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Here is Yolollama's submission for a Chelaxian Noble turned mystery novelist and Empiricist Investigator. her concept is almost entirely about support which is a bit ironic given her personality. I might need to adjust some skills but she should all be there with mechanics and fluff. Thank you for the opportunity.
Im in a bit of a predicament so im doing something odd. I'm posting my investigator from a game that died out. I am currently finishing midterms, so I unfortunately dont have time to convert her to Ebberon before the deadline, but i thought that you might glean some inkling of my style and effort I've poured into her. I would change from skinwalker to shifter and give her a more nature focus. Her personality would be still be choleric but more rugged. The group dynamic might have a lot of fun with introducing a stern or down to earth presence. I was hesitant to submit her considering she doesnt meant many of your guidlines but I would be terribly remiss if I didnt at least try to be apart of this frankly, staggeringly deep game. Eberron was what introduced me to D&D and it would be fantastic to visit the world again. So I suppose im selling myself on my strength and dedication as a player. Either way, I appreciate the opportunity and look forward to reading more about this groups adventures.
Priscilla had never thought about whether a bat could laugh but seeing Redeemed give the ugly little dogthing the finger as the poor creature mirrors his gesture, made her nearly tumble from the sky in an effective guffaw of surprise. Redeemed surprises and delights once more. Pivoting her tiny body and angling her wings turned the free fall into an aggressive attack run on the nearest pugwampi in an attempt to aid the armored fire warrior.
Priscïlla gives a short off huff as she rounds the corner and sees the majority of her comrades ascending the stairs to the rafters above. Considering the detrimental effects of ugly dog creatures, they would no doubt cause her to make a fool of herself. I don't particullarly feel like being the butt of jokes today. Especially in front of our new companions. Priscïlla taps into the monstrous presence hidden within her bloodline and her form begins to contort once more. Summoning forth the more bestial edge from deep within, her body compresses and realigns into the shape of a bat within a matter of seconds. Her sharp cry of pain over the process climbs in register into a harsh call as her newly formed wings take over, carrying her past 60ft through the air closer to Gnasher. MUCH better.
Priscilla sighs as Gnasher's curse rings through the temple. More of those dreadful anklebiters. Wonderful. Why are these places filled with such terrible monsters... She begins to head in the direction of her comrades, the heel of her boots padding across the stone floor. As she takes her time walking towards her companions, a small trickle of blood falls from her mouth to her chin as she bites her bottom lip. Almost instantly, her features begin to shift dramatically. Her ears began to steeple into a point, lengthening greatly as her nose upturns and flattens Into a semi-diamond shape. Small lengths of fur begin to accent her body while her eyes fill into dark pools. The most obvious change comes from the couple of inches in height she achieves and then summarily loses as her back hunches slightly. The fingers begin tapping the side of her cane begin to lengthen and sharpen to a frightening length new lean muscles fill out her form. With a quick stretch she reveals in her newfound dexterity and explosion of senses. Sucking on the tips of her incisors, she gives a quick shudder from the relief of being to let loose. The sensation is indescribable, like scratching an unreachable itch. "Coming darlings!"
Priscïlla cocks her head to the side after considering the laughter she had heard while outside, but continues reading the odd phrase engraved on the stele and then repeats an accented version aloud so her companions can all be on the same page. "Does dis mean anyting to anyone?"
She had, up until this point ignored the roguish man with the silver tongue, finding mild amusement in teasing him. Turning to face the handsome fellow with a slight Sashé to her step, her only answer to his comments came in the form of an involuntarily raised eyebrow. she nodded twice before addressing the group. " Bahräm should take point, as he has offèred. Gath could you be a dear and follow him from a distänce the rest of us will form the rearguärd in case of troùble.
Her eyes flick to Gath before she smirks at Gnasher and whispers to him. მოდით არ ფული მას უბრალოდ არ არის Spoiler: Let's not geld him just yet.
"Danataos!" The young noblewoman curses somewhat loudly as she entered the temple. In her hand she's wielding several long sharp off color-spines. Her gait has a tender pace to it, as if suffering from some injury on her thigh. "I'm begïnning to tink you people can just keep dis ridicùlous desert. Dere are FAR more cactùses than I remèmber from my chïldhood." Tossing the remaining thorns on the floor and rubbing her sore rear she finally seems to see the new additions to their cadre. She eyes them both down pensively before asking Gath, with a snort , "Friènds of yours?" . She futily brushes off the excess sand from her garments and gives a short curtsie and a smirk. "I am Countèss Priscïlla de Lacrimosä. It is no doùbt a pleäsure to meet my acquäintance." Glancing at the puppet for a few seconds past social appropriateness, she moves to join Gnasher in his apparent efforts. "I take a few minùtes to relïeve myself and you start recrùiting the locals?" she asks him with a smirk.
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Priscilla stops abruptly just outside the tent, her mind racing at Gnasher's speech which consists of bark, grunts, and whines. These words stagger around her vision in scratchy blue waves, thanks to her senesthesia. He knows. Of COURSE he knows. He has a better nose than even mine. He's speaking in his native tongue so he obviously means to keep it secret for now... "ეჭვი არ მეპარება, რომ თქვენ შეგიძლიათ აკონტროლოთ ამ არსებების სიბნელე. ზოგიერთი ჩვენგანი ფიქრობს, უფრო სახლში , ვიდრე სხვები . Gnoll:
"I have no doubt you can track these creatures in the darkness. Some of us feel more at home in it than others." She rewards Gnasher with a knowing wink and a genuine smirk confirming their kinship before striding forth to find their foul smèlling culprit turned guide. ------------------------------------------
Gnasher, really must stop his colorful talk of goat slaughter. I'm already tempted to shift so that I might be able to see the clarity of my true eye past these blasted Caryophyllaleses. Making me hungry is NOT helping.
Unfortunately, it seems Priscilla is far too distracted to provide anyone any help. "My dear Mïtal, I tink it's inhèrently difficult to take serioùsly anyone who only eäts the food that MY food eäts. I tink Gnasher will agreè."
"Sarete Macelleto!" She lets loose an outburst in her native tongue, not only from her present frustration but also the unnerving feeling that had gripped her sense their arrival, sending the hairs on the back of her neck to stand erect.
Priscilla shifts her curious eyes to the fiery haired woman, adjusting her glasses and taking in her words. Magic from wishes? I am certainly not in Cheliax anymore...I must watch what I say around this one. "I have no doubt dat your magïc will be suprèmely helpfùl in de coming days, but I doubt we will need it on a sïmple rodènt hunt, no?" She gestures towards Gnasher with a look of incredulity. "And not to cäuse a fuss, but certaïnly no sènsible person here trully belièves in luck. We MÄKE our own luck via prepäration, and dedicätion." Before anyone can directly respond, she raises her hands defensively, emphasizing with a pointer finger. "Regärdless. We will find dese pesky murderous creatùres and rèturn a corpsè to make some sense of all dis!"
Priscilla, who had been up to this point tapping her cane against the dirt in thought, steps forward and gives the group a confident huff."Despïte my primo detèction skills, I found very littlè.No signs of a strùggle from the poor diviner. Though...there were quitè a few of those jäckal-prints aroùnd the burnt rùbble." Priscilla shoots an amused glance towards Dashki, before scratching her nose to poorly cover a soft chortle from some private joke. "I tink our foul smèlling compatrïot is corrèct. De fortune teller's demise seems to be a product of ignorànce and circumstänce. But dese creatùres appear ïnvolved. You called them...Pugwampïs?"
"By all means, magicïan. I've just conclùded my inspectïon of the wagon and found two points of relèveant oddness.
Watching the older spellcaster work his craft over the pile of cards, Priscilla pulls the missing card from its tucked away location and glances at it once more. No matter how improbable... "Now, I personälly don't hold much stock in the "art" of divinätion for dat is all it is-an ART. I'm a lady of sciènce and logïc, but I would be a fool to ïgnore such a sign as tis." Priscilla twists her lithe fingers towards
"Too bad Eloais never saw tis coming, no?"
Priscilla returns the grin to Gnasher, feeling the old ache to shift and bare her fangs. Pushing it aside, she considers his words.
კარგი ნადირობა Gnoll:
"Good Hunting!" Her cool green eyes flick back to their employer. "Your troübles are over, Almah deär! If there are degenerati to blame then we will root them out by däwn. I've the ütmost confidènce in my compätriots." Without another glance at the others, confident they can handle their work, Priscilla strides out of the tent with her chin held high and her hand waving back to them lazily. "Sharp eyes, miei cari!" ---------- Priscilla approaches the blackened husk of the carriage with a slight spring in her step and a fire in her eyes. Glancing over the charred wreckage, she gingerly begins to put on a pair of brown leather gloves before jamming the end of her cane into the earth firmly. In a fairly indelicate maneuver, she interlocks her fingers and cracks them all at once before bending down and examining the wagon and the nearby area, using the cane in areas that are too hot to handle. +
Priscilla expertly scans the wreckage with a candled lantern, leaving no debris unturned.She also searches the immediate area around the wagon for anything odd, reveling for a chance to show off her skills. Hello, what have we here...
"A murder?" Priscilla stands slowly with intent before pacing around the tent in thought, one hand thoughtful on her chin and the other clasped around the tarot card in her vest. "How wonderful!" Priscilla jerks her head suddenly towards Almah, before nodding in realization of her potentially innaprorpiate declaration. "Urm-With all due respect, of course. Pity about your diviner. Deepest sympathies to his loved ones and all that." Her face solemn with all the sincerity she can muster, she breathes in sharply.
Priscilla ceases her pacing at the mouth of the tent with her arms crossed and faces the group with a poorly hidden smile. "We'll need someone to search the wreckage for clues of how the blaze began. Intentional? Possibly. Suspicious? Absolutely." Her left pointer finger extendeds towards Nemeris."Perhaps you and I could see to it?" The Countessa turns towards the more attractive members of the group and holds her hands out diplomatically."Now there are bound to be plenty of witnesses, but in my well documented experience, people love attention more than they do the truth, so a discerning ear is required for this sort of work. Not to mention a honeyed word might assist in prying truth from these stubborn caravan folk. Mital? Gath?" Finishing her statement with a closed fist to her open palm, Priscilla wheels back to Almah. "And now for you Lady Almah; a follow up to Mital's excellent question. Was Eloais truly the only casualty in this unfortunate accident? Is everyone else accounted for? You seem to suspect sabotage however I don't wish to rule out the slow siege theory. Desert raiders picking us off one by one in the dead of night! Burning and kidnapping, as they are want to do! Perhaps...are lovely Gnasher could search the nearby dunes for signs of intruders." After tapping her cane for a few seconds against the rug covered earth, Priscilla leans slightly towards
Priscilla's eyes wonder to the frightening man's scarred fists. "On the other hand, considering those burn marks on yours, you may have some...crucial insights into the nature of incineration. Feel free to accompany any one of us." Priscilla positions herself in the middle of the room near the hookah and lets her new found friends soak in her wisdom. With a hand on her hip and the other palming her cane to the ground, she smiles wryly. "And of course, all of these are merely simple suggestions to help streamline this endeavor. I mean -it isn't like this is what I do for a living, no?." The game is afoot! Priscilla thinks to herself, barely containing her elation.
As the crackling of the fire from deep within the mist begins to subside, a guffaw of triumph escapes from Priscilla. I knew it would work! But truly, was there ever any doubt? Priscilla steps out from beyond the mist, dusting the excess moisture from her silk sleeve and scans her surroundings for signs of the arsonist or to see if her companions required a well manicured hand. Priscilla narrows her eyes as she catch sight of the hulking Gnoll launching itself across the desert floor after the straggling flock. She bites her lip as a pang of jealousy from the sight hits her. Why does he get to wear the animal on the outside?
Priscilla glares for just a moment too long at the card betwixt her fingers, its edges slowly smoldering as her companions race to curb the chaotic scene. Caught up in her focus ,she winces involuntarily at the Gnolls garbled barks but ultimately agrees with his sentiment. For a moment she considers tossing the divining tool into the night air without another thought, her hand lifts outward to flick it away, but a very illogical itch at the back of her mind causes her to scoff and instead she stuffs the card behind a plate in her outfit. Her eyes flick back toward the pandemonium, taking stock in the efforts of the group while assessing where best to place her skills. Nemeris seemed to be taking on the unruly livestock, hopefully managing better than that bumbling couple. The leather-bound helmeted fellow seemed to be stalking amongst a group of wounded but appeared oddly focused on the blaze...almost fascinated. I certainly hope his intentions are to assist rather than something barmy or obscene. So hard to trust a bloke whose face you've never seen. The camp is lit not only from the blaze and the moon above, but to Priscilla, a torrent of motley crimson and heavy yellows flow rigedly from panicked shouts of people and animal alike. mingling with the white haze of the fire. With enough time wasted observing, she spurns her camel forth into the kaleidoscopic scene. A high and unsettling whining laugh cuts through the noise and color in a trembling black wave, drawing Priscilla's eyes to their Gnoll companion. Red furred and long of talon, the creature appears as a devil amongst the bedlam. Unfortunately for Priscilla, her mount groans in disagreement and begins to ignore the simple commands Garavel had taught her. Whether disapproving of Gnasher's piercing chortle, or being brought so close to the fire and anarchy, it begins frantically pacing this way and that, giving Priscilla more than a little trouble on her dismount. After a brief but disgraceful display, Priscilla lands arse first on the ground. Brushing herself off in a huff after a moment of shock, she spits back at the creature in a series of barks, furious for being discharged so unceremoniously. "მაქცია! თქვენ გაქვთ ჩემი სისხლიანი ნებართვა ჭამა ამ foul არსება ერთხელ ჩვენ მეშვეობით აქ!" Gnoll:
Gnoll! You have my bloody permission to eat this foul creature once we are through here! Pushing her injured pride aside, Priscilla then wheels around to focus on the fire. Heeding the sound council of Gath, she grabs a nearby bucket and fills it with clumps of dirt and sand making her way around the the back of the wagon where several desperate peoples splash bucket after bucket onto the inferno.
"The back first! Cover the back end! If the first started anywhere its there!" But just before pitching even a single bucket onto the torched wagon, Priscilla is struck with an idea, causing a small smile to roll across her face. Priscilla draws close enough to the flame that it begins to make her eyes water, finally standing within eight or nine feet, she stops to unconconsiously nod in approval of her positioning in relation to the wagon. Priscilla then takes in a short breath and begins concentrating, her eyes pinching closed. A soft mist begins to twirl about her pointed boots pulling from the darkness of her mishapped shadow as it practically dances in in the flickering light of the fire. As the young woman continues to focus, the fog seems to build and plume pushing out ward from her in all directions. What was only moments ago a few wisps of perspiration, turns into a practical cloud that slowly envelops her and the area around nearby. The mist coils and twists around the flaring trolley, until its smothered in moisture and blocked from view. The campsite no doubt dims from the act but the obscuring haze stops just outside the edge of the wagon but twenty or so feet into the darkness behind Priscilla. Her body relaxes from the cool air rising against it, higher and higher until billowing past her satisfied face but just before being consumed, her eyes flick open, revealing them to be black as sin "Let's see you burn now..." Behind the scenes: Priscilla used her once per day to try and assist in extinguishing the flame by providing a non complimentary environment. She makes sure to obscure few, if any other people by angling the mists reach. Now this might be a little out there since its not the intended use of the spell and while certain fire spells tend to dismiss obscuring mist, the rules are nonexistent on the issue of ACTUAL fire. So the question is whether magic water trumps normal fire. The science behind it:The droplet cloud can absorb thermal radiation, especially in the wavelengths associated with water bands. The radiation serves to pre-evaporate and preheat. The mist also acts as a radiation shield effectively disperse and extinguish. All that aside, It is totally up to our illustrious DM. (Also I promise not every post will be a novella, I was just inspired)
Priscilla's vision fills with soft spirals as Gath envokes the chant to his maker, the color of which is not disimilar to that of the swarthy man's magic. Seeing verbal casting through her chromesthesia always intrigued her as it seemed to possess an ineffable quality always inspired wonder in her. One of the few perks this bloody curse of mine. Gazing at the food Priscilla is momentarily suspicious, but her stomach growling quickly makes it into a passing notion. Priscilla takes a small bite of the cake and her eyes widen. Then a larger one and exclaims in the man's native tongue. كنت أتمنى لو كان السحرة حول أكثر في كثير من الأحيان Kelesh:
I wish I had magicians around more often. Grabbing a few more cakes from the pile, Priscilla shoved them towards the caster expectantly. "And you make a fair point. I dont mean to whinge, I simply expected our journey to contain more swashbuckling and forbidden magics. From all the stories I've read, such feats are commonplace. Take these cakes for example, bland and forgettable, they're almost not worth the effort. Spicing them as you did however, has brightened my day considerably." Priscilla smirked widely and adjusted her glasses. "But perhaps you're right. Maybe these cakes are all the adventure I require."
Priscilla spends most of her late mornings fruitlessly toiling away at her new book.
Her days are spent cataloguing fauna and flora she encounters near the caravan. For a time she was even collecting live specimens, a childhood practice now adjusted to a more academic level, but quickly ran out spare jars requisitioned from the wagons. When not observing the wildlife she can be found studying one of her impractically heavy tomes and occasionally conversing with any soul who appears to be of merchant class or higher. If none are to be found, she resolves herself to one sided conversations with the guards or the troupe, preferring to listen rather than dominant the talk with tales of fashion or politics that hold no sway in this land. If any of these workers appear to need assisstance however, Priscilla is quick to wordlessly aid them, whether it's simply holding a post steady or collecting spilled items from the desert floor. On rare nights, the occasional crack of a whip can be heard outside the reach of the firelight but more often than not the air is filled with sharp curses of pain as the weapon is undoubtedly mishandled. Occasionally, the proud woman will come stamping back into camp bearing a recent scrape and go to bed early, too enthralled in her tantrum to eat. ------ Some later day Priscilla crawls out bed in the late morning and spends more time than usual on her appearance. Despite not having mirror, she had become quite adept at using any nearby unmanned blade, mostly remembering/caring to return it. Approaching the fire pit, she catches sight of several members having taken their food and wondered away. But two individuals near the fire pit stand out to her. The first being a a staff wielding middle-aged man in average vestments that appearing to have a chic twist, which put a smile on her face. The second being the rosey skinned woman from the day before. Feeling a tinge of pity(or was it guilt?) at the sight of the poorly garbed woman, decides to join her. Priscilla nears the group and gives a brief courtsey before proudly addressing her title. " I am Countessa Priscilla Martzia de Lacrimosa. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you as much as I'm sure it is a joy for you all to be meeting me." Priscilla then delicately takes a seat near the fire. Biting her lip, she guardedly eyes the flatcakes as if judging their worth, before rolling her eyes dramatically and taking one. "Is everyone else allergic to discourse or are they just as bloody tired of this heat as I am? Certainly the food is a bit pedestrian but nothing to get their knickers in a twist, over. " Priscilla turned the flatcake in her hand before gingerly picking a piece off and roughly chewing through it with a barely contained grimace. She smiled knowingly at her breakfast companions and inhaled sharply. "So, what grand adventure do you believe today will bring us, my dears? My guess is more sand,-" Priscilla leans in and quietly to the golden eyed girl and whispers. "-but I have been wrong before. Don't tell anyone."
Sitting poised on a lone white whithered tree trunk, a leg crossing daintily over the other, Priscilla scribbles furiously into a moleskin journal, her quill twisting this way and that across the page like a kind of frantic dance. One she knew all to well. The movement stops suddenly as Priscilla scans her most recent work for signs of any inspiring sparks of creative genius but instead finds her face twisting in frustration at the lack of it. BoIIocks. With a fierceness that nearly splits the tip from her writing instrument, Priscilla dramatically crosses out her most recent entry and sharply snaps the ledger shut. Stowing the source of her mental anguish away in her pack with a pout, Priscilla places her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees, resigning herself to staring off at the shapes of golden dunes mingling in waves with the soft grey twists filling the air from the sounds of a soft wind. She had found that wind was the most interesting color/noise phenomena she had experienced as it seemed to almost be completely different wherever her travels led her. Granted this was the farthest she'd ever been outside of Korvosa but seeing that even the wind here possessed such natural beauty, she couldn't help but wonder what other treasures this land held. What secrets lay ripe for the solving? Damnit all.
Priscilla snorted unceremoniously. The noise however seemed to spurn a subtle stir of movement a few feet from her foot , causing her to involuntarily tilt her head out of curiosity. After a few brief intense seconds of analyzing the now motionless patch of dirt, her dull green gaze softens and she stands pressing the bulk of her weight on her cane for assistance. As she does so though, the golden crackling speech of a nearby young woman fills her vision briefly and she turns to address the radiant questioner, momentarily taken aback by her beauty, obscured thought it was by her ratty outfit. Priscilla gestured with a lone finger upward towards the wide brimmed reddish hat that sat low on her forehead. "THIS crimson travesty of a coxcomb is most undoubtedly from last season. Unfortunately it's the only one I own that keeps the bloody sand out of my hair. Pray tell, is this the height of fashion from wherever it is that you hail, sweetie?" The last bit of her statement rolls off of Priscilla's tongue like honey as she slowly takes in the image of golden eyed woman, fixating briefly on the ruby atop her forehead. "Regardless. I don't mind your forwardness in the slightest. In fact I encourage it! Both in speech and thought. Deception is often the strategy of the weak minded and our time is far too precious to waste on chicanery. But this little fellow..." Priscilla motions with a quick gesture of her cane held in an ink splotched hand towards a small patch of dirt no bigger than four inches across, which appears to be moving ever so slightly. "...thrives on it.
As Priscilla moves the cane closer, lightly tapping the dirt in front of the quivering clump, a dark brown fiendish looking arachnid leaps out and snaps at her fashionable crutch, tapping at it with its legs before scurrying back into its habitat as quick as it came. Priscilla gives a wistful smirk and sighs with an air that indicates she's pleased with her self. But by the time she turns to meet the young exotic looking young woman's gaze , her smile has twisted into something more akin to condescension. "What I do mind though, is being referred to as "Mistress". You are not my slave, and I am not your master though such a relationship could be arranged if you feel it necessary..." After waiting an appropriate amount of of time for her words to sink in, Priscilla adjusts her glasses and begins to stride away, deeper into the camp. But just as she reaches the nearest tent she promptly stops and quietly speaks without turning, her posture poised and refined. "You may, however, call me Countessa. Or Priscilla, if you are brave enough to feel us equals." Priscilla then gracefully resumes her stride to see if what the other members of the caravan generously refer to as dinner, is being served.
I approve of the name Gath, honestly. Very
And I would say that Gath has the best suggestion. Although I did come across a Gnoll like language in the form of Buginese. Disregarding any regional correlations or lack there of, it also carries the similar look of a language developed by simple claw marks. But honestly either works although Georgian is more easily translated. It's all for flavor anywho, no?
Fashionably late. Again. Priscilla would approve. Though I can assure this lovely group that will not be a recurring theme on my end. I check this board quite often and will post frequently as allowed. I am beyond ecstatic to roleplay with such a wonderful group of characters! One or two of which I'm especially pleased our gracious Game master decided to invite. But everyone who has made it in seems to have put a great deal of work into their characters. Thank you very much GM Shahryār for the opportunity. So! Priscilla's role in this game will be all about support. Which might be a little ironic given her self serving inclinations but she knows how to play ball and understands that she's out of her element as she is a novelist/lexicographer first and adventurer second. That being the case, she will be the groups resident skill monkey and stealth operator. In combat her focus is on staying alive and utilizing aid another. She somewhat envies everyone else's prowess with arms and magic and does all she can to gracefully help them connect that next swing or sidestep that arrow. At the moment she's pretty tripe at combat (thankfully she has a swordcane and sling from her youth) but I plan on having her dip swashbuckler next level to provide abetter BAB, weapon finesse, and proficiency for her whip. By around fifth level she will be able to provide aid via AOPs and eventually hand out infusions. I would have the build online sooner but Bat Shape is just so wonderful at first level and will provide the greater flexibility of stealth/scouting for us.
As far as roleplaying goals go, she's trying to break her writers block on her novel, and discover the trùth about her origins. She'll provide the caravan with her expert eyes, ears and begrudgingly, her wings. In addition to secrets and facts about the world around them, she'll gladly cater advice(Solicited or otherwise) on the even more important nuances of fashion, subtle flavors of a properly cooked meal, and of course graceful edicate/grammar. She is known for her forward manner and believes feelings take a backseat to facts. But at leat she'll never lie to you. ;] And here she is in all her glory. If anyone sees any inconsistencies please alert me and I'll rectify them. I will be reading over everyone elses stellar characters to immerse and pass the time! Thanks everyone, I happily await the game. Stats:
Priscilla de Lacrimosa Female Bloodmarked Skinwalker Investigator (Empiricist) Neutral Medium Sized Init +2(3) Perception +4 (+6 at night) -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC: 15(16), touch 12(13), flat-footed 13 HP: 8 Saves:Fort +0, Ref +4(5) Will +2 -------------------- Attack -------------------- Speed 30 ft. (40ft fly Shape change] Melee --Swordcane +0 (1d6/20) or -- scorpion whip -4 (1d4/ 20) or Special Attacks -- (Bite 1d6) Ranged -- Sling +2(3) (1d4/x2, 50ft range) -------------------- Stats
Background Skills
Languages: Common, Kelesh, elven, abyssal, halfling, Gnoll
Gear/Possessions:
Gear: Parade armor 25(20lbs) -Hot weather outfit. Free. (4lbs) -Eyeglasses 5gp -journal 10gp (1lb) -masterwork whip (Free-RYR) -sling (30 groaning bullets) 6gp -swordcane 45gp 4lbs 5 mystery books (10lbs) Pathfinder Kit 12gp 12lbs Scrivener's Kit 2gp 1lb Currently carrying 52lbs with 0 money Description:
A young woman in her late twenties stands proudly with a half open napsack slung over her shoulder, revealing a number of books, scrolls and other sundries. Her dark locks sit poised in a pulled back cut reminiscent of a messy beehive style with teased strands framing her prominent cheekbones. And although her perky freckled nose and dull mossy green eyes staring out curiously from behind large square spectacles suggests a youthful innocence, the smug smirk of her wide mouth gives the distinct impression she knows more than those around her. While her long slender neck and rounded strong jaw give her stance an air of dignity, it is somewhat distorted by the looming bestial shadow that follows in her wake which reveals a sinister secret. The worn grey plates of her engraved parade armor fit snuggly over her slight pear shape. Her dark blue warm weather wear, featuring a variety of bronze and white highlights, covers every bit of her pale olive complexion that the armor doesn't (sans face). The features of note in her outfit include several wide leather bands which at first glance appear to serve as nothing more than accessories, a light metal latticework draped across her collar bone in the shape of Chelaxian symbols, and a thigh length hip-drape featuring a pale sunburst. Her legs are covered by thigh high leather plated boots with pointed metal toes turned upward. Her left arm is covered in a gauntlet from fingertip to shoulder with a high vertical pauldron guard and split into two pieces at the elbow for greater mobility. The ensemble as a whole seems more ceremonial and guady than practical, but still provides some measure of protection. As to the matter of weaponry, a wicked looking whip tipped with black metal diamond shaped points, hangs coiled at her hip and in her right ink stained hand, a finely crafted bone cane with an animals jawbone serving as the top handle. When she shifts into her animalistic form, revealing her hidden nature, her features become strikingly vicious in some respects. Her nose becomes flattened and vertically pointed like that of a Leaf Nosed Bat's. Accompanying this, her ears which already stuck out to a degree, become enormous and dark, sharpening to a point nearly past the top of her head. Her eyes cloud into cool dark pools and two fangs fill her mouth as her arms extend a few inches ending in long spindly clawed finger. Tufts of dark hair highlight her ears, face, limbs as a large strip of leathery a skin running the length of her underarm presents the signs of a vestigial wings. Her posture changes after gaining a measure of height causing her to stoop at the shoulders slightly. Her shadow however transforms as if belonging to a completly normal woman Backstory from snippets of RP:
Dearest Zaheer, It was an absolute pleasure to receive your reply so swiftly. Your correspondence has been the sole beacon of relief for me in this sweltering hell hole. Everyday I walk out of the Villa it feels as if stumbled into an oven. The dry heat of summer here holds very little in relation to the comfortable weather back home. Gaspere says it's merely my poor Constitution at work but I'm loath to admit any measure of weakness to that bufoon. And in truth, this land does hold a certain primal beauty to it. The ruggedness of our estate here in Kelmarane is refreshing when compared to the stifling hustle and bustle of Westcrown. And course there's you... My fool of a husband has yet to decipher the true intention of our presence here. However, his curiosity is beginning to vex me. Even I find my lies tiresome. He asked, for the hundredth time why I felt it was necessary to personally oversee the slave sales. I dismissed his concerns by citing the pride of house Lacrimosa, or some such nonsense. Despite this, I've been unable to mollify Gaspare's desire to return home. All the more evidence that he is the one with the weak constitution, and that he would not be able to handle the truth. But to address the matter at hand my little
Oh Zaheer, I wish you could have seen it. The light from the lamp casting her twisted shadow across the wall that night told me only one thing, that our daughter was destined for wonderful and terrible things. You are never far from my thoughts and I hope to be in your arms soon. We will visit promptly. Praise The Mother,
--------------- Captain Gannicus Bartholomew Hankbert Log
Not enough Pesh inna world to make me forget the looks on their faces. We left so many on the docks. All scrambling and pushing and screaming to get aboard. Al Amir had to stick a few of them with that scimitar of his before they got the idea. Goddess above I wanted to take on more. Its what a good man would do...but the Chellish man paid more than I could hold. Maybe enough to buy another boat! "Passage. For the three of us. No more." He said. Claimed he was a Lord seeking a way back to the empire for his daughter and some knee high slave. Gave em me cabin but I'll prolly have to burn the sheets after this. The man looked like he's caught his death. Coughing and weezing up a storm. Common sense tells me I shouldn't have risked it but Ellara always said I couldn't hear nothin over the weight of me coin purse. The little one doesn't seem sick. Just tired and weepy and polite. She's always asking somebody somethin or other. Makes the crew nervous. A ship don't often got many children on em and I'm not thinking she means any harm. Just curious is all. Although that old whip she carries around all day, makes for a queer sight. Been with her since she got aboard. Those Chelish types are an eerie bunch. Figured they woulda waited till at least fourteen 'fore teaching em the slave trade. Heh. But for honest, she's prolly still shaken up from the other day. Hardly blame her. I'll have nightmares for weeks, no doubt. I shouldn't have left em all. Pharasma forgive me. -------- Order of the Rack
Hail Lictor Richemar Almansor --------------- From the desk of Editor Ambrose Heartmirth Priscilla. I wept for days when I heard the tragedy that had befallen you. I have banned laughter from my home for no less than two weeks. I have selected three depressingly overpriced outfits to wear in mourning of the fall of House Lacrimosa. The city no doubt trembles in devastation and could never fully recover from the demise of your families holdings. Though you survive, blood is only half of what it takes to be a noble. And since I am blessed with the other half, I will personally commission a statue of black steel to be erected in the Rego Pena square, honoring your ancestors. Perhaps a return to your roots in Katepesh is in order? Maybe reestablish that old slave route your parents had before the incident... Speaking of, you are three months late on the draft of your next book. The title is certainly interesting but that's all we have. Your trilogy was certainly a such a rousing success that you must understand our eagerness. 'The girl who played with Fire elementals' sold almost twice as many volumes as 'The girl with the PseudoDragon Tattoo'. And the third installment, 'The girl who kicked the Stirges Nest' sold even more! I certainly hope your silly little diversions at playing sleuth are not to blame for the delay. They have provided such an inspiration for your work. It would be a shame of you had to choose between the two... Now Priscilla. Heartmirth publishing has had a beyond joyous partnership with you for many years now and all of us have been better for it.
May all your most glorious wishes come true you delightful little pomegranate,
Clarified Backstory & Personality: Priscilla was born of an affair between her cruel Chelaxian nobleborn mother and a Keleshite merchant. Her mother possessd a lycanthrope bloodline and was attempting to produce a child with Skinwalker capabilities. Priscilla's mother returned with her to Cheliax after performing strange rituals in the name of Lamashtu. Priscilla's mother went back to Katapesh' with her daughter and husband several years later under the guise of needing to personally handle the slave trade that the family owned. Once informed of Priscilla's potential change, she contacted the merchant in order to continue some nefarious plan but never saw him again as tragedy struck Kelmarane. Priscilla's mother died in this tragedy and her husband took the child and returned to the estate in Cheliax where he would die within the year. This left Priscilla to be raised by the house slaves and servants who were almost all made up of halflings. Though Priscilla gained a strong education and lesson in high culture she always wondered where her parents were and where she had come from. These questions intensified once she realized that she had the ability to release her more beastial form. The consequence of her mother's heritage proved frightening to the young woman who attempted her best to hide such indecent behavior. Though she was constantly reminded of it via her abnormal shadow and by suffering from a form of Chromesthesia. Her abnormal super hearing acquired while in bestial form was dimmed while in human form, but still caused her to see color from sound due to a kind of tinted echolocation. This allowed her to perceive the world more clearly around her and focus on details most people usually ignored. This had the added benefit of being able to detect tone and even lies thanks to them being in a specific color. All of this further fueled her curiosity about her origins as well as a love for language(which she found she had a good ear for). After finding some various clues regarding this question, she discovered that she was not her father's daughter but the progeny of a mysterious merchant somewhere in Katapesh. She researched the people the language and history of the land so far away, hoping to one day stand on the soil she was born. The servants felt it was best to avoid such queries s the feared that the more connected to her past she became the greater potential that she'd turn out like her cult worshiping mother. So they avoided her questions and distracted her with schooling and books as well as putting her curious mind to the test by solving questions she COULD answer. Utilizing logic, deductive reasoning and her senesthesia to solve minor crimes, it became simply a hobby at first but it would eventually turn into an amateur profession. So this ability of hers seemed to be a curse in some ways beyond the obvious detriment of turning into a monster do to an exaggerated emotional state . She found that the constant overexposure sound/color caused headaches and nausea, from time to time, So she found solace in reading books. Quiet, lovely books. Specifically mystery books which would spurn her to become very appreciative of the written word. She would display this appreciation later in life by working as a lexicographer(makes dictionaries) and a novelist of mysteries. After becoming famous in Cheliax and even the greater Korvosan area due to her published works, Priscilla found that she was at an even greater risk to reveal her more bat-like nature. With the fall of her house due to financial neglect, she found herself feeling isolated andtje burning question of exactly who she was, resurfaced. This proved the final straw , and after a half-hearted suggestion from her editor, Priscilla decided to return home and potentially discover her birthright as well as gain inspiration and destroy the writers block that was interupting her efforts with her most recent novel.
Priscilla is a charming, spoiled, knowledgeable young woman with acholeric nature. Her curious mind is constantly at work picking up various minut details of her surroundings. While her noble status and insight into peoples truths have caused her to become brazen and forward as well as acquire a distaste for lies(thanks in no small part to the the petty nobles of her later youth). This resulted in her usually speaking her mind, often at the expense of kindness or tact. Though the finer points of diplomacy are not lost on her and ultimately does have a good heart. Sometimes she fears that her lack of compassion is a result of her more untamed side seeping through and occasionally compensates by abusing substances such as alcohol, laudinum, or her new favorite pesh. Despite her sometimes self-serving attitude, she understands the value of working with others and appreciates the fact that she cannot do everything on her own. She is also intrigued by the prospect of adventure as she hasnt left the city since before she can remember. She is envious of other adventures as they more closely resemble characters in the book she's read about in her youth and secretly looks up to them. Priscilla is also more likely to be found in a tavern reading or chatting up people from far off lands to learn of their language and culture, than locked away in a study somewhere. She loves the finer and more exquisite parts of life , preferring to be pampered rather than roughing it. While this may put her at odds with the nature of adventuring, she is very adaptable and unafraid to push outside her comfort zone, especially if it's to acquire something so close to a hearts desire.
I have also fixed format and grammar issues. The corrected version can be found through this alias. I can't believe I made it in with one minute to spare. I've been working on the character for days now so that would have been hilarious. I wish everyone the best of luck and those who get in a great game!
Stats Spoiler:
Priscilla de Lacrimosa Female Bloodmarked Skinwalker Investigator Empiricist CG Medium humanoid Init +3 Senses Perception +6 (+2 at night) -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC: 15(16), touch 13, flat-footed 13 HP: 9 Saves: Fort +1, Ref +4(5) Will +2 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee . . Swordcane +0 (1d6/19-20) or . . scorpion whip 0 (1d4+/ 20) or Special Attacks . .(Bite 1d6) Ranged . . Sling +2(3) (1d4/x2, 50ft range) -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 10, Dex 14(16) Con 12, Int 17 , Wis 10, Cha 13 Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 13 Feats: BAT Shape Skills: BACKGROUND SKILLS Artistry (Literature[mystery novels]) 7 Craft (Alchemy) 5 - Knowledge 7 --Nobility --Geography --History ADVENTURING SKILLS -Bluff 7 -Diplomacy 7 -Disable Device 6(7) -Fly 8(9)-1 - Perception 4(5)[6] -Sense Motive 4 -Stealth 6(7) -Linguistics 7 Languages: Common, Kelesh, elven, abyssal, halfling
Gear: Parade armor 25(20lbs)
Description spoiler:
A young woman in her late twenties stands proudly with a half open napsack slung over her shoulder, revealing a number of books, scrolls and other sundries. Her dark locks sit poised in a pulled back cut reminiscent of a messy beehive style with teased strands framing her prominent cheekbones. And although her perky freckled nose and dull mossy green eyes staring out curiously from behind large square spectacles suggests a youthful innocence, the smug smirk of her wide mouth gives the distinct impression she knows more than those around her. While her long slender neck and rounded strong jaw give her stance an air of dignity, it is somewhat distorted by the looming bestial shadow that follows in her wake which reveals a sinister secret. The worn grey plates of her engraved parade armor fit snuggly over her slight pear shape. Her dark blue warm weather wear, featuring a variety of bronze and white highlights, covers every bit of her pale olive complexion that the armor doesn't (sans face). The features of note in her outfit include several wide leather bands which at first glance appear to serve as nothing more than accessories, a light metal latticework draped across her collar bone in the shape of Chelaxian symbols, and a thigh length hip-drape featuring a pale sunburst. Her legs are covered by thigh high leather plated boots with pointed metal toes turned upward. Her left arm is covered in a gauntlet from fingertip to shoulder with a high vertical pauldron guard and split into two pieces at the elbow for greater mobility. The ensemble as a whole seems more ceremonial and guady than practical, but still provides some measure of protection. As to the matter of weaponry, a wicked looking whip tipped with black metal diamond shaped points, hangs coiled at her hip and in her right ink stained hand, a finely crafted bone cane with an animals jawbone serving as the top handle. When she shifts into her animalistic form, revealing her hidden nature, her features become strikingly vicious in some respects. Her nose becomes flattened and vertically pointed like that of a Leaf Nosed Bat's. Accompanying this, her ears which already stuck out to a degree, become enormous and dark, sharpening to a point nearly past the top of her head. Her eyes cloud into cool dark pools and two fangs fill her mouth as her arms extend a few inches ending in long spindly clawed finger. Tufts of dark hair highlight her ears, face, limbs as a large strip of leathery a skin running the length of her underarm presents the signs of a vestigial wings. Her posture changes after gaining a measure of height causing her to stoop at the shoulders slightly. Her shadow however transforms as if belonging to a completly normal woman Backstory spoiler: Dearest Zaheer, It was an absolute pleasure to receive your reply so swiftly. Your correspondence has been the sole beacon of relief for me in this sweltering hell hole. Everyday I walk out of the Villa it feels as if stumbled into an oven. The dry heat of summer here holds very little in relation to the comfortable weather back home. Gaspere says it's merely my poor Constitution at work but I'm loath to admit any measure of weakness to that bufoon. And in truth, this land does hold a certain primal beauty to it. The ruggedness of our estate here in Kelmarane is refreshing when compared to the stifling hustle and bustle of Westcrown. And course there's you... My fool of a husband has yet to decipher the true intention of our presence here. However, his curiosity is beginning to vex me. Even I find my lies tiresome. He asked, for the hundredth time why I felt it was necessary to personally oversee the slave sales. I dismissed his concerns by citing the pride of house Lacrimosa, or some such nonsense. Despite this, I've been unable to mollify Gaspare's desire to return home. All the more evidence that she is the one with the weak constitution, and that he could not handle the truth. But to address the matter at hand my little
Oh Zaheer, I wish you could have seen it. The light from the lamp casting her twisted shadow across the wall that night told me only one thing, that our daughter was destined for wonderful and terrible things. You are never far from my thoughts and I hope to be in your arms soon. We will visit promptly. Praise The Mother,
--------------- Captain Gannicus Bartholomew Hankbert Log
Not enough Pesh inna world to make me forget the looks on their faces. We left so many on the docks. All scrambling and pushing and screaming to get aboard. Al Amir had to stick a few of them with that scimitar of his before they got the idea. Goddess above I wanted to take on more. Its what a good man would do...but the Chellish man paid more than I could hold. Maybe enough to buy another boat! "Passage. For the three of us. No more." He said. Claimed he was a Lord seeking a way back to the empire for his daughter and some knee high slave. Gave em me cabin but I'll prolly have to burn the sheets after this. The man looked like he's caught his death. Coughing and weezing up a storm. Common sense tells me I shouldn't have risked it but Ellara always said I couldn't hear nothin over the weight of me coin purse. The little one doesn't seem sick. Just tired and weepy and polite. She's always asking somebody somethin or other. Makes the crew nervous. A ship don't often got many children on em and I'm not thinking she means any harm. Just curious is all. Although that old whip she carries around all day, makes for a queer sight. Been with her since she got aboard. Those Chelish types are an eerie bunch. Figured they woulda waited till at least fourteen 'fore teaching em the slave trade. Heh. But for honest, she's prolly still shaken up from the other day. Hardly blame her. I'll have nightmares for weeks, no doubt. I shouldn't have left em all. Pharasma forgive me. --------
Hail Lictor Richemar Almansor --------------- From the desk of Editor Ambrose Heartmirth Priscilla. I wept for days when I heard the tragedy that had befallen you. I have banned laughter from my home for no less than two weeks. I have selected three depressingly overpriced outfits to wear in mourning of the fall of House Lacrimosa. The city no doubt trembles in devastation and will never fully recover from the demise of your families line. Though you survive, blood is only half of what it takes to be a noble. And since I am blessed with the other half, I will personally commission a statue of black steel to be erected in the Rego Pena square, honoring your ancestors. Perhaps a return to your roots in Katepesh is in order? Maybe reestablish that old slave route your parents had before the incident... Speaking of you are three months late on the draft of your next book. The title is certainly interesting but that's all we have. Your trilogy was certainly a such a rousing success that you must understand our eagerness. 'The girl who played with Fire elementals' sold almost twice as many volumes as 'The girl with the PseudoDragon Tattoo'. And the third installment, 'The girl who kicked the Stirges Nest' sold even more! I certainly hope your silly little diversions at playing sleuth are to blame. Now Priscilla. Heartmirth publishing has had a beyond joyous partnership with you for many years now and all of us have been better for it.
May all your most glorious wishes come true you delightful little pomegranate,
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