My current character is technically an Earth Elemental Sorcerer. He is Ed Ammae, the saucerer. His back story is that he was training to be a wizard, and took a vacation to some eastern lands. He discovered that he had a taste for soy sauce, and by employing a mage, made pure elemental soy sauce, which he drank. The result was that he had the powers of soy running through his blood.
He is actually pretty effective, because he turns all his offensive magic into acid damage, which is naritivly soy sauce.
"So, gentlemen... The experiment's ready to start. Our alchemist spent months to brew a powerful mutagen potion containing the blood of the most powerful and strong orcs killed by our soldiers in the last years. Thanks to this concoction, our troops will be able to overcome any enemy..."
"General! A boy sneaked in the brewery! He's swinging a mace around! If the beakers get smashed all together..."
"Doctor Pennant! Where are you going?"
"I can't let a boy die because of my discovery, General... Neither can I let him ruin the experiment!"
(Birth of an Orc bloodline sorcerer called the Smasher...)
Bloodlines. Probably the best thing paizo did for sorcerers was add bloodlines to the class. They add a much needed boost to a class that was (and sometimes, still is) considered the wizard's weaker sibling.
That being said, I often has a hard time dealing with the fluff associated with the bloodlines; it seems every sorcerer gets their power from some supernatural creature fornicating with an ancestor. And that's fine, I guess, but it gets kind of boring.
So if you've ever played a sorcerer, what was the background fluff for his power? Did you go with the supernatural ancestor, or was there something more unique about how you got your mojo?
Mitochondrial hyper-evolution that generates intense bio-energy that is harnessed and channeled into bizarre effects called magic. At the latter stages of this hyperevolution the mitochondrial cells can overtake and become one with the nucleus and this state of fusion allows complete control over the body.
Actually, nevermind, I don't think sorcerer does this very well. XD
"So, gentlemen... The experiment's ready to start. Our alchemist spent months to brew a powerful mutagen potion containing the blood of the most powerful and strong orcs killed by our soldiers in the last years. Thanks to this concoction, our troops will be able to overcome any enemy..."
"General! A boy sneaked in the brewery! He's swinging a mace around! If the beakers get smashed all together..."
"Doctor Pennant! Where are you going?"
"I can't let a boy die because of my discovery, General... Neither can I let him ruin the experiment!"(Birth of an Orc bloodline sorcerer called the Smasher...)
Like what you did there: "Banner...Pennant..."
Maybe the boy's name might be something like Nick Stones. Good one.
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In deference to the fantastic work by the Bardess, here goes...
Green. This is all Lady Alexia Hollandovich wanted to see, but after her seventh trial of the restorative formula she'd concocted there was nothing on the blighted sod she'd collected. In despair she looked out her window, out of the meager cottage she used as her laboratory, and into the bogs beyond.
Everywhere she looked, the waters just mere feet away teemed with life. Yet from the tower of her home in Baelnosc, just south of Izmok, the stony ground would remain wasted and barren for another year. "Blast it all!" She hurled her spectacles and the glass shattered against the massive oak table. "I don't understand! I followed the formula to the letter. I've accounted for every variable in heat, light, humidity...the bio-mutagenic properties of this batch SHOULD be self sustaining. I don't..."
Just then Alexia heard them. The goblins. The foul little bog-dwellers had tested every one of her defenses. So far she'd easily kept them at bay by maintaining traps and deterrents around her cote, but she'd been so wrapped up in the work, she'd forgotten. "My goodness...the wards!" Just as she uttered the words the door flew wide. "We be goblins..." they snarled, grinning, "and you be FOOD!" In her doorway surged a sea of green.
Alexia reacted without thinking. She hurled the bomb at once and the explosion in the small space rocked her to her core. She'd added powdered Thunderstone to this batch for just such an effect, not expecting herself to be caught by it as well. She staggered back, caught herself against the table and into the soft flesh of her left hand bit the jagged shards of glass.
The half-elven maiden shrieked, more in surprise than pain. Recoiling her bleeding hand passed directly over the sample dish and a single droplet fell in. "C'mon you little BITERS!" she snarled, her perfectly-quaffed hair beginning to pull free of her bun even as Alexia tore free another vial. She'd intended to seal the door with an Entangling effect so as to prepare her next move with a bit of breathing room, but she'd never gotten the chance.
There was a churning, crunching noise behind Lady Alexia as the lab table split in two beneath the weight of a towering vine of wild growth. The hulking plant uncoiled decades of growth in moments, exploding out in every direction and entangling everything in its path. The lead goblin, a flask of fire in it's hands, hurled wildly and hit the open cabinet of alchemical substances. The Shelf and its contents were already shattering from the floral assault and the fiery projectile merely added to devastation.
