Professor Lorrimor, the renowned investigator and arcanist, has died. You came to his home in the town of Ravengro to pay your respects, but quickly discovered there was more to the wily old man's death than met the eye...
10:17, Gozran 28th, Ravengro
The booming roar of the rain drowns out any other noise. Water mats your hair, drips from your nose, collects uncomfortably in the small of your back, and plasters your clothes to your body like an overzealous embrace. Spatters of mud mar everyone’s clothing after the lengthy journey from the Temple in town. And yet, despite the chill and the discomfort, you stand steadfast, brought together by grief and friendship.
The Professor’s body—even in the casket—is lighter than you thought it would be. At the front of the procession, a Pharasmin acolyte named Besmer walks alongside Lem, the halfling’s extravagant raiment seeming none the worse for wear despite the downpour. Lem’s armour seems to pick up every minuscule gleam of sunlight from the leaden skies, refracting it through the water droplets into a scintillating panoply. Next to Lem, the grey-robed Pharasmin seems almost like a shadow.
At the rear, a group of only seven Ravengrians have come to pay their respects, walking behind the Professor’s daughter Kendra. Kendra made a few introductions, but her mind was on other things, as you might imagine. Keeping pace with Kendra is the samsaran Rose, whose ethereal appearance has occasioned comment several times already this morning. Together, she and Kendra make for a forlorn tableau amid the torrent, as Kendra’s silent tears mix with the raindrops on her face to trickle into the mud.
In between the huddled mourners and the resplendent halfling, six other new arrivals are carrying the Professor to his final resting place. At the front, Dragomir and Karrik make an impressive bulwark against the rain, the water almost parting around them like a bow wave. In the middle, Walter walks unsteadily on one side while Rajuna stares stoically ahead on the other. Flori and Theron bring up the rear, anger and sadness chasing themselves repeatedly across the half-orc’s face while Theron seems lost in his own melancholy.
The procession makes measured progress into the Restlands, at last reaching the gravel path that leads from the gate to the Professor’s gravesite, where Father Grimburrow waits to deliver the service and last rites. Everyone walks with bowed heads, weighed down with sorrow.
The path rounds a corner, turning right as it passes a small mausoleum. With rain this heavy, it’s no surprise that Lem almost bumps right into the group of men arrayed in front of him.
Close to a score of Ravengrians block the procession’s path. Farmers, fishermen or elderly all, the eldest amongst them stands at the front of the group, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched in a rictus grin as the men behind him mill around, seemingly possessed of varying levels of commitment. And while they may not be soldiers, it’s quite clear that some of them are all too enamoured of violence, with every man amongst them them carrying farm implements of some description—sickles, threshers, hoes, pitchforks, and even a scythe.
The old man at the front of the group has to yell to be heard, but be heard he will. That’s far enough! We been talkin, and we don’ want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You kin take ‘im upriver and bury ‘im there if’n ye want, but he ain’t goin in the ground here! The man stands, arms crossed, seemingly determined not to budge, while the other men close in behind him, some of them wiping the rain from their too-large eyes.
Before Rose can raise an objection, Kendra bustles her way to the front of the procession to stand beside Lem. Her anger is palpable, her sadness forgotten temporarily at this affront to her father’s memory. What are you talking about, Gibs? I arranged it with Father Grimburrow! His grave has already been—
You don’ git it, woman. The man named Gibs spits on the ground, his saliva joining the puddles already thronging the Restlands. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin! I suggest you move out…while you still can. He nods his head backwards over his shoulder as the other men tighten their grips on their weapons. Folks are pretty upset about this right now. No tellin what might happen if’n someone were to do somethin…stupid. His eyes narrow as he takes in Lem and the pallbearers. That is to say, somethin else stupid…
Disposition Update
The rain makes it hard to see and the noise is quite loud. Maximum visibility is 30ft and Perception checks are at -4. Moving faster than your standard movement in a round (including any penalties for armour/encumbrance) requires a DC10 Acrobatics check to remain upright due to the slippery mud. Five foot steps are unaffected and there is no difficult terrain. For those carrying the casket, you are considered to have both hands full, although with a successful concentration check you could cast a spell with somatic components. Two of you can probably let the casket go without any danger of the other four dropping it, provided both of you aren't from the same side or same end. Making or failing a concentration check to cast a spell as outlined above does not carry any risk of dropping the casket.
The men behind Gibs are clearly looking to him as their leader. They range in age from 20s to 60s. It's hard to get an accurate count in the rain, but some are definitely spoiling for a fight, while others are less keen. Rose, the other Ravengrians near you (a couple of which, you have been told, are Council members) appear quite scandalised about this situation and one of them is muttering about calling the Sheriff, so it's clear Gibs is acting on his own. Unfortunately the Sheriff is at least a 5-minute walk away, back in the town.
The men look like they're on edge--Gibs included. For his part, Besmer is totally out of his depth and is opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
You probably have time for a single quick exchange with Kendra (in other words, a single post from you and a single post from me) before Gibs and his men get over-excited and launch an attack.
F Human Urban Ranger 6, Init +6 (8)†; Perception +10 (12)†; AC 18, 13 T, 15 FF/ hp 50/52 Saves F +7 R +8 W +6; +2 vs. charm and compulsion
Flori lets go of the casket, and walks straight up to Gibs.
Necromancer? What nonsense. The very idea! YOU try to stop a proper burial of a well-respected dead man. I'd say YOU'RE the necromancer, if there is one around here. Look at what you're doing to his poor daughter! You have no right to meddle in things you clearly don't understand.
Get out of our way, and let this man be properly buried, or it won't be the dead you'll need to worry about. I mean it! Use your heads! Either pay your respects in a dignified fashion, or get out of our way!
I have this ability: Public Speaker (An evangelist gains Perform as a class skill. In addition, he is trained to project his voice with great skill and effect; the DC to hear him speak in difficult conditions is reduced by an amount equal to his class level plus his Charisma modifier (+4).) Just wanted to point this out as it might matter.
The halfling stands his ground and looks straight into the eyes of the one called Gibs. Somehow, over the pounding rain, the diminutive priest's voice booms forth.
Easy, Flori. None of us here wants any violence. You see, Mr. Gibs, this is a holy ceremony recognized and looked upon favorably by both gods and men. We will honor the professor's wishes, and the gods themselves, by engaging in the peaceful process of Petros' last travels. Do you truly wish to displease Pharasma herself? Whatever disagreements you had with the Professor in life, let us put them aside as we bury him in death.
Rose moves up in front of Kendra, doing her best to shield her from Gib's group. She says to her in a hushed tone, "We should let Lem and the others handle them. I feel certain they can resolve this peacefully."
The casket grew heavier and he almost slipped in the mud. The men, to be honest, terrified Walter. There were very many of them, he had the disadvantage and the thought of conflict quickened his heartbeat, shook his nerve. The threats of violence flew and he had to say something, but nothing came out. Before he could muster anything, Lem stepped forward and spoke, and Walter was thankful for that.
He held up his hand towards Flori and just said "It's okay," hoping that everyone would calm down.
Raj sighs inwardly, assessing the mob. It always starts with one ram that gets his bluster from the sheep in his wake.
While his recent drinking companions are deftly handling the old ram Gibs, Raj works on a contingency plan and the source of the farmer's courage. He casts a glance back at the group of Ravengrian mourners and indicates Flori's vacant spot. His tone is matter-of-fact. "I'd like one of you to take that spot - just for a minute - and a couple more besides. Step up folks. The Professor needs you to help out just a little bit."
While he waits for any volunteers to step forward, he addresses the farmers that seem least committed to the fight, ignoring Gibs. Raj lets the tone set by Dragomir, Flori, and Lem stand while only adding his frank appraisal to wear at the resolve of the hesitating farmers in the mob. He easily drops into his commoner's drawl. "Doc here was a good man and your priests got no problem with this burial. You think you know better than Pharasma's chosen? Yur pickin' a bad fight 'gainst the wrong people. Best you head home. If this ends in blood, it will be more of yours than you care for."
AA (either to Intimidate or Diplo)1d20 ⇒ 7 IF Intimidate 7 + 3 = 10
IF Diplomacy 7 - 1 = 6
I have this ability: Public Speaker (An evangelist gains Perform as a class skill. In addition, he is trained to project his voice with great skill and effect; the DC to hear him speak in difficult conditions is reduced by an amount equal to his class level plus his Charisma modifier (+4).) Just wanted to point this out as it might matter.
Lem:
I know, right? It's almost like I planned this situation to cater to your talents! ; )
Kendra's body language doesn't soften, but she grips Rose's hand and draws a couple of deep breaths, clearly trying to calm herself. Thank you, Rose. I'm so glad you and the others are here. You all meant a great deal to my father. I will try to remember that instead of this...wilful ignorance. She says it like it's a terrible insult. But then, to her it probably is.
I will take Lem as speaking first, seeing as he's near the front and likely has the first opportunity to address the situation. The rest of you can aid another. Raj, take a +5 to your Diplomacy check for the excellent appeal to the common folk. Nice work.
Gibs stands impassive in the rain, the water running down his face in rivulets as Lem makes his impassioned entreaty. When Flori steps forward, some of the men behind Gibs shrink back visibly at the sight of a half-orc in their own town. Dragomir's venomous words drive a few more back a step. By the time Raj speaks, two of them simply drop their tools and run.
But one man steps forward through the curtains of water. He stops next to Gibs, and holds out his pitchfork. The two of them stand eye-to-eye, staring one another down as the rain hammers down all around them.
Finally, Gibs blinks--and takes the pitchfork, as the nameless farmer moves to Kendra and kneels before her. Kendra's features soften and she puts a hand on the man's shoulder. He stands back up--and even in the rain you can see the tears of shame pouring down his cheeks. His says something to Kendra--his words lost in the tumult--and she nods an assent before he moves over to take Flori's spot holding the casket.
As soon as the farmer's hands touch the timber of the Professor's casket, the mob's nerve is broken. Most of them melt away in the rain like the last of yesterday's snow, and Gibs is quickly left standing alone with little more than a few surly old men for company.
Bereft of his mob, Gibs seems somehow smaller, the pitchfork he is left holding now looks almost comically oversized for his aging frame. You mark my words, woman, and you mark them well, he says to Kendra. Your father brought nothin but misery to this town, with all his meddlin in affairs that shouldn'a concernt him. Put 'im in the ground then. Be done with 'im. And long overdue I say. Time us hard workin folks had some peace.
Gibs draws his remaining pride close and mutters to his lingering companions. They trudge sullenly away back towards Ravengro, passing by the casket without sparing their former comrade a second look.
Well done everyone, you have successfully defused this encounter. You all gain 150 XP, which has been tracked on the Campaign Info tab.
If Flori wishes to resume her place holding the Professor's casket, the farmer gives it up willingly and joins the small group of mourners walking behind Kendra.
Before the procession begins again, Kendra takes a moment to address you all.
Thank you so much for coming. You can see now what life has been like for us living here these last fifteen years, although in my youth men like Gibs would have kept quiet rather than airing their baseless and ignorant suspicions. My father, though, bore an abiding love for this town and its citizens, one which I struggle to emulate. She lays a hand on Karrik's shoulder. I welcome the strength of your friendship and the life you all shared with my father even more than I welcome your strength of arms right now.
She takes a moment to try to straighten her sodden gown, and tame her now-unruly hair.
And now I think it is well past time we paid my father the final respects he deserves. Lem, please carry on.
Lem and Besmer move off at the head of the procession, which soon arrives at the prepared gravesite.
Father Grimburrow, a devotee of Pharasma and Ravengro's town priest, stands with two gravediggers ready to receive Professor Lorrimor's casket. After a few prayers and a brief sermon, Father Grimburrow indicates it's time for Kendra to take a position at the head of her father's grave and say a few words.
Kendra looks pensive for a moment, lost in thought.
I remember, she begins, my first sight of Ravengro. I was a girl of only nine winters--and rather frightened at the idea of moving to a small town so far away from everything I'd grown up with. The first thing I noticed coming here was that there was nothing to notice--no high tower to dominate the town's horizon, no university buildings to sneak around when father wasn't watching, and no bustle in the streets...just a few people going about their business of the day. How would I find my way around this strange place filled with all these people I didn't know?
It seemed strange to me then. My father could tell I was upset, looking out the window of the carriage that had carried us down from Lepidstadt, and he leaned in to ask me what was wrong. I told him about my concerns--that I could see no landmarks and that I was afraid I would become lost, and never see him again.
He merely smiled, and told me that I would have to make my own landmarks, and carry them around in my heart and my mind rather than leaving them to some building, some collection of stones and thatch with no personal meaning to me.
And so it proved. If he was anything, Petros was often infuriatingly right.
There are many places I remember now. The road outside Zokar's, one of the mourners nods as Kendra catches his eye, where Petros saved young Pevrin from a runaway horse.
The mourner's hand goes to a young man's shoulder--presumably this is Zokar and his son Pevrin.
I remember Jominda's house--the sights and smells of it as a teenager were quite remarkable. An older woman amongst the small group must be Jominda. It was with Petros' help that Jominda was able to develop her new tinctures that have given relief so many of the people of this town.
Kendra straightens, looking upward into the rain as though reviewing memories from the last decade and a half. And I remember what this town was like when we arrived. A listless, tired place with no purpose. Petros, driven as he was, pushed all of us to achieve more with our lives, to do more, to be more than we were. That rubbed off, no matter how little you associated with him. She spares the eight of you a glance and a wan smile at this last remark.
And now he's gone--gone beyond the veil to share his gift for giving freely of himself with those who need it more than we do. Kendra is visibly struggling now, but masters her emotions with supreme effort.
Dad, I miss you, she says simply, placing a hand on the casket in front of her. I wish you hadn't left. But I will do my best to carry on your legacy. They are big shoes to fill, but I am your daughter, and if I can make some small contribution to the world that mirrors your own, I will be happy with my lot.
Kendra steps back, her self-control momentarily overcome as her body is wracked by sobs at her sudden and unexpected loss.
Father Grimburrow allows Kendra a few moments to compose herself, then steps forward. Thank you Kendra, that was most touching. Are there any others who would like to say a few words?
None of the other mourners look like they are going to say anything. The floor is yours. If you decide to speak, please make a Diplomacy or Perform check as suits you best.
Also, it's a real pity there's no avatar of the actual Father Grimburrow, he looks awesome (link).
F Human Urban Ranger 6, Init +6 (8)†; Perception +10 (12)†; AC 18, 13 T, 15 FF/ hp 50/52 Saves F +7 R +8 W +6; +2 vs. charm and compulsion
Flori retook her place carrying the casket, but now she has nothing to add. She was planning to go visit her own family up in Vieland after this. She hopes they're okay. It's been a long time.
Dang.. sorry i missed the confrontation! Evenings (especially weekend evenings) are hard for me to post.
Karrik's blood still boils at the confrontation, and at the way he stood paralyzed with emotions in the moment. Maybe its for the best, he thinks darkly as he listens to Kendra's words, I'd have only made things worse.
The combined weight of the rain and the casket drive him slowly into the mud, but he stands stalwart vigil as the words of the Professor's only daughter puts words to the sorrow in his own heavy heart. Karrik doubts Kendra knows it -- or possibly would ever know it -- but he found himself realizing that they would be forever tied together by the greatness of the man who so profoundly shaped both of their lives.
When Kendra finishes -- giving anyone the opportunity to speak -- the half-orc struggles against his own dislike of attention as well as his dislike of the day's events. He can't quite keep some anger from his voce. He'd never been one for ceremony or delicate words, so his unprefaced words boom out against the constant wash of the rain. "He was a good man. The best I've known." He looks back towards the small town of Ravengro and its very few inhabitants who came out, then he looks over at Kendra before continuing. "I've only visited this town once or twice, and I don't know the people who live therein. But one thing I know. Like myself, the town will be forever brightened and darkened by his living in and passing from here. In my darkest time I ponder my life without his influence, and I cringe. The Professor saw something in me worth encouraging, and he poured himself into me. If I can grow to have one-tenth the heart of selflessness he did, then I know I…" his black eyes range around the group, especially including those he'd met the night before at the tavern. Despite his best effort, there is still raw emotion as well as some residual rage and challenge at the earlier confrontation on his features, "… as well as Golarion will be better for it. We are all better for his life, and worse off for his loss."
I guess Diplomacy? And shudder to think what will be the outcome of a 7 cha person still frustrated by the town's treatment of his favorite person.
Diplomacy 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (7) - 2 = 5.
Dang, I missed my chance to try and add to the wall of intimidation, and now Theron doesn't have much to say XD
Theron, fuming with anger, had been about ready to let go of the casket and head to the front to teach those fools a lesson. He recognized some of the villagers as those who had come to him with accusations against the professor before. How dare they disregard his judgement and continue soiling professor Lorrimor's name! Thankfully, the situation was diffused so quickly that his actions were not necessary.
Hearing Kendra's speech about the professor calmed Theron down, and he listened silently as those who knew the man better than him spoke.
AC16, touch 11, flat-footed 15 |HP 13/[13]| CMB +5/CMD16 | Fort +5, Ref +1, Will +0 |Init + 1|Perception +0|Sense Mot +0 Male Human Fighter/1
Dragomir steps up, carefully allowing the 'Breed' his space and his opportunity to finish talking. His deep voice is a bit strained and thick, his words coming slowly, as if from a far away place within him, the formality of his tone some how more meaningful for the effort. The words are simple and halting as he struggles with sharing his thoughts.
I don't think I have the same sorta stories you all seem to be havin' - didn't know him much more than a month. But... he was a good man. He said what he meant and meant what he said, and thats somethin'. And he gave more than what he could've, and in my case he gave me somethin' to think about and a bit more understandin' bout the Lady of Graves and 'bout what she means for us to be doing in 'tween the Birthin and Dyin' of us all.
I respected him as a man, and even if I didn't know his quality?, Dragomir looks at the assemblage, By looking at his daughter and his friends, I'd know what sort of man he was. I'm sorry that he passed.
Dragomir makes a spiral sign with his finger and intones,
May The Lady guide him in the steps he now takes and take care of him.
Having finished, he bows his head and touches the coffin as he moves to let another take his place.
Diplomacy 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
You can type and preview your words and the dice results will be visible... so if you roll kick arse or craptastic you'll know before you get attached to what you are planning and write accordingly... how cool is that?!
Eloquence comes hard to the dark Varisian. Eyes down, he speaks more to the coffin than the assembled mourners, his hands stuffed deep in his sodden pockets. "Well, Doc, looks like you are doing the recon on this particular job, I guess. Try not to pester all them Celestials with your questions... and I'll be expectin' that you'll have another book or two written by the time we meet again. So don't go shirkin' off."
He sighs, "You've had my back a time or two and I've had yours. This time around, you're on your own so be careful. But, just in case, take this..." Raj pulls a scabbarded, curved dagger from his pocket and lays it on the coffin. "Anyone gives you trouble, you show'em that and tell'em that I'll be by directly to take their measure if they give you any grief. I hear Celestials are goodly folk but you know I trust nothin' second-hand - Holy Writ or not. Anyhow, I'll be seein' you again one of these days - so keep a seat by the fire open and a pint ready if it ain't a burden." He nods to the coffin and steps back pulling his hood lower over his face.
At: Cynarion—hehe, Lem thanks you for the opportunity :-)
Lem looked at the mourners bowing their heads in the rain. He held his head high and as he walked toward the casket and the onlookers glanced up to hear him speak, he smiled at them in turn.
Father Grimburrow, friends, and family of the beloved professor—don’t despair! The sorrow we feel now is for the loss of our loved one in THIS time and in THIS place. But the measure of a man isn’t in where he is in one moment in time—his wealth, his fame, his knowledge. The life of a man is immeasurable—it is not only in the lives that he has touched and the people he has known, but in THOSE people’s lives and THEIR experiences, and so on and so on, as a rock cast into a pond sends ripples across the entire surface of the water. Professor Lorrimor has shaped us all in some way, large or small, and we will in turn pass that knowledge, kindness, and generosity down through the generations. In this way will he always be with us, and so, never forgotten.
The gods give us one lifetime to make our mark upon this world. Many men and women live in fear of what fate has chosen for them, or lament their bad luck. But Desna shows us that fate and luck are two sides of the same coin, and we hold that coin in our own hands. Those who are bold enough to act will always find help on their side, just as the Professor did in his encounters with all of us. He was a man who did what he knew to be right, and this will serve him well as he makes his next journey, for a man so strong of will and good of heart will never lose his way.
Walter placed a hand on Kendra's shoulder as she cried, hoping to comfort her. Kendra and he had spoken on multiple occasions, though he wondered if his demure disposition had made him less memorable than he had hoped. He ran his hand across her shoulder, swiping water off of her clothes as he listened to Lem. When it was quiet, and Lem had finished, and it seemed no one else was going to speak, Walter pressed himself into stepping forward to the casket, floating away from the group. Everything smelled like mud and he wasn't sure what to say. He put his hand onto the casket and spoke.
"Professor... Professor, do you remember what you said to me in Havenguard? An old man walked into my cell, bold as a soldier and told me to shut up-- and when I did, you said, 'Sorry! I didn't know what else to say to make you stop.'" Walter cracked a smile, mimicking the Professor as best he could. "You said, 'The bones land in a spiral, but who threw them?'" He paused for just a second to feel the casket the same way he did Kendra's shoulder-- they felt the same, freezing cold. "I thought it was wrong. You were blaspheming, being obtuse on purpose, and it made me mad... but I understand now. I throw the bones that land in my own spiral. Havenguard wasn't where I had ended up because I wanted to, but because I had let myself be thrown along with them. 'Life isn't what you make of it but what you take from it' is what I thought but you showed me that I was wrong. I didn't have to let myself be thrown. If it weren't... and you hadn't... You saved me."
Walter lost it-- the calm he had tried to keep-- and his voice screwed up as he spoke, palming the corner of his eye but not letting go of the coffin. "I'll miss you," he sobbed, and took a step back into the group, covering his face and trying to stifle his crying.
Beneath his hood, Raj shoots a quick glance at Rose to get her reaction to this talk of one life.
Rose closes her eyes for a moment, a deeper look of sadness passing her face.
**************************
As Walter finishes, Rose offers him a comforting hug before taking her own place to offer some final words. "The Professor helped me when I was in need and no one else would. I had become ill, and needed him to..." Rose struggles for a moment to find the right words, "I needed him to help me recover from it. That was the kind of man the Professor was.
"Now you take the River to stand before the Mother of Souls, may she remember all the good you have done in the lives of those you have left behind. Thank you for all you have done for us." With that, Rose steps down for another to say their goodbyes.
As everyone said their farewells to the professor, Theron quietly and respectfully said his own piece: "Goodby old man. I did not know you for very long, and I wish I had met you under better circumstances. What I do know, just from hearing these stories, is that if the the darkness' grip on this land is broken it will be because of the good deeds of men such as yourself. May Pharasma judge you well."
Man, six rolls and nary a one of you made the DC. If I had to guess I'd say that your favourite rule right now is on page 86 of the Core Rulebook. : þ
The people in attendance are clearly moved by the stories you share. By the time Rose finishes her eulogy, the big moustachioed man named Zokar is weeping openly, as is the much older apothecary, Jominda. The others gathered around, Sarianna included, are either wiping tears surreptitiously from their eyes or staring stony-faced at the Professor's casket as the two gravediggers finally begin to lower it into the grave.
Kendra throws the first sod onto the casket, and then numbly shakes hands or shares a stiff embrace with each of the Ravengrians who came to pay their respects--the farmer included. As the gravediggers bend their back to their task, Kendra continues to watch, silent, until the final spadeful is tamped down on her father's grave. A patch of earth bare of grass marks the Professor's final resting place, next to his gravestone, which reads:
The Professor's Gravestone wrote:
Here lies Petros Lorrimor, beloved father, selfless philanthropist, and stern opponent of evil in all its guises.
The rain is finally starting to clear as Kendra comes around to stand before the gravestone, placing a hand upon it as she stares at the words carved into it.
He really was selfless, wasn't he? Kendra says to no-one in particular. I just never realised quite how much.
She takes a moment to contemplate her father's life, many of its facets only now becoming apparent to her. After a while, she turns to the group of you.
I guess you're wondering what happens next? Well, as I mentioned in my note, my father's will stipulates that all eight of you need to be here for it to be read. Right now I have no idea what's in it myself. Councillor Hearthmount--he was the large man with the receding hairline and triple chin--will be coming along to read the will in an hour or so. Until then, you're all most welcome to come to my house. I'd like to hear whatever stories you have about my father, if that's okay with you.
Presuming you all agree, Kendra leads you back to Ravengro and through the west side of town, past the Temple of Pharasma, until you reach her house in the south of town.
The building itself--until so recently the Professor's house too--is unremarkable from the outside. But as Kendra ushers each of you in through the door and out of the rain--really little more than drizzle by now--it's clear that this home has been occupied by at least one driven academic.
Every available wall surface is covered with bookshelves, some containing scrolls, other codices, others still strange objects that look like they would be dangerous to touch. Dust has made itself at home in every corner, and books and scrolls litter every available flat surface, whether that be desk, bench, table, floor, stool, chair, or even some windowsills.
Please excuse the mess, Kendra apologises. I just have not had the time to sort myself out and get everything organised since... She offers up a weak smile. As each of you enters, she casts prestidigitation to dry your clothes, leading to a large puddle that accumulates on her doorstep. Still, the feeling of dry clothes is nice against your skin. Please, if you wouldn't mind, just clear a space in the sitting room over there, and I'll be back with some tea. And see if you can get a fire going.
The room she gestures to is one of the less cluttered ones, with the shape of a chaise and several chairs visible under the piles of books and papers. By the time your tidying efforts are complete, Kendra has returned with a silver tray, a large teapot, and nine china cups. She pours tea for each of you, and then settles herself in and curls up on the chaise.
First, I want to thank you very much for coming, she says. You all meant an awful lot to my father, and he would be proud to see all of you standing here today. Councillor Hearthmount should be here within half an hour or so to read father's will, but until then, I thought we could spend some time getting better acquainted. I'd love to hear from you about how you knew my father, and what you did together.
Spoiler:
Please note I'm more than happy for you to gloss over your response here; Kendra doesn't know you, but as players we spent all of last week learning about each other's backgrounds. "<character> tells Kendra about his childhood and how Professor Lorrimor saved him from poverty and obscurity" is a perfectly adequate response. No need to rehash old ground--unless you want to. Feel free to spend some time asking whatever questions of Kendra you feel are appropriate and I will see about getting to them tomorrow. And don't worry about talking over one another, I'll figure that out when I respond. : )
F Human Urban Ranger 6, Init +6 (8)†; Perception +10 (12)†; AC 18, 13 T, 15 FF/ hp 50/52 Saves F +7 R +8 W +6; +2 vs. charm and compulsion
Flori will sit next to Dragomir if she can, and share her story, taken from her character page:
Spoiler:
It was on one such voyage that she met Professor Lorrimor. Once, on shore leave in Vellumis, Flori used her magic to save a man from a gang of street thugs who were trying to mug him. It turned out to be the professor, and though she'd never heard of him, he thanked her by making her his guest at one of his lectures and a fancy party afterwards.
It was the most elegant night of her life. She was treated well because she was his guest, and the status of the professor was such that no one questioned his unusual choice of companions. Many human beauties glared at her with contempt, but they didn't dare say a word to her face. She felt beautiful and untouchable. She'd actually done something for him, wanting nothing, while they were more like parasites wanting to bask in his reflected glory. That difference made a huge impression on her.
It wasn't just his celebrity that impressed her, though. He was a man who knew the value of knowledge, and used his to make life better for everyone, not just himself. He didn't just see a half orc when he saw Flori, either. He saw the goodness in her.
Dragomir seems a bit uncomfortable... it could be the crowded room, the delicate china cup, which he marvels at from time to time (perhaps as a mask to his unease as much as an unfamiliarity with so fine an object), the occassion... or even the company? He makes no issue with who sits to his left or right.
Well, Miss Lorrimor, you' kin call me Dragomir but most in my business know me as Wolf.
I've probably got the least of those stories you'll likely here. Your Da' hired me to bring him home some time back - took the better part of a month. He suuuuuuuure could talk... but we had a lot of miles to fill, be it carriage rides or by foot. I did my part and he, his. But he was a good man, as I said, and he spent a lot of time helpin' me understand somethin' of the world and also, he touches a simple wooden token of Pharasma about his neck, somethin' about my hometown's history, priests ramblin's an' my Mama's teachin' on th' Lady of Graves... Nothin' deep y' understand, as won't stick right up here. He touched his head with a rueful smile. Leastways hasn't yet... but I'm honoured he called me here to help send him on his way.
Karrik could count the number of times he'd been in the Professor's house on one hand, and he still loved the cozy, academic feel of the space. It was as if every room were an extension of the old man's mind, wonderful gems of knowledge and wisdom hidden in every corner, cubby, and closet. He couldn't help but pick up a few interesting items on their way to the sitting room.
As they waited -- the group making the room comfortable for a party of this size -- Karrik busied himself by lighting a fire in the hearth with the flint and steel from his belt pouch. He stokes while he hears Flori's story, no less interesting for its second telling. And during Dragomir's time, Karrik places the screen in front of the now-roaring fire, finds a seat next to the shy Walter, and pulls out the few books he grabbed on his way in. Both listening and reading, Karrik offers a second small book to Walter.
When a lull grows in the conversation, Karrik speaks up, resting the open book pages-down on his leg to hold his place. "I don't know that your father would have had reason to tell him of his meeting with me, Miss Lorrimor, but it tends to be a sadly un-heroic tale." He struggles not to call her by her first name. He felt that he somewhat knew the girl from his father's descriptions and stories, but knew it a long shot that the Professor would have spoken of Karrik to her. He goes back through the story again, ending with the memory of the Professor showing up at his little stolen-book-filled lean-to as Karrik was held down by Lorrimor's men. Karrik can't help but look around at the old man's home with new eyes.
No wonder this place is so comfortable. It is the cozy and comfortable version of that dingy den I created for myself in that alley.
Realizing that he stopped talking abruptly, but that he has nothing else to add, he struggles for something else to say. Finally he settles on stoking the fire a few times regardless of the need. "The tea is tasty," he has the presence of mind to say -- speaking to the fire instead of Kendra out of social awkwardness.
At first Rose wasn't going to offer anything beyond what she had already said. But with the Professor gone, only one other knew what had happened, and he was not one Rose even knew how to find, or wanted to. Amongst those who the Professor called friends, she thought she may find solace, so she decides to relate her own story.
"I met the Professor 37 years ago. I had been attacked by a...a creature. In my tongue it is called a Jiangshi. In yours...a vampire. I am uncertain why the creature did not kill me, but it did leave a gift, for it's curse was seeping in my own blood now. It was only a matter of time.
"I met the Professor trying to find a cure. I resisted for as long as I could, but I could feel it's touch getting stronger with each passing day. The Professor was still young at the time, not yet the great man he had become, though still a hero to me. In the end, after a month together, I knew that I had run out of time. If I had turned, I would not have been able to return to the River, so I asked the Professor to do the one thing I could not. I asked him to take my life."
Rose waits a moment before continuing. "In the way of my people, we follow Sangpotshi. As I said before, when my people pass, while that person dies, we are reincarnated, to once again ride the River of Life. But in the end the River does eventually lead to Pharasma, the Mother of Souls. It was difficult to convince the Professor that, my request, was in my best interest. But in the end, he did it.
"So far from home, I wasn't certain I would reincarnate there, and with the funds I had from my previous life, the Professor was able to find where I reincarnated and he brought me to live with the family I did, former acquaintenances of his. I learned much from the Professor, both during that time and in letters we've exchanged since. He was like an uncle to me growing up."
Rose gives a smile, first to Kendra, then around to the others. "Thank you for listening."
Karrik tries to recover the book from the floor without making a scene, though he can't take his eyes off Rose after her story. The Professor KILLED her out of mercy?!
Walter had seen the Professor's living space in Caliphas and thought that the complete disarray was due to his busy lifestyle, but seeing his home now brought a smile to Walter's face. The Professor's home was as absent-minded, messy and cluttered as his rambling train of thought, and the things that he had collected-- apparently, on every surface but the ceiling-- were amazing to behold. Walter wanted to know what would be done with all of it.
Sitting down-- alone-- he was surprised when Karrik sat near him, offering him a book. He glanced at the title-- Encyclopaedia Caelestia: A Treatise on the Stars-- and, not quite having the presence of mind to read and listen, used it as a place to hold his cup and saucer. Walter felt no guilt-- several brown circular stains adorned it already. He listened to Rose's story, amazed that she had fought a vampire and lived-- yet, conflicted because he wasn't sure if she had or if another one of her had... it was very strange, to be around a person with multiple lifetimes. He didn't know if it was polite to lump all of her together as one person. Maybe Rose was the only other person at the table who'd spent more time with the Professor than he. They were definitely closer-- well, he had killed her.
Walter made sure to wait his turn. "As for me, the Professor met me in... well, my family was very influential. Because of an, um... accident, I was placed in the care of the doctors at the Havenguard Lunatic Asylum on the coast of Lake Encarthan, just inside of Caliphas. Because I was, um... special, the head doctor called the Professor to come take a look at me." Uncomfortable with talking about the rest-- his power, the voices, the fire-- he nodded blankly. "He got me out, helped me get over my problems, taught me how to keep a handle on myself and, um... yeah. I've lived in Lepidstadt with the Bresrins for a while, now. Three years. I, um, got letters. Sometimes," he admits. A smile crosses his face. "He writes just like he talks. Only person I know of that doesn't quite get the 'greeting' part of the 'greeting.' You know, like... 'Dear Walter,' and then he starts in with 'Hello, Walter!'" He tried to mimic his voice again, but had to drum up a cough midway through. With a start, he realized he'd spoken of him in the present tense but didn't go back to change it.
Enjoying the comfort of instantly dry clothes, Raj files away the fact that Kendra is a spellcaster. Like father, like daughter. From long habit, he studies the house and furnishings carefully, touching nothing. While walking the room and seeming to peruse the vast collection of books, he notes the house's layout and egress points. Through quick glances out the windows he sizes up the surrounding vegetation - looking for the points where someone might break in relatively unobservered.
Gibs is the type to stew in his anger. A man like that might come at the Doc's daughter sideways. Catch her where she is most off her guard.
The scarred man ends his perambulation at the fireplace. He leans against the mantle and watches Karrik stoke the fire before gratefully accepting the tea. He places the china cup carefully on the mantle, concerned he might chip something so fine. The shared stories flow past him... reiterations of what was said last night in some cases, and filling in intriguing details in others. Vampires! Bloody hell! That's serious business and no mistakin' it!
Given all the exotic and fine tales, his story stumbles in like a poorly dressed, second cousin. Raj repeats his wine-lubricated accounting from the previous night, selectively changing his references to 'the old man' with 'the Professor' to not offend his daughter's sensibilities. He finds his attention is not on Kendra when he mentions that his intent was to rob her father.
Raj fidgets a little while attempting to answer Kendra's question about how he worked with her father. He tries to be both specific and vague. "Your father sometimes ran into a spot of trouble, Miss Lorrimor. You go around investigating unsavory things and, well, sometimes that means you cross unsavory people. Doc, your father, he sometimes needed to get in or out of a place unnoticed. Sometimes he wanted to know the 'lay of the land' before he arrived in a town - who was who and what was what. Sometimes he needed someone to keep an eye on the folks he had suspicions about. That's where I helped out some."
Perception1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Cyn:
The Perception check is really just to note anything of obvious interest and scope the layout of the house. I don't need to hear any results unless you feel they are of significant interest.
Lem will listen intently to everyone's stories, genuinely showing concern, excitement, or suspense at the appropriate times. When he can, he will tell the story in my profile, though he will try to downplay his own part in it.
...Little did I know that the Professor had the entire situation under control! But I helped him find that book, and after that I'd see him from time to time. I could always count on him when I came across him in my travels, and that means everything to a wanderer such as I.
Theron thought for a moment before deciding that it would be best to simply tell his story carefully so as to not upset Kendra rather than try to hide the events that lead to him saving the professor.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21Lol!
"I didn't meet your father until just a few months ago, and I wish it had been under better circumstances." Theron began. "You see, this isn't the first time your father's work has been misunderstood, and because of this some accusations against him were brought to my attention... since I am an inquisitor of Iomedae. Thankfully however, these circumstances lead to me finding your father using his magic to fight off a number of undead outside of town. You'd think that a so called necromancer wouldn't have that happen to him, now wouldn't you?" Theron smiled a bit at his last statement.
"Well, I did what I could to pick off a few of them, but after the fight the professor truly believed that I had made enough of a difference to save him. I suppose he didn't have enough spells ready to deal with them all? After speaking with him for a bit, I warned him about the accusations and told him that I'd handle things. Truly, after hearing all these stories about your father, I wish I our meeting had been different, but I'm glad it did happen. Even during our brief meeting I could tell that he was a great man."
AC16, touch 11, flat-footed 15 |HP 13/[13]| CMB +5/CMD16 | Fort +5, Ref +1, Will +0 |Init + 1|Perception +0|Sense Mot +0 Male Human Fighter/1
Dragomir examines the tea cup closely and thinks, A strange lookin' woman who claims that she was a Bloodsucker that Lorrimor killed who should be in a Loony bin... and a man who used to actually be in one?
Dragomir examines the tea cup closely and thinks, A strange lookin' woman who claims that she was a Bloodsucker that Lorrimor killed who should be in a Loony bin... and a man who used to actually be in one?
Now that I think about it, I should have had Theron pay more attention to the vampire thing XD
Raj lightly taps a finger along the mantle as the talk continues then quiets. He frowns, frets, and reaches a decision. Finishing off his tea, Raj sets his cup down and takes a seat on the edge of the chaise near Kendra.
He looks at the woman sideways, speaking quietly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Lorrimor. Sorrier still to interrupt your mournin' at all but the run-in with Gibs sort of makes this important. I'll be as brief as I can - your father held my marker." Not knowing if Kendra is familiar with the phrase, he translates, "I was in his debt. With his passing, as I see it, you hold that marker. So, if you need help with Gibs or otherwise, I'm your man."
He pulls a curved, scabbarded dagger from his pocket and sets it between them. It is identical to the one he placed on the coffin earlier. "This is for you. It's a good blade." He gives her a polite nod as if it concludes the matter before he quickly stands and moves to retake his place near the mantle. "Again, I'm sorry to intrude on your grief and sorry about Doc."
Flori will sit next to Dragomir if she can, and share her story, taken from her character page:** spoiler omitted **
Kendra listens to Flori's tale with interest, and expresses surprise at Flori's account of her earlier life as a sailor. Have you ever sailed on Lake Lias? she asks. I mean, it's hardly Lake Encarthan, and it's not so great at this time of year, with the changeable weather, but in early summer it's quite glorious. If you are ever here then, we should make a time to get you out on the water. She smiles as Dragomir begins to speak.
Your Da' hired me to bring him home some time back - took the better part of a month...I'm honoured he called me here to help send him on his way.
Yes, I thought I remembered meeting you briefly before, Kendra says, her eyes unfocused as she sifts through her memories. As for my father's reasons for bringing you here, and doing it now, I'm afraid I'm just as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps his will will shed some light on the issue. But the most important thing for me is that you are here, and I cannot thank each of you enough for that.
When a lull grows in the conversation, Karrik speaks up, resting the open book pages-down on his leg to hold his place. "I don't know that your father would have had reason to tell him of his meeting with me, Miss Lorrimor, but it tends to be a sadly un-heroic tale."
As Karrik tells his story, Kendra's eyes narrow as though she is slowly putting the pieces together in her mind.
Wait, she says when Karrik is stoking the fire, was this in Tamrivena*? Petros told me he had a stellar student from there! He spoke about you often, although he never described you, so I didn't know you were a half-orc. She says it matter-of-fact, with no trace of prejudice.
In fact, I know he was thinking about writing to his former colleagues at Lepidstadt University about you, and I'm sure he didn't plan to mention your heritage to them either. I think he was laying the groundwork to introduce you to the faculty and cause something of a stir--he liked nothing more than to shake up people's preconceived notions, and I'm sure you would have done just that. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Master Karrik. She smiles warmly and accepts Karrik's compliment about the tea.
*:
Since you didn't specify Karrik's hometown in your background, I picked one that sounded like it might fit. Feel free to assume Kendra mentioned whichever town or village is actually correct, even if I got it wrong. : )
"I met the Professor 37 years ago. I had been attacked by a...a creature. In my tongue it is called a Jiangshi. In yours...a vampire.
...
In the end, after a month together, I knew that I had run out of time. If I had turned, I would not have been able to return to the River, so I asked the Professor to do the one thing I could not. I asked him to take my life."
...
It was difficult to convince the Professor that, my request, was in my best interest. But in the end, he did it.
As Rose tells her story, Kendra's eyes seem to grow wider and wider. When Rose finally finishes, Kendra leaps out of her seat. She draws the samsaran into a brief but close embrace. I can't imagine what that was like, Kendra says. It must have been so hard for you...having to give up everything you'd worked so hard to achieve, even if you do have another opportunity to do it again. I imagine most people you meet say they envy you...but all those memories and past lives must take their toll on the psyche in some way.
And here you were this morning, comforting me, when you have been through everything I have and so much more besides. At least, knowing you have done that and still come out the other side gives me hope that I can do the same, some day. Thank you for sharing your story, Rose.
Kendra gives Rose's hand a final squeeze and then sits back down. There is a momentary silence before Walter begins to speak.
Cynarion, I noticed on the other tab that I'm one of the few without an actual alias. Would you prefer that I put me together for you to review? Or is that single post sufficient for now?
No need for an alias, what you have is just fine. : )
I'll be putting my hat in this week hopefully, so you'll still have time to review before the deadline. I'm looking at a Synthesist Summoner whose Eidolon is something like a living suit of mechanical armor named Surge. Is that too steampunk or otherwise weird for you? Something like this.
I'll be putting my hat in this week hopefully, so you'll still have time to review before the deadline. I'm looking at a Synthesist Summoner whose Eidolon is something like a living suit of mechanical armor named Surge. Is that too steampunk or otherwise weird for you? Something like this.
Nope, no problems from me. I quite enjoy genre mashups, but bearing in mind that the world is still a high fantasy land, Surge's origins will need to fit into that.
A player in my Rise of the Runelords face-to-face game had precisely the same idea (although he's a normal summoner rather than a synthesist); his steam-powered armour is named Lord Kelvin and hails from Brigh's region of the First World.
That's the kind of 'fit with the setting' that I'm talking about: even though Lord Kelvin is very much a steampunk creation, he comes from an entirely appropriate place already detailed in the setting. If you can manage that, we'll be fine. : )
I'll be putting my hat in this week hopefully, so you'll still have time to review before the deadline. I'm looking at a Synthesist Summoner whose Eidolon is something like a living suit of mechanical armor named Surge. Is that too steampunk or otherwise weird for you? Something like this.
Nope, no problems from me. I quite enjoy genre mashups, but bearing in mind that the world is still a high fantasy land, Surge's origins will need to fit into that.
A player in my Rise of the Runelords face-to-face game had precisely the same idea (although he's a normal summoner rather than a synthesist); his steam-powered armour is named Lord Kelvin and hails from Brigh's region of the First World.
That's the kind of 'fit with the setting' that I'm talking about: even though Lord Kelvin is very much a steampunk creation, he comes from an entirely appropriate place already detailed in the setting. If you can manage that, we'll be fine. : )
You could say its appearance is based off an Inevitable.
Alright, I said that I was going to make an inquisitor, but I ended up getting much more attached to another character idea. I hope that his background isn't too dramatic, it is what came to mind when I tried to explain why he was no longer in Tian Xia ;)
Reikou, Kitsune Life Oracle
Background:
Reikou is not living in Ustalav by choice. Rather, it seems that something decided that the kitsune needed to be there whether he liked it or not.
The Forest of the Spirits in Tian Xia is where Reikou was born and raised. Soon after he reached his nineteenth birthday he began having dreams about an unfamiliar land infested with undead. Every time he woke up he had an overpowering feeling that something was calling him there. However, he resisted the feeling and did his best to ignore the dreams.
Unfortunately for Reikou, strange things began happening to him soon after the dreams began. Whenever he became stressed he found himself speaking in a strange tongue instead of Tian. Then he occasionally found that he was able to see magical auras around him even though he had never studied the magic necessary to do so. When one day his touch healed a gash one of his younger sisters had gotten when playing he know that he wasn’t going to be able to hide whatever was happening to him forever.
Finally, one night he had an especially vivid nightmare. A voice called to him in the same language that he had found himself speaking and scolded him for not taking his calling seriously and. When Reikou woke he found to his horror that he was not outside of one of the villages he had seen in his dreams.
Now he was stuck in a foreign land where he did not even know the name of the native language. Not that being able to speak the native tounge would have helped, because Reikou found that he was completely unable to speak normally.
Reikou likely would have starved to death if Professor Lorrimor had not been attracted by the spectacle of what appeared to be an extremely lost Tian. To Reikou’s suprise, the professor knew the language that he was speaking and was able to communicate with him. It did not take long for the professor to realize that Reikou was an oracle and offered to help him if he would answer some questions. Reikou quickly agreed.
In exchange for learning about Reikou’s experiences and about Tian Xai, Professor Lorrimor taught him how to speak Varisian, about Ustalav, and what he knew about oracles. Finally having someone around who could explain what was happening to him helped Reikou calm down and he eventually found himself able to speak normally again. Eventually Reikou because so thankful to the the professor that he risked revealing his kitsune because he believed the man would be interested in learning about his race. It turned out that he was right, and the professor spent hours asking him about the nature of kitsunes and what it was like to be a shapeshifter.
The professor had essentially saved Reikou’s life, and the kitsune promised that he would return the favor one day. For now, he resolved to gain proper control over his powers as an oracle and learn his purpose. Whatever forces had chosen him, it seemed that they were not going to simply let him return home without accomplishing the tasks they intended for him. The fact that he seemed to have been given powers over life and healing lead him to realize that whatever he needed to do it was probably going to do some good for a land infested with undead.
After nearly a year of wandering the land as a healer, word of Professor Lorrimor’s death reached Reikou. Hearing about the death of the man who had saved him greatly saddened Reikou, but he was surprised to hear that he had been mentioned in the man’s will. Soon afterwards Reikou’s dreams became disturbed again, and it did not take long for him to suspect that Professor Lorrimor was tied in with what the fates had planned for him.
Current Stats:
Reikou
Kitsune Life Oracle
NG Medium humanoid (kitsune)
Init +3; Senses low light vision; Perception +1
DEFENSE
AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +1; +2 vs. fear
OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +0 (1d4/19–20), bite -5 (1d4+1/20)
Oracle Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +5)
1st (4)- cure light wounds (DC 15), shield of faith
0 (at will)- detect magic, light, read magic, stabilize
Mystery: Life
STATISTICS
Str 11, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 18
Base: Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 13
Feats: extra channel
Traits making good on a promise, fast talker
Skills Acrobatics +5, Bluff +8, Disguise +5, Diplomacy +8, Knowledge (nature) +5, Knowledge (religion) +5, Perception +1, Spellcraft +5
Favored Class: oracle (+1 skill point)
Languages: celestial, common, tien, senzar
SQ: oracle's curse (tounges), revelations (channel 7/day 1d6 DC 14), agile, change shape, kitsune magic (+1 enchantment DC, 3/day dancing lights)
Gear: studded leather armor, dagger, light crossbow, backpack, bedroll, rope (hemp), rations (5)
So, I know playing a kitsune in Ustalav can be dangerous since if anyone sees his natural form he would be mistaken for a werefox and killed rather quickly. As for the party... well, I'll have to hope that being a friend of the professor will help them believe the character's explanation, hah.
I might post the Inquisitor later on as another option if I can develop him a bit more...
Gah, I should have edited that background a bit more before posting it. Oh well, it should give you the general idea. I'll try to be more careful in the actual game if I get picked, lol.
I just updated Selene's back story, when you've the chance to read it.
That being said, I'm very sad that there aren't any monk submissions yet! I'd like to put one up, but I don't have the time to stitch together a back story, so I have some statistics that could be used. I gave him the trait of teacher's pet, debating for many long hours with the professor on the teachings of various faiths and religion. The consummate worshiper of Irori yet to be named. (I'm especially excited about the possibility of playing a monk of Irori as he is one of my favorite God's of the pantheon, and was just covered in the most recent Jade Regent adventure path!)
Stats/Mechanics for Monk:
Str: 18 (10) Dex: 14 (5) Con: 12 (2) Int: 12 (2) Wis: 16 (10) Cha: 7(-4)
Initiative +4
HP 11 (8+2Con+1FC) Current HP 11
AC 16 (+3 Dex, +2 Wis, +1 dodge) FF10 T16
Speed 30
Fort 3 Ref 5 Will 5
BAB 0 CMB 4 (+6 to trip) CMD 19 (+21 vs Trip)
Melee Unarmed Attack +4 (1d6+4)
Flurry Unarmed +3/+3 (1d6+4/1d6+4)
Long spear +4 (1d8+6)*sharpened
+1 to attack of opportunities when unarmed.
Wow that took awhile. Anyway, I think I've completed Vel Miro's character stats and backstory. Please Let me know what you think when you've got the time.
Alright, I've finished up the background for my Inquisitor character, so here he is if you'd prefer something that fits the setting a bit more than the kitsune ;)
I haven't come up with a build for him yet, but honestly I think I would want to see the rest of the party before choosing whether I go with a bow build or a melee build.
Theron, Human Inquisitor of Iomedae:
There was little that was remarkable about Theron as he grew up. He was born to a poor family in Ustalav, and his only real goal in life was to become a craftsman so that he could get out of poverty and live comfortably.
However, Theron’s world was turned upside down when one day his town was preyed upon by undead. People began disappearing every night, and those who searched for the victims often ended up missing as well. Eventually even Theron’s sister Mireal went missing. Fortunately a group of Iomedaean Inquisitors heard of the town’s plight before things got to the point of evacuation. Within a day the inquisitors were able track the disappearances to a necromancer who had set himself up outside of town. He was burned in the center of the town.
When the inquisitors claimed that the man had fancied himself as a member of the Whispering Way, Theron realized that there were many others like this madman who had taken his sister away from him. Despite the objections of his parents, Theron asked the inquisitors to take him with them so that he could also hunt down these kinds of monsters.
Making the transition from life as a commoner to life as a hunter of evil was not easy for Theron, but he has put his full effort into it set out hunting as soon as his initial training was over. It was during one of these first hunts that he happened to meet Professor Lorrimor. Theron had initially singled out Professor Lorrimor as a suspicious individual who as likely involved in dark magics. The man seemed to be searching for too much information of questionable nature.
However, after tracking Lorrimor’s movements near some ruins outside of a town, Theron was surprised he noticed a ghoul preparing to ambush the old man. Making a snap decision, Theron called out a warning and sprung out to fight the monster.
Theron barely won the fight, and was surprised when the professor thanked him profusely for saving him. Theron didn’t mention that he had actually been tracking him, but he had a feeling that the old man knew that they weren't both there by chance.
The old professor quickly began ask a bit about Theron and sharing information about his studies. After talking for a while, Theron realized he had misjudged the man and that he was researching information to help stop the same men and monsters that he was hunting. In fact, some inquisitors even came to him for information on occasion! In the end, the professor promised that he would never forget Theron.
Meeting the professor had taught Theron a valuable lesson in not being too quick to judge a man and that he still had a long way to go before he was a proper inquisitor. However, it was only a few months later that Professor Lorrimor died and Theron found himself being summoned in his will. Supposing that he was listed as a possible heir as thanks for saving the professor, Theron set off to pay his final respects. Truth be told, Theron wasn’t sure he deserved any thanks.
Sorry to say this, but I recently was accepted into another campaign or two and worry I'll be spreading myself too thin. That being the case, I feel it best to withdraw from the 'running' as it were. Hope you all have fun though. :)
Sorry to say this, but I recently was accepted into another campaign or two and worry I'll be spreading myself too thin. That being the case, I feel it best to withdraw from the 'running' as it were. Hope you all have fun though. :)
No problem! If anything changes, let me know, but thanks for telling me ahead of time. Good luck with your new campaigns! Hope you have a good time. : )
So Lem's background is that for 30 years he has been traveling the countryside of Varno, giving food to people, conducting weddings, and just generally helping the physical and spiritual needs of the common people of Ustalav. I thought the best way to describe this would be showing the scene representing Lem's "Chance Savior" trait. So, here goes:
Background--Chance Savior:
Professor Lorrimor stole a glance over his shoulder as he walked hurriedly through the small, rural town. The two men were no longer bothering to conceal their following of him through the streets. He clutched the books to his chest and increased his pace, hastening toward the lone tavern in town, queerly named “The Rotten Turnip”.
Curse that oaf Jarl, he thought, thinking of his absent bodyguard. An hour late, and the sole time I’ve needed him this entire journey. If he has half the skill at fighting as he does boasting and drinking, he could easily trounce these witless brutes pursuing me.
Though his pursuers were gaining ground, the professor managed to reach the tavern before they could accost him. He heard the sounds of revelry as he reached toward the door, but a third man stepped from the shadows, brandishing a rough wooden club.
Evenin’ “Professor”, the wide-shouldered man said in a derisive tone, Care to join us for a chat?. The professor had no choice but to obey and followed the man into the alley as his lackeys arrived.
Lorrimor slowly reached into his pocket, but his assailant saw.
Keep your hands where I can see them! he threatened, but his countenance changed when he saw the old man produce a coin.
One piece of silver? You think you can buy us off with that? The professor watched with impatience as the man threw his head back and laughed.
You remind me of my grandfather, who was a sweet old man before he passed. So let me speak plainly—you are not welcome here. Stop digging around, or me and my friends here will take you into the woods and do some digging of our own. Do you understand?
The professor considered him coolly as he fingered the magic token in his hand. I don’t have time for this, he thought. But if I summon my guards, things will get bloody, and then I’ll never get the answers I need from these people. Jarl will pay for this….
As Lorrimor opened his mouth to speak the command word, the door to “The Turnip” burst open, spilling its merriment into the cold night air.
…and as the gods, thank them for their kindness, blessed us with all the joys and sorrows of this land, one among them contented herself with creating the heavens above. Yes Desna, in her wisdom, made the stars and skies so that she may watch over us and our deeds. The booming voice got even louder, carrying towards the alley, forcing the professor and the three thugs to turn toward the speaker. Strangely, the sound’s origin was a small Halfling donning ornately decorated armor and robes depicting a star-encircled purple butterfly.
The man with the club looked upon the Halfling with annoyance. Get lost, Lem. No one wants to hear any sermons today.
Is that so, Hagen? Seems like you could stand to hear a few of my words. I saw Ellie and the kids today. There’s lots of work to be done at your house, and your children are hungry, but here you are threatening a guest in town.
The man called Hagen ground his teeth. This is important! We don’t need his kind here, stirring up trouble. He gestured to his friends, who began moving around to flank the Halfling. Leave now, or we’ll shorten you down even more.
The professor slowly backed away and considered his coin again, but saw that the Halfling was not the least bit afraid. His smile never changed as he spoke up loudly once more.
Take care when you threaten me. Lady Luck herself always watches over us, from above. Might be you should take a look.
Hagen and his stooges hesitated, and raised their gazes to the sky. A man stood at the 2nd floor window of the Turnip, crossbow loaded and leveled at Hagen’s heart. The professor relaxed and put the coin back in his pocket as Hagen dropped his club. Then Lem spoke again:
Well, Desna watches us, but she also likes it when we can take care of ourselves and each other, from time to time. So go home and help your family.
The men nodded agreement and stalked off, shoulders slumped, as the Halfling waved to the man in the window.
The professor extended his hand in greeting. Thanks, friend. I’m Professor Petros Lorrimor. Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for…
I know where the book is, Professor. The name’s Lem Longbarrow, and I’m no stranger to these parts. I’ve been drinking with Jarl for the last two hours, and he told me all about you. Come on, let me show you the way. And you should be more careful. People around here don’t take kindly to strangers asking questions…
I have another submission which supersedes my previous one of Dreygard (similar concept though). Another half-orc, but this one is going to be a Standard Bearer Cavalier/Bard who will eventually become a Battle Herald PrC.
Meet Haünrar Stridenvekter
crunch so far:
Haünrar Stridenvekter
Male standard bearer gendarme cavalier 1 (order of the cockatrice)
LG Medium humanoid Init + 1; Perception -1 ,
DEFENSE
AC , touch , flat-footed
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort + 4, Ref + 1, Will 0
OFFENSE
Spd 30 ft.
Melee
Ranged
Special Attacks challenge
STATISTICS
Str 16, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 8, Cha 14
Base Atk + 1; CMB + 4; CMD 15
Feats Power Attack
Traits Making good on promises, Indomitable faith
Skills
1 Bluff +6
1 Climb +7
1 Craft (instrument) +4
1 Intimidate +8
1 Perform (wind) +36
Languages Common, Orc
SQ banner
Combat Gear 250 gp
fluff:
Haünrar was a runt among his tribe. Poor little half-orc, born to a human woman captured and enslaved by his father’s band. After he was weaned off the teat, he was taken from his mother and put to work doing menial labor that full blooded orcs refused to do. He was beaten and mocked for his human heritage, but the young orc had a plan. He also had balls bigger than his head.
Haünrar used his superior (to most orcs) intellect to learn how to manipulate and control his fellow tribesman. Of course, among the orcs, intimidation is the best tool for the job at hand, so one day, he threw a tormentor off by getting in his face and threatening to hack off his shotputs. It worked. From that day on, Haünrar didn’t have to shovel scat, do laundry, or pick fleas out of his peer’s back hair. He worked his way up to battle crier for his tribe. He had mastered the dances, the chants, and the war horn. Every battle his tribe entered was led by his horn’s blast. He rallied his troops with his chants of victory, calls of orkan valor, beratements against weaknesses. His battle dances intimidated the enemies and demoralized merchant guards, often getting them to give up the wares without a fight. Haünrar envisioned a new, less violent way to live. This last bit soon became his downfall.
You see, Haünrar was disgusted by his brothers’ behaviors. The rampant acts of cruelty, the raping, the killing of helpless victims, the taking of slaves, living in filth; all of these things wore on Haünrar to the tipping point. He could not be a part of one more senseless murder, let one more flea bite him, or eat one more rotten unknown meat sandwich without real bread instead of sweetbread. One day he confronted his chieftain, asking him to lead the tribe into a new path. Of course, the chief laughed off the suggestion, so Haünrar tried to intimidate the chieftain to try to be more civilized. The chief beat him bloody with his own horn, and kicked him straight off a nearby cliff.
The chief didn’t realize that at the bottom of the cliff was a deep, refreshing, river with a fast current. Haünrar was carried for several miles before he washed ashore, right to the feet of Professor Petros Lorrimor, who was out on one of his expeditions. The professor brought the half-orc to consciousness and asked only in return that Haünrar act as his guard through Belkzen and into Ustalav. When they arrived, the professor and half-orc parted ways, though Haünrar was told to expect a call from him some day.
Also, I had plans for his battle horn to get better the more beat-up it gets. I want it to start off as "normal" then "upgrade" it to masterwork as it gets worse. Of course, I'll pay the cost for a brand new horn to keep the mechanics in check, but for flavor it't the same horn.
Haünrar’s Masterwork Orcish Battle Horn:
Haünrar’s horn is not made in the traditional “masterwork” methods. It had been passed down from battlecryer to battlecryer for a number of generations. It features the dents of hard use, stains from the blood of numberless battles, and is more or less, worthless as an item to any non-orc. Even though it is dented to the point that any other horn would be useless, this orcish battle horn was designed to increase the quality of sound with every dent. It is truly a special instrument.
About me:
I'm 28 with a wife and a 10-month old daughter. I work in the public sector in Maryland, USA so I'm next to my computer pretty much all day and can post several times a day as necessary. Of course, I'm 18 hours behind Melbourne so I'd start posting around 2:30am your time and end around 1pm. I'd be able to check in a few times in the evening so that time would get stretched to about 7pm your time.
Background
Spoiler:
Nikeltas "Nik" Alset, a native Ustalaven, is a world traveler and explorer, especially interested in ancient magics. He looked up to Dr. Lorrimor for his fearless fieldwork and rigorous research. Alset read all of his published works and corresponded occasionally, especially when their work overlapped. But dangerous fieldwork, the kind Lorrimor excelled at, terrified Alset. He improved upon the Mage Armor spell but still couldn't feel safe. No amount of armor made him feel secure, though he is not strong enough to wear much armor anyway. But one day, his research into mage armor took an unforeseen twist. Seeking to link extra-planar energies to supercharge the spell, he contacted an intelligence which was willing to offer its protection in return for the experiences to be found on the Material Plane. Surge is coldly logical but also terribly violent and aggressive. Alset must sometimes rein in Surge during combat, though outside of this excitement, Surge barely shows interest.
As long as there isn't any particular danger, Alset is composed and charming but he tends to stutter and lose focus if he feels threatened. Without Surge, his tactics typically involve tossing summoned monsters at whatever threatens him and running away.
Nikeltas Alset
Human Synthesist Summoner
Spoiler:
LN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +4; Senses none; Perception +3
Merged
Init +5; Senses lowlight vision; Perception +3
DEFENSE
AC 12, touch 10, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +0 Dex)
hp 11 (1d8+2+1)
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +1
Merged
AC 15, touch 11, flat-footed 14 (+4 Natural Armor, +1 Dex)
hp 11+7 temp
OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +0 (1d4/19–20)
Merged
Speed 30 ft.
Melee 2 claws +5 (1d6+3)
All right I've taken (alot more than intended) enough time to look the character over again based on your observations.
First observation, the name. I'll get to that later.
Second observation, the age. I actually like your idea of being the equivalent of a 'Samsaran Teen'. My thoughts are that Rose (Chunhua) had quite abit of material wealth accumulated by her adventuring times during her last life, which could have been left with the professor at the time of her staking. I actually don't know how old the Professor is at the time of the adventure start as well. So if she had met the Professor young (possibly set him to start his own line of research) would help with that.
Going into the third observation from that, how she got to Ustalav. Being so far from Zi Ha, and a central congregation of Samsaran souls, she did indeed reincarnate closer, close enough that the Professor was able to use some of the wealth Rose had left to hire a wizard (or any other divination type class) to find out where and when she would reincarnate, and he was able to help her out early on, set her up with a good family. During this time she maintained contact with the Professor (letters and such) as she grew up.
Coming back around now, the name aspect was given to her by her new family. She still remembers the name Chunhua (that could be how the Professor calls her) but uses the other name in most dealings.
As far as the mechanical aspects go, I wasn't finished building it yet either, so I'll be getting to that today/tomorrow. I'm actually amazed you found any reference to the katana at all. I had thought I had erased them all, and had no plans on that being my weapon of choice. The only spot I found was under the Blackblade description (after reveiwing it again), and removed it as well. Kudos to your character sheet auditing skills.
Let me know if there's still any holes left I'm missing in the background.
Persuasive
+2 bonus on Diplomacy and Intimidate skill checks. If you have 10 or more ranks in one of these skills, the bonus increases to +4 for that skill.
Eidolon:
Vel's eidolon is a quadruped he manifested out of his desire for a loyal companion, taking itself into the shape of a large dog or wolf. His mandibles are larger than any wolf's however and his ears tilt back in an odd angle. His fur is multiple shades of dark red. Its alignment is CG.
Type: Quadraped
Size: Medium; Speed: 40
Abilities: Str:16(+3), Dex:14(+2), Con:13(+1), Int:7(-2), Wis:109+0), Cha:11(+0)
HD:1
HP:11
BAB:+1
Feats
Power Attack (-1 penalty to attack roll, +2 damage on melee attack roll, +50% if attack with primary natural weapon that adds 1-1/2 times strength mod on damage rolls)
Good Saves: Fort: +2, Ref: +2
Bad Save: Will: +0
Armor Bonus: +0
Str/Dex Bonus: +0
Evolution Pool: 3
Max Attacks: 3
Evolutions
Bite
Limbs(legs)(2)
Pounce: Full attack after charge
Improved Damage: Bite does 1d8 instead of 1d6
Resistance(fire): DR 5/fire
Special: Darkvision (60'), Link, Share Spells
Offense
BAB: +1
Init:+2
Bite: 3 (-1 for Power Attack) damage 1d8+1-1/2 strength mod(3) (+2-1/2 pow attack)
+2 Dexterity, +2 Charisma, –2 Strength: Halflings are nimble and strong-willed, but their small stature makes them weaker than other races.
Small: Halflings are Small creatures and gain a +1 size bonus to their AC, a +1 size bonus on attack rolls, a –1 penalty to their Combat Maneuver Bonus (CMB) and Combat Maneuver Defense (CMD), and a +4 size bonus on Stealth checks.
Slow Speed: Halflings have a base speed of 20 feet.
Fearless: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on all saving throws against fear. This bonus stacks with the bonus granted by halfling luck.
Halfling Luck: Halflings receive a +1 racial bonus on all saving throws.
Keen Senses: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception skill checks.
Sure-Footed: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on Acrobatics and Climb skill checks.
Weapon Familiarity: Halflings are proficient with slings and treat any weapon with the word “halfling” in its name as a martial weapon.
I plan on, at some point, multiclassing Vel with a few or more bard levels, as a multiclassed bard/summoner is how I envisioned him from the start. I have always thought of Vel as sort of the "face man" of any group he joins, but I felt the summoner would give his rather not-combat focused stats the necessary boost so as to be combat viable. Vel likes to hang back in combat, taking potshots at the enemy, buffing his teammates and ordering his eidolon into the fray, using the otherworldly creatures might in place of his own.
[spoiler=Personality]Vel Miro is swift, charming and eccentric, with a sharp silver tongue to boot. He is well versed in manipulating others, but such a trait only grew out of necessity, not a lust for power. Generally, Vel has come to accept his lot in life, enjoying adventure and the ability to explore the burgeoning infinite reaches of his own power.
Vel is very witty, and has a habit of being kind of a smartass, but is well humored and makes certain never to discriminate and that helping others in need is a mantra he is never willing to concede.
Vel's Eidolon, a quadruped named Infernius, is a wolfish looking creature with many shades of deep red fur that seems to blend and move as you look at it. While not bright, Infernius tends to act a bit as a smartass too, imitating his master to an alarming degree. He will never disobey Vel, and loves him as a pet loves his master, but is never unwilling to speak his mind on things when he feels something needs stating.
Biography:
Vel Miro’s time in the bard’s college had taught him three things: It’s not the size of the boat that matters, and the best ladies are the ones who know that; the old idiom he was taught as a child, “you can pick your friends and you can pick your enemies, but you can’t pick your friend’s enemies,” is true in more ways than one, and that a bard’s college can be more dangerous than a pit filled with ravenous hyenas.
If Vel Miro is anything it is certainly not modest, and he’d be the first to say he was the greatest thing to grace the Bard College at Karcau since the invention of the chamber pot. He was born in inauspicious surroundings to an escaped slave from the river kingdoms and a shipwright in Karcau, but never accepted the mundane livelihood his parents wanted to force on him. Being a Halfling, an oddity in a city filled brimming with tall, pale, humans, Vel felt himself become a sort of outcast. He eventually learned that his wits would always serve him better in his position than his brawn and developed a silver tongue that could be paralleled by none. Fast Talker
He was a natural at the lute, taking to it like a starving man takes to water, and his passion, (and a mild amount of scheming and deception on his part) eventually got him accepted to the most prestigious bard’s college in the city. His small stature and otherworldly musical talent served to make him plenty of opponents in this school, which turned out to be much more Byzantine than he ever thought possible. The students in this school weren’t just in it for the music, these monstrous, devious demons were about as cutthroat as a den of thieves, and at least a den of thieves wouldn’t have kept up the pretense.
So things for a while grew difficult for Vel for a long while, but again the same revelation came to him as it did in his youth – if you can’t beat ‘em, convince others to do it for you. So his powers of manipulation grew, and soon it became child’s play to dance around the pretentious blowhards at the academy with his silver tongue, unmatchable wits and with his group of followers he sumptuously obtained through a combination of incentive, camaraderie and a decent helping of blackmail. Life soon became a lot less dark. His easygoing attitude and stunning poetic vocabulary was almost always enough to get him access to all kinds of exclusive clubs, and even the bedchambers of a few lovestruck darlings who soon learned the true meaning of “size isn’t everything.”
He might even have been able to say that, as for the first time in his life, he had actually made one true friend in a singer named Ignus Fernus, who Vel took to calling Infernius, just as a play on his name. In actuality Ignus possessed a rather cool demeanor, but both he and Vel had experienced ostracization in their youths, and this was the thing that kept them together as friends.
It all seemed to be going well until one fateful night in the middle of summer in Vel’s third year at the bard’s college. He was snatched out of bed and dragged through the dormitories inside a cotton bag held over the shoulder of some person and outside the front doors of the academy. No guardsmen stopped them and no bells were rung that night.
Vel was taken to a forest outside the city where he was upended out of the bag and was tied, ankles and wrists, to a small tree. Mel realized that the one dragging him had been Ignus, accompanied by a large group of his sworn enemies and several of his other so called “friends.” Ignus told him this wasn’t personal, that the other guys had promised to insure a position as a court singer for a powerful nobleman. He said to Vel, “I don’t want to end of up as some traveling minstrel. And let’s face it Vel, it’s not like you would ever be able to achieve anything like this. The best you could ever hope for was to wind up in some traveling freak show. Who could ever take you seriously?”
They started by breaking all of his fingers, first the right hand so he couldn’t strum his lute, and then the left so he couldn’t finger the notes. When that was done one of the cronies took a long knife and brought it to Vel’s temple. He made a long sweeping gash along his hairline, as if he were going to scalp him, but then brought it along down his cheek and across his ear and down to his throat. He called it, “a gift to remember me by.” Vel could never recall his name, but his face stuck in his memories, a piggy, scrunched up face, huge eyebrows and nosehairs hanging down from inside his nostrils like stalactites.
They left him for dead the next morning, and after days of hopeless attempts at escape, he was almost sure it was the end. And it was the end, for how long he couldn’t remember, but the next thing he knew he was on the bed in a stranger’s house. It was a quaint house, a small box-like commode with a large thatched roof that rose up into the sky like a cathedral tower and a chimney that was so warped it should have been falling down of its own accord. The stranger identified himself as a Professor Lorrimor, and that Vel had been quite near death for almost six days before he had found him. When Vel asked what he could do in repayment for saving his life the professor merely shook his head and told Vel that all he asked in return was a favor sometime in the near foreseeable future, that one of these days he would call on Vel for his aid. Making Good on Promises He gave Vel some wine and he fell back into dreamless sleep.
When he awoke the cabin was gone and all that was left was Vel, a map and a supply of trail provisions. Vel knew he could not return now to Karcau, and so he set off into a random direction for parts unknown.
He no longer had his lute and when he eventually retrieved a replacement the strings felt wrong in his hands, as if a different person had once played them and the man he was now was only a plebian in the arts. As he traveled he grew evermore angry and bitter. He was resentful that he no longer felt the music as he once did, he resented his unsupportive parents and a prejudiced society, but most of all he cursed the “friends” that betrayed him, people that knew nothing of loyalty, of partnership, of the sacred bond that formed between friends, the idea that you would put the other before the self, sacrifice everything for the sake of the friendship.
Vel’s focus had forever been on his music, but the arcane had always held a deep seated interest to him. The “music of the ethereal,” he would sometimes call it, he never did anything but dabble in the arcane, a few parlor trick spells he picked up here and there, a touch of alchemy when he was feeling dangerous, but never anything serious, at least not until now.
It was a dark and stormy night, about as gothic a setting as Vel had ever seen, and he was all alone, as was usual these days with his solo repertoire. For an instance, standing in the pouring rain, his anger flared. All the hatred and feeling of injustice flowed through him and he cursed the gods, the planes, the ground, practically anything that he could think of he denounced for his fate. He especially hated himself and his carelessness with his friendship, the naiveté with which he spent his days and the sorry pathetic man he made himself out to be after the fact.
The scar left across his face began to glow and the most curious sensation he had ever felt began to flow through him. He felt a strange atypical power coursing through his veins and in his wonder he reached out and touched something. He couldn’t tell much of what it was. It wasn’t physical or emotional, it was just raw, unbridled spirit, waiting for molding, waiting, a spring-like potential, for manifestation.
He grasped at it.
He awoke to find that the overcast sky was still there and that the torrential downpour had turned into a light drizzle. He also found that next to him was the most curious creature head ever seen. It was a quadruped and furred, but the fur consisted of a deep red tinge that lightened and darkened in certain random areas and the colors looked as if they were constantly shifting. It looked almost like a wolf, but the proportions were slightly off. Its mandible was far too large and its ears bent backwards at an odd angle. Its eyes were two black opals and it spoke to him in a throaty, hoarse tongue, though without moving its mouth even the slightest.
It asked Vel, “What is my name?”
Vel soon learned that this creature he had made manifest was called an eidolon, and that there were people, men and women known as summoners, who had the ability to call upon unformed spirits from the farthest planes of unsound thought and belief and give them form. Vel called his eidolon Infernius, and he knew almost instantaneously that this creature was forever his, loyal, obedient, and willing to sacrifice his life for him if need be. He need not manipulate it, or play it for a fool. It was his, and Vel was the eidolon’s also.
Vel still plays his lute from time to time, and maybe one day he might return to the joy he once felt for his music, but for now there was just too much in this world to experience to worry about that. He had a debt he would eventually need to repay, and the world, however clouded, seemed a lot less dark now that he wasn’t alone.
Actu ally I might not be keeping this avatar pic. Enjoy it while you can ;)
Edit: Oops, I am applying this guy to another thread and accidentally posted here. On second thought, we can apply with up to three characters so I guess I can let this guy stand.
Hi everyone. Sorry for being incommunicado for a couple of days, it turned out to be a busy weekend.
I spent my train trips late last week reading through character submissions and have feedback on several more submissions ready to go. However, I also have work to do while I'm here at work, and have a 2½ year old and a 5-month old at home, so please understand that I might be drip-feeding them over the next day or two.
###
On the Submission, Selection and Announcement Process
We're already partway through this process, but I thought it worthwhile to expand upon the way I intend to approach the whole thing.
You submit your characters--up to three each.
I give you feedback on your character concept and associated background. If I pick up odd mechanical slip-ups, I will comment upon them, but the primary purpose of this feedback is to help you with your character concept, not your mechanics. I will only give each character a single review; I won't be able to do two rounds for each and every character, so I don't think it's fair to give some characters two reviews and others only one. After your review, you may ask any questions you like and I'll do my best to answer them, but please, no laundry lists or open questions like "what could I do to make my character better?"
At 6am AEDT on Friday (click here for your time zone) I will close submissions. No more characters may be submitted after this time. At 6am on Friday morning, I will post a list of the characters eligible for selection. This will not be a short-list, rather it will be a list of every character in contention for selection. At this point I will welcome any corrections (e.g. if you have withdrawn a character or if I've overlooked one).
Between 6am AEDT on Friday and 8AM AEDT on Monday (74 hours apart) I may send you a PM or ask a question if I come across something perplexing in your submission that I think may materially affect your chances of selection. Otherwise I will likely be silent until I have completed my deliberations.
At 8am AEDT on Monday (click here for your time zone) I will post the list of successful characters and open the Discussion thread.
Over the next day or two (however long it takes) we will then spend a little time constructing a shared backstory for the party if appropriate and, if desired or necessary, modifying the mechanics of the successful characters. Once we're all happy with that, we'll launch into the Gameplay thread.
If you aren't selected and you want some additional feedback, feel free to ask in this thread, but no correspondence will be entered into etc. etc. blah blah decision final and whatnot.
Thanks for the update. Nik's background has been improved somewhat on his page. I'll probably be making additional changes as they come to me but, of course will stop by Thursday evening.
Alright, Aleksandyr is ready to go. Give him a look over when you have the time and go ahead and critique me if you don't mind. I picked up Rule of Fear which is a really good reference guide if you want to learn about Ustalav so I could fit the character better into the setting with the direction I wanted to take.
Some feedback on Aleksandyr...
1. How does Aleksandyr know Jistka? If I remember correctly, it's a dead language from ancient northwestern Garund. Seems a little out of place for an Ustalavic nobleman.
2. This goes for all cavaliers, but I find the Order of the Dragon et cetera to be rather shapeless. I welcome your attempts to re-skin the Orders into something more setting-appropriate. For instance, perhaps the Order of the Dragon could be re-titled Order of the Sacred Shield after the Shield of Aroden. (I know there is potential confusion with the Order of the Shield here, but I'm just doing this on the fly.) If you can't think of something or don't have the time, that's cool. Not re-skinning the Orders will have zero impact on your submission's chances for successful selection.
3. What is Aleksandyr up to now? His background story ends with him saving the Professor; how long ago was that? What has he been doing since? How does he work with others nowadays? What has his Order been up to? What will they think of him leaving to go to the Professor's funeral and thence, unbeknownst to them or Aleksandyr but knownst you you and me, on to a life of adventure? (That last is more a 'food for thought' than something you might particularly want to cover in your submission.)
Also worth noting, as a couple of people have asked and/or wondered, the Professor is (was!) in fact a 7th level wizard, and was around 70 when he died. That should give you a broad idea of his capabilities and character.
Also worth noting, as a couple of people have asked and/or wondered, the Professor is (was!) in fact a 7th level wizard, and was around 70 when he died. That should give you a broad idea of his capabilities and character.
Ahh, maybe I should modify my Inquisitor's background story then since the professor wouldn't have been totally defenseless (though a surprise attack would still have been bad for him).
Also worth noting, as a couple of people have asked and/or wondered, the Professor is (was!) in fact a 7th level wizard, and was around 70 when he died. That should give you a broad idea of his capabilities and character.
Ahh, maybe I should modify my Inquisitor's background story then since the professor wouldn't have been totally defenseless (though a surprise attack would still have been bad for him).
Or he could have been out of spells for the day, or lost his possessions/spellbook, or fighting against overwhelming odds. Plenty of plausible reasons for the professor to be (relatively) helpless. : )
Think everything is finally done on my profile check it and let me knwo if you need more.
Thanks.
1. What you've written gives me a good understanding of Alenthor's personality, but not really how he reacts to others or works under pressure. What kind of man is he, deep down? Who is he at his worst? At his best?
2. You have Gnome down as a cultural language, but I don't see any evidence that Gnome is spoken widely in Alkenstar/Martel/the Mana Wastes in general. The others you've listed appear to be much more common.
Ok Dragomir Vuk is finally finished - Back story, description, equipment.
Only two comments in terms of things to look at: you have Dragomir's ethnicity as 'Ustalavian', but this isn't an ethnicity; pretty much all the natives of Ustalav are ethnically Varisian. They are the settled cousins of the travelling Varisians from Varisia. Other human ethnicities aren't terribly common in Ustalav, but of the others Ulfen and Kellid are the most likely candidates. Chelaxians tend to stick to the coastal countries.
Secondly, you have Suspicious as a trait, but I'm not seeing where it plays out in Dragomir's background. Reading through his story about his childhood, I almost expected to find Indomitable Faith there alongside the campaign trait. Can you illuminate me as to where Suspicious comes from?
I was going to write a note about roleplaying Dragomir to his Intelligence/Wisdom level, as in parts of his background he seemed a bit smarter than his stats suggest, but dumbing him down would actually reduce his appeal. I like him as he is--a naturally talented amateur mercenary who is now wondering what to do with his life, but who has his faith in Pharasma (if anything, I'd love to see that played up more) and his raw strength to fall back on.
And another character for your consideration... a Sanctified Knife Master Rogue. His character sheet isn't all prettied up but the basics are there.
My notes on Rajuna extend to three ticks on the printout of his profile page. Thanks for another excellent submission. Nothing for me to suggest here. : )
My only question for Karrik is about where he came from. Was he really a whelp kicked out of Belkzen? Your background alludes to the fact, but isn't 100% clear.
Other than that, looks great. Karrik is, as you say, an intriguing character and well-realised to boot.
And I don't have a problem with you and stormraven submitting together--it's just tying backstories together prematurely that I was keen to avoid, which we've managed just fine. : )
My only question for Karrik is about where he came from. Was he really a whelp kicked out of Belkzen? You background alludes to the fact, but isn't 100% clear.
Sorry, no, that's just for narrative impact. I figure he was born in Canterwall, his mom realized what she had, and got rid of him ASAP. I left who his parents really are a mystery because it probably wouldn't be information Karrik has. If you want to do something with that, feel free. But it's no biggie either way with me.
cynarion wrote:
And I don't have a problem with you and stormraven submitting together--it's just tying backstories together prematurely that I was keen to avoid, which we've managed just fine. : )
Good luck!
We'll deal with how/if the stories are tied when you make your selections. I'll be looking forward to seeing how the game shapes up.
I just updated Selene's back story, when you've the chance to read it.
Howdy!
My comments below are a little more mechanically-based than usual, because a number of things caught my eye as I was going through Selene's character sheet.
1. You've listed your stats as 20 point buy, but they're actually 25 point buy (which is correct for this campaign). No need to change her stats, but the 20-point buy heading is a bit misleading/distracting.
2. The only place I can find Selene's campaign trait recorded is in her background rather than in the Traits section of her character sheet. --Ah, I think you recorded it as 'On the Job' instead of 'On the Payroll'.
3. I don't see Selene's languages recorded anywhere.
4. You've selected Arcane Training as an alternate racial trait--that's cool. But you haven't removed Selene's favoured class bonus in line with that. Arcane Training means the half-elf has to choose an arcane class as her favoured class, and loses Multitalented--the ability to select two favoured classes. So Selene has one too many skill points.
5. Not an error but a question: Wisdom in the Flesh allows you to use Wisdom in place of Strength or Dexterity for a particular skill (or Con, by the rules, but I don't see any Con-based skills). Your Wisdom and Dexterity bonuses are identical, and if you sink a point into Dexterity at level up (which is what I'd do with an odd number in my abilities), you will have a higher Dex bonus than you will Wis bonus--which would make the trait a hindrance. Just something to think about.
All right, that's all the mechanical niggles that I found on a first pass.
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As far as background/character concept goes, I'd like to see more of a match between the background and Selene's abysmal Charisma score. Other than being 'socially awkward', I'm not seeing a lot of examples in her history that express the effect of that low score. Is she prickly? Does she blurt out silly things when she shouldn't? (Probably not with a Wisdom of 14.) Show me how that Charisma of 7 manifests itself.
As a random aside, a guide with a low Charisma probably isn't going to get an awful lot of work unless she's very very good at what she does.
There are a couple of others waiting on character review. I'm waiting for a thumbs up on Dragomir - I am pretty sure its a 'clean' character but its nice to be sure and any feedback that the background etc is considered ok.
"Look, Smiley Face, if you come around here one more time it's going to be over between us, do you understand? You're suffocating me. I need to be my own person! I need to be free to soar over cornfields and caw ominously at passersby without wondering what you're thinking. Is that such a crime?"
There are a couple of others waiting on character review. I'm waiting for a thumbs up on Dragomir - I am pretty sure its a 'clean' character but its nice to be sure and any feedback that the background etc is considered ok.
Dragomir's review is done, you can find it here. : )
Just looking at the Campaign Info tab, I think the diversity of the characters submitted is really cool. So many options to choose from. I imagine it's a double-edged sword for the DM: on the one hand, an awesome group of characters will be selected. But on the other hand, so many great characters will get cut.
