Here's the idea for the background on the divine caster I'd mentioned before. I've settled on a cleric of Abadar.
With nearly all characters, I develop a background first, crunch second. Let me know what you think about the background for Tiarsus Kelquinal, below in the spoilers.
Criticism/comments are welcome from GM & applicants alike!
Background: A Rough Beginning:
Lastwall – a realm of struggle and survival. In the constant struggle with the hoards from Belkzen, generations of soldiers, slaves, children, clergy, hopeful, and hopeless perish. A fortunate few survive, their mettle tested by the powers above or below. These choice candidates may remain among the living, but their scars endure. For many, these are physical. For Tiarsus Kelquinal, they run deeper.
On the other side of Lake Encarthan, Tiarsus’ parents had a stable living in Greengold. Kyonin was a far cry from the militarization Tiarsus would later become accustomed to, yet his memories of the monarchy were brief for he departed as a child; skilled entrepreneurs, his parents had a 6th sense for coin, and they sensed a burgeoning opportunity in the conflict. Some caravans of basic supplies – cloth, iron, flour, and such – had gone missing in the audacious defense of Lastwall. The size of this deficit was so substantial the defenders had reached-out to additional supplies and were willing to pay a premium in gold beyond what one could normally fetch. His elf and half-elf mother and father, Caerthynna and Navarre, decided they would invest their considerable capital in this operation, paying-off any competitors in the realm. An adolescent, it was agreed Tiarsus would accompany his father with a contingent of supplies, some from Greengold, some from a convoy to join them from Druma. His mother, the conduit of old money in the family, would stay to maintain contacts and forge new opportunities.
That rendezvous never occurred; a band of orcs ambushed them from the coastline one evening. Their numbers and alacrity outpaced their wizards’ potency, and even his father’s skilled marksmanship proved futile. Tiarsus watched as the throats of most of the group’s survivors were slit after questioning. Only two were kept alive: himself and an elven swordswoman, Ariawyn. Though Tiarsus could barely focus on details after he watched his father die, before his slaughter, he noticed the band of orcs was more brutal with the mages than the warriors. It was the first time he’d been glad to have done poorly in his arcanist’s trainings; his disappointed parents had pushed him into the clergy instead, so he didn’t have any spellbooks to condemn himself, and his component pouch wasn’t on his person at the time. Despite some rough treatment, the orcs mistook the holy symbol on his necklace as a trinket, and when his father indicated his son’s link to the wealthy Kelquinal family, the orcs must have seen the boy as a valuable hostage. The pair of prisoners and what wealth the surviving orcs could purloin were whisked back to the primitive boats by which they’d arrived.
From what he could orienteer, Tiarsus was being taken West. He didn’t speak the Orcs’ tongue though, so he gathered little else. A scant few half-orcs were among the group and would rarely speak to them for necessities. One such mixed-blood – Dakgorim – didn’t seem as much of a warrior as the rest. Tiarsus didn’t remember him in the assault, and his eyes seemed to avoid the prisoners. Is that … remorse? While most of the rest of the group had blood on their weapons, apparently keeping it as a symbol of pride, Dakgorim’s daggers were clean. Like most of his half-breed, Tiarsus was adept at pegging others in social situations, and he endeavored to sprinkle a few warming words in his short exchanges with Dakgorim. Ariawyn seemed to catch-on, though her penchant for struggle had produced additional injuries that kept her sore and quiet.
After a few days and nights, the group came to a wide river. Ariawyn indicated in their own tongue this was the Routondil River, the boundary between Nirmathas and Lastwall. Not a cartographer, Tiarsus was thankful for her masterful sense of direction, yet this choice of direction didn’t make sense. Neither of those countries would be keen on the orcs’ passage. As they entered the mouth of the river, escape seemed so close, yet so far. What seemed to have been a small town or watchpoint on the Northern bank was torched to the ground, corpses visible from afar – some butchered, all burned. They’ve taken this whole land?! Normally resilience in the face of adversity, Tiarsus’ spirits darkened.
Forest soon crept to the banks of the river on both sides. Beastial sounds could be heard from within, and even the orcs ceased their banter as the woods became too loud – or too soft. During one such lull, a glimmer shot into the sky from one of the trees, bursting into a gaudy display of colors. Though he didn’t speak their language, the young captive was sure he heard his jailers cursing a storm, for they readied their weapons and had the two rebound by the hands and legs – they’d received a reprieve on the open water, and those in charge must have thought there was no danger of them fleeing here. A nervous-looking Dakgorim did the job himself, yet Tiarsus did not feel the bonds as tight as before. So loose were they, he was confident with a bit of work, he could escape. Soon, he put that to the test.
Not an hour later, a volley of arrows whizzed out of the trees towards the group from the North. Their boat wasn’t hit, but the orcs on the others sustained dozens of shafts. Ill-prepared to respond at range, they began to head toward the shore, harried each foot of the way. Well-armed human archers were visible now, plucking the orcs off with exceptional aim, yet a few made land and reached the treeline. Some axes and swords swung, but the woodsmen carried the day easily. Only two captors remained behind with their captives. The archers wouldn’t try to pick them off with the prisoners so near, so they approached with swords. Ariawyn made a break for it, discarding her poorly-bound ropes, and the guard next to her lashed-out, succeeding at a deep slice but securing her own demise; a longsword found her throat appetizing.
Remaining were only Dakgorim and Tiarsus – and the rangers closing-in. Dropping his blades to the ground, Dakgorim fell to his knees and held up his hands. ”Please, mercy – I surrender!” Having none of it, the humans dashed forward.
”Wait!” yelled Tiarsus. ”He’s not a bad man … he helped us, he –“
Before he could continue, he words were cut short by the flat of a blade on the half-orc’s shoulder, the snap of bone breaking-through the crisp, autumn air.
”Don’t worry,” laughed the man who seemed to be in charge. ”We don’t kill a man with a story to tell.”
Blow after blow came down upon Dakgorim, mostly with fists and feet. The injured rangers seemed to strike back the hardest. Soon, he looked as badly-off as Ariawyn did when she was captured.
”Welcome to Lastwall, lad. I’m Robert.” The seasoned superior offered a gloved hand to Tiarsus. Subconsciously taking it, the boy felt a chill pass through him.
Background: Duty and Desertion:
Four years since the events of their arrival, Tiarsus found himself on duty at Castle Firrine. The defenders of Lastwall took the pair in, but they found themselves conscripted into duty with haste. Ariawyn’s skill with blades bested most of the men, and she quickly found herself leading watcher. Tiarsus, who’d only mastered the most basic orisons, found himself in high demand with the numbers of injured. The hoards of orcs were merciless, and the plethora of deaths he witnessed forced him into an early adulthood. He was trained in combat, but he eschewed it for studies with the other priests when possible. If anything, he focused on hitting a mark with the crossbow. Just like dad, he thought sadly when hitting a target. Sentry duty became the norm, and while many curried favor with the healer, many chided his aversion to fighting.
Dakgorim didn’t fare as well. The subject of much consternation and disbelief, it wasn’t until one of the few inquisitors in the country could make it to them and question him the half-orc was allowed any sort of freedom. He was the product of a captive rape, raised to help infiltrate the human lands a “spy”; apparently, that meant a warrior who could speak common and just maybe be passable as a rough human. The empathic Tiarsus felt his heart go out to Dakgorim, the truth evident in his story, yet most of the soldiers treated him as little better than the prisoners they took from The Hold. Perhaps of their mutual ostracization, the two became good friends. Once Ariawyn received a promotion, she had her subordinates recoiling against being lorded-over by an elf-woman. Her demeanor was a bit haughty, probably in retribution for their earlier skepticism, but she’d had enough. The three banded together for self-support.
Robert didn’t like this, and the captain gave them orders to go to the front lines. Ariawyn was having none of it.
”What would we do there? You said yourself you don’t want Tiarsus at risk!” she argued.
Caravans had only been arriving with spotty success in the past few years, and while Tiarsus had some correspondence with his mother, the letters were sparse. They’d agreed it was safer for him to stay in Lastwall, but the powers in Lastwall had noticed this too; they knew the lady of means would be willing to pay a price to keep her son safe. Some of her caravans had come with packages special for him. Robert was among those who figured if they kept him here, they resources would continue to arrive for them all.
”What do you best, Ari – tell others to do the real work,” Robert smirked. ”Just keep him out of the way. Keep a close eye on the other half-breed,” he said with a nod at Dakgorim, ”and we’ll all be happier. You need a change of crew. We both know it.” Ariawyn fumed but kept her silence, knowing the futility of arguing.
Robert wasn’t dumb, but the callousness of his statements grated on Tiarsus. ”Captain Pelnor,” intoned Tiarsus respectfully, ”why don’t you tell your men to follow her orders like you would any officer?”
”Because she’s not any officer!” roared the man. He took a breath. ”She’s got more years under us than we could ever hope to have, comes in here by chance and bests them all in duels? How would you feel?!”
The disparity among races caused natural frictions, and being so homogenous, Lastwall hadn’t adapted to them. ”But if you do that, sir, they’ll never learn to –“
[b]”Enough! It’s settled. You three leave at dawn for the Red Recruits’ camp.”
The Red Recruits were known to be a very red in terms of the injuries they incurred, likely because they were very green in terms of experience. They would give Ariawyn a hard time and accomplish little. It was a job she couldn’t succeed at, and Robert knew it. So did the three of them.
That night, she roused the two mixed-bloods softly but sternly. “Get up. We’re leaving.”[/b]
”Leaving? said Dakgorim, with more curiosity but less surprise than Tiarsus would have expected. ”To where?”
”Home,” she replied. ”At least for me. I’ve some cousins in Riddleport. It’s far, but I think I’ve got a way.”
”Riddleport? That’s all the way on the ocean. We’ll never get there!” Dakgorim seemed to know the location of the place better than Tiarsus, but the ocean was definitely far off still. And how would we get there?
”Listen!” hissed the elf. ”There’s a path by the Bloodsworn Vale our partner scouts in Nirmathas found. We can take the river on the other side to Korvosa. Here…” explained Ariawyn, producing a map.
The young cleric had a different point of interest to raise though. ”Ari, I didn’t know you didn’t have roots out that way. The Mierani Forest?”
She paused her explanation and nodded, looking into his emerald eyes. ”Yes. Though I served the queen in your land, my grandmother manages in mine.”
While the history of the land wasn’t well-known to him, there was certainly turmoil, Tiarsus remembered.
”Korvosa then?” sounded Dakgorim. ”That’s a big place. Lots of people.”
His wistful tone wasn’t lost on the swordswoman. ”You can stay there if you like. I cannot though.”
”We’ll come with you!” volunteered Tiarsus on their behalf, drawing a surprised, albeit not reproachful look from Dakgorim. ”We make a good team!”
Seeing no objection from the half-orc, Ariawyn smiled. ”Good! Now gather your things. We need to set out at dawn to beat the patrols on the way South. They won’t expect us to go that way, and if we hit the border before they can get us, we’re free.”
Excitement thick in the air, they departed under the protection of shadow.
Background: A Push Forward:
They did need to evade some scouting parties and talk their way out of some meetings, but the trio left their unwelcoming land behind and, over a few months, made it to Korvosa. It was as big as they’d hoped, and they took a few weeks’ respite to rest. They’d all sustained wounds on the trip, and after dispatching many a wolf, a few highwaymen, and a few bouts of sickness, they’d seed enough of each other to make a lover blush. Additionally, the three had growth in confidence and familiarity; few ambitions or secrets remained between them.
Dakgorim despised his origins. He wanted to end the seed he sprung from, yet he didn’t see a way to go about it. What he’d mustered-up was convincing the Korvosan guard to assist Lastwall, but the older Ariawyn kept telling him that was a lost cause. Their numbers were too few, and they wouldn’t be willing. For her part, the lady wanted to reconnect with her family and their naval operations in Riddleport. It had been decades since she’d been there, yet she seemed to think things were as she left them. Tiarsus simply wanted to go home. His desire for vengeance burned strong in his heart, and he shared a great deal of passion with Dakgorim, yet he’d never truly come into his own there; unlike the half-orc, he had enough foundation to care about returning and expanding what he started without seeing it as an end-all like Ariawyn. It was clear their desires would send them on different paths before too long, and Tiarsus would probably need to decide which he wanted to travel with.
They worked differing jobs to earn a living in Korvosa – Ariawyn a swordsmanship and archery instructor and Dakgorim a butcher – yet Tiarsus tried something new: He signed-up in the local branch of a Pathfinder lodge as general labor, something he’d not been accustomed to. Many conversations passed into his ears, and the idea of exploring and learning excited him, so he petitioned the lodge for a truer association. They acquiesced, insisting he travel forward and learn about the unknowns in the land. Magnimar was the natural destination, and as it was part of the way to riddleport, their path seemed clear. After a few more weeks, they bought passage to the city aboard a ship and, in good spirits, toasted to their future. Ariawyn was to take yet another vessel to her homeland, but Dakgorim saw the sense of belonging the society had given Tiarsus and joined himself, justifying their wide network could be used to reach his goals if he proved himself.
Only a few days after reaching Magnimar, the pair waved good-bye to Ariawyn’s ship, sailing North from the setting sun.
”Well, what now?” asked Dakgorim, his hand falling from Tiarsus’ shoulder as they left the docks.
The half-elf shrugged. ”Exploring takes money. Let’s get a drink and think about it!”
The two stopped by a tavern near the water, and they sampled a good bit of Varisian food and drink, depleting much of their limited funding. It was delightful, but different.
”You know, I miss boar liver pie,” mused Dakgorim. ”Hate the horde, but they knew how to cook meat.”
Tiarsus agreed. ”And for all the fish they catch, you’d think they could smoke it and season it right! I haven’t had a proper salmon steak in years!”
The more the pair remembered their culinary absences, the more they realized they did have something Magnimar might need.
”So – hear me out – we open a tavern that doesn’t do Varisian food all the time. We make it our way. Different enough, people might like it – or at least try it.” Dakgorim’s suggestion was not dissimilar to what Tiarsus was thinking, but his companion had put it into words.
Tiarsus had done a good bit of cooking as a youth and felt up to the task. ”Sure, Dak, but where would we set-up? The water’s sure to be pricey, and we don’t have much on us.”
Giving him a toothy grin, Dakgorim replied ”Somewhere with enough danger to keep the prices low.”
So it was the two created The Gluttonous Goblet. It started small on the edge of the slums, but Dakgorim kept the ruffians out and assuaged customers’ fears about their safety. Tiarsus was personable enough to get the message to the adjacent parts of town that had enough money to pay. After a few months, they changed to a more palatable location and serviced more people. Dakgorim gained some weight and Tiarsus gained satisfaction. How about that, mother – I made a good return on the investment, but not in the way you thought!
And it was just that thought Tiarsus expressed to Dakgorim one night. ”Dak, you can get the people you need with money. Enough coin in the right pockets will get even people who don’t care about The Hold of Belkzen to burn it to the ground if that’s what you want.”
Dak yawned, but the idea found purchase in him. ”That’s not what you want though.”
Tiarsus shrugged. ”I think … this place is big enough for me to get a caravan back to home if I wanted later. One that will make it this time,” he said solemnly, remembering the loss of his father. ”But that’s a way’s off. Ariawyn made the world sound so big! I want to see more of what’s here first.”
The hirsune Dak slowly nodded. ”You mages have an easier time finding people who need you. Hell, I’d be dead if not for you.”
Shaking his head, Tiarsus corrected him: ”It’s the gods that make that happen. I’m not an arcanist – left that path long ago. Thank Abadar.”
Dak rolled his eyes then rolled over in bed. ”That’s that same god that left me to my fate, T.”
A moment of sadness passed through the priest, for he knew Dak’s upbringing was a hell beyond his ken, and despite their closeness, he rarely opened-up about it. This place was good for him though. The Gluttonous Goblet would allow him to have a purpose, make some coin while Tiarsus set off to uncover the mysteries of this city.
Tiarsus Kelquinal, now a young man, turned to face the other way, his eyes seeing not the wall but the possibilities of tomorrow. What would he uncover?..
If this idea seems workable, I'll be happy to develop a crunch/profile for him. Many thanks!
If I may, I'd like to throw my hat into the ring as a divine caster - probably one with a penchant for uncovering mysteries and having his nose where it doesn't belong!
Though I'm not mechanically-settled yet, the focus would be utility/healing in either cleric, druid, or shaman. Since druid/shaman are on the more natural side, are there any animals that should be avoided for shifting/companions/familiars?
Allow me to toss my hat into the ring! I'm thinking of a half-elf martial (probably paladin, though I understand he may be prejudiced in the setting) by the name of Felix Shadowshifter.
I'm Eastern Time - Michigan.
Appearance & Personality:
Selfless and social, Felix often thinks in terms of others and his surroundings before considering their effects on himself. Occasionally, this decentralized outlook leads him to shortsighted or disorganized decisions, but it also makes possible acts of immense compassion. He prefers words to swords, but is aptly-skilled with both. His newly-found magical talent (low-level paladin connection to the divine) is another story though, its execution still full of unexpected consequences. As a result, he is a bit embarrassed by his lack of ability - and greatly admires those who have mastery in the realm of magic.
Felix is an adonis, blessed with a muscular body and a magnanimous smile. His dark, flowing, mid-length hair and penchant for clothing (or absence thereof) to accentuate his assets means he's quite sought-after. However, the common folk that would chase him are seen as unworthy by his family, so he's had no official or lasting relationships. Comically, this artificial hard-to-get reality only increases his demand in the community.
Though he often puts himself in harm's way, he is very sensitive to pain, both physical and emotional. His strength of personality and physicality is an inadvertent distraction from the relative frailty of his bloodstream (likely a byproduct of the elven side of his heritage) and psyche; being restricted from deep relationships outside one's guardians has its problems.
Background:
I'm thinking Felix is from a family which is loosely connected to some minor nobility in the region - not sure if the Santinis still count. His family insists he aim for a relationship within that house to increase his (and their) social standing, yet neither the nobles nor he is interested. This clash of aims leads him to look to the common folk for escape in a social sense, and he often looks to escort trading caravans for escape in a physical sense - and a bit of coin. The differences he has with his family lead him to question the tyrannical society in the region and seek a more positive life.
Right now, I'm not involved in any games, though with the end of summer, I'm looking to get back into the swing of things! I've played over the past decade or so on the forums. The community has really evolved.
Let me know if you need any clarification regarding Felix.
Hi there! I'd like to toss my hat into the ring as well.
Let me answer your questions:
RPG/PBP Experience: I've been a poster in games throughout the last decade or so here on the boards. I've found PBP to be a format which lets every person have their voice heard at the "table", so to speak. Most posters are kind and thoughtful, though occasionally you get some duds. Many years ago when I started playing 3.5 with my high school friends, the thespians would usually run the table. Though I tend to be on the more charismatic side of my real life groups now, finding the right dynamics of social interplay is hard face to face.
Favorite class: Wizard. I like the idea of a person challenging the impossible and changing the rules. Transmutation is my favorite school as a result!
Favorite race: Half-elf. Perhaps it's because I don't fit a lot of conventions myself, but I find a great deal of character in developing foundations from the mixed lineages. The aging differences, the cultural influences, and the physical traits all make for excellent development potential.
Expectations: RPGs should a great experience for all involved to build a story together. To this end, I'd like to think Crypt of the Everflame can lend a foundation of setting for the group and allow you as the GM to focus on the uniqueness the group recruited will have. Most RPG settings I play in are homebrew, so I will be new to whatever surprises lurk in the adventure path - and I like it that way! I also hope you get a chance to grow as a GM here - PBP is good for that.
Writing Sample: This profile is one I applied to a futuristic game with, but the background within should be a good sample!
I must also add interest for End of the World! Question: Timeline-wise, what year would you be looking at for the start of that campaign? Would there be modification to when the various villains would have succeeded?
His pilgrimage to the jungle’s center of enlightenment complete, the elf Xyveth Onadae had hope in his life. Maybe there’s something I can do for my home now. If I can’t stop the fighting, at least I can help the injured. Home in the Sodden Lands was torn by conflict, raids from pirates, guerrilla tactics from the Mwangi Expanse, and disease had left the denizens in despair. When Xyveth left, may assumed he simply fled for better lands, never to be seen again. His intention was to study at Magaambya, to bring potent magic back to his home. While his journey there was taxing, he did survive. Unfortunately, despite the great potential within him, the instructors said he could not follow on the path of the High Sun just yet; he would need more worldly experience. A poison-tipped dart striking him in the night was start of all the experience he would ever need.
Xyveth mildly remembered being dragged through caves by the sound of it, carried and carted at times, and beaten – though with only superficial injuries – at others. His captors had blindfolded him though, so he could not tell who they were. It was clear whoever these people wanted him alive for some reason. Maybe they’ll have me work as a slave. Maybe a sacrifice. Maybe… Never would he have expected the drow sought to use him as entertainment, to amuse themselves at how those with the best intentions would break when cast into the unending trials of the abyss. This wasn’t clear to Xyveth at first, but between the blindfold being removed, his spellbook being preserved, and the blue-skinned b%~$# lording herself over a group of the captives, the fog of darkness became illuminated crystal: House Volatexia wanted a show.
Well, I’ll give them a show, but mine’s going to have a surprise ending!
He’d need to bide his time, use the others, get his hands dirty, and crack some skulls for their amusement. Xyveth didn’t relish the idea. Truth be told, he didn’t think he’d survive. The wizard’s will burned hot though, hot enough to power his perseverance. Yet would mettle be enough to beat the metal of the Underdark? Time would tell…
The idea with Xyveth is he's going to be someone the realms of darkness, especially the drow, will love to break. Many will assume he is some sort of divine caster given his aura of good, but he is not. While he may be seen with a bow in the arena (Sagittarius), utility casting and healing will be more his go-to in groups. Since one can't always fight in groups though, he may have to play dirty to get an edge. If he's chosen, and if he survives the scraps in the dark caverns of the world, he may come to believe bringing light to the dark places is a true calling of his - or he may become corrupt and stray from his path to a much more wicked side.
Please let me know if you feel this idea could work in your setting. I'm more than happy to complete a crunch if so.
The clash of secularism in a world quite touched by the divines was always an interest of mine, so I'd like to toss my hat in the ring! I'm thinking the best way to explore that schism would be someone right in the middle, so I have the following idea for a character which could manifest in a few different (albeit related) ways:
Base Concept:
Knowledgeable of magic and respected by those in his inner circle, the individual made a serious faux pas against the local authorities in a proximal land (I'm thinking Osirin, giving the history between the nation and Rahadoum). His subsequent exile imbued him with ire toward his former nation, and his journey eventually took him to Rahadoum. Foreign knowledge was welcome, though more tolerant perspectives on the divines were not, and his more worldly lens tempered his former disdain for Osirion in light of reactions in Rahadoum. It wasn't long before instances of conflict drew his skills and inner moral compass to the fore with the crusade; the secular nation did not deserve to be butchered, but to what end should they consider compromising their views?..
While this character would surely be a caster, I'm not sure which of the following you feel would be most appropriate for the setting:
Type 1:
An instructor wizard focused on industry over battle, utilizing his talents for economic stability. The all-hands-on-deck nature of the conflict had him and his apprentice summoned though, and acclimating to war vs. peace will be an internal and external exploration for this version in particular of the character. This would likely be the most dynamic character of the bunch, albeit with the least amount of relationship conflict.
Type 2:
A collegiate initiate arcanist with intentions of progressing into the collegiate arcanist prestige class. This version would have more nature-based experiences, having received training during exile in the Mwangi Expanse. However, this character branching would see a greater weight for Rahadoum to bend on their ban on religion, having seen a blend of arcane and divine working wonders for good. While not having the apprentice of the first version, this character would probably generate a following with natural charisma.
Type 3:
Last but not least, this would be the most dangerous of the 3 types as an inquisitor, likely of Nethys or Sarenrae, given a bit more information about the crusade. I'd be selecting the monster tactician archetype though, with the character greatly relying on the spell-like ability to serve as temporary allies on the journey from Osirion and fickle "friends" in a land which would be hostile to his true nature. Importantly, as a spell-like ability, this does not require use of the carefully-concealed focus in the character's possession. Counterintuitively though, this version would have a number of close non-summoned friends which, if the magical schism were excised from their views, would be a great step forward in his life as they had essentially become his family. If only there were a way to change their minds...
The concepts aren't that different from each other in personality, and they are in the same ballpark mechanically, but you would know best what would fit in your story. When you have a moment, please let me know your feedback. Additional information about the nature of the crusade would also be helpful!
I'm interested in the setting and would be willing to forge a connection to David; if you could provide more details on his personality/life, that would help in developing a character concept.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Karma was an adrenaline junkie to be sure, but Ellion understood becoming attached to particular objects, attributing a bond between it and its owner. However, he didn't understand it so much with mass-produced items. Isn't there another gun just like hers somewhere?
His ancient formula book only remained due to preservative abjurations throughout the centuries, but it was the only constant thing in his life. I couldn't replace it though. Sure, I might be able to rewrite some of the entries, but the spill of wine on the page about panacea and tear on the corner of the entry regarding thistle evoke memories of their own that would be lost...
He gazed at her "pantsuit", wondering if she sometimes recalled memories in a similar fashion when stimulated by the garb itself - and if she would know if it were replaced by another copy. We're like children with their animal toys, I suppose. We all have our superstitions.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Relieved at their success, Ellion hostered his pistol. Let's not have any surprises like that any time soon!
The imposing facility loomed before them, entry points observed and noted. "If you're up to it, Miss Bakir. I'd only ask you mind the collateral damage on any demolition; we don't know the potentially delicate nature of what's inside."
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Heeding Karma's advice, Ellion circled the construct, wheeling another 10 yards clockwise. Given the circumstances, he didn't see the machine attempting to move anywhere. I could try to make a time-space slurry around it, but only if we kept moving. The doctor hypothesized its weapons would harry them for too long in that scenario though.
Instead, he fired his pistol again - this time, with less hesitation.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
I believe my post was consumed. Nothing too complex though:
Not allowing himself to freeze in the face of danger, Ellion forced himself to keep moving, bringing his pistol to bear only when he knew his nerves wouldn't stop him from pulling the trigger.
Corona Laser Pistol:1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19
Fire Damage:2d4 + 10 ⇒ (3, 1) + 10 = 14
The feeling of deadly energy pulsing from the thing was a weird sensation, but it helped their target was not a living organism. It's been a while since I've killed. I hope I won't hesitate if it's necessary. In the old days when hunting, it was the deer which froze in the face of danger that died. Ellion would not be that creature.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Though he knew something of the sort was possible, Ellion's nerves got the best of him. He retained enough sense to check his weapon was out and ready, but that was the only thing preventing him dashing away from the vehicle.
It'll target the biggest, most dangerous object I bet. That's not me ...
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Perception:1d20 + 25 ⇒ (5) + 25 = 30
Ellion mimicked Eivo's check of his firearm.
So impersonal, this.
His bright eyes had no trouble tracking the anomaly by the structure. "At least we know the lightning eagles aren't what's moving there - they'd be a spot easier to see."
Pirates? Looters? They'd be gone by now, I'd think. Must be something else...
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Karma's attempt to comfort Ellion was successful. Reminds me of the huntresses we used to have. Elegant in their own way. Preferred the sharp edges - big guns in her case.
An inflection in their path broke Ellion from his miniature reverie. "Let's hope we get a souvenir or two out of this." It had been hard for him to adjust to the thought of living a contiguous experience. Ellion felt some momentos to remind him of milestones might help.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
"I'm glad you're the one making the noise, not something rattling around in this jalopy - bucket of metal." Ellion had to act as a foil a bit to the talk about another walk with the engineer, but his backhanded compliment revealed he was not as certain of the safety here as Molly was.
He'd thought better of reminding the captain strict quarantine with these miners would be prudent. I really doubt some energy-beast would be infectious, but protocols are there for a reason. She'd get an earful from some of his colleagues back on the ship anyway, he knew.
He cleared his throat. "Once we get to the place itself, I'll head above the treeline and see what's what there. I trust my own eyes more than snippets of sparse footage. Some of you are good shots if there are lightning eagles or something, right?" His remark was mostly in jest, but he wasn't a good aim as it was. Flying and shooting wasn't going to happen if he got into a pickle.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Hesoni frowned slightly. "The atmosphere here might be interfering with our communications, and I can't imagine the lightning enigma will help with that."
Angular features notwithstanding, Ellion seemed rather calm about the whole topic with Molly. "Oh, I don't think it wants to, Miss Bakir, but we can perhaps trick it into thinking it doesn't need to expend its charge on us - or deplete all of it in advance. That faraday cage idea was a stroke of genius, its brilliance second only to the radiance of your smile."
The doctor grinned, clearly making light of the situation a bit instead of going for a genuine flirt.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Death had a way of bringing people together.
Look at all these rockdewellers. In generations past, they'd have some blood-grudge against me. Now, we might all be fried to a crisp with a lightning-monster sending us to our makers. In necessity, there is unity. In unity, there is strength.
The old names for dwarves died hard - and slow - with Ellion, though they were thought of with affection by him, anachronisms with a bit of coziness in the cold galaxy. Oddly enough, the threat of demise injected a spark of life into his lengthy existence. So too did the idea of this spark-sapient? being some form of life to study. How fantastic! It would be hailed as a god in it's own right on Golarion. Much more than I should be now, even by half-measures as the modern cults suggest.
Weydan's clergy, colorful as they were, had come to see Ellion as one of his avatars. Who better to emphasize oneness with exploration than a man who could will himself through space - flying, breathing, not-imploding and all? Despite his rejections of him being some sort of herald, the acceptance of this mission seemed to indicate precisely the opposite to those people. You'd think I fulfilled some sort of prophecy.
As he looked around the group here, he was wondering how many of them were partial to The Explorer. And if we do make it out of here and do bring them aboard, how much more of that nonsense will be reinforced? Surely, there is layer upon layer more to go. Religion always seemed to work that way, no matter the year.
Dr. Hesoni returned to hear Molly profess the energy level of this creature. He cleared his throat.
"Regardless of how much energy this thing exudes, it's crucial to know whether it has control over this ability. If it does, then there's a reason it's chosen to unleash its wrath. Perhaps an aspect of the operations here provoked it. If so, we might be able to lure it into complacency again. If not, perhaps we can force it to overplay its hand, overuse its energy. The power source must be finite; it would need to recharge - rest, as it were."
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Arriving in the mining camp, per se, the doctor could see their numbers were lesser than the design expected. And significantly, too. That can't be good for morale.
As they cobbled together a plan, Ellion understood enough to see what they were going for with the circumconductor, yet he doubted its defensive potential. This thing could direct a current with such force as to level heavy-duty doors. He put a finger to his lips, trying to think of a way to improve upon the plan, yet failed to do so. Miss Bakir's talent will have to see us through.
He shook his head at Molly's suggestion. "Sadly, no; scrying is not one of my talents. With the thick matter in the way, I also can't sweep for signs of magic. This creature sounds like a physical wonder though, not a magical one." His platinum hair framed the flatness of his voice with a proportionally-hued depiction; he was checking-off boxes in his mind, eliminating tasks that weren't feasible to help and triaging those that were.
He settled on one:
::I'm going to mingle with the crew here a bit and see if anyone knows a bit more than they're letting on. It's possible someone stumbled upon this thing's home or somehow provoked it. Even if by accident, it would be good to know. Their fear of retribution from this bunch might be keeping them silent. Any information we gain could help::
Off he went, looking for duplicitous folk or furtive evasion.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Sorry, my trip ran late - I'll put up a nice post tomorrow.
No opposition to the outlined plan.
In the shorter post I'm putting up tonight, Ellion's looking to see people who are behaving oddly - at least more so than being in this predicament would entail.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
"The penthouse will do as long as it doesn't have silhouettes of the dead like that warehouse." Ellion took a moment to process what the confident navigator told them. "Electricity thing, hmm? Miss Bakir and I believe an explosion was likely what slew the unfortunate souls above, but one from elecrticity alone would have had to pack quite a punch as I understand it. She could put the specifics more eloquently," suggested the doctor, pointing to the mechanic.
The cocksure one is not easily upset. Either this is some new bomb she's afraid of or it's not a bomb at all.
"Glad the dwarves panned-out. How are they on supplies down there?"
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Oblivious to the knowledge from within, Ellion greeted Karma without haste. "Ah, you've managed to pilot this lift as expertly as you do our ship! Did we miss anything? Just a couple of unfortunate souls lost to an explosion up here."
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
"Save your troubles; they're dead," relayed Ellion, not stooping to look at the floor but rather peering at the outlines on the wall. "And they saw their death coming."
He pointed to the blackened arm depictions. "I've seen this before. Your thinking is right - explosions and whatnot."
Sense Motive DC 15:
Ellion is rather saddened by something related to this discovery.
Sense Motive DC 20:
Ellion's sadness seems to be more introspective than due to the present circumstances of their own accord.
Looking around at what was left, the situation became more puzzling. "Unless I don't understand motives for assault nowadays, this was not a simple theft; there's a lot that could've been taken and wasn't. There's nobody important politically down there. Whoever caused this had power to come in and strike. Maybe it could be outlaws? Pirates? Well-equipped if they were..."
The doctor was never a detective by trade, but deciphering motives was one of the threads that was common enough for him to understand between generations and helped him acclimate himself to the changes over time.
He turned his bright aqua eyes to look at Molly warmly when she inquired about his vocation. "They didn't have cologists back when I started. Anyone could be a doctor then. Ginger paste for inflammation. Infected limbs got hacked-off with stone hatchets. No anesthesia." He gestured toward the shadows on the wall. "A swift death was a blessing. Still is."
Not truly having answered her question, he circled back around to it. "I'm out of ginger, but I've got some other medical supplies. A little magic. No amputating axes though," chucked the elf, allowing himself some levity in the rather morbid circumstances surrounding them. "I was certified as a healer back in Kyonin on Golarion. Sad to say my physical credentials are probably wherever in the cosmos the planet is." He shook his head at the silhouettes before they moved back to the lift.
"You know, you engineering types are a lot like what doctors would like to be in a lot of ways. The worst part about treating someone is the plethora of problems they could have. With machines, you essentially know an exhaustive list of what's the case. Who knows if a patient lied? Wasn't aware of the true circumstances behind something? With computers and AI's, you just run a diagnostic task." He looked at the lift. "You could even probably find a way to circumvent this thing right now if you had to, I bet."
"But there's just something ... dry about that, at least to me. Maybe it's that aspect of unpredictability, that edge of the unknown that draws me to organics, but I'm always fascinated by discovering the new relationships, new possibilities from evolution and entropy. Engineers make theirs - it's more deterministic." The speech had gotten a bit esoteric, and Ellion recognized it. "To each their own though. Glad to have a specialist like you. How else would that boat stay running, right?" Dr. Hesoni offered a smile.
He tapped a finger on his collar. "Those dwarves have some explaining to do. I haven't the faintest idea why they'd be struck like this - just guessing by elimination. If they don't know either, they should get out of here - prey that doesn't bloody its predator always sees it visit again and again."
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
::Mr. Eivo, if a planet can manage to leave me behind, I'm sure a stroll above ground under Miss Bakir's watch won't see me vaporized. The concern is sincerely appreciated though.::
Ellion was being honest. He recognized the environment as potentially dangerous, but perhaps it was his being greener than a stalk of broccoli that caused him to be fearless.
Let's see what they were keeping here. Maybe they came across something of value beyond their security detail's quality.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Ellion forced his laughter in response to Molly through the conduit that was their captain. ::Steal, no, but you can borrow. Wouldn't want to keep the others in line waiting, would we?::
He turned to leave, but - being too close to the wall, graced his holster against the wall and slightly bruised his hip; it was clear he wasn't used to the armament encumbering him, little as it was.
::Let's get a move on; our hosts are waiting below.::
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
::Miss Karma's plan sounds fine to me. I can speak their tongue if you need help with the accent later.::
Telepathy wasn't a latent ability of Ellion, but he's played around with alchemy enough in his time to have dealt with thought-speech here and there. It didn't bother him as much as it did most unfamiliar with the practice.
During their time they were waiting:
::Why not ask if they're in immediate danger? If not, they can explain what happened while we await the elevator.::
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Smiling at the banter on the bridge, Ellion was relieved some things stayed the same. People do like pushing each others' buttons.
"Yes, captain. I'll get my things and meet the crew for loadout."
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary on his terminal, Ellion was a touch worried they were going into this blind. In theory, their group had some skilled individuals to keep them safe. He was less worried about the environment and more the sentient or mechanical threats below though, even with their specialists. Destroying this place is a rather dramatic step for what seems to be a mediocre payout.
Grabbing his firearm, he thought back to his days eras ago as a hunter in his youth. He'd been needed to defend his village once or twice, and killing other person was something he'd already steeled himself against emotionally. Yet ... I'm in no hurry to feel that again though, numbed or otherwise.
Weapons nowadays were so sterile. No specialty craftsmanship. The corona laser pistol was seemingly a popular outfit with many of the spacefarers nowadays.
Constricting himself to his armored suit, he approached those standing at the exit. "Let's stay alert out there, hmm? We don't want any ... meteors to sneak up on us."
The out-of-ship expeditions, albeit for mundane purposes, were not a bore for Ellion. Having been so far removed from technology, he learned a great deal about mechanical work in the modern day from watching others work. He even gave some of the tasks a shot, but it was clear the engineers were better. As they should be.
Yet unlike the non-machine members of their crew, Ellion did not need to breathe in the void. Even without his spindle, the weirding ways of the heavens seemed to have imbued him with whatever oddness kept him alive during his rescue. Gorumskagat was expectedly puzzled by this and - regardless of how much it provoked security - insisted Ellion tag along on these maintenance ventures to see exactly how he managed to avoid the effects of vacuum, extreme cold, or asphyxiation. The studies always turned-up inconclusive. It was as if space had no hold over the elf's body, which drifted with esoteric momentum through the emptiness.
********
The mining facility was a welcome trip for the doctor, probably the most excited of them all to go to such a place of industry. I wonder what these new stones are like? He pulled-up the information they had about this certivite on the console, scrolling through the composition and considering the possible hazards it - or the environment in which it was found on the planet - had for biological life. Theirs, in particular.
Life Science:1d20 + 13 ⇒ (6) + 13 = 19
After Miss Bakir alluded to the damaged surface being the work of intentional malice, the doctor decided it might be prudent to scan for signs of life itself in the vicinity of the facility - survivors or scoundrels as they were.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Do we have a uniform style/protocol on when/what to wear? I'm asking as Ellion is in the unique position of being given special clothes from 2 different religious organizations (story to be posted yet) as well as having his exo-suit. He hates all 3 but understands there is a reason for them.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Finally, a moment's respite...
The door to his chamber closing, Ellion felt at ease for the first time since he'd departed the last meeting. He knew the drills were for their own good, the training meant to help them be efficient and reliable, yet there were too many cooks in the kitchen sometimes. Another expression they won't get...
The science officers aboard the vessel had disagreed on reference protocol for both security and cataloging on their research drives. This impasse wouldn't have been a huge hurdle if B4DG3R had an inkling of seeing things from somebody else's perspective. No, no - the rest of us were completely wrong, no possibility of any merit there. Gorumskagat had vehemently disagreed whereas Ellion was more annoyed. The argument continued well into the time they were supposed to be simulating a hack of sensitive data. Yet without a consensus as to how the storage and security was to take place, proceeding with the drill was essentially impossible. Naturally, the veiled Threnedar stomped by within earshot, then unleashed a lecture of his own about timeliness and setting an example. I can't make out what he thinks of me... The man's mask covered much, yet not his intolerance of certain things - or people. He painted with too wide a brush for Ellion's taste.
Lieutenant Nallas was almost the inverse. While military in career, he attended to precision in a manner one might expect from a surgeon - when it came to interpersonal matters anyway. When they met, Mark had given Ellion his honest take on each member of his team's reaction to the starstrewn elf. After interacting with them himself, the mystic found he was spot-on. I wonder where he picked-up that talent ... and why he's not using it to its full extent.
Or maybe he is. Ellion prepared for his shower. After all, charming me secured him a transfer to this respectable ship - better than that patrol craft he was on. The doctor didn't find his companion to truly be so Machiavellian, for they both were good at reading others. Mark was just better at expressing his emotions the right way to the right people.
Taking a look at his garments to change into, he knew the honors that had been laid at his feet by both the followings of Ibra and Weydan were somewhat misguided. And for some reason, my stasis stopped working when Golarion vanished. So even if there was some divine connection, it's gone now. The elf sighed. Though he'd been asleep for most of those years, deities had waxed and waned during his existence. The vanishing of entities which were supposed to be absolute pillars was disconcerting to think about, and he chose not to dwell on those thoughts during his short stints of waking. There was always so much to learn. Yet now, though there was more to acclimate to than ever before - computers, interplanetary travel, alien life - he was confronted with the reality he would actually need to be present in this era for a long, long time. Or shorter in absolute years, I guess.
Gorumskagat seemed interested in testing Ellion's internal biology given his story, yet the doctor was certain there was nothing amiss. He might not have had the contemplative's expertise with other races, yet his knowledge of life on Golarion was almost encyclopedic. That included himself. Maybe if the planet ever appears again, I can show them some of the "extinct" creatures
His last thoughts before cleansing himself drifted back to Mark. He was down in the mess hall again, presumably fraternizing as usual. I wish I connected that easily. He'd always been aloof by the nature of his interval-based waking, but his experiences had become so far removed, it was hard for him to make relatable small talk. Ellion had picked-up computing with virtuosic speed, but cracking jokes about space strumpets and transVeskuals (especially with the dynamics of a dragonkin present) were a bit unwieldy for him. At least the captain was approachable enough...
This quite singular premise for a campaign has provided me with many percolating ideas (and a much-needed respite from standardized testing season in the district where I teach). Please allow me to append Ellion Hesoni to the list of applicants. Allow me to describe a few things about him before you take a look under the hood in his profile!
Firstly, Ellion would have been slain by the meteor striking Kyonin. He has a rather unique mechanism for survival which I believe would have allowed him to avoid slaughter under Treerazer's dominion by escaping his observation. It would be crucial for his backstory to know if that would have been feasible for any other non-demonic inhabitants though. Actions he would have taken before his demise, to what end he could have attempted to postpone this apocalypse, etc. are very much tied to that facet.
Secondly, Ellion has been a character I've used a few times over the years. The Breath Mastery ability of the internal alchemist archetype provides a mechanism whereby life can be stretched over a long, long interval; If Ellion isn't slain, the result is something akin to The Doctor, though he wasn't inspired by the show.
Next, if you look at his profile, you'll see he has some old writing in there from a space game he was part of (that never really took off) years ago. However, I believe that background gives a good idea of Ellion's flavor, even if the latter parts wouldn't occur in this campaign. I've reposted that text in the following spoiler:
Caution: Contains elf on spaceship:
Endless space.
Much to the discomfort of the shuttle pilot, Ellion stood in his usual near-naked state staring into the reaches of Golarion. The scientist’s thoughts were not about arriving at his destination, but rather the step closer to his goal the transit achieved him.
“We’re approaching the port, Mr. Hesoni.”
“Doctor”, reminded the reflective elf. Port. A port was a place where ships docked. Nowadays, that meant airtight vessels with rockets or the like, electronics and automated processes aplenty. To Ellion, it also meant something quite different.
On Kyonin, his homeworld, Ellion had been born in the first era. The events of this time were but footnotes in all but the most extensive historical annals now, but to him, they were his youth. He remembered his first canoe, the birch hull and oak oar providing him with plenty safe passages across rivers and lakes. He remembered the port of Greengold, where he sold his daily catch for a profit each evening. He remembered opening his remedy shop, the start of his pursuit of the yet-unnamed field of science. Though millennia old, the memories coursed with lightning speed through his unparalleled mind.
A sharp turn by the pilot was too much for the modest gravity stabilizers on the ship to handle, and the standing man leaned to counter it.
“Is this your first go in this ship, boy?” The tone was likely mistaken as chastisement, though Hesoni meant it out of curiosity.
“I’ve only been at the ship a few days, sir. It’s my first assignment.”
Such a short time, even for him.
As a fisherman in his youth, Ellion noticed patterns with the behaviors of the fish. He studied their movements, noticing how the differing types – later called species – would interact with their environment. His astute observations led him to better predict where the best catches could be had. The profit he accrued led him to be able to purchase books and pay for the mouths and ears of the learned. Having come from commoners, this upshift in social status was quite an achievement. At a time when magic was still young, even among elves, the few nobles that wielded it in the wizarding way saw potential in the young man so interested in learning. They agreed to make an exception and teach a commoner, but Ellion threw a wrench into their plans.
The wizards were not used to failure in such affairs. They divined the magical potential of a subject before committing to him or her, and instruction was given with the implicit understanding service would be rendered to the monarch upon completion – indentured servitude by etiquette. The positions were honors to hold, and though some candidates developed better than others, all were capable of spellcraft. Except Ellion – at least in the ways the mages saw as capable.
Ellion was exceptionally bright, but he did not care to apply his mind to the particular outcomes the instructors had intoned. Instead, he dreamt about how the substances of the world interacted with the nature of magic. In his downtime, he experimented with various combinations of substances and spellspawn, determining a link between matter and magic. The basics of this were obviously known to his instructors as they knew what components were necessary to cast spells, but apparently they’d never investigated why those particular materials were required. When time came for his seasonal review, Ellion’s teachers were expecting a show of fire and force, not a scroll detailing the use of seasonal pinecones in white necromancy. Choosing to cut their losses, they cut young Ellion from the program. However, they’d already given the boy the catalyst he needed to excel.
On the vessel, the pilot shot a glance at the elf. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Surely not. My nipples have not even hardened!” replied the doctor, referencing the bodily reflex to prove his profession and point. Ellion knew the doublespeak that came with the statement, but he wanted a bit of amusement. The youth swallowed and turned his head back to the dash. He’s blushing. Ellion grinned.
In truth, Ellion should have been cold. Adjusting his metabolism slightly nullified the discomfort though. It turned-out, through study of various substances in what would later be known as the pursuit of alchemy, Ellion’s interests lay even more biologically-centered than most alchemists. He became an expert of anatomy, using his funds from fishing to open a store for potions and poultices which ensued feedback used to improve his skill. Though he did not “cast” magic, he did use the innate magical power within himself to imbue his elixirs with an extra boost of energy. The port came to hail him as a healer and civil hero. The local nobility didn’t care for this dilution of reliance on their wealth and power though, and accused him of “heresy”, gathering forces to execute him.
Though the despots’ plan was harsh, it was predictable, and Ellion had planned an exit strategy. He had a close friend dig a small chamber under his house for Ellion to lay. The entrepreneur had been experimenting with a new form of body alteration, one which would essentially stop all metabolic processes – breathing, consciousness, heartbeat, etc. He would be defenseless during this time, but he would have no maintenance. The military scoured the town for a week, checking in every conceivable location. The town resented this treatment though, and they rose up to overthrow their ruler. In the process, however, Ellion’s friend, Dalenane, was slain.
Unfortunately, Ellion was not skilled with this technique at the time he used it in this incident, and as a result, the only trigger for his revival was a splash of water across his face. Generations later, another family inhabiting the house happened to find his body while replacing the floorboards. As was custom, they attempted to dispose of his body by throwing it into the lake. The floundering mess of a “resurrection” caught the attention of the entire city. While the archers were ready to put down the “undead”, Ellion noticed a business running where his used to be on the waterfront – and people were leaving it with some of the telltale pink potions he’d made in years past.
My work lived on?
There was precisely one way Ellion’s studies could have borne fruit in this manner, and he requested the guards one chance to prove his identity: If the formulae book’s text the shopkeeper had used matched his handwriting, he was to be set free; otherwise, to death. Of course, he was right; Dalenane had preserved the fundamentals of alchemy which Ellion had written centuries prior. He made a deal with the owner to teach him in return for his shop, which the owner accepted; after all, he could well start his own elsewhere.
Hailed as a sort of demigod, Ellion spent years trying to lead a life of his own, but he no longer seemed to fit-in with society. His fame and other-era genesis made him unable to connect on an intimate level easily. As a result, he had few friends and no lasting romantic relationships. The blessing of life he wrought for himself had turned-out to be a curse long in the tooth and slow in the bite. Not wishing to spread that devastating long-term disability, he kept the information for those particular paths of research to himself. In his depression, he eventually sealed himself off from society, telling them he was going into a “deep sleep” once more, and he was only to be awoken in time of great need or peril. The immensely wealthy associate who’d profited a hundred-fold off Ellion’s knowledge agreed to appoint a curator for the soon-to-be hibernating Hisoni, and the two selected an individual to check for vermin or thieves in his shop once in a blue moon. The town’s respect was so great for him, though, thieves were no concern though. Quite the opposite, the town built a temple around the sleeping scientist, and he was not called upon for many years.
Each time he was awoken every generation or so for the same reason: Rulers sought knowledge of some import for a war they were fighting. Ellion felt used as a pawn often, and he was amusingly summoned by one king and then his evidently-victorious opponent months later. His knowledge was not that of battles, but of bottles. Each time, he would provide his counsel, take in the changes of society since his last consciousness, and then return to his slumber. This pattern continued for millennia – until spacefaring began.
He looked down at the young man’s head in the shuttle. To think such possibility is open to anyone now.
Until that point, elves, fey, and various animals had been the primary inhabitants of Kyonin. However, arrival of the drow across the stars had led to his awakening yet again. This was a war of a wholly different scale. It was a war, Ellion quickly surmised, the elves would not win. He suggested an escape, and the aging ruler – an elected one – agreed. The drow burnt the planet to cinders, the new war”ships” capable of horrific destruction.
Marveling at the development of technology, Ellion stayed awake in the convoy of refugees, learning what he could of the advancements in now-commonplace science. The acceleration of learning was breathtaking, but Ellion possessed the acuity needed to wrangle with the plethora of changes. He took the time to do things as people of that day did, spending time in lectures with the professors to be considered a doctor. His field, naturally, was biology. Dr. Hisoni looked back into his old formulae book, preserved via magic as it was considered a holy text. Joining with his colleagues, Ellion helped to expand the knowledge base as best he could.
Unfortunately, the people in exodus were beset by the orcs of Belkzen, a vicious warlike people. Primitive in quality of their spacecraft, their superior numbers and variety of armaments quickly rendered their escaping craft depleted in number. The half-dozen remaining vessels were forced to scatter among the stars. As the trip would be long, Ellion asked to be awoken only during dire circumstances as before; in this way, if they were adrift for lengthy periods of time, at least their people and their legacy would live on with him.
With the advent of robots, the elves had assigned one to be his curator, and it was by it the doctor was awoken centuries later. Evidently, a gas leak that proved toxic had occurred aboard the dilapidated ship, killing the crew. The robot’s programming had a sentient override performance to make an exception, as reviving Ellion would have been a fatal mistake; he did not breathe while hibernating, making him immune to the effects of the gas. A human crew had found the ship, and once they’d repaired the leak, the robot had awoken him. The crew were stunned, for they had expected him a corpse; the scene reminded Ellion much of the one at the lake in his earlier days.
One of those crew members was now shuttling the elf to and from different pieces of the nearby civilization; evidently, having such an “educated primitive” around was a great novelty for the humans, and some were genuinely interested in the historical insights Ellion had. However, the depression weighed heavily upon his soul as it had in ages past. He was even more different than his own kind now, evolution having had time to work its course, and given how few they were in number, seeing one at all was a rare occasion. Yet the humans with such short lifespans went about them without a second thought.
Eating in a shop where “old-fashioned” baking was advertised, Ellion watched the “archaic” process being performed. Mixing of flour, sugar, butter … this seemed to be some kind of comedic act for the rest of the patrons, but he remembered when the process was used to make sweets for regular consumption. The baker also seemed to think of it as an act, but she got into the art of the performance – and the baking. Ellion needed a way to earn currency, so he agreed to accompany her in the “skits”. Having more experience than she probably did, the experience was authentic, and the racial diversity with the outsider drew bigger crowds.
He felt he had purpose again, connected to something from his original “life”. Helpful as the day-to-day work was for facilitating daily going-ons, it did not dispel his one-of-a-kind loneliness. The length of time that spanned between now and his original time on Kyronin was staggering, but Ellion felt the need to have some longer-term goal to keep away the loneliness. Maybe it wouldn’t be completed for centuries, but he would have a goal, a life’s work.
After seeing one refugee of his people pass through the human station one day, he talked with her about how broken their civilization had become. To her though, the nomadic life was all she had known; the elves had colonies, but most traveled. Only a rare few still possessed the wizard traditions that had been so proud among them. A seething hatred boiled among them for the orcs and drow, but they were powerless to do anything about it.
Maybe you are, but I can see that retribution to its finish.
Against the orcs, Ellion knew the aggression was unjustified, but with the drow … their similar biology was no coincidence. There was definitely some mysteries to uncover about why the races hated each other; it wasn’t that one conflict. Refocusing his studies on enhancing his memory and studying the roots of evolution, the sagacious baker kept himself busy.
As the man adjusted the controls, Ellion noticed a ring on his finger.
“You are married?”
“Engaged! My fiancé and I are getting married in a month. It’s going to be a great time – all of my friends, family, and my favorite musicians will be there. We’re heading to a little resort moon, and –“ the youth noticed he’d said something to upset the elf.
Not upset. Sadden. The pilot’s experience was one the alchemist would never have. For as much education as he’d obtained, he did not have a stoic face to hold back his tears.
“Sorry, sir. We’re docking in a moment.”
If only apologies erased ages of despair…
Thirdly, I'm thrilled to see three GMs running a game. The detail you'll be able to put into your story will be great, and I hope to be able to earn a chance to mirror that detail in my contributions to it. As a poster on here since 2008, I'm not likely to simply vanish. The reason I highlight that history is in the near-decade I've been around, I've noticed differences in player and GM style can greatly affect the flow of a game. Though I'm a math teacher in real life, I'm more a role-player than a roll-player. My assumption, based on the recruitment post, is you (three) are as well. With Ellion, his character longs for emotional connection he's been more-or-less percluded from having his entire (now-former) life. It is important for me to know whether the GMs are comfortable with developing emotional - not just action-based - bonds with the NPCs you write for and exploring philosophies of life and its end.
Lastly (for now, anyway), I would like to point-out Ellion is by no means a mechanically-optimized character. Sometimes people flip their lids whenever they see "vivisectionist" as an alchemist archetype because they expect sneak-attack shenanigans though. The whole reason he has that archetype is for the abilities at 3rd and 7th level meshing with his outlook on the world. You can strike the sneak-attack thing entirely if you desire.
I look forward to hearing from you as well as any feedback others in the thread may have! Some quality thoughts are definitely present here!
Andostre There are 3 more in the 'Interest' category, and some of them have posted multiple times, but no actual character sheet yet.
I will point out that there are no divine characters, and I am guessing that is the lack of posted deities. Fear not, tonight, your wish is fulfilled.
Looking forward to that information. Knowing the intersection of magic and religion in a fantasy world is important, especially when considering characters of that in-between region as I am.
I'm looking at a more skills-oriented character presently. Could you give some details as to the geography of the place and nature of the previous nations' relationships with each other? It may go far in helping me refine my choices. Many thanks!
As with Forki, I wouldn't mind some additional material to prod me one way or the other with art/gift/way. Presently, I have a concept that could be in one of two categories, depending on the cultural implications of the paths.
What would a non-"caster" such as an alchemist/investigator draw upon? Is there a feasible way they would come about and not be part of the empire?
A wonderful game exposition, GM. I'll work on creating my submission now. Here's a hint via song until I complete it; when I do, I'll post under the alias in this thread.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Razza Kolvir wrote:
"Eh, probably for the best we don't jump to conclusions on that Opal. If Thrune herself was after us we'd probably already be dead."
"I suspect Razza is correct: There is little House Thune could not accomplish in its home system with the power it wields, so if they wanted the tablet, they would now possess it. Perhaps an incompetent lackey was sent? Perhaps it was not them at all. Either way, I imagine our presence on the surface would be met with more "visitors" before too long."
Ellion gave his platinum hair a tug. And now we have one of their dwellers among us, alien as he might be.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Qeetan'Chachol Shaaldanarth wrote:
Once again, the 'tik' sounds capture the arynth attention and he directs himself to the wood man. "Tik'klik... once more I must apologize myself for our previous meeting. Now, I'd like to make you a proposition: I have skills that might be able to help me communicate with you... if that is anything you'd like."
"It is something I'd be interested in at any rate."One less mystery with that thing would be welcome.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Opal Ganymede wrote:
Ludvic, we have two days, as stated by our captain. I suggest Ellion and yourself receive an escort for the time being. You have been made targets.
Ellion was used to having a retinue, though this was a bit of a different structure. "Whatever they want from us, they ought to ask. It is so rude simply going about and taking things." The elf smirked after his chime, for he knew Opal was probably right. Though I'm not so sure it's just us - maybe our crew as a whole.
The new creature's description of life was fascinating, but ponderous; there were too many unknowns. If Queetan would accompany them though, he would have plenty of time to ask him aboard the ship. And the environment would be much more controlled. I have experiments to do.
"I suppose," Ellion replied to the addition of the crew member - at least temporarily. He was none too eager to deal with him before arriving back on the ship proper. "I have some shopping to do yet. Perhaps a security detail wouldn't be bad."
Yes, let's see what our amphibious friend can do...
Though he saw what the angle the captain came from, he rolled his eyes internally. "Soon after I offered him the chance to surrender, he fled. My ass is in fine shape - it does not need to be kicked."
Ludvic's idea for experiments interested the scientist. He turned to the visitor. "I can prepare whatever ratio of solute to solvent you like. How salty would you like the mixture?"
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Opal Ganymede wrote:
Do you understand what I mean now Ellion? Now calling to her
The doctor nodded. "Indeed..."
He was, however, distracted by their new arrival. Queetan'Chacol Shaaldanarth. Though cumbersome for many, his elder experience with languages made the pronunciation passable after hearing it. His main focus was not on linguistics, but rather on the creature's claim about knowledge it would "forever gain"; even in his lengthened state, Ellion did not deceive himself as an inevitable well of knowledge, but rather a mind that had the opportunity to learn for longer than others. Perhaps there is something unique about their physiology - an internal repository or inherited consciousness. Such traits generally made members of the races that possessed them rare and reclusive.
One more person to study.
Not fully trusting this enigma, Ellion followed silently.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Opal's diction made Ellion consider the viewpoint of the watery races. "Do you think we are exotic to them because they are more comfortable in the water? Or perhaps not as our kinds are more numerous." He awaited Opal's reply, gazing at her nostrils and lips. Even she has no signs of the terrain shift in her recent evolutionary history through vestigal traits.
Come to think of it, neither do the others. They were a colorful group, and the rather bland elf allowed himself a moment to take in their physical characteristics as those more interested in finding this particular person went about their tasks; generally, he would have been aiding more directly in the search, but one assassination attempt was enough for a day.
He kept his ears open while their presence presided in the establishment.
M Elf Mystic 10 | EAC 26, KAC 27 | HP 64/64, SP 80/80 | F/R/W 5/7/14 | Init +8, Per +25
Opal Ganymede wrote:
Liars go to hell Ludvic. Stated matter-of-factly.
"Oh, let him embellish a bit," laughed Ellion, his hand on his cut. Superficial. Though he had a vial of curative formula prepared, letting the cut heal on its own would be fine for now. "I imagine this wasn't a chance event; in a place so draconian, the punishment for that unwarranted assault must be severe."
Know(Local{Determine penalty under the law for that aggression}):1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27
"However, regardless of the motive, I'm inclined to agree with Neve. Daggers in the face aren't something I find enjoyable."
Race
HP 6/9, For. 3, Ref 4, Will 1. AC 13, Touch 12, FF 11. CMD +12, Per +5, SM -1
A short and fat Satyr approaches the small town of Sleepy Hollow Falcon's Hollow. He is a short and somewhat heavier Satyr with greyish-brown hair covering his torso and face. He also has 2 short, curled black horns protruding from his head curving backwards. He wears little, most notably he has a few pouches slung across his hips with different powders and herbs, next to a few bottles of liquor. He also carries a cask of wine slung over his shoulder that sloshes as he walks. He is short, standing around 4'11" tall, and probably about 180lbs, most of which is around his generous stomach. He is playing a pleasant little melody on his panpipes as he skips his way down the streets.
Male Satyr 1
CN Medium Fey
Initiative +2, Senses, Low-Light Vision, Perception +5
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Defenses
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AC 13, Touch 12, Flat Footed 11, (+2 dex, +0 Armor, +1 NA) (ACP -3)
hp 6/9 (1d6+3)
Special Defenses DR 1/Cold Iron
Fort 3 Ref 4 Will 1
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Offenses
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Speed 30ft (20ft)
Melee Horns +0 (1d4/x2)
Ranged Sling +2 (1d4/x2) 50ft range
Modifiers +0/+0 BAB, +0/+0 Str, +2/+0 Dex
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Satyr SLAs
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Charm Person: 1/1
Dancing Lights: 2/3
Ghost Sound: 3/3
Spell DC: 14 + Spell Level (+1 for Enchantments, +1 for peaceful Charms or Compulsions)
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Current Magical Effects
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Shaken, Reduce Person, Total Defence:
Shaken: A shaken character takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
Reduce Person: Size reduced to small. Height, length, and width halved, weight divided by 8 (now 2'5" and weighs 22.5lb, 30lb with gear). +2 Dex, -2 Str, +1 to Hit, +1 AC. Horns reduced to 1d3 damage, sling damage unaffected.
Total Defense: You get a +4 dodge bonus to your AC for 1 round. Your AC improves at the start of this action. You can’t combine total defense with fighting defensively or with the benefit of the Combat Expertise feat. You can’t make attacks of opportunity while using total defense.
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Special Abilities
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DR gain DR 1/Cold Iron.
FCB (Satyr) +1 skill point.
Honeyed Words +1 to Diplomacy. +1 to the DC of any charm or compulsion that does not provide ongoing control and results in peaceful acts.
Horns 1d4/x2 horn attack. 1 1/2 str to damage.
Magical Knack (Oracle) up to +2 CL to your Oracle spells.
Musical Prodigy +2 to Perform (wind instruments).
Perceptive Edge +2 to Perception.
Shadow Lover +2 to Stealth.
SLAs gain SLAs. DC 10 + Spell Level + Cha Mod.
Spell Focus +1 DC for your Enchantment spells.
Thick Skin +1 NA to AC.
Warded Against Nature Animals do not willingly approach within 30ft of you unless you or its master succeeds at a DC 20 Handle Animal, Ride, or wild empathy check.
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Encumbrance 60lb
Light 33lb, Medium 66lb, Heavy 100lb
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Eee.Peees 000
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Satyr Summers:
Boreas is a fey that grew up in the wild places of of the Valewood. Being a Satyr he enjoyed the lifestyle of cardinal pleasures that define his race and so he lived that way for a time. At some point the young Satyr drew close to the small town of Falcon's Hollow, drawn there by the sounds and smells of merriment. Forever afterwards the fate of the Satyr would be intertwined with that of the towns and he would even go so far as to forsake his Fey roots for the excitement and pleasures of the human vices.
Boreas was curious one day about the humans on the other side of the grove and while his elders warned him to have nothing to do nor speak with them he would constantly hear the sounds of merriment and the sweet scent of delicious wine coming from the small town. Soon his curiosity got the better of him and he set out to explore the town and find out what all the excitement was about.
Within the town he soon caught the eye of Brickasnurd Hildrinsocks, the owner of the Goose'n'Gander and in a moment of shrewdness, he invited him into his establishment. Sparing no expense, Brickasnurd treated Boreas to all the pleasures and alcohol he had to offer, free of charge.
Boreas had the night of his life, the apex of all that his race desired and revered. Boreas was hooked.
However, the night never lasted and soon it was dawn. With the coming of the light, Boreas understanding also came to him and he realized that such things were not free. Thrus Boreas was introduced to money. And a loan by Brickasnurd. While that lasted only a while Boreas soon realized he would need more to more greatly experience the pleasures of this decadent town, so Brickasnurd introduced him to Boss Payden, the owner of the Lumber Consortium. There they struck up a bargain where Boreas would provide safety, knowledge and guidance for the lumberjacks in the forest in exchange for money, which he could then spend on wine and women to his hearts content.
Boreas agreed. The forest cried.
Summers first loan
Spoiler:
"You enjoyed yourself there young'un did ya?" The suave young gnome in the top hat, Brickasnurd Hildrinsocks asked the young Satyr.
"Oh yes! It was great! I never knew of all the pleasures that they have here. And beer. Why its even better then the ales we have back in the tribe! I cant wait to do this again!"
The suave gnome paused for a moment, contemplating. "You know. It wont be that easy. I don't know what it is like back at your tribe, but here, the world revolves around money. And only money will get you what you want." "Money? What is that?" the young Satyr asked.
"Why here! It is this! With this the world is your oyster and nothing is out of your reach. Keep it, it is a loan."
Brickasnurd pressed a platinum coin into the hand of the Satyr.
"A loan, sir? Whats that?" "I will give you some money up front, but it is not a gift. You are expected to pay back exactly what you were given at a later date. In the meantime, you can use it to buy more enjoyments!" "Great! Thank you Sir Hildrinsocks! You are really kind! You know, I like you humans so much I want to be more like you. I know! I will adopt a second name, like you guys have! From now on I am Boreas Summers! Like the summer period, at the opposite ends of my TrueName." "Heh heh. I like it Mr. Summers. It is a good name." "Thanks Sir Hildrinsocks! Look! Over there, sweets! I am going to go get some!" "You do that boy. You do that."
It wasn't long after his first foray into the human settlement that his Satyr tribe found out about his transgressions, after all, he was bursting with excitement and keen on telling his friends all about it. Later that evening the elders convened and dealt harshly with the young Satyr in efforts to dissuade him from returning.
However Boreas was forever changed by his time with the humans and could not be persuaded, much to the growing ire of the tribe. Over time their displeasure grew, and with it came minor curses as punishment, but they were never able to dissuade Boreas.
Lately, the town has gotten sicker and more run down then before. Summers is not overtly concerned, after all he is not like those frail humans. He is a Fey, and they are made of more durable stuff then the frail humans and it would be unthinkable for him to catch some of that "human diseases."
...Wouldn't it? He WAS superior. He WOULDN"T get sick. Right?
Ya know, he wasn't so sure anymore and it is starting to trouble him.
History/Other with town Locals
Spoiler:
Name: Brickasnurd Hildrinsocks
Relationship: Summers's "friend" in the town
History: The first person to introduce Summers to all the pleasures that the town had to offer. Summers now considers him one of his trusted friends (Not that this goes both ways, and Brickasnurd has no qualms taking advantage of his naivete)
Other:
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Name: Boss Payden “Pay Day” Teedum
Relationship: his boss
History: Introduced to him by Brickasnurd, Summers works for him by being a guide/protector out in the forest, usually for a very low wage.
Other:
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Name: Kabran Bloodeye
Relationship: Introduced by his good friend Brickasnurd
History: Kabran is one of Summers' favorite humans, and often the one he goes to for some of the more physical pleasures. Summers holds him in high esteem
Other:
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Name: Syntira
Relationship: reletivly unknown
History: Syntira is generally displeased with Summers walking away from his natural path. Might be part of the reason he gets cursed.
Other: This one ok?
Appearance
Boreas is a gaunt looking lad. Despite being a little over 15 years of age he has a lean frame, malnourished and abused. Boreas had spent the last 5 or so years barely surviving on the streets all the while living in a perpetual winter and the toll on his body is apparent for all to see. Boreas has piercing blue eyes and long unkempt hair blowing around his face in a messy storm.
Another thing of note is not Boreas himself but rather the area surrounding him. For whatever reason Boreas is covered in a veil of sheer icy cold that seems unnatural to any who see him and no animal will willingly venture near. Meanwhile around him there always seems to be a chill in the air or a frost on the ground, even in the midst of spring. Life around Boreas is cold, dull and lonely.
Blue eyes.
Shortish stature.
Often appears stoic and hauntly.
perpetual chill surrounds him.
Personality
Boreas will often try and hide his emotions and give a cold, unreadable stare, however inside Boreas mind is a wild storm. His calm appearance is easily shattered and anything outside his expectations or that takes him by surprise will reveal some of his true emotions below, often accompanied by him lashing out. The other way to elicit emotion and response is if you offend Boreas or get him angry. If you manage to do this then his visage turns from a cool, collected expression to a heated rage exceedingly quickly (and often accompanied by a brewing storm surrounding you).
Tries to remain calm and collected. Usually fails.
Has immense inner turmoil.
The general weather around him often reflects his mood.
Is often slow and methodical as he analyzes his surroundings.
Backstory
Spoiler:
Boreas was born to a loving and warm family somewhere in the middle class of Talingarde. His family was neither rich nor poor but they were loving and took great care of their only son. Boreas grew up like any other boy had, like a flame burning brilliantly, until the age of 9. While Boreas was still just a lad his father passed away from disease. Summers had no way of understanding what had happened and came to cope with the loss of his father by slowly shutting off his feelings, a candle sputtering in the wind.
Unfortunately the father was the main breadwinner and with his passing Boreas' mom struggled to keep up with maintaining the estate. As hard as she tried she was still slowly loosing the estate when he came. Boreas knew not who he was but he promised his mother that he could help her and she need worry not. Within the week they were out on the street.
Life on the street was hard, especially for a single mother with a child. They slept in back alleys and under boxes, they ate poorly and barely managed to survive in the harsh underbelly of a shining city.
By this point the flame in Boreas had all but gone out and an unearthly chill had started to settle. At first it was barely noticeable, his breath always seemed to have a frosty puff, the evenings always seemed to have a veneer of cold, even in the spring and snow always settled where they slept. As time went on it got worse and more pronounced. Spring days were cold and there was frost every night, his 11th winter was a record low and the two barely survived, however his mother, a frail, sickly woman had by now developed a cough that never left her.
But it got worse.
In the summer of his 12th year, Boreas awoke in a snowbank nearly frozen, and beside him lay his dead mother. She had passed from the cold. It was then that Boreas realized he had killed his own mother and the last flicker of warmth from his candle had been snuffed out. Boreas had awoken as a sorcerer with his mothers blood the price, and his latent power was as frigid as the harshest of winters.
2 years of scrounging through the streets in a perpetual winter has made Summers tough and all but immune to the cold, as well as greatly cultivating his sorcerous powers. Yet one day, when he was scrounging in the back of a tavern he overheard a conversation within.
inside some lackeys of one of the nobles were bragging to each other in a drunken stupor when one of them blurted out that he had been there the day their lord had wrest one of the estates from a frail old lady. He recognized the Summers' Surname, My Mother! The other bragged about how he had made it all possible by poisoning the estates head.
Understanding flooded through Boreas like a glacier river and the storm inside raged. In his frigid anger he stormed into the tavern and unleashed it upon the two, encasing them in ice and nearly killing them.
However before he could snuff out their lifeforce he was thwarted and thrown out by the barkeep.
No matter. He knew enough now and he resolved his heart to end the one who had killed his father, stole his home and destroyed his mother. But first the two who got away. Silently in the night the two had each perished in their beds, each as cold as death itself while a gentle snow built up outside.
Next Boreas made for the lords manor, heart like cold steel and resolve like chiseled ice. Yet it seems that the lord was forewarned, for while Boreas had crept up on him, and even reached out his hand ready to steal the very heat from his tormentor, that was as far as he got. Guards leapt out of their hiding places, pinned him down and dealt him a blow to the back of the temple. As his consciousness faded, he heard that hated man speak. The Devil! You have your evidence, see to it that this monster meets the chopping block before he can murder any other innocent civilians.
The last thing he saw was his fathers killer and his mothers tormentor smirk as he turned away...
Role in Party/Concept
Spoiler:
First concept is obviously cold and freezing weather. At any time I am not needing to do something different I will probably be concentrating on Control Weather to drop the temperature a level or two. Or if I just want to make the lives of Talingarde miserable there is always a storm brewing ^-^
I also imagine that our headquarters will not be very sunny >.>
With Summers I took Easy Focus, Magical Signs, Wild Magic and Warded Against Nature boons/drawbacks. Summers is a natural sorcerer whos frigid power stems from his inner rage and turmoil. This magic comes to Summers easily however it is an affront to the natural order and is often uncontrolled, no animal will willingly come to Summers and there are occasionally unintended effects with his magic.
In combat I can create a variety of different debuffs from annoying (-2 to ranged attacks) to frustrating (Fog bank) to utterly screwed (Frozen) XD
BUT my ability to attack someone directly is rather limited and I am about as durable as a paper bag in a storm >.>
As I level I will also dip into Nature (Plantlife) and gain a degree of combat ability there (as well as more debuffs ^-^).
