Search Posts
I have joined several new games since this one died and unfortunately I don't think I have the time to pick this one back up. :( This is a large party though so I'm sure y'all still have enough players and I wish you the best of luck slaying witches and ice fey!
Halleva picks up the jewelry box, entranced by the pretty things inside, and hopes she can return them to Lady Thurdenhelm when and if they rescue her. She apprehensively follows the others into the forest, afraid of what might lie ahead.
"Thank you," Halleva mumbles to Garran as he heals her, trying not to let a wave of homesickness overcome her as his kind words and familar Ulfen features remind her a little too much of the men in her faraway village. She offers no explanation for the monstrous transformation she underwent just a few moments ago, apparently not ready to discuss it with anyone, and tromps forward through the snow, keeping an eye out for tracks or anything else that may have been overlooked.
Halleva's claws melt away, and the color returns to her face as she flushes in shame and attempts to hide behind her stilled hair. She sways on her feet, looking as if she might keel over from fatigue, and refuses to meet anyone's eyes.
Halleva howls in fear and pain as the corpse batters her, and retaliates by slashing at it erratically with her claws.
Halleva's fears are made flesh as a series of corpses stumble out of the carriage, and as panic sets in, she is overtaken by the most base of instincts; her ruddy Ulfen features become deathly pale, her hair whips about as if in a violent snowstorm, and most gruesome of all, her fingernails twist and grow into sharp, icy claws. She lunges toward the creatures, ready to kill or be killed!
Halleva muffles a cry at the grisly scene before them, feeling self-conscious about her fears around the rest of the group, particularly the older and more experienced Ulfen man and woman. At Linge's warning, she takes a defensive posture in the snow. Some of her hair seems to stand on end, even in the shelter of the trees, as she watches the carriage with wide eyes.
Halleva keeps her face turned up, letting the snow catch in her eyelashes and hair that isn't contained in her hood, and relishing in the feeling of the cold against her skin. It may be the cause of all her fears, but it's hard to deny the feeling of familiar comfort and delight that it brings her. She sets her jaw, emotions roiling within her as she picks up her feet, trudging through the snow with practiced ease.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I've quite caught your name. Mine's Linge. Have you just arrived in Heldren?" The girl nods. ”Halleva,” she offers, and takes a step back as the rest of the group arrives, pressing her mouth into a nervous line as they prepare to depart.
Alright, no need for her to have picked up the extra weapon then! ;)
Halleva leaves the apothecary with a sense of extreme paranoia, watching the woods suspiciously and listening carefully for that sweet and deadly call of winter. She gathers her belongings, digging through her pack for her furs and a small charm from her homeland. She grips the rough-worked nail in her left hand, ignoring the slightly unpleasant tingle that spreads through her fingers at its touch. She picks up a cold-iron sickle from the smithy, more for comfort's sake than anything else, and heads to the village entrance to wait nervously for the rest of the eclectic little group. Her fears are momentarily forgotten when she sees Linge already waiting, a furry little creature by her side. The farm girl drops to her knees in the snow and gently holds out an ungloved hand to the baby bear. "Hei lille bjørn," she whispers to him in Skald, and then looks up at Linge. "Yours?"
I traded my martial weapon proficiency for natural weapons, so Halleva can't make use of the sword. She'll pick up a cold-iron sickle just to have something cold iron, though.
Will get a post in soon; my birthday was yesterday and I've been busy! :)
Halleva's upbringing in the Ulfen lands ingrained in her a healthy suspicion of the White Witches and all things touched by their magic, and she's been given even more reason to fear them since. It seems nowhere is safe from their grasp. She hesitates, and then speaks up quietly for the first time. "What's brought them so far South?"
Halleva balks at the idea of investigating the occurrences and hangs back as the strange mix of humans, halflings, and others file into the side room. She ran from the North to get away from winter and all the creatures that lurk within it. Some of her white-blonde hair seems to stand on end as anxiety builds in her chest, and she fights the urge to run again, right out the door of the apothecary and into the snow. She takes some deep breaths, trying to calm herself; if this unnatural winter has something to do with her, or — she feels sick at the word — her mother, won't it just keep following her? And isn't it her responsibility to find out for sure? She pushes open the door to the side room, slipping inside a few moments after the others.
Halleva hovers near the door of the apothecary, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the councilor for a chance to hear about the attack. She is unfamiliar with most of the villagers, but notices, with a little thrill of trepidation, that many of the people gathering here have distinctly Ulfen features; she can't quite piece together what it all means, but every part of it disturbs her.
Here in the untamed swamps of North Florida it was 90 degrees on Monday, 60 yesterday, and back in the 80's today...
At the edge of the woods, a slender girl paces in the snow, a troubled look on her Northern features. Her coat is undone, exposing her pale skin to the unseasonably cold air, and she glances nervously between the apothecary’s and the dark of the woods. Snow in summer would not have terribly out of place in the Ulfen lands, but she was far from home now. The summer in Taldor has been so hot, too hot to even breathe, and this sudden and unnatural winter is both relieving and deeply disturbing; and now the news of an attack by strange, winter creatures. She can't shake the creeping fear that it’s something to do with her. It couldn't all be a coincidence, could it? Should she just leave, or would the same fate befall the next unsuspecting village she set foot in? Shouldn't she try to find a way to stop this, if she can? She ceases her fruitless pacing and exhales, leaning heavily against a tree. It wouldn’t be right to run away again, when her problems might well be following her. She has to find out for sure. Steeling herself, Halleva approaches the apothecary.
Hey everyone, I'm greatly looking forward to this adventure! I'm Rowan, I'm 22 (23 in two weeks), currently living in North Florida and going to school for botany. I've been playing D&D and Pathfinder regularly for about 5 years now, and my partner got me into playing on the Paizo boards almost exactly a year ago. I'm in two Starfinder games and two other Pathfinder games on the boards here, and I DM a very casual D&D 5E campaign at home.
There's a lot of good submissions! Looking forward to seeing the results.
rutaskadis here; here's my submission for a Changeling Bloodrager with the Hag-Riven archetype. I had a lot of fun building this character! Also want to stress that, despite her reasons for not wanting to return to the North, she won't resist the call to action, although she'll probably have a lot of internal conflict about it. Build in profile, and here is her backstory for ease of access: Backstory:
Before the Call, Halleva lived quite a normal life. She was the daughter of Ulfen farmers; she lived happily among hardy people in a quiet village, and never really wanted anything more. The winters in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings were long and harsh, but Halleva loved the cold. She often pushed back her hood and opened her furs to let the Northern air caress her skin. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. At midwinter on Halleva’s eighteenth year, a voice as soft and familiar as a fresh snowfall came to her in her dreams; it seemed winter itself was calling to her. She rose from her warm bed in a dreamlike trance, and stepped barefoot into the knee-deep drifts of snow outside. She flitted through the village, dancing with the wind and the ice that blew against her bare skin until her lips and fingers turned blue. The strange display attracted a well-meaning guard, who gripped her frozen shoulders and started to ask if she was okay. Still under winter’s spell, she flew into an icy rage at the one who dared to interrupt her! Her eyes and hair turned stark white, her fingernails became wickedly pointed icicles, and she howled as she tore at his flesh. It was now that she awoke completely, with ghastly claws deep in a man’s stomach, and hot blood pooling in her hands. She’d grown up with cautionary tales about the Witches to the east; she saw what she was, and knew she had to get away. She fled south, south, south, as far from winter’s grasp as she can get; even the deserts of Qadira will hardly be far enough. Taldor is just another stop along the way.
Personality and Appearance: Halleva is an ordinary girl trying to come to terms with what has happened to her. She still feels the call of the North, and is constantly torn between resisting the fate that surely awaits her there, giving in, or even exacting revenge on the creature that caused all this. She is haunted by the violence she committed just before she fled her home, and both wracked with grief and furious at the evil that drove her to it. Truthfully, she doesn’t even know for certain that she killed a man, as she ran away without checking, which has left her with an uncomfortable mix of curiosity and guilt. Underneath it all though, she’s still just an Ulfen farm girl; simple and sweet with an adventurous streak. She looks like an Ulfen farm girl, too: long blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin. She’s attractive, certainly, but in a friendly way; the skin on her palms, knees, and elbows is rough and has clearly seen a life of hard work. When her emotions sweep her away, though, she becomes much more frightening. Her fingernails grow into grotesque icicles, her hair turns stark white and whips around in a nonexistent wind, and her eyes become white and cold.
|