"A catalyst!" Alexia screamed, trying desperately to free herself from the steadfast growth, "It simply needed a catalyst. And it chose ME!" and with those words, the provincial noblewoman, alchemist and scholar known as Alexia Hollandovich was no more. The cottage, engulfed in flames and imploding from the sudden surge of plant growth collapsed, dumping its contents into the bogs.
Days later a dark thing was seen, shambling through the bogs; a Bog Entity!
"'Ere a'now boy, drink zees" the old crone smiled handing a burbling wooden cup to Ullvigh. Though his father had forbidden it his mother, once a Dunevain Traveler had sent him out to one of their camps to meet Madame Viloveske, to receive a gift from her. With his nose upturned and his eyebrow cocked in suspicion, the brown-haired boy grimaced. "This smells like old boots boiled in cabbage!" but the old woman's leathery wrinkles merely spread into a wider grin beneath her babushka. He hoped this wasn't it.
"Guhh!" Ullvigh spat as he drained the cup. "What WAS that?" "Zat vas 'de essence o' the vorld, leetle boy," she smiled. Ullvigh tried hard not to stare at the inky black gaps between her decrepit old teeth. Desperate for distraction he cast his eyes about. The side of her caravan was adorned with silks that jangled in the evening breeze. The fire flickered with occasional greenish sparks and something in it fizzled; set over some of the coals were several long needles. "now lie back and let eet sink into yuir mind."
Ullvigh was suddenly filled with fear. This was not something he was accustomed to. As the oldest of 4 brothers Ullvigh Ynosc had always been the toughest of the brood. He'd apprenticed with his father at 7 in the kennels, training the dogs for both hunting and defense that lord Halek would use for a decade or more. He'd chased rats from the stalls, helped break new hounds, and then some.
But now he had something in his body; something he didn't understand. "Don't be afraid boy," Madame Viloveske assured him as if sensing his trepidation, "eet's jest getting yuir body ready for 'de changes...and 'de pain." "I'm not afrai...what pain?" Ullvigh turned to regard the woman directly and caught sight of a red-hot needle, bubbling with some strange-smelling pigment dripping from it. "Zees pain..." she muttered, another needle in her crooked, scattered teeth.
The boy that was Ullvigh Ynosc died that night. He died screaming foul obscenities of pain before finally slipping gratefully into unconsciousness. When he awoke the next dawn he had vague memories of it all. The witch Viloveske had scribed a brilliant, coiling tattoo into his left arm that left him raw and aching. In his dreams he thought he heard her singing, or chanting, or humming. "Eet ees 'de FIRST song boy...the first ever 'dat 'de first 'o us ever heard. Eet ees part of the Primacy...vere ve all come from, and vere ve all vill go back to 'den..."
The lad who returned was not any older, and yet he was. His mind perceived things differently. It was as if he saw the world around him for the first time; the REAL world behind the world he'd always know. "Eet vas 'de Vee Folk 'vat taught us how to hear 'de Primacy leetle vone." That was what Madame Viloveske had spat between scrapes. He didn't understand it at the time but Ullvigh would come to know it was the fey she spoke of.
There was a roiling, raveling energy; an underlying power where he looked. He blinked to clear his mind. "You vill see 'de birdsong; smell 'de sunshine and taste 'de cool breeze. You vill be closer to 'de Primacy 'den any of 'de folk of yuir home. Ven you focus, 'de power vill come into you; fill you. Yuir mind vill know 'de joy and 'de sorrow at vonce."
Off to his right as he staggered through the forest he was vaguely aware of a man standing there. The man was dressed shabbily; a beggar perhaps, but his clothes were dirty and leaves clung to it. In his hand was a knife, yet somehow this didn't bother Ullvigh. "'Ere naow boy...you toss over that coin pouch there and we won't 'ave no..." the man didn't finish his words. The droning sound of the Primacy filled Ullvigh's ears and his instinct sang out; Stop That Man...The One With The Blade...Stop Him...
And as the thought and the song and the joy and the sorrow welled as one thought became action. Ullvigh's left hand swung lazily through the air, as if to brush away a drowsy fly. From the fingers flew a roiling gob of acrid strands, seemingly from within the fingers themselves. The mass struck the man in the chest and neck, binding him against a nearby tree. There was a sizzle then as fumes rose where the strands touched flesh. The hapless man howled in pain.
Stop...Stop... Ullvigh's mind chanted over and over. His arm throbbed with the rhythm of it. The shabby-cloaked man dropped the dagger into the leaves as he tore free of the bark. His face still bubbled with the burns. "What in the nine hells ARE you?" he roared as he turned to flee. The boy's fingers flexed again and he was moderately aware of sounds issuing from his lips; the Sounds of the Light and the Primacy...
There was a flash and a popping burst near the man's head. At once he stopped moving, dazed. Ullvigh just simply stared at him, amazed at everything he'd just experienced. "Ok sport..." a tiny, reedy voice called from somewhere nearby, "we'll take it from here." The boy cast about with his new eyes as the forest literally seemed to come alive. A dozen dragonflies (people with droning, dragonfly wings?) descended on the dazed man, instantly awakening his senses for all the good it did him. The horde encircled him, buzzing hard, and pulled him back amid the dark boughs where he was not seen again.
"And hey...watch it with the acidy balls there sport. Y' don't want 'ta go tearin' up the trees so soon after what we done fer ya. We'll be seein 'ya soon..." and with that, Ullvigh Ynosc, who had left home a boy and shed his old skin for that of the Primacy, found himself alone in the singing sunlight amid the moss-dappled trees.
I didn't want him to just drink really old blood or be born of someone really old. Instead the concept here is that he consumed the distilled essence from when the First World became the one Ullvigh knows. He was painted with the First Symbol, all the while listening to the First Song. In short, he was completely immersed in the Primacy of the Material World and can now reach in and manipulate those primal energies all around him, like gathering together strings and playing with them one way or another for whatever spell he needs.
Thank you for the appreciation, but some bloodlines seem just designed with a certain existing character in mind.
This time I tried to devise something original...
"Die, you abomination!" the beautiful solar cried, while a blast of pure life energy invested the vampiress, turning her into dust and smoke. The perverted undead lady had kidnapped many mortal men in the years, keeping them as thralls for her own defense and pleasure. No more would she plague the peaceful life of the peasants living around her castle.
"Jarael, you must see this" called her companion from another room of the tower. She had gone in search of the prisoners' rooms, but apparently found something different.
The room was full of jars containing little twisted bodies. The lady vampire didn't keep human lovers just for sport. They had fought her many dhampir witches handmaidens, but none could imagine that they were in fact all her daughters.
The baby boys were here, instead. Killed at birth and used for experiments. Their mother didn't have a soft spot for her sons.
While Jarael looked at that macabre sight, a wailing drew her attention to a corner of the room. A little bundle lied on a table, moving weakly. The angels lifted the cloth uncovering the grey body of the last-born baby dhampir, ready to join his brothers in their grim destiny.
"Looks like we came in time to save him", said the solar lifting the baby in her arms.
"He too is an abomination. It would be pitiful to kill him now."
"Just because he's born as it is? I don't think so. When you save a life, you're bound to have care of it till the end".
"No mortals around here are going to take him in. What do you think to do?"
"Taking him with us in Heaven," said Jarael, simply. "And raise him."
"This is madness."
"I would rather call it mercy", Jarael replied. The baby's colorless lips twisted in hunger. "I name you Jorinth the Born-Redeemed", she said, looking at that little desperate face, "son of Jarael". And almost absently, she scratched her wrist with her nails, and gave it to the boy to suck.
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What'd be cool is a class modeled after Ms. Brea's abilities and other abilities shown to be possible in the first game. I really liked how the ability set was mostly not just a magical system (see the elemental system from the second game), but also kept thematically appropriate for the story.Bloodlines. Probably the best thing paizo did for sorcerers was add bloodlines to the class. They add a much needed boost to a class that was (and sometimes, still is) considered the wizard's weaker sibling.
That being said, I often has a hard time dealing with the fluff associated with the bloodlines; it seems every sorcerer gets their power from some supernatural creature fornicating with an ancestor. And that's fine, I guess, but it gets kind of boring.
So if you've ever played a sorcerer, what was the background fluff for his power? Did you go with the supernatural ancestor, or was there something more unique about how you got your mojo?
Mitochondrial hyper-evolution that generates intense bio-energy that is harnessed and channeled into bizarre effects called magic. At the latter stages of this hyperevolution the mitochondrial cells can overtake and become one with the nucleus and this state of fusion allows complete control over the body.
Actually, nevermind, I don't think sorcerer does this very well. XD
I'm 100% certain I could do it with psionics, and psionics is so beautifully refluffable that I could call it parasite-energy and call it a day. Let's see...
Heal I, II, III = Natural Healing
Scan = ???. I don't think there's a spell or power in Pathfinder that provides details on creatures. Though ranks in Knowledge could work. A substitute might be detect hostile intent.
Slow = Delayed Response.
Detox = Resist Toxin.
Barrier = Vigor.
Energy Shot = energy bolt.
Confuse = Telempathic Lash or Mental Disruption.
Haste = So many here, including hustle, physical acceleration, or even temporal acceleration.
Gene Heal = metamorphosis and its greater versions can grant fast healing for 1 minute / level. Alternatively true metabolism grants some gnarly fast healing.
Medic = Empathic condition relief.
Preraise = Trigger power (gonna die) + Natural healing or Vigor.
Full recover = A combination of the healing powers above, possibly involving a bit of quickening.
Liberate = The entire metamorphosis line is a good candidate here. :P
I'd probably consider something along the lines of Human Ranger / Psion (probably Egoist or a dual-discipline Egoist/Nomad) / phrenic slayer. That would pretty much cover her cop training (gives her a nice skill pool, some detective skills, weapon proficiencies, combat training, etc), the psion levels would give her some parasite power and slowly advance her combat prowess (which could be augmented by powers, especially if she was an egoist) and then phrenic slayer would top her off and begin leveling both her combat skills and powers at a nice rate (allowing her to get some of the more major powers).
"Do you repent for your SINS boy?" The young half-elf lad peered up at Father Ivwylozs; in a sudden flash of thunder the balding pontif appeared more savage than any of demons in the sanctuary glass. Blood dripped from Kylander's eyes like tears to stain the ancient flagstone beneath him.
The boy was an orphan and from an early age learned to conceal his impure nature from the purity of the townsfolk. A few weeks before he'd found work as a gravedigger for the church but Sister Nevaille had uncovered his true nature. Kylander was graced then, to know the one woman in all of Haborvar who would accept him for who he was.
The nun had taken a vow to remain chaste, but she loved him just the same, and she him. Kylander, a tawny, rough lad with sullen blue eyes and straight black hair, he'd never known this kind of attention from any girl. Though Sister Nevaille remained pure and there was nothing physical between them, there was an intimacy that transcended such urges.
That all changed the morning he found Sister Nevaille dead on the floor of the sanctuary. She'd been beaten brutally, an impure name painted across her chest in her own blood. The welts all over her were unmistakable. They were the marks of the prayer coil, the flail of iron beads and coiling lash used by Father Ivwylozs in his private services. He used them for penance and inflicted them on others for the same.
Now Kylander felt their horrible sting as another staggering blow smashed down on his back. The storm outside surged, rain lashing the windows as the weapon lashed his hide. His hands were bound to his knees, so that all he could do was kneel in supplication to the man. "You are a foul creature, boy. You must renounce your impurity. It was your devilish, sylvan taint that drew in Sister Nevaille; that took her attention from m...the church! She would not repent, so she was sent to the pit with the other unclean souls. But you have the chance to be saved boy. Now...REPENT!"
Another blow from the coil rained down upon Kylander, this time across his upturned face as he tried desperately to meet the gaze of his accuser. "I've...done nothing wrong...save love a woman who loved me back..." Kylander smiled at the thought of his sweet Nevaille, reading scripture and laughing at his terrible jokes in the graveyard. That was the first time he'd ever said that he'd loved her; now at the moment of his death was the second. "and may the Mother have PITY on you for your ignorance, Father." the boy spat this last, mingled with his own blood, at the feet of his tormenter. Somewhere out the corner of his eye, lightning seared the heavens.
"So be it boy. Now you will..." There was a sudden flash and within the church a low rumble echoed. "Ivwylozs, the Mother of Souls calls you to the Boneyard. You have strayed from your path, child, and now it is time to return for your Judgement!" As if to emphasize the point, thunder rattled the sky.
Both turned, Kylander straining to see. The angel hovering above the altar, before the Rose Window of stained glass depicting Pharasma's spiral in a rose-bloom motif, seemed vaguely familiar. It almost appeared to be Nevaille, but with pale eyes of the purest light. She wore a suit of gray mail which, despite its neutral color seemed to radiate with light from within. Huge wings spread out behind the figure and she hovered there in her radiance.
"NOOOOO! This wretch is IMPURE! I'm doing her will!" the fanatical priest raved. He turned and heaved the coil one last time. Kylander though would not take his eyes from the angel before him. He wept tears of salt and blood. "I love you Nevaille, and I always will..." he whispered. As his eyes watched, the scene faded into slow motion and it would burn itself into his memory for all time.
The winged maiden drew forth a gleaming blade, just as Father Ivwylozs pulled back the flail. There was a deafening boom as a bolt of pure, white lightning shattered the Rose Window. The coiling beam connected to the angel's blade and arced down, streaking for the righteous torturer. At the moment the beads trickled down over his face Kylander was utterly destroyed by a blast of white lightning, channeled through the priest, his weapon, and into the boy's head.
His bonds singed and snapped as his body convulsed with the energies which sent him flying through the rows of pews. Father Ivwylozs screamed from a pain beyond what any mortal man had known before. The heavenly bolt had handed him back every blow, every penance he'd ever inflicted; years of torture condensed in the span of seconds. "Judgement." Was the angel's only word.
Kylander woke, seconds later, the sweet face of Nevaille above him. "Have...you come for...me too?" He smiled. "No my love," she whispeered, the light of her eyes fading to reveal the crystal green orbs of her mortal form within. "This is the last time we shall meet on this earth. I was sent only for him and must return at once. But..." she leaned in even closer, her face streaked with hot tears, "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye." Her lips met his and at once, for a moment, Kylander touched the divine.
His body, burning with pain and ready to send his soul to the Spiral, was at once healed by the energy passed from her. But this was not the divinity he found. It was her lips, her hand gently cradling his neck even as his feeble, charred fingers nestled on hers. Kylander had, for 17 years, never known real joy, and now had mere moments to make up for it. He closed his eyes to revel in the passion of the kiss, and when next he opened them, Nevaille was gone once more.
Many of the windows had exploded in the elemental fury of the angel's judgement. Rain fell on Kylander; a gentle rain devoid of the howling rage it had possessed moments ago. His body was whole and healed, but the boy took no comfort in it. His love was gone, his world was broken. It was as if the heavens wept only for him at that moment, but that might have been his own tears instead.
Despite it all, when at last he gathered himself to stand he found the coil at his feet. At his touch the weapon crackled with arcs dancing down its length. They did not hurt him; instead, they fairl tingled, filling Kylander with a momentary vigor. The pews around him smoldered and small fires were scatered through the church. His eyes then fixed on the fallen body of Father Ivwylozs.
A sudden contempt and burning rage welled up in him. As if the man had not suffered enough Kylander railed "Her Judgement was TOO good for you! YOU should roast in the pit!" At that moment a ray of holy fire leapt from his hand to strike the corpse, setting it ablaze. The sudden surge of power left the boy woozy, scattered. He dropped the priest's weapon which stopped its electrification at once. Then, his senses returning, Kylander realized the gravity of the situation. Though he didn't understand how, HE had burned the priest's body. What's more, he was standing in a burning church in the center of a small town; a small town which would not be kind to a half-elf invested with such power.
Kylander fled, taking with him the coins in the priest's rectory for travel along the road. He disappeared then, to survive and discover the nature of the powers within him. As the months became years he grew into this new life and found it suited him, not to live in shame and fear. After that night, Kylander the Crossblooded never hid himself from the world ever again.
It's good to be the chieftan's son, even if your mother was a human slave. This is what V'alnosc thought as he waited patiently for the horns to sound. His father, Brolsc Bloodtusk had led the orcish horde to yet another victory; this time against the kobold menace plaguing the Gul-Var caves at the edge of their lands.
Strange that the creatures, described as being so tenacious and clever, had managed only 3 days of defense before fleeing for the mountain's molten core. When at last the foe were routed the horde found not only victory but spoils and tonight there would be a feast to honor his father with these. Among the treasure had been found many dragon's eggs and tonight they were the main course.
V'alnosc straightened his tunic and locked his buckler into place. He was coming of age and soon his training would be more than ceremonial. Despite his parentage cursing him with a splotchy green complexion and weak limbs compared to his cousins, he would rule these lands some day. He knew, even at the age of 9, that he must look the part as well as live it.
The deep bass bluster of the horns called the lad into the hall. All were seated and he took his place next to his father at the head of the table. The cavernous vault of the horde was awash in stinking warriors, human wenches and food as far as the eye could see. The din and raucous brutality was intoxicating to the boy; he dreamed of the day he would rule, when all of this would honor HIS glory.
Sensing his ambition his father's hand snaked out and siezed V'alnosc' throat. "You beware whelp; NONE will usurp THIS throne. I am Brolsc, son of Balakh, and I have torn the guts from ALL who've opposed me. You are no different if you make yourself my foe." The hand clamped around the boy's throat gave a measured squeeze, to emphasize the point. V'alnosc merely grinned. "Nice...to have...you home...fa...ther..." he sputtered.
The scarred chief laughed heartily and threw his son back into his seat. This was their way, their ritual. It was to be sure a sign of fact; V'alnosc would not kill his father for the throne. But beneath that this gesture was their affection for one another. V'alnosc, despite his aching throat smiled wider for now he knew his father cared for him once more.
"BRING ON THE SPOILS!" Brolsc called. All in attendance roared and at once the serving wenches arrived with the massive orbs boiled and open, ready to be devoured. Each table received their own but the greatest of them was delivered to the chieftan’s table. At once the horde began tearing at the leathery shell and devouring the rich eggs with savage glee.
V’alnosc chanced to glance up at the wench who’d delivered their prize. It was his mother and on her face was knitted a strange look, one he’d never seen before: sorrow. The boy halted his gorging long enough to wonder; what would this human slave have to feel sad about. Then it struck him that the woman was looking only at him, and nowhere else. It was then that his belly roiled, and the first howls of pain were heard.
What followed was the cruelest trick and the most horrifying scene the boy would ever recount. Flames exploded out of the throats, gullets and mouths of hundreds of warriors. In an instant these fortunate souls were spared with a quick death while the others around the hall were consumed in the residual heat and flame of the blasts. V’alnosc turned to his father who had already gained his feet when the first belch hit. A gout of unholy inferno tore his legendary jaw from his face and yet for scant moments the proud warrior stood in defiance of death itself. His hand, clamped firmly on the brutal axe of conquest at his side, swung wildly cleaving the head of V’alnosc’ mother from her neck; her mournful eyes never left the boy’s.
Now it was V’alnosc’ turn. He felt his stomach roil and yet the flames did not consume him. Instead the boiling bile erupted from his mouth and nose, spattering along the table and assembled honor guard to the cheiftan where it exploded into flame. One of the brutes lashed out at him with instinct, smashing him back against the cavern wall where unconsciousness mercifully claimed him.
When he woke again, he lay in the snow on the mountainside. He was singed and seared, but otherwise healthy. There was no one with him there and as he turned he heard a distant howl of dying rage. On the heights above the hall of his father was ablaze with dragon’s fire. Those not killed in the initial blasts or charred to death in the explosions were still trapped within; roasting alive like sausages in a charnel oven.
In time the boy would learn that the kobolds had woven their cruelest magics into the eggs; they’d left them as their final trap to consume the horde with unfettered dragon’s breath. Further they’d ensorcelled them that the human wenches might handle them, serve them to the cruel horde. But they’d not counted on the mixture of orcish and human blood in the boy’s veins. And so it was that V’alnosc survived and consumed a portion of the dragon’s breath; this is how he came to be known as V’alnosc, the Dragoneater.
I don't know much about orcs in PF (I always use goblins) so when crafting this I thought a bit about Warhammer or the old Warcraft games. I hope I'm not too far off the mark on the Golarion Orc experience.
I also like how, without a dragon ancestor, V'Alnosc earns the title Dragoneater; almost as if there is a contempt for his power even as he wields it. I can imagine playing this character as a person who still believes it's his right to rule and that by virtue of his power others should submit to him.
Based of one of my favourite characters^^
Jockel Shazang, Dwarf Elemental Fire Sorcerer
Jockel was beginning to repent a little his decision to travel to the City of Lava in the plane of Fire.
His companions had heartly discouraged him... they would be very angry to know that he didn't listen to their warnings. And yet, he knew the dangers very well.
Then why? Because.
Because he was going to become the GREATEST dwarven chef of all time! And the greatest dwarven chef of all time couldn't be ignorant of the Lava Inferno Molten Pizza recipe!
He could afford many strong bodyguards, too... his renown had rendered him very wealthy... so he thought that it wouldn't be too difficult.
He didn't think that the resident magmin chefs wouldn't be too eager to share their recipe.
His bodyguards had encountered a very HOT welcome. And he had been... well... put into the oven. To become fuel for a pizza.
But the greatest dwarven chef of all time couldn't die in such a way... nor be DEFEATED...
Though it was really hot and smoky in there...
Sure, it was a magic oven. Burning with pure elemental flame. This was one of the magmin's cooking secrets. But it also meant that he wouldn't burn, if the living fire inside didn't notice him.
So he had carved a niche to hide himself in the oven's rock walls, and waited. And watched every pizza put inside, to guess the ingredients. Maybe he had made himself an idea of the recipe, by now.
But it was a week, already. And he began to feel a little unconfortable... and hungry.
Oh, damn. If he had to die, he would at least die doing the thing he loved most.
The magmin head chef jumped in astonishment when his oven exploded. And a little, stocky figure burst out, fire and half-chewed bits of Lava Inferno Molten Pizza coming out of his mouth.
"Hot hot hot HOT!!!!"
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@ Wilem Defoe's Vampire: so your post has me wondering about the pirmary stat for Sorcerers and how exactly their powers interact w/the world. It has been said that they cast "by force of personality" and that with bloodlines comes blood, therefore their power must be a manifestation of their own body.
What if it's both?
The sorcerer obviously has a physical component; they get Eschew Materials on the idea that they need no material component since they have their own body as an instrument. But your Words of Power description, of commanding spirits to produce an effect helps explain that Charisma component.
Think of the skills Cha is used for: Intimidate, Diplomacy, Bluff, Disguise. Now Bards use Cha to fuel Performance, but what if a Sorcerer used it fuel one of these others?
Sorcerer: I cast Magic Weapon
GM: Intimidate on the spirit of battle in the blade!
Maybe that's going a bit to literal, but you can see where I'm going here. What if the bloodline didn't give your sorcerer these powers and arcana just simply to give them power; it also gave them a means to sense and interact with some force of the universe; spirits, oni demons, elemental energies, whatever. But in the end it depended on the sorcerer then to charm, beguile or impress these forces to their will.
Suddenly Magic Missile becomes bluffing the air into believing an goblin planned to burn it all with his torch; a Web spell coerced a thousand tiny spectral spiders to weave over your enemies; using Fly meant initimidating gravity into relasing you.
I suppose the flavor here moves into a more Wu-Jen-like means of spellcasting but its an interesting concept to be sure.
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@ Wilem Defoe's Vampire: so your post has me wondering about the pirmary stat for Sorcerers and how exactly their powers interact w/the world. It has been said that they cast "by force of personality" and that with bloodlines comes blood, therefore their power must be a manifestation of their own body.
What if it's both?
The sorcerer obviously has a physical component; they get Eschew Materials on the idea that they need no material component since they have their own body as an instrument. But your Words of Power description, of commanding spirits to produce an effect helps explain that Charisma component.
Think of the skills Cha is used for: Intimidate, Diplomacy, Bluff, Disguise. Now Bards use Cha to fuel Performance, but what if a Sorcerer used it fuel one of these others?
Sorcerer: I cast Magic Weapon
GM: Intimidate on the spirit of battle in the blade!
Maybe that's going a bit to literal, but you can see where I'm going here. What if the bloodline didn't give your sorcerer these powers and arcana just simply to give them power; it also gave them a means to sense and interact with some force of the universe; spirits, oni demons, elemental energies, whatever. But in the end it depended on the sorcerer then to charm, beguile or impress these forces to their will.
Suddenly Magic Missile becomes bluffing the air into believing an goblin planned to burn it all with his torch; a Web spell coerced a thousand tiny spectral spiders to weave over your enemies; using Fly meant initimidating gravity into relasing you.
I suppose the flavor here moves into a more Wu-Jen-like means of spellcasting but its an interesting concept to be sure.
It really brings to mind the paradigm of L5R where you cast spells by asking the kami to answer your prayers.
Note that you forgot Handle Animal in the CHA skills. Maybe a Handle Spirit variant ;-)
I think the concept is nice for flavor but I would not want it to become the only way to cast spells as a Sorcerer.
That said it does bring into a new light those bloodlines or archetypes that cast with another stat.
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Since I've already got this character.
No. Rhialla looked down at her scarred hands, with their terrible burns. She could hardly hold things now. Her hair was plastered with mud to keep from burning. Outside, the snow howled at the crown of the world. Fire was anathma. Fire was evil - the destroyer. Only the natural hotspring in the cave kept her alive in the bitter cold. She returned to her prayers.
After an eternity of prayer, there was a response. A raven, the largest she had seen, at the mouth of her cave.
She awoke in the cave, from a sound sleep she had not felt since leaving the warmth of the south. She felt a strange weight in her hand and looked down to see a walking stick, but she had not owned one before. More shocking was her hands - the burns had turned to tracings of ice crystals and snowflakes. Ach. They still hurt just as much, but with a chilling touch instead of burning.
She looked down into the hotsprings. The mud had come out of her hair, and it glowed a brilliant blue, with an aura of cold emenating from it. Rhialla had a feeling of great wings circling and enfolding her. Andoletta's newest fledgeling gathered her things and began her treck back to the south.
My Elemental(water)-blooded Sorcerer / Oracle of Winter (blackened curse). Peri-Blooded Aasimar.
An empyreal lord granting an Elemental bloodline isn't a perfect match, but it's close enough. Might end up with a level of witch too. In all 3 classes, Andoletta's the one responsible for the power.
*blink*
Man, this was going to be a quick one, but I got a bit caught up. Pretty dang long, beware. Hope you all like it!
It was day when Azyn awoke. Nothing had changed: the room was still a picture of carnage. But now, Azyn could see past the doorway, and he despaired at the sight. There was thick black smoke in the air He flashed back to what the woman said, 'Lord of ash' and again saw red. Azyn staggered to his feet and climbed the stairs to his quarters in order to get a better view. His beloved town, and with it his subjects, had been burned to the ground. Azyn fell to his knees and wept for the innocent lives lost the night before. However, his sorrow was soon replaced with hatred, burning bright. His mind spun, planning to destroy the mages who had destroyed everything he cared about. His eyes darted around the room and settled upon the book of summoning spells. His world had been ended by magic, why not turn it against them? He rushed over and snatched it up, walking over to the glyph he had inscribed on the floor. Azyn once again intoned the spell, spitting out the words as if they were bitter poison, infusing them with his rage and pain. As he spoke, the circle began to glow red, and runes around its circumference started to squirm and dance. Eyes appeared in the circle, black with gold pupils, and floated there. A voice emanated from everywhere and nowhere, smooth and serpentine, "So you figured it out, hmmm? Good for you. So what form should I take? What to do, what to do? Ah, yes, of course! The good 'ole 'recently-deceased-loved-one' bit." A form appeared around the eyes, one that brought a pang of sickness to Azyn's heart: it was Jasper! But the eyes were still wrong, and this Jasper was perfectly healthy. Azyn gritted his teeth and commanded the creature, "I have summoned you to do my bidding, demon! Do as I say!". The Jasper-thing frowned and said, "Demon?! Most definitely not! I am an eidolon. Much more powerful.". Azyn scoffed," Whatever you say, creature, just do what I say! You're duty is this: help me to kill the people who destroyed my town!". The eidolon leaned back against the circle's boundary, meeting resistance from the border, "Alright. Just release me from the circle, and I'll give you ample power to avenge your backwater town.". Azyn spoke the words to release the boundary and the eidolon stepped past. It reached out and touched Azyn's forehead and where his finger met skin, a glowing rune appeared at the same moment as one appeared on the palm of the eidolon's hand. It said, "There. Now we're linked. You can summon me whenever you want.", and the eidolon faded away. Azyn could feel new-found power emanate from the rune on his forehead and coursing through his body. He smiled mirthlessly and walked to the window. "I will hunt them down and destroy them. Those accursed hedge-wizards will learn to fear the Lord of Ash!". A pair of gold and black eyes appeared above Azyn's shoulder, and the air below them split with a smile full of pointed teeth.
Seeing as I'm the OP, and have yet to actually offer a background, I'll describe my current character, Nhag.
Nhag is a predator, plain and simple. He towers over the soft-skinned mammals he travels with, standing almost 7ft in height. With a thick, scaly hide, claws as long as daggers, and a maw filled with armor piercing fangs, it's only natural that he dominate these lesser creatures.
He's a predator, a cold-blooded killer. He hunts these weaker beings, these humans and halflings and gnomes. They are his prey. When he closes in on his prey, he rips into them, tearing through their pink flesh as though it where wet parchment. Nothing can save them, not those silly steel fangs they desperately swing, nor the inflexible, fake metal scales they hide under. He will hunt, they will die. And he will feed.
Nhag is a predator. The apex predator. He believes this. He KNOWS this. This is truth. This knowledge wells from deep withing his spirit, and it grows as he hunts. As he kills. As he consumes.
With each foe dragged down and slaughtered, with each still beating heart consumed, Nhag grows stronger. More feral. More majestic a predator. His scales thicken, his command over the spirits of fire and air and water grows ever greater.
This happened today. A new campaign is starting and one of my players submitted a sorcerer with an interesting background for the upcoming first session. He claims to be a spell. I mean that he does not get his power from anything. No bloodlines. Instead, he IS power, quite literally. A living spell with a duration equal to his lifespan. He goes on to explain why he needs to eat and breath and sleep in great detail and even goes so far as to explain things like why he can be poisoned, why he has emotions, why he has volition, what his original purpose was, etc. He describes casting a spell as sacrificing a part of his own duration (effectively aging him) and transmuting that part of the energy of himself into an alternate effect. I thought it was awesome.
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This happened today. A new campaign is starting and one of my players submitted a sorcerer with an interesting background for the upcoming first session. He claims to be a spell. I mean that he does not get his power from anything. No bloodlines. Instead, he IS power, quite literally. A living spell with a duration equal to his lifespan. He goes on to explain why he needs to eat and breath and sleep in great detail and even goes so far as to explain things like why he can be poisoned, why he has emotions, why he has volition, what his original purpose was, etc. He describes casting a spell as sacrificing a part of his own duration (effectively aging him) and transmuting that part of the energy of himself into an alternate effect. I thought it was awesome.
Awesome, I agree.
This reminds me fondly of a character in the Darksword trilogy from Weis and Hickman, who under the guise of a mage was in fact Magic incarnate.