father’s casket.
Walden pursued his own career in academia, becoming a notable professor of history. While continuing to honour his father, Walden couldn’t shake the need to break the mold, and became much loved of his students, known for bringing his history lessons to life with various illusions and figments.
Nearing his middle years, the small explorations Walden has made around Magnimar and the excitement of his lessons are doing little to stave off the Bleaching.

Walden’s Personality:

Highly intelligent, and intensely curious about all things, but lacking an awareness of his immediate surroundings, Walden often finds himself carried off in a direction that he had not intended. This attribute has led to both his success in his professional career, delving into historical documents, pursuing research and proposing theories that few of his colleagues have the tenacity to discover, as well as the setbacks he has encountered in a profession lauding stoicism and calm reflection.
The tragic end of his parents, and his own fears concerning following them in turn, leave Walden somewhat conflicted. He tends to avoid any manner of self reflection or introspection fearing what he might learn about himself and prefers to pour his energies into research and a curiosity for all things of the world and its history.
Walden is generally amiable and gregarious when one can get him focused on social interactions. He has had difficulty maintaining relationships with others as few can connect with his wild and frenetic genius. Further, often Walden misses normal social cues being so caught up in his own head. Those whom Walden does consider friends he is fiercely loyal towards.
Of late, though he won’t admit it to himself, the effects of Bleaching have been taking a toll on Walden psychologically. He’s become more apathetic regarding his research, and almost despondent in regards to devising new methods of teaching and in challenging the committee’s standards of instruction, something which he once took great pleasure from.
His decision to go to Sandpoint was something of a whim, and in the quiet moments between his flitting from thought to thought and conjecture to conjecture Walden has secretly hoped that the experience can halt the bleaching and bring him back from the depression and eventual madness his parents suffered. He’s found that he’s not contented with his life, though he rarely thinks of this, and of late a has felt a stirring within him, a subtle feeling that he was meant for something greater, something bigger, that there is a Purpose he needs to find. Although, as with most things Walden believes he will find this “out there” rather than within himself.

How the Professor learned to speak Goblin:

“E...Excuse me, Professor Ettinmoor?” A small, timid voice squeaked from behind a towering bookshelf. On the other side of a shelf a petite gnome sat in an overstuffed chair, his feet barely dangling over its edge and a large tome which made him appear comically small nestled in his lap. The gnome’s lips twitched furiously up and down as his eyes darted and lept across the page. A brilliantly blue lock of hair, all of which had been drawn up atop the gnome’s head like the plumage of an exotic bird drooped down over his face and he brushed it aside unconsciously.
A lanky human youth crept around the edge of the bookcase.
“Professor? If I might trouble you for a moment?” The boy crept closer. His voice mixed with respect and trepidation as he continued to speak. “Professor Ettinmoor, its about the assignment you’d given us on ‘Icons of a Lost Era.’” He paused, a few feet away from the gnome, who continued to read, and was now nimbly twirling the errant blue stand in his fingers. “Well, it seems that text you referred us to. The one specifically about the Lady’s Light. Well, it seems that its been damaged. Or, rather, maybe somebody has taken something from it.” The boy held out a heavy tome in front of him, as if in offering. The gnome continued his reading, now flipping a page and hurriedly scanning the next. He appeared entirely unaware of the youth, now standing beside him.
Unsure how to respond, the youth opened the book to somewhere in the middle. It was clear that a page had been torn from the book. He held it there for a moment in silence, waiting for a response. Finally, after several moments the boy dropped the book in the gnomes lap, turned to the torn out page, covering that which the gnome had been reading.

“Oh!” The small gnome squeaked and jumped a little in his chair. “What’s this then?” He pushed his small spectacles back up his nose and glanced up at the youth next to him. “What the idea here? Sneaking up on me so? And a student no less. You’re…..wait…,” he said hurriedly, holding up a hand, “just wait, it’ll come to me. You’re the Rosewater boy, right?”
“Its Rosland, sir,”
the boy responded.
“Close enough, close enough,” the gnome waved his hand dismissively and then turned his attention to the book in his lap. “What’s this then? Come to confess a crime have you? There’s a page torn from this book lad. You know I take such things quite seriously, quite seriously indeed. Books are the repositories of knowledge, you know. We must treat them with respect. So,” he glanced up at the boy before looking down again, “what say you? What do you have to say in your defence?”
“No, you see sir, I was doing research on…,” the boy continued, before the Professor cut him off.
“Of course you were, of course you were. Good lad Rosewater, good lad. And I can see by the weathering here on the page that this tear is old. You couldn’t have done this. Why would you confess to crime you didn’t do? Doesn’t seem logical. Completely irrational. And a volume on the Lady’s Light. You know this would be an excellent resource for your paper.”
The boy tried to speak, but the Professor continued on , heedless of any attempt at interjection.
“If I’m not mistaken, this page was an illumination of the inscription on the monument itself. Quite well done too, if my memory serves me.” The gnome began thumbing his ear thoughtfully as he flipped through the other pages. “The inscription doesn’t appear to be written elsewhere. Hmm. This won’t do, won’t do at all.”
With a loud ‘thud’ the Professor snapped the large tome shut and hopped down off of the chair. Leaving the book on an adjacent table, he walked briskly over the the corner of the room where he began rummaging through bags and and containers, pulling objects from this one and that, and stuffing them into a bulging satchel at his side, all the while murmuring under his breath. The young man, his hands now stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, looked on, an uncertain expression on his face. For several moments he stood, would open his mouth to speak, only to reconsider his words and close it again. Finally, after some time the gnome appeared satisfied with his endeavour in the corner of the room and, whirling around, strode past the boy with quick, short steps to the exit of the small room.
The young man stood quietly, then pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching for the book that had been left on the table when suddenly he felt a sharp jab in his side. Spinning around, he found the small gnome, his hair now in wild disarray jabbing him with a walking stick!
“What’s this about then? Loitering around. Leave the book Rosewater, we shant need it.” He stood back and took the young student in. “You don’t have any gear. Not even a backpack. How do you do expect to last longer than a few moments on an expedition without any gear? Not prudent. Not wise. Hurry now, go and fetch your things and we’ll be off. There should be a ship leaving for Korvosa shortly if I recall the schedule.”
“Korvosa sir? I don’t understand,” the boy responded, genuinely confused. “You’re going to Korvosa?”
“Me? Of course not just me. I’m not going anywhere alone. I’m far too small for that,” the gnome replied rapidly. “You’ll accompany me. My research assistant. And why would we be going to Korvosa? The ship will drop us off at the Lady’s Light.”
“The Lady’s Light, sir?”

“Yes of course. The recovery the inscription from the torn out page, of course. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. We can’t leave this wonderful volume absent from this potentially very important piece of information. Besides it will be good to get away from the Stone. See the wild. Have an adventure.” The gnome turned and began walking away, stopping at the doorway to look back at the dumbfounded student. “Well come along Rosewater, we haven’t got all day, the ship’s not likely to wait for us.”
The gnome scurried out of the room. The student stood silently stunned for only a moment before hurriedly chasing after the professor.

Rosland watched the marshland approach in the distance as the winds carried them swiftly over the deep blue waters of the ocean. Professor Ettinmoor sat with his back to their destination, staring off over the water, his lips moving furiously up and down. He wondered what the professor was thinking about, but then thought it best not to try going down that tangled road. He still wasn’t sure how it was that he found himself on this ship. He certainly hadn’t been seeking an expedition, or an ‘adventure’ as the Professor called it, and didn't’ feel prepared in the least. Looking back over at the Professor, he wondered if the manic gnome, whose lessons were equally frenetic, but amazingly detailed and richly descriptive, was prepared either. He knew the professor was something of an illusionist, possessing both the natural affinity that his race was known for, as well as schooled training, but was unsure whether Ettinmoor possessed any other arcane power that might help to keep them safe. Certainly the short sword strapped to Rosland’s hip was going to be of little use, the boy had ever drawn the thing by twice in his life.

Such thoughts ate up his time, and before he knew it Rosland was being lowered into a small boat with the Professor, who promptly plunked himself down in the bow, away from the oars. Seeing, his place the young man began rowing for shore.
The shore in question was a tangled mass of dense foliage, which came almost all the way up to the beach itself.
As they rowed, the Professor took on a lecturing tone and began sharing his knowledge of the development of this particular set of islands, how they likely formed, and the manner in which they’d likely changed over the last several millennia since the monument they were seeking out was originally constructed.

When they reached the shore, the small gnome hopped spryly out of the boat and began walking in a southerly direction. They continued on for some time in this manner, until all at once the Professor stopped, causing Rosland to stumble over his feet as he tried to avoid crashing into the gnome. He pointed excited into the dense underbrush, farther inland from beach.
“Do you see that Rosewater? Why I do believe that sprite of color in there is firethistle. Most unusual that. Normally, I believe firethistle grows in more tropical climates.” The gnome squinted through his spectacles at something far in the distance momentarily, and then promptly began walking in that direction. “Well, come along. Let us look for ourselves shall we?”

The two trudged up the beach, and then passed beneath the large trees into the shade they provided. The undergrowth was thick and tangled and the ground soft with moisture. The professor continued further in, heading towards some speck of colour that only he seemed to be able to make out.
After a short while the beach became a distant speck of light behind them and Rosland began to worry that they might lose their way.
“Do you think we should wander so far from the beach Professor?” He asked, concern in his voice. “This doesn’t seem the best place to become lost.”
The Professor replied, unsnagging his satchel which had gotten hung up on a nearby bush. “What makes you think we’re lost? We’re looking for...Aha, there it is!” He pulled his bag free and scurried over to a slender scarlet reed growing along the bank of a small stream. “See, definitely firethistle. I wonder how it's managed to migrate so far north? Perhaps it was carried here on a merchant ship from warmer waters. Most curious. Most curious indeed.”
While the professor continues to prattle on regarding the typical habitat of this particular species of flora Rosland began to look around. The beach was obscured from their view completely, and the jungle around them seemed to press inward ominously. Strange shrieks and squeals from creatures unknown sounded in this distance and a uncomfortable sinking feeling crept into Rosland’s stomach.
“Professor, I don’t think we should stay here any longer,” he stated, half to himself.
“Hmm, do you see this Rosewater?” The Professor responded, ignoring the boy’s concern and squatting down on his haunches to get closer to the small stream. “It appears as though several of the reeds have been pulled out, and there are tracks here. What do you make of them? Animal? Humanoid? Perhaps some other form of creature? What would be pulling up firethistle? Certainly nothing for sustenance.” He toyed idly with one fat earlobe as he continued. “Look here, there is a trail that leads away. Come, let us see what this business is all about.” The Professor, his robes soiled with mud and grime, stood quickly and shuffled through the small creek, continuing deeper into the forest.
“Professor!” Rosland exclaimed, “I really don’t think that’s wise!” But the gnome continued onward, head down following a trail. Now and again he stopped and touched a clearly visible footprint before continuing onward.
Sighing with frustration, Rosland hitched his pack up further and stumbled forward after the gnome.

They continued along a muddy trail for sometime, until suddenly Rosland noticed a collection of skulls hanging from a nearby tree. A little further along, a group of sticks, tied together to resemble a human figure and smeared with a dark substance lay propped up in a bush. The further they went, the more the small fetishes appeared.
“Professor…,” the boy whispered urgently ahead. “I don’t think we should go any farther.”
Again Ettinmoor seemed oblivious to his words as he fixated on the tracks ahead, now and again stopped to thumb his earlobe before continuing on.

Then Rosland heard something in bushes just to their right. There was a snap as a branch cracked just ahead of them and the sound of small shuffling feet could be heard.
“Professor!” The boy said, loud and urgent now. “Professor, I believe we’re in danger!”
“Danger? I don’t think we’re in any…”

Just then the bushes around them erupted into raucous cacophony of shrieks and shouts as small green shapes burst forth, their monstrous mouths split open to reveal maws of razor sharp teeth, and their beady eyes glowing red with hate. In their hands they clasped short, crudely made spears which they thrust violently towards the two. One, larger than the rest, cut through the shrieks and howls in broken common.
“Stabs it! Stab and bite and rip and tear it. We burn it, burns and eat it.” The beast rushed forward stabbing at the Professor, who tucked nimbly backwards avoiding the thrust.
Another monster, a long scar down its face, jagged across where its right eye should have been, leapt forward. Pulling a rusty short sword from his hip, it slashed viciously at the larger one, cutting it deep along its side. The entire troupe erupted into a hacking laughter as the scarred one spoke in a garbled tongue.
The professor stood as the other monsters levelled their spears at them again. “I believe, my boy, that we’re being captured by goblins.”
The fear that had been building in Rosland since they left the beach, broke, his head swam, and distantly he could hear the professor saying something about him not looking well. Then all went black.

When he awoke Rosland found himself laying on the dirt, the decomposing remains of some long dead animal lay next to him. He hurriedly scurried to his feet, only to bump his head on rough wooden slats, which promptly caused him to sit back down.

“Ah, good. Youre awake.” The Professor’s voice came from a small wooden enclosure next to him. He turned to see the gnome sitting in the dirt, chewing on some broad leafed plant. “Bringing you up to speed, it appears we’ve been captured by a local tribe of goblins.” He spoke in spurts in between taking large bites of the plant he was gnawing on. “It is surprising that they didn’t kill us outright and eat us in the forest. Fortunate for our sakes though. I believe we’re being saved for some purpose, though I can’t make out what. Goblin is unlike any of the other languages I’ve studied. Gutteral. It’s difficult to make out which portions are words and which is simply animalistic chattering. I believe I’ve narrowed down a few proper nouns. One in particular sounds important, likely “chief” or “boss” or something of that sort. It’s been used several times in relation to ourselves.” He took another large bite and then held the plant out towards Rosland, slipping his small hands between the slats of wood. “You’ll want to eat some of this, of course.”

Rosland took the plant, sniffed it and took a small nibble. It was the most dreadful thing he’d ever tasted. Instantly his tongue became numb and he felt bile rising from his stomach. Turning away from the cage wall he retched over the remains of the animal she shared a cell with.
“Ah,” the Professor commented. “Yes, it is quite potent. Still, very fortunate I was able to snatch some worm nettle up as they bundled us away here. You’ll want to keep eating it. Just have to get past the gag reflex.”
“It tastes like poison!” Rosland exclaimed, wiping his mouth.
“Oh, it is,” the Professor replied, “but only a mild poison. It shouldn’t kill you. Ah, here we are then, I believe we’re about to find out what’s happening.”

There was some commotion in the camp from within one of the larger ramshackle huts emerged a large, corpulent goblin. A raccoon skull, bleached white, sat upon his head like a crown and he waddled in the direction of the cages. The one eyed goblin dogged his steps. When he reached the cages the fat gobin spoke in broken common.
“Tiny man thing. We cook you up and eats you for big feast. Great Gurglemesh eat your pretty blue skin when moon is gone. But you is skinny, like little human with you. We know what human eats. We gives it badger to help it grow fat, but what funny blue man eat?”

“Great Gurlgemesh,” Ettinmoor replied, continuing to chew on the broad leafed plant. “I am a Blue Bandersnatch. A gentle and peaceful creature. It is true that I have grown small and thin, but that is because I have not been able to find food for myself. I eat the long red reed that grows by the water. It is the red that makes me blue.”
The obese goblin made some hiddeous noise that Rosland presumed must have been laughter. "Flower?" The chief responded, "blue man eats moon-flower?" The chief continued to chortle. "Blue man get moon-flower!" The chief continued his laughter as he waddled away.

The next few days were terror for Rosland. The goblins brought Ettinmoor his Firethistle and Rosland other dead or decaying animals, which he could not force himself it eat. Nor could he stomach the foul broadleaf that the Professor continued to chew. The monsters contined to harass and threaten them day and night, going so far as to occasional stab at them with sharp sticks or throw small stones between the slats. Ettinmoor said little, spending most of his time observing goblin tribe and listening to the tumult. While most of his papers had been pulled from his satchel and torn to shreds by the goblins, he'd managed to secret away a small scrap of parchment upon which he occasionally wrote notes to himself using a charred stick which one of the goblins had used to poke him awake one morning.
When not observing or writing or mumbling to himself Ettinmoor worked the Thistle they'd given him between his thumbs, turning it into a wet pulp.
"I thought you were going to eat the Thistle?," Rosland asked him one day, watching the gnome at work.
"Oh no, my boy, on no!" The gnome chuckled at the thought. "That would go very bad for us, very bad indeed. For me , in particular, but ultimately for you as well." He laughed again, his eyebrows wiggling as he imagined the scenario in his head. "Actually," he said, regaining his composure, "perhaps you can help."
Ettinmoor proceded to direct him in making small earthen balls of clay, and to then poke holes in balls, hollowing them out, and to place them on top of the roof slats to bake in the sun. When questioned about his odd request the Professor simply stated, "Presentation, my boy, every good bit of magic requires the proper presentation!"

For two days they engaged in their labour, each growing weaker, and the goblins becoming bolder in their torment. On the third day Ettinmoor asked for the small clay pots and promptly began spitting in them.
"A little something I picked up as a boy in the Mwangi," he stated, winking.
After filling the pots with his saliva, the professor, fed the pulped end of a small reed into each. He placed several of the small pots back on top of his enclosure and instructed Rosland to do the same. "Be careful with them boy," he cautioned, "the time isn't right yet. Unless I'm mistaken tonight's the big night." His eyes twinkled with a mischievous light.

That night the camp was wilder than usual, the goblins lit great fires and shrieked as they ran amongst them, playing cruel games on one another. When the door to the large hut opened, and the obese chieftain waddled out Ettinmoor whispered to Rosland from the corner of his mouth, "stay low, and keep your head down. And run back away from the camp fires."
Rosland began incredulously, "how am I too run..." But the professors stern gaze cut him off. He was focused, determined, a look the young student had rarely seen on the gnome.

As the chief approached Ettinmoor called out, standing as he did so, "Great Gurlgemesh, be ware for the fiery Red Bandersnatch comes!" Then Ettinmoor began gurgling and gesticulating wildly to the gathered goblins. It took a moment for him to realize that the Professor was speaking goblin, barking and hacking in the odd language. The goblins began to look nervously at the brush around them before the chief cut Ettinmoor off, responding to whatever threats the gnome had been making. Just then the Professor turned towards the brush behind him, continued gesticulating but his voice slipped into an arcane language much more familiar to Rosland.
Immediately thereafter a loud roar erupted from behind the cages, and the goblins began scrambling about the camp. Ettinmoor continued his incantations as the chief attempted to regain order over his tribe. A moment later a giant red creature, scaled, with a huge maw of dagger like teeth and eyes which erupted in flame appeared next to the cages in the clearing between them and the bushes.
Madness filled the camp as goblins began screaming and running in every direction. A few hurled their spears at the creature, while other scrambled for other weapons.
"Down Rosewater!" The Professor shouted and then a deafening explosion erupted above the cages, first Ettinmoor's and then Rosland's. The wooden slats above him exploded in a hail of wooden splinters and the cages fell apart.
Rosland fell to the earth, a ringing in his ears, when suddenly there was an insistent pull on his collar. Ettinmoor tugged furiously at him, "Come on boy, make for the bushes."

Around them was chaos and panic and still the monster loomed threateningly above them. The gnome ignored the creature and scurried past it, plunging into the darkness. Scrambling to his feet Rosland followed. A dim light appeared in the darkness and he made for it. Ettinmoor stood there, his hand illuminated. "Come, we must hurry, our presentation has confused them, but they'll see through the illusion soon enough." And then he plunged hurriedly into the darkness.

The remainder of that night was beyond terrifying for young Rosland. They stumbled, mostly aimlessly through the swamp, and on several occasions stopping to listen to the sounds of pursuit before heading in the opposite direction.
By some miracle they again found themselves on the beach as the sun began to rise. There were sails in the distance, and Ettinmoor scurried over the row boat that still sat beached upon the shore.
“Don’t dawdle lad, don’t dawdle,” the Professor scolded, turning back to the young man, “we’re very lucky that the lunar phases aligned with our timing to meet the good captain’s sister ship on its return voyage. Very lucky indeed. Why another night and we’d have been stranded out here, miles from help.”
Rosland walked woodenly over to the boat, pushed it out into the water,and then began rowing mechanically in the direction of the sails.
For the first time on their trip the Professor seemed to take note of the boys condition. “Oh don’t feel too bad Rosewater. It is a shame that we never got a chance to mark down the inscription on the monument, but look on the brightside! We learned quite a bit about the structure of the local goblin tribes, and even had an opportunity to learn their odd tongue right in amongst them! A rare opportunity!”
Rosland stopped rowing and simply stared at the gnome perched at the other end of the boat.
“Oh, of course,” Ettinmoor said snapping his fingers, as though he’d just put a particularly difficult problem together, “of course you’ll get the extra credit you were looking for as well. Sometimes I forget about the motivations of a student!”
Rosland opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, and just kept rowing.

Nebuchcanezzar does indeed want to return Thassilion to it's former glories...not in the way you think though. Read on.

The Goddess Lissala and the Thassilion Empire both have two incarnations (if it helps thing of them as the difference between imperial Rome and the Roman republic). Lissala appears in her first incarnation that of a LN goddess that shepards the Thassilion people to new lands away from Azlanti oppression. Thus comes the first incarnation of Thassilion which while not exactly benign was not evil either, they were ruled by the First Emperor and his appointed governers the Runelords. Then the first Emperor dies and leaves behind a remarkably weak second "emperor" (read puppet of the far more experienced Runelords) who leads Thassilion down into it's second incarnation along with Lissala who mutates into a LE goddess thanks to the mutations caused in rune magic which was directly linked to her. The virtues that she promoted became sins and rune magic became sin magic, in effect the LN goddess had transformed although she had many worshippers who still believed in the LN Lissala (primarily the lower classes). Due to lack of worshippers and the flux that is occuring in the system of sin/rune magic she has in many ways reverted to the LN goddess that ushered in Thassilion. Yet she has weakened greatly and has chosen a mortal to act as the restorer of Thassilion (old, old school style) and in doing so restore her. The fate of Lissala and Thassilion are tied together and cannot be seperated.

Plot hooks:
Necbuchcanezzar is not going to Sandpoint for the first time, it has been two years since his awakening and he has been busy. Necbuchcanezzar has been securing alliances with priests and Nobles of Sandpoint for well over a year, to succeed in his bid for emperorship of a a reborn Thassilion he must first gather allies. For an emperor must have loyal subjects and ferocious allies, especially now for many of the works of Sin Magic have spiraled out of control without the Sin Mages to rein them in. If these workings are not put right or destroyed the chances of ressurecting a Thassilion empire are none. To further complicate matters Necbuchcanezzar has searched high and low for records of where Priestess Rye was buried but to no avail, much of the ancient records of Thassilion have been destroyed and he must find a different way of finding the grave. Necbuchcanezzar has also been investing heavily in the success of Sandpoint, he has been doing his best to ensure that the small town's trade routes remain clear and hazard free. Necbuchcanezzar's doubts that he can worm his way into the power structures of far off Korvosa or it's sister city Magnimar. As such he is focusing his efforts onto turning Sandpoint into a city that can compete with those great cities, as Sandpoint gains in strength so shall he. Indeed Necbuchcanezzar is starting to become something of a hero among Sandpoint's populace, he has never asked for payment for the services he provides. Necbuchcanezzar understands that the goodwill andd support of Sandpoint is it's own currency, one that may become exceptionally valuable if he can help the town realize it's ambitions.

Priestess Rye:
Priestess Rye at least before Necbuchcanezzar was "interred" was a great friend of his and he knew her well. She was a middle aged matron of thirty three years and bore red hair, fierce purple eyes and a rather "matriacharical" face. Rye was stubborn, haughty and determined to get her way. At the same time however she could be remarkably generous towards her congration and provided healing magic at no charge to the faithful of Lissala. She was also a strong believer in the Lissala of the beginning of the empire not the version that the Runelords believed in so heavily. Needless to say she had few friends among the sin mages of Thassilion and had dealt with many assasins of both the mortal and magical variety. Rye was a close if demanding friend.

still have not decided on Necbuchcanezzar's appearance yet, gm do you like the additions?

Gwernach Nickelbeard wrote:

Thanks for your interest. I've added a thing or two to my personality. Hope you like it :)

** spoiler omitted **...


I like it!

Wilthorn Gwanae wrote:
I added one last story onto the my alias page, and a full crunch write up. This will probably be all I'll be writing for the character for now, except for tweaking what I have as I notice errors and get better ideas.


Thanks for all of the changes you've made due to my annoying feedback!

El Ronza wrote:
Hey, GM. I made a character for a Runelords game that died, and I'd like to submit him for that campaign.


First of all – thanks for being honest that this was a character you had already created. This is not an automatic fail for this game as my intention was to stop people dumping a stat-block on me and hoping that was enough.

So…on to your submission.

The opening was very strong. I know what class the character is without you using the name and I know what he looks like and what he likes. I also know what drives him.

The second part is very much tell and not show. I’ve asked others to turn this the other way around and they’ve humoured me. If I were to accept the character – and I like it very much – I’d have to ask you to endure what the others have. If you could weave those personality traits into your story, I’d be more likely to include him. Some of it comes through anyway but not all e.g. “no qualms about bending the truth for his own benefit.”

It’s late in the process – and you haven’t a lot of time – so I can understand if you decide not to make the changes. I can’t make any promises either way and I just want to be honest with you.

Professor Walden T. Ettinmoor wrote:

The rest of Walden's information!

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **...


What a story, what an imagination. Regardless of his use to a group, I can see how much fun the professor would be as he interacts with the others.

I can think of nothing else to add.

How long is left? I'm sure I can make the necessary changes. This character is easy for me to write about.

Viluki wrote:

Nebuchcanezzar does indeed want to return Thassilion to it's former glories...not in the way you think though. Read on.

** spoiler omitted **

** spoiler omitted **...


It is all very clever and imaginative and the background to Neb's story is beautifully crafted. What I still struggle with is, 'who is Neb?'

I know he's Thassilion and he's proud but other than that there was a short list of attributes at the bottom of the personality spoiler. I want to understand Neb, empathise with him. The back-story is a great opening and I know his ambition but I want to know more about him as a person. And in a show don't tell style.

The character intrigues me but I need more of his inner workings to be able to say he's captured my imagination more than any other arcane character.

I know time is ticking away and I can understand if I've frustrated you, but I'd like you to tell me some more if I'm to bump another player to include Neb.

El Ronza wrote:
How long is left? I'm sure I can make the necessary changes. This character is easy for me to write about.

Not that I'm being precise - but 28 hours and 45 minutes.

Yeah, I can do that. The question is whether I can get it done in time for feedback...

El Ronza wrote:
Yeah, I can do that. The question is whether I can get it done in time for feedback...


What I've seen so far is very good. If you work on the bits I discussed you are 90% there (and you can work on the other 10% at your leisure - or not at all).

The next step would be crunch but you're ahead of the game there.

This is Wolfgang Rolf's character. Everything but the crunch is pretty much complete. I'll do my best to get the extra story up before the deadline, thank you for your consideration and patience.

Veryl Melthid wrote:
This is Wolfgang Rolf's character. Everything but the crunch is pretty much complete. I'll do my best to get the extra story up before the deadline, thank you for your consideration and patience.


Wow! That is excellent. I'm short on feedback because I think I saw everything I need to see there.

I get his physical appearance and his motivations and personality. I can see how he'll no doubt develop over time as he forms into a new 'gang.'

Please do the crunch for me - you've already woven into the character the skills and abilities I expect to - but for completeness it would be ideal.

Thanks again for making my decision so challenging!

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