TheWorstFighter's page

3 posts (119 including aliases). No reviews. No lists. No wishlists. 3 aliases.



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F Elf Wizard 1 | HP: 13/13 | AC 15+1i | F +4, R +5, W +7 | Perc. +5 | Spell DC 17 | Speed 30’ | Hero Pts: 1/1 | Focus Pts: 0/1 | Reactions: None | Conditions: None

She could get started on turning the boar into a pelt. Unlike the wolves we fought earlier, this critter doesn't appear to be mangy or have acidic blood or anything. :D


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It took me a while to put it together, but here's TheWorstFighter's elf monk submission! My profile should contain everything of relevance – yell at me if something is missing.

For the record, I used the "voluntary flaws" optional rule (p. 26) to shuffle a few ability boosts/flaws around. I also picked artisan's tools to represent the equipment Tia needs for tattooing and scrimshawing, though I'm not sure how well it translates into the actual game mechanics.


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F Elf Wizard 1 | HP: 13/13 | AC 15+1i | F +4, R +5, W +7 | Perc. +5 | Spell DC 17 | Speed 30’ | Hero Pts: 1/1 | Focus Pts: 0/1 | Reactions: None | Conditions: None

When the huge wolf at last falls, Anghariel rises from the undergrowth almost hesitantly, as if she can’t believe the beast is truly dead. She steps a little closer, briefly scrutinising Milo and Osveta to make sure they are not hurt too badly, before turning and dashing back to where Gigon is reviving Pollo.

“You’re alive!” she exclaims, almost bouncing on the spot in a very un-elven sort of way as she stands looking at the young fighter. “I don’t know if I could’ve stomached another – I mean, it would have been…sad if you had, well, died. Very sad. So, ah, I’m glad you didn’t. Indeed.”

Lapsing into an awkward silence, Anghariel gives everyone a weak smile and wanders off again, walking cautiously towards the wolf’s remains. That its smaller, ordinary brethren attacked the caravan was one thing, but an obviously unnatural creature like this? She may have been left scarred for life as a fairly direct result of her insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge, but she simply can’t walk away from this place without taking a closer look at the beast.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she quietly asks Gigon as she circles round the wolf’s corpse.

I’d also like to try a knowledge check in an attempt to figure out what the critter’s deal is/was. Not sure which skill applies; Arcana (and Occultism?) are at +7, Nature is at +5. If nothing else, the Detect Magic cantrip should allow me to figure out whether there’s anything magical about it at all.


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F Elf Wizard 1 | HP: 13/13 | AC 15+1i | F +4, R +5, W +7 | Perc. +5 | Spell DC 17 | Speed 30’ | Hero Pts: 1/1 | Focus Pts: 0/1 | Reactions: None | Conditions: None

“A fine song,” Anghariel agrees, and gives Milo and Ůlf both a small nod of acknowledgement. Evidently unsure how to react to being complimented on her name by Osveta, she eventually settles on a slightly awkward, murmured “Thank you.”

“Oh,” is her simple response when Pollo launches into a veritable discourse on the whys and wherefores of fighting. “I’ve never thought about it like that,” she says when he has finished. “But some of the mind’s dark places you might not wish to shed light on,” the elf finally ventures, having lapsed into thoughtful silence for a while. “It could awaken something you’ll never be able to rein back in.”

She looks from Cooky to Gigon. “He’d probably more upset if you interrupted his sleep to ask. Assuming that’s even possible.” Anghariel then turns to the rest of her fellow wayfarers. “This town we are travelling to, Etran’s Folly…I have also heard it called Plaguestone. I don’t suppose any of you know why? It’s a curious name for a town.”


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F Elf Wizard 1 | HP: 13/13 | AC 15+1i | F +4, R +5, W +7 | Perc. +5 | Spell DC 17 | Speed 30’ | Hero Pts: 1/1 | Focus Pts: 0/1 | Reactions: None | Conditions: None

Seated near the back of the wagon is an elven woman. Her garb – plain greyish-green robes and a hooded cloak – isn’t quite ragged per se but certainly very well-worn and travel-stained, and dusty bare feet can only just be glimpsed beneath the frayed hemline of her robes. She appears to be unarmed apart from a sheathed dagger on her belt, nor does the pack resting on the floor in front of her seem likely to contain anything in the way of additional armaments.

The woman herself is the better part of six feet tall and quite slender, almost a little too much so, with very fair skin, slate-grey eyes, and blond hair somewhat crudely cropped to about shoulder-length. Her strong but elegantly sculpted features are marred by five thin, jagged scars slashing diagonally across her face like a memento from some savage clawed hand. If she turns her head just so, further patches of discoloured scar tissue become visible that suggest something once took a sizeable bite out of the side of her neck as well.

Anghariel has generally been keeping to herself, though if addressed she is soft-spoken and unfailingly polite, even a little deferential. For the most part she sits quite still, albeit a little stiffly, with her hands clasped in her lap and a faraway look in her eyes; the bumping and bouncing caused by the rough road, as well as the overall lack of comfort, barely even seem to register with her.

…well, that latest jolt does. Grimacing, the elf lurches forward to take hold of her backpack in case further, more devastating jolts follow. When they don’t she relaxes a little, though she doesn’t let go of her pack just yet. Anghariel glances around, presumably making sure everyone is all right, before her eyes settle on Cooky. “I’m not sure I have ever seen something more enviable,” she tells nobody in particular, her Common moderately accented, “than the soundness of this man’s sleep.”