Put me down as an interested party, too. Melchesiech, elf abjurer; character profile should be current except for gear, which I'll update if needed. His history is also in the profile, but I'll put it here behind a spoiler for convenience.
Then word of the First Mendevian Crusade came to Kyonin, and something in the nascent wizard’s heart began to change. Treerazer's depredations in the south of Kyonin were a known quantity, but this was a new thing. The change was subtle at first...a growing urgency to his studies, but that could easily be attributed to the deaths of his older brother and sister, supposedly slain in Tanglebriar. But the years became decades, the news from the Worldwound grew grimmer, and the changes continued…not only internal, but also in appearance; the chameleon nature of elvenkind saw to that. His fine, bishounen features hardened and became angular, hawklike; his long blond hair darkened, and a strange mark appeared on his back, the spiral symbol of the Riftwardens. His nights were troubled by dreams of Kyonin’s fall and the death of all he held dear, and so his days filled with arcane studies to the exclusion of everything else. Finally he was ready, and in recognition of his new dedication he left his old name behind him in Kyonin, taking as his name an ancient Sovyrian word meaning only "Weapon."
What Melchesiech did not know until he came to Kenabres was that he was not the first (or even the second) crusading elf with that name. His brother and sister, whom he thought had died in Tanglebriar, had actually joined the crusaders in Kenabres decades before, both calling themselves Melchesiech. They went missing soon after the second sibling arrived, though, lost on a mission into the Worldwound.
His alignment is starred because he has deliberately made his personality a better match for the Inevitables, whom he believes are best capable of aiding in his quest to close the Worldwound. His self-sacrifice, though, is ultimately a Good act. So he generally acts LN, but is at heart LG (for the moment).
In appearance, Melchesiech is a blade-thin elf with sharp, ascetic features that in many ways match his hawk familiar. His movements are precise and well-controlled; though possessed of the usual elven grace, in his case his rigidity of posture and stillness when not actually doing anything combine to give the impression of a well-made clockwork automaton. He has little or no emotional affect, again evincing an atypical level of self-control for an elf. (In his case, it is clearly not boredom; he is engaged with the world, but attempts to show no visible emotion beyond an occasional intense curiosity.)
Incidentally, I messed with the fluff for the Riftwarden Orphan trait a bit because otherwise it wouldn't apply to an elf; it's been less than a century since the Worldwound reopened, and the minimum starting age for an elf wizard is 120 years. I followed the book modification of the Child of the Crusades trait for long-lived races.
Inside a small candlelit room, a pale, bald and scrawny-looking elf counted every minute these cursed 'festivities' lasted and counted how long it would be until they were be over.
"The stupidity of you people, of this whole damned town! Anyone with a little common sense, half a brain and the ability to read a book or a memory longer than that of a fruit fly -granted, that's not really that many people in town- could tell you that this 'feast' is meant to be a day of study. Of contemplation and self-reflection. So you'd maybe understand how you screwed up, allowed all this #@à$ to happen and maybe think it'd be a good idea not to repeat those same mistakes. Not just another one of your *@#%*#! excuses to drink yourselves into a stupor and bed some semi-conscious tramp who's awed by your petty displays of brute strength or what passes for 'skill and talent'!"
Lethander would have shouted it out loud but he knew there wasn't any use. No one would hear him over the racket of the crowd outside his room's small windows. He'd closed the shutters, the windows and the curtains and had tried blocking the noise out even further by using his sheets, blankets and anything else he could, but to no avail.
Just like every year the past couple of decades, he sat there and sighed deeply, cursing himself for yet again not taking the time to learn a decent Silence spell and vowed to do so... just after he'd finished the topic he was working on right now.
Or would be working on if I weren't being constantly distracted by that infernal clamour from those drunks outside!
After another hour of wasted effort, Lethander shook his head, snuffed the candles with a wave of his hand, reached for his mantle and made sure he had his coin purse with him.
"Can't get anything thing done like this. Might as well make the best of it.", he said to the darkness.
A couple of beers and some cantrips to impress the ladies would be all it would take to at least find someone to warm his bed tonight and maybe get his mind of things for a little while.
Most part ways at the sight of you. All baring one spry old woman who looks you up and down before smiling and approaching you. Her gait is smooth yet her movements do not match her age.
She smiles and asks:
"New to Kenabres, I see. An unusual one yet I have to have seen. I'm Terendelev and I dare say welcome for Armasse. Would you be interested in jousting matches and other entertainments? I think you'll do well for archery. Make your way towards the inner of Clydwell Plaza, warrior. You'll might just find your path."
With a pat on your back, she disappears into the crowd heading towards what seems to be a kellid.
Garrett flashes her a smile, "Thanks. But I'm not actually here for the... entertainments." His voice trailing off as the stranger slips off through the crowd. With a self-deprecating grin he thinks, "Well, after receiving such a personal invitation I may as well take a look." Changing direction he makes his way towards the inner plaza.
Sarthonn slowly sat up in his bed in the barracks. Unnnnngggghhhh... it feels like somebody fought a battle inside of my head last night, he thought as he ran his fingers through his hair.
Sarthonn stumbles across the room to a small table with a basin and splashes some water on his face. Well, I'm in the barracks and not a cell. So far, this Armasse is a pretty big improvement over last year.
Sarthonn takes some time wandering around his room in the barracks, picking up clothing and half-empty bottles and generally tidying up the area. After a little while, he hears some trumpets blast from outside.
Is it that late already? The Watch Sargent is not going to be happy. I better not make it worse by being any later. Sarthonn proceeds to dress quickly, taking a minimal amount of time to ensure that his boots and leather gear are polished. He puts on his armor, weapons, and gear before putting a tabard with the symbol of Iomedae over everything, marking him as a member of the military.
Now, off to formation at the Plaza. I hope they do not hold us long. I might be able to make some money off of the games if they end formation in time for me to enter. Sarthonn moves towards Clydwell Plaza quickly, trying to avoid anybody that looks like an Officer. When he gets to the Plaza, he sees it is starting to fill with people. He looks around the area, trying to find where a group of soldiers might be forming up.
Though it would only show to another elf (and then only if they were close to the wizard), Melchesiech's eyes were constantly moving as he strode into the square, scanning the crowd for faces he knows he will not see again in this life. Perhaps some of these people knew my sister and brother; even in my private thoughts I will respect their choice and not think of them by their birth names. I would know what became of them, though. The hawk on his shoulder ruffles its neck feathers and shifts its weight from side to side. "Yes, Tranh. I will take you hunting later. After the crowds have thinned." The words are flat, nearly devoid of affect, as is his face.
Armasse. Festival of the Inheritor. Most people need times such as this, but I am not most people. Once, though.... The stray thought is quickly squelched, but his eyebrows twitched towards each other a fractional millimeter before he is again able to school his face to immobility. This is at least an opportunity to meet other crusaders, perhaps even other Riftwardens. The spiral on his back tingles at the thought.
A familar face greets you. Her name escapes you for the moment. She smiles and you feel as if a great weight has being lifted from you.
"Welcome Home child. I'm sorry for your loss but heading towards the Inner part of Clydwell Plaza may help you to heal from that loss. A family can always be found in kindred souls afterall. Happy Armasse to you."
Abigail looks toward the voice, lost in thought as she tries to place the face.
Happy Armasse to you as well she replies with a touch of hesitation. I'm sorry, do I know you? You seem familiar but I can't quite place you.
Tranh takes off from your shoulder and lands upon a complete stranger. An old woman who seems to glide in and out amongst the crowd."Seeker of knowledge I see you have travelled far in your quest. Maybe just maybe if you would head towards the inner square of Clydwell Plaza, you;ll might find answers to something else. I am Terendelev and your hawk Tranh, is such a beauty. He says you promised him hunting soon but he is impatient."
Handing back your hawk, she fades from your eyes as the crowd seems to swallow her up. Your brief conversation a lull it seems in this wave of people.
Melchesiech stands still, staring after the old woman, his thoughts a jumble. It takes him almost a full minute to master himself again, so great is his surprise. "That...would seem to be an omen, Tranh. The name is familiar as well. I cannot now recall from where, but its bearer was not an old woman." His composure regained, he makes his way through the crowd toward the inner square. I wonder if she spoke with anyone else? The elf takes advantage of his height to watch for others going in the same direction he is.
A familar old woman smiles at you, comforting you even. She catches your eye and directs you wordlessly to your place in the formation starting to form. Towards the inner square of Clydwell Plaza.
Sarthonn tips his head at the old woman and waves a quick thanks. That's odd, the woman standing out like that. And she seems to know where I want to go.
Sarthonn moves quickly in the direction that the old lady indicated, towards the inner square of Clydwell Plaza where the formation is beginning.
I'm working on a Half-Orc Rogue, eventually planning to go Cavalier and Low Templar. Dotting to show interest, will post later.
Here's Wrong John Silver's entry. Once I clean the background, I'll post the introduction.
Still interested.Just busy. Will post entry before WEDNESDAY.
Lethander frowned and rubbed his hand over his bald head.
How on earth did that note get there? He didn't care much for being surprised in such manner, but had to admit he was intrigued by the message.
Abigail, Abigail... Oh yes, the outsider. Half celestial, how could I forget. Well, first step toward finding out what's going would be to show up, no?
At least now he had an actual destination, it'd make navigating through the crowd easier than wandering around aimlessly.
Daylen strode back out of the inn, and into the din of the crowds. Smiling wide, he was always happy to attend Armasse. The last time he had though, it was his father who had brought him. He had been not more than a child then, and had played in the streets with the kids of the city. He remembered pretending to be crusading against imaginary demons with valiant allies in the shady alleys and wide thoroughfares. Daylen had been taller than most of the other children, so he ended up leading them through the tight corners and throngs of people in the streets. When he finally returned home in the cool of the evening, his father would be waiting in the room, a pensive, worried look on his face. Looking back now, he must have given his father such a fright, disappearing for hours at a time. Daylen smiled, letting nostalgia wash over him.
A anxious whinny brought him back to the present. Daylen made his way back to the stable adjacent to the inn. He patted his horse, Keldrom's, head, "I know these cramped walls make you nervous boy, don't worry." He brought the horse out into the daylight and led him by the reins. Uncle Feyzan had told him to reserve their room at the inn, and then take the day for himself. Daylen considered going to see if maybe he could sign up for one of the jousting competitions. Taking Keldrom by the reins on foot, Daylen started to make his way through the crowds. Daylen strode back out of the inn, and into the din of the crowds. Smiling wide, he was always happy to attend Armasse. The last time he had though, it was his father who had brought him. As a child he had played the imaginative
Caelus scans the people moving past him, looking for someone that does not look travel-stained or carrying a great deal, looking for a local. He settles on a mailed woman in the city's livery.
"A moment, my lady? There is a name I have heard, here in the crowd, one that sounds familiar. I am newly arrived, and do not know it: Terendelev, I think it was... Is this a name I should know? One would not wish to give offense through ignorance."
"Ho there, is Valorous ready for the tournament yet?"
Reegar looked up from the horse he was brushing to eye the nobleman silhouetted in the barn door. He contemplated a number of sarcastic answers before responding brightly, "You can take him out now, but give me another five minutes, and he will be far more magnificent to behold."
The nobleman looked out and back at Reegar, just to catch him polishing a patch of his stallion's armor to a brilliant sheen. At that moment, it caught a sunbeam and shone brightly into his patrician face. The noble blinked, maintaining composure and responding, "Ah! I see. Yes, that brightness will do wonders. Do carry on, your work is incredible!" He stepped away, trying to disguise his dazzled vision as swagger.
Reegar grinned wryly, the smallest hint of a tusk showing over his lip. He looked at the impeccably bred steed knowingly, and the two seemed to share a laugh for a moment. He always enjoyed it when he could make others thank him for making them uncomfortable.
He quickly finished preparing Valorous, and led him out to his waiting temporary employer. That was the last steed. He looked back at the empty barn and felt relaxation for the first time that day. Perhaps he could have a chance to compete at something, himself.
He looked himself over. Tall and stocky, with dark wide-set eyes in a full, expansive, bearded but groomed face, most people just ignored his build and ashen tone and assumed he was just a broad, hirsute human instead of a half-orc. He carefully preened, removing the detritus of the barn from his clothing and contemplated the festival. Well, better look the part if you're going to have a chance to compete, Reegar decided, and he donned his chain shirt and falchion and headed out to the main square. As a final touch, he pulled out a pendant from beneath his shirt, a simple wooden dowel, the end of which was painted crimson, slung by a thin rope around his neck. What was he going to find at the festival?
Naravash looks askance at the strange old woman. "Sure. Ok." He pauses, a quizzical look still stiched upon his grey-skinned face, "Yeah. Thanks, I guess." Moving along in the direction he was already headed, incidentally for Clydwell Plaza, he glances back over his shoulder one last time at the odd little woman. His stride lags for a moment when he realizes the old lady is gone.
Huh. I guess Armasse brings out all the weird ones.
Shrugging to himself, he resumes his path through the crowd.
E-Terah squinted into the bright morning sun with a stern scowl that was rife with frustrated dismay.The she-dwarf found herself in the middle of a teeming crowd celebrating some sort of festive event and had absolutley no inkling of where she could be.
I swear to Torag,that is absolutely the last time i hire a mage to send me anywhere.What is this,the fifth time I've been so utterly side tracked?! Where on Golarion am i now? I hope its nowhere nearAgain. the Mana Wastes--the last thing I need is for my magic to elude me and get myself shot...Again.
The she-dwarf sighed in resignation to the fact the very gods themselves seemed determined not to lead her back to her homestead.It had already been six damned months of misadventures where she managed to secure transport that ended up stalled and wrecked and her thrown into one harrowing situation after another. She honestly wondered if Torag and the rest of the dwarven pantheon were leading her around to some unclear destination before they allowed her to finally return home to her family.
Maybe if she discovered another revelation about her Mystery along the way,the pantheon would give her more definitive guidance towards whatever goal they had in mind for her.She stared at her glove encased hands--to protect them from her own ocular powers of producing acidic alkaline salt that didn't harm her but made the skin of her hands dry out and peel in a rather unattractive manner she didn't much care for.
....Hmph. May as well make th' most o' it an' enjoy meself.the she-dwarf's voice was a thickly accented,husky purr as she murmurmed to herself.
The odd she-dwarf waddled her way through the bustling press of bodies that fairly clogged the hard packed dirt streets of settlement,evading elbows and hips from the longshanked humans that wandered past. Those that did see her quickly moved aside at her hard frown,her full lips turning it into a angry pout.
The crest of her Mohawk sliced through the throng like the dorsal fin of a shark. It added nearly another foot to her height of 4'3". Her flaring sideburns framed her face,curling about her high cheekbones. A pair of braided pigtails trailed to her waist,each end capped with a lead barette shaped like a mole.Her fuschia hair earned several blinks and double-takes as it constrasted sharply with her mahogany skin. Eyes the color of warm honey-mead peered out from behind a pair of rectangular wire-rimmed spectacles that sat upon her button nose.
Perception1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
She made her way through the town's square,passing a halfling surrounded by a group of chattering human children who whirled a brow at her. The constant din of conversation and laughter reminded her of the babble a flowing creek made on a pleasant morning. It made her lips curl into a faint smile.
Her leather overtunic with its long flowing skirt resembled a dress that swept over the dusty ground and hugged wide hips suited to her race. A bright yellow blouse with lace edged hem and sleeves,a leather drawstring tied neatly into a bow that sat upon her ample bosom showed where her leather lamellar armor allowed.Hips and braids swinging in sync like a pendelum,the she-dwarf dwarf trudged her way to where she saw a growing gathering of assorted people.
So this here's somewhere in Mendev....and today be Armasse. Festival of the Inheritor. She caught snippets of conversations as she stalked along,piecing things together of what she knew of Golarion's geography to figure out what country she was in.
She found herself unable to see over the backs of taller members of the crowd. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she found a barrel to clamber onto. Crossing her legs under her dress,she scanned the crowd.
Oi,what's this?
She noticed a steady stream of people where making their way towards a square,with a sign in Common reading Clydell Plaza. She hopped down and sauntered her way there,hips rolling instead of waddling in her ponderous gait.
E-Terah Deepheavy
Female dwarf oracle of stone
Her powers as an oracle came abruptly and spectacularly,her copper hair falling out and regrowing as hot pink that would suit a gnome,which has her mistaken for one much to her chagrin.She styles it uniquely into a Mohawk with a pigtail braid trailing to her mid-back capped with a stone crafted into the likeness of a mole.
Her throat constricted painfully,her voice dropping to a husky murmur as she discovered she could only speak and understand Terran that she slips into in times of stress,leading her to adopt to pantomine and exaggerated facial expressions to communicate with others.
She has also developed an at-will ability to produce corrosive acid from her hands,leading her to wear gloves and to control it after accidentally melting a thief's face when she grabbed him in anger.And another Revelation that allows her to shoot a burst of stone shards from her body once a day,which she had used to scare off a small gang of goblins that ambushed her.
The cries of the children with their brightly painted wooden swords only served to brighten his day and make Daylen's memories shine all the brighter. This was why he loved Armasse. The boys and even a couple of girls ran by and their laughter was enough to make him chuckle. He wondered how many would grow to be brave young crusaders for Mendev. Turning back to Keldrom, he was slightly surprised to see his steed so calm in the hands of a stranger. Though . . . no, perhaps she wasn't quite a stranger. Some strange feeling that this old woman was . . . familiar? "Keldrