The Council's Chosen - Age of Ashes

Game Master ICT GM

Naura first spoke to a dragon at age eleven. By then, her power had begun to manifest. At the harvest festival, she had slapped Olthar, Meggin’s son, for lifting up her skirt, and by some strange magic had torn a chunk of flesh from his cheek. Olthar kept his distance after that, but so did all the other children. Playing alone in the woods behind the farm, a woman with lustrous copper hair came upon her. The woman touched her cheek, called her beautiful, and promised to look after her. After the woman was gone, Naura was, for the briefest moment, convinced the skin on her cheek felt just like a scale.

Naura first mourned a dragon at age fifteen. Long before word made it to her village from the larger holdfasts and townships, she felt her body grow cold and a shadow settle on her soul. She knew then that the great Elevhemior had passed from this world. Had somehow been slain. And that the connection to the copper dragon she had felt all her life had fatefully and finally been severed.

Naura first dreamed of a dragon at age sixteen. When she woke, screaming, she remembered nothing more than the feeling of flames consuming her body. The dreams came often thereafter. Always fire. Always pain. And beneath it, a dark, winged presence, like an evil reflection of Elevhemior.

A poor farmer’s daughter, cursed with powers she could not explain and visions she feared with each night’s sleep, had little chance of finding answers in the hinterlands of Andoran. Leaving home, she sought answers in the cities, in the temples, in the quiet of the wilds. She learned to harness her powers, to seek solace in the light of Shelyn, to control her fear. And she learned a name that might hold the answers she sought - Dahak.

But her latest dream was filled not with the visage of Dahak, but of a village in Isger, burning in the same flames she knew oh so well....

Story Time
Rizz is a child of one of Breachill's lumberjacks, Wizzlefred Boughcrack. Growing up, she often got into arguments with her dad about their lumber practices, saying they over-harvest areas or should implement better practices for the animals of the forest, and most often fighting about how to prevent fires. As soon as she was of age, Rizz and her family parted ways, she abandoned her family name, and she devoted herself to Gozreh and protecting Golarion's natural beauty. The gnome set up a place for herself just outside of town, living in balance of civilization and wilderness.

Rizz woke up every morning with her skin hued the reds and oranges of fire. Most every night, she was plagued with nightmares of fires, both in the forest and in town. Years after she moved away from home, these nightmares started feeling more and more real. Rizz broke down and started trying to research the meanings of these dreams. She started at the Reliant Book Company, hoping to find some text on dreams. Instead, she was drawn to a tome on the dragon god of destruction, Dahak, and immediately knew that this fiery beast must have something to do with her dreams. She began researching this god in all her spare time, and started trying to document her own dreams, until one night, clear as crystal, she saw the town of Breachill burning to the ground. Rizz immediately joined the Call for Heroes, hoping to save the town that she feared would soon fall at the hands of Dahak.

The older dwarf frowns as the watches a holographic scene unfold. "Pause simulation," he mutters, and the holographic projection stops. "Keeps showing the same thing. Much as I like that new power armor, I still give more damage with good old dwarven muscle." He rubs a bicep affectionately. "Hmm ... A dwarf's armor says a lot about him. Not a hasty decision to rush into, Myron." He climbs out of the cart.

The younger dwarf also climbs out, nodding slight. "Yes, Uncle Brock, but ... your current armor is not cutting it."

Brock chuckles. "No, that it's not ... but I took that off the dead Azlanti who ran me through with this ..." He holds out his hand and a curved steel blade materializes in it. "So *that* armor definitely says something about this dwarf, m'boy." As he sheathes the sword in a stylish backpack embroidered with the logo of the holonet program Pact World Warriors, he mutters, "Course, I do wish it said 'Miss me' a little more often." He sighs. "Okay, Myron, I'll make a decision after the briefing."

He glances around at those assembled and says, "Hello there! Brock Laserforge, Chief Tactical Consultant for Aggressive Defensive Countermeasures with Laserforge Clan Holdings. This here's my nephew Myron," he motions toward the younger dwarf. "This the place for the Starfinder crew to muster, I suppose. Pleasure to meet you."

Enlisting with the Order of the Godclaw constituted a move to Isger to the Citadel Dinyar in the Aspodell Mountains. There he received his strict and difficult physical training, but also became a student of the Hellknight history (Age of Ash Campaign Background). After finishing his basic training, his interest in the Citadel Altaerein that was formerly held by the Order of the Nail peaked his interest. Seeking leave from Lictor Resarc Ountor, Lucius was approved to set out to Breachill to investigate what might have happened there.

Physical Description
Lucius is quite a handsome young man, having short tussled dirty blond hair and striking dark blue eyes. He is tall and athletic in build, though somewhat more lean and wiry than bulky. Lucius takes great pride in his outward appearance, never allowing himself to go more than a few days without shaving and grooming. He exudes confidence, and believes in himself if perhaps to a fault. He is rarely seen without his characteristic grin.

Reference Image

Personality
Lucius is the model of heroism and bravery, always the first to throw himself into harms way to protect the weak and innocent. He genuinely believes himself to be an instrument of justice for Iomodae, and is steadfast in his faith and conviction. He is often described as generous and kind, and is fiercely loyal to his friends.

Lucius is also known to be quite overconfident, and sometimes brash in the face of adversity. While he tends to have a great deal of personal magnetism that draws people to him, he also can come off as overbearing and cocky to some. Those who find his arrogance a trifle annoying feel as though he could stand to learn some humility.

As a child, he didn’t take kindly to the name. However, as he grew Baolo became inured to such ridicule and learned from those few who still called him friend to better navigate the politics of such sensitive subjects. Indeed, it was better to be considered the black sheep of the small town, tip-toeing and charming when he needed to than to have to believe the alternative...that his grandmother’s tales were just the rambling of an addled old woman. So he began keeping his thoughts to himself, and conducting his own investigations into the town’s history as much to find the truth for himself as to clear his family’s name of the vile that was still directed towards him to this day. Comporting himself as such earned him a low position in the town guard, where he learned to use a variety or weapons and armor, and could keep his ear close to the local happenings.

Once done there, he headed to visit Jorell and see if a small bit of history he had picked up from that manuscript lined up with what was available in the Archives. Baolo just hoped that the half-orc archivist was either too busy or in the right mood for a debate to allow for the young man's presence in the building.

There's a certain way she learned to introduce herself, to give the right impression without actually saying much at all.

"Reinsey Kamen, of the Elidir Kamens, and please, call me Reinsey."

The name is her own invention, of course. It doesn't really matter what name you go by; having a name, and being forward with it, gives the impression of a family, connections, some amount of prestige. The impression is all she wants. Family is something that matters, even if you made them up.

Reinsey's real family was lost long ago, and her real name with it. She imagined her early childhood had been decent enough, before the goblin raids. There was a thankfully brief period of enslavement, which she preferred not to remember, and then she'd been freed, and alone. She was an orphan, just like half of everyone else in Isger.

She was raised in an orphanage, by the Chelish nuns. She could have been one of them, a Sister of the Golden Erinyes, if she hadn't lacked the knack for cruelty. Reinsey had the physical aptitude, the ambition, but did she ever have it in her to be properly cruel? Her time as a slave taught a lesson that the Sisters could never quite beat out of her. So they cast her aside instead.

The rejection bothered Reinsey more than anything, and once she'd left the orphanage behind, she redoubled her efforts to be a proper monk and improve herself, regardless of what the Sisters had to say.

If there was one thing she took away from Asmodean teachings, though, it was that there were more ways to improve oneself than the physical.

"I've heard of the Order abandoning their citadel, yes. But you say the fort's abandoned completely, no owners, no claims?"

Reinsey Kamen, the noble Reinsey Kamen, was certainly an improvement over some war orphan with no ties at all. There was a certain mystique to being a child of privilege slumming as an adventurer, and it wasn't like anyone expected her to detail her ancestry when there was a job they wanted done.

But odd jobs only did so much for her reputation. If she, if Reinsey Kamen, could delve into an old Hellknight fortress, and if what she'd once read in the monastic library was true? If the deed to the fort was there for the taking, and if she could become landed nobility as easily as that?

That would qualify as 'self-improvement' in anyone's book.

Trained in the arts of combat, forge craft, and religion, Oathen had no family but his masters. He never knew his mother's loving gaze or his father's pride. He has only known the harsh voice of the forge master, the brutal beatings of his combat instructors, and the passionate teachings of his priests! Never have they given him a complement, always have they pushed him to excel further and try harder. This has created a man who has lost touch with society to a frightening degree. The only love he knows is the silent love of Torag.

Oathen has never left his mountain home before this journey and he has only read about other races in books and seen them in drawings. Only time will tell if he has what it takes to survive in the real world where everything is not always black and white. His only goal is to prevent suffering and destroy evil wherever he finds it but he may soon realize that there is more to life than this!

Oathen is tall, for a dwarf, and has eyes that almost appear to be coals. His hair and gloriously maintained beard are raven black and his skin looks like granite made flesh.

Due to his odd training his face is often totally blank of expressions, never having interacted with others on a social basis. He does smile from time to time but often for reasons that wouldn't make sense to others.

His armor and shield are covered in Torag hammers and he has hand written scriptures sealed to him with blessed wax in many places. Any time one of these scriptures is damaged in combat he will take great pains to recreate it and reattach it during downtime.

While generally favoring the more pragmatic form of dress, she recognizes that stylish flair will get her more customers and recognition. Her outfit which favors a teal and gold color pallete, consists of a small kokoshnik to hold back her hair, a vyshyvanka embroidered with geometric patterns, and simple round toed leather shoes she often fit into elaborately beaded chopins to keep her dress out of the mud as well as a little boost in height.

Rough Character Approximation:

Physical

Outfit

There are a few ways in which Poppy has learned to communicate complicated subjects with others. While she can lip read, gestures can only convey so much but the first alternate method being a chalkboard, usually reserved for food orders, which she has less patience for in a casual conversation. The second is sign language, which few people have the patience to learn, thoughshe often offers to teach whatever party she travels with. The third option is using her innate gnomish wild magic to cast the cantrip Prestidigitation to craft temporary ethereal words in the air.

Poppy claims to run Isger's most authentic gnomish themed Food Wagon, 'Cotton's Cookery Coach '. The "Foodtruck" is themed towards satisfying the creative hunger pangs of even a gnomish customer, notorious for enjoying exotic foods. As such, the majority of their menu consisted of ingredients from various fauna/flora encountered by adventurers. Food most average folk would never taste otherwise. The restaurant also, as it tends to move around, provides typical local cuisine to ingratiate themselves with regional customers with less curious palates.

(Unrelated to Poppy but here's a writing sample from another character of mime from a game that ended too early)

Freydis's humming voice echoed across the high stone walls of the church, and a rhythm emerged, built by the tapping of her heavy metal boot. Intermittently the sound of tearing paper punctuated the eerie tune as Freydis ripped page after page from holy tome of Shelyn, piling them onto a growing pyre that was once a podium. The pale woman's face wrinkled into a soft smile as she watched the flame take the blasphemous parchment, bits rising into the air, almost dancing in the light cast through stained glass windows. The whimsical sight inspired her to recite in slow song form, a verse she learned in childhood from the forbidden canticle of Lady Graves.

"Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken 
Foul and corrupt are those who bear false witness, 
And work to deceive others, know this;"

The last page smoldering, Freydis tossed the binding of the book and surveyed her handiwork, the pews filled with fresh corpses, the ages of which ranged from young adult to seniors. The lumbering armored woman took a soft stride along the aisle patiently blessing the nearest people with holy water from her Combat Aspergillium. Flecks of anointed liquid dripped across the lifeless faces of the dead, but otherwise seemingly uninjured crowd.

"There is but one Truth. 
Whatever your maker, 
The Ebon City calls to all, "

The cleansing had ended in a second. Upon first entering the church, she’d been received warmly, but only responded with stoicism until hearing the preachings of the so-called priest. His words were sin. His teachings poison. With a gesture of her gauntleted hand and holy symbol of Pharasma, Fredyis released a flash of concordant energy before the patrons knew what had happened. The souls of the congregation were torn from their form retrieved by her spectral hounds, bound to her call, and promptly delivered to her godly mistress in the underworld. There was no time for screams, and in a moment the once lively church had fallen silent. She was glad they had not suffered.

"o’ Lady mine, my enemies are abundant, 
Many are those who rise up against me, 
But my faith sustains me, I shall not fear the legion"

Continuing her lilting hymn, Freydis exited the temple into the snowy hamlet of Valeroot, descending the stairs with piercing amber eyes fixed on the only signs of life left in the winter town, ample fields of wheat rolled out across a nearby plain. Rows upon rows of golden full stalks pierced through several feet of snow in a bizarre juxtaposition of the season. Removing her glove, her exposed fingers traced lightly across the yellow plants. She could feel the tug trace of necromantic energy that sustained the plants, stolen from animals and occasional human sacrifice.

“Suffer not the work of a heretic.”

Gray colored flames suddenly poured from the anointed weapon in her other hand and she dipped it into the straw lengths. Freydis watched quietly as the blaze took hold, and left only after the ill-gotten plants had fallen to cinders. 

In her younger years Gilly Halenbor’s idea of retiring from the Pathfinder Society came in two forms: running a temple of Erastil in a hinterland village of her own or dead. That was, of course, while escaping from an expedition into the Hold of Belkzen she witnessed a ritual that shook her to her core. An infant, laying atop an altar, had an eye plucked from his head by a shaman of the Dead Eye tribe. Despairing for the child, Gilly and her companions fought those that took part and stole the child from his tribe.

This was the last straw for Gilly, and she decided she was going to retire early. Being a devout follower of Erastil, she looked for a small town that could use some help and settled on Breachill. It has been nineteen years since then, and though she expected a struggle raising her half-orc ward it turned out to be a pleasant retirement.

He should have been home by now, Gilly thought as she wandered around town. There’s only a few places he could be, assuming he’s alright.

Passing by the Pickled Ear, looking into every building’s windows for signs of her adoptive son, she saw the young man that she’s looking for through the front window of Lamond’s Lament. As she made her way to the door to talk to the young lad about calling it a night, a loud belch echoes from the bar accross the street. Who in all the Hells thought it was a good idea to put a soup kitchen across the street from that horrid place?

Entering the front room, Gilly saw a sight that only seemed possible in a close community like Breachill. Davor, his one green eye intent on the scrap of wood in his hand, wiped his other hand through his sweaty close-cropped black hair. I make one more, he said, picking the small whittling knife up from the floor on which he sat. Then you all go to bed. Davor very tired.

The children in the small circle around him nodded their heads and admired their prizes—small wooden figurines of stags. Gilly could not help but smile and as she approached she could see Davor’s ears twitch while he focused on his craft. Sorry gram, he mumbled. Almost done for the night.

Gilly shook her head and sat in a circle with the children. It’s quite alright, dear. Now, let me tell you all a story about a brave hooded champion and all the little towns he watches over...

There Giuliana's father, the son of the man from Breachill, grew up and met the woman that would in time become Giuliana's mother. Once they were old enough to look for work they moved back to Sargava together to work in the same line of business as his mother had, a guide for the colonists. After Giuliana was born she was clearly marked as an outsider within the Half Elf community as a result of her bright red hair, a sign of her Chelish ancestry. This, combined with a general unwillingness to leave their child behind, was the reason Giuliana's parents chose to bring her along though this was not without danger.
Never was that danger more obvious than when she was stolen during a skirmish with some Charau-Ka. Immediately a rescue mission was started and managed to arrive just in time to save her from being sacrificed to Angazhan, the Charau'Ka's demonic patron. Yet all was not well as the Charau-Ka priest cursed Giuliana with his dying breath, dedicating her to his demon lord.

For many years it looked as if the curse had had no effect but when Giuliana hit puberty she started suffering from bouts of rage combined with blackouts. With help from local shaman and priests she managed to attain a measure of control over her fits of rage and she no longer blacked out. It however appeared the curse would not be contained and the more control she gained the worse her rages became when they did happen.

Afraid she'd hurt her friends and family Giuliana left. The fact Sargava freed itself from Chelish rule and became Vidrian only made the choice easier as all those that had helped the colonists in the past were looked upon unfavourably and that also extended to their children.
So Giuliana left and she headed for the only place away from home that she knew: Breachil, the town her grandfather came from.

Out of combat she'll be a scout and a tracker. In addition she'll have knowledge of both the natural world and the treating of wounds

Ateris has been adrift for most of his life. He barely knew his mother and grew up on the streets where his quick wits, quicker hands, and uncanny vision lent him to become an exceptional thief. Yet even with his success and meager savings, he was still an outcast in search of answers of his ancestry and a place to call home. Among the only reminders left of his mother was a small, battered gold locket that she had strangely never sold despite living in squalor. She never would explain to her inquisitive son what its significance was, and the only means he had to go on was word "Breachill" inscribed upon it. Seeking to discover more of his past, he made his way to the town he knew only by name.

Adventuring: In his travels, the transition from thief to adventurer wasn't much of a stretch for Ateris, as skilled trapspringers and scouts are always in short supply (especially given that those who were less skilled in those subjecs tended to not have a chance for additional ventures.) The chance for "legitimate" gold was strangely appealing even if it came with added danger and the Call for Heroes somehow felt right for him.

Party Contribution As a rogue, Ateris is skilled in numerous pursuits including the valuable roles as scout and trap-disabler/tripper. In combat, he doesn't shy from the front lines and moves to take a strategic position that bolsters his allies (potentially taking a Bardic Dedication depending on the class makeup of the party.) Moreover, though, Ateris has a sense of humor that will remain undiminished despite whatever adversity the group might face.

Combat Posting Sample: Contains Proactive Posting, Complex PbP conditionals, and Vegemighties! I tend towards humorous and somewhat sarcastic characters

Song Parody / GM posting Sample: Minor Siege of Serpents Spoilers, but this is one of my favorite PbP games I've run.

Barbarian
Javell DeLeon - Joran Bravestone - Human Barbarian
Cuàn - Giuliana Tabari - Human (Half-Elf) Barbarian/Monk

Bard
Chapel Ty'El - Cal - Bard
Caps - Fuzbizzle Nokfigit Bramblequalmy - Gnome Bard

Champion
John Haines - Rivka Dell - Human (?) Champion of Nethys
The KGB - Lucius Baradayne - Human Champion

Cleric
Valosar - Oathun Direbeard - Dwarf Cleric
Arrannai - Davor Halenbor - Human (Half-Orc) Cleric

Druid
Robothedino - Mbende Tumbleup - Halfling Druid
DruidOfTheMoon - Dorzu - Gnome Druid
Roxxie613 - Rizz - Gnome Druid

Fighter
Mefika - Tyras Carondil - Human (Half-Elf) Fighter
Dathom - Baolo Käsiger - Human Fighter

Monk
Reines Kamen - Human Monk
Fallen_Mage - Tristiago - Dwarf Monk

Ranger
Ragashingo - Sparks Clearpath - Elven Ranger

Rogue
Dickie - Tully - Human Rogue
Captain collateral damage - Aerel - Human Rogue
Wolfspirit - Ateris - Human (Half-Elf) Rogue

Sorcerer
Blue Symbiote - Malsheer Blacktusk - Half-Orc Draconic Sorcerer
Anthorg - Filona - Gnome Sorceress
Nauraki - Naura - Human (Half Elf) Sorcere

Wizard
Vohamanah the Okay - Khoohi Words-Taker - Goblin Wizard
azjauthor - Barnabus Hedgehill - Halfling Wizard