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![]() Spazmodeus wrote:
Yep I have seen the same thing, because it does not have a hit dice limit it can be powerful and then there is eternal slumber which really can ruin someones day but there is still a saving throw so I don't really see that much of an issue, save or die has always been in pathfinder. ![]()
![]() GM what would you think about a witch, I know some people are not big fans of them and if you are not please let me know. I feel like a witch could work well in a evil AP like this. Witch's are also commonplace on ships, the idea of a weather witch seems like it could be very interesting. Please let me know what you think. ![]()
![]() How do I access the races in the ARG, I do not own that particular book.
Stats: Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 6, 1) = 1211 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 5, 3) = 1714 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 1, 3, 4) = 1413 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 6, 2, 4) = 1614 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 5, 4, 2) = 1614 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 5, 6) = 2017 Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 1, 4) = 1211
Stat: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 5, 1) = 1312
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![]() Tracking for the DM and Applicants. JMG021283/ Stats Rolled/ Jin Stonewood Dwarf Druid/ Complete
Brother Fen/ Stats Rolled/ Salnyon Medvyed, the Steelrider, Human Druid/ Incomplete
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![]() Tracking for the DM and Applicants. JMG021283/ Stats Rolled/ Jin Stonewood Dwarf Druid/ Complete
Brother Fen/ Stats Rolled/ Salnyon Medvyed, the Steelrider, Human Druid/ Incomplete
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![]() Reckless wrote:
Dang, forgot that completely. ![]()
![]() Tracking for the DM and Applicants. JMG021283/ Stats Rolled/ Jin Stonewood Dwarf Druid/ Complete
Brother Fen/ Stats Rolled/ Salnyon Medvyed, the Steelrider, Human Druid/ Incomplete
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![]() Tracking for the DM and Applicants. Brother Fen/ Stats Rolled/ Salnyon Medvyed, the Steelrider, Human Druid/ Incomplete
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![]() If you are open on Thursday nights 6:30-9:30 their is an open recruitment for a fantasy grounds game kingmaker AP going on Here ![]()
![]() Newton Backstory: Laurence Marakov has the dual distinctions of standing in one of Brevoy's noble houses, and being an warrior of some renown. In his former adventuring days as the Fighter of the Five Knives Company, a small band of adventurers and opportunistic mercenaries, he specialized as a master of combat who perfected his art with the sword. Unfortunately, the days of the party were cut short when one member, the wizard Francesco Rossi, was slain - the group disbanded shortly after, heading their separate ways. For Laurence, that was home, to Brevoy. He retired to New Stetven, married his childhood sweetheart, Mayra Lebeda a humble practioner of the arcane arts, invested in a few businesses, and settled for a life of research and theoretical arcane study. He managed a brisk trade training other adventuring parties that traveled through, and amassed an impressive private collection of weapons and armor from all parts of the world. When Mayra announced that she was pregnant, Laurence was overcome with joy. He imagined himself rearing his son up to be a warrior as he was. He could already see the greatness that his son was destined for. When Newton was born Laurence had already planned his life out for him. As he grew Laurence slowly realized his son would be nothing like him. He was a frail, sickly boy, prone to catching every cough and sniffle that came around, and spending large amounts of his childhood bedridden and weak. Although there is nothing Newton could do about it he was a disappointment in his fathers eyes. He still wanted to learn, however, and Mayra spent many long days and nights at his son's bedside, schooling him in the ways of magic. As Newton grew, his health remained consistently poor. He was a gangly youth, brittle-boned and dry-lipped, prone to illness and possessed of a persistent dry, hacking cough that shook his shoulders and scraped his throat. As Newton entered his twelfth year with no sign of improvement, even from the priests and apothecaries Laurence and Mayra called in, the proud father became determined to take things into his own hands. He withdrew. Newton spent the next several years of his life, hunched over books or crouched in prayer. The wizard spoke little, engaging deep in his own research, delving into the study of conjuration. Somewhere, in these dusty tomes, was the answer - a way to transcend the limitations of his final form, to strengthen his bones and lungs with magic. Marya fussed and flitted, worried that she was losing her boy to his fruitless research. Yet Newton's good memories of his father slowly faded, replaced with those of a distant, grave fellow who could barely stand the sight of his own son. He slowly grew and mastered his first spells - they weren't flashy, but they were effective, and held immense promise. He was well into his twenties when his father approached him in the library - the first time he'd done so in years. "I've got an opportunity for you," he said, and for the first time in years he looked his son in the eyes, "There's an expedition heading into the Stolen Lands. I think it would do you good." He stood, squeezed his shoulder briefly, and went to the door. "It leaves in four days," he added, before leaving. Newton found himself at the gates four days later, his pack slung over a thin shoulder, dressed in his patched robes and sturdiest boots. His spellbook was heavy at his hip, and a gnarled staff was clutched in his hand. After hugging his mother goodbye, he was surprised to see his father there, ready to see him off. And he had a parting gift - a "It will help keep you safe," was the only explanation given. "It should help you out there, make me proud son" Having bestowed his odd gift, he was gone once more. Placing the familiar on his shoulder, Anton drew a deep, shaky breath, and took his first steps into the unknown. |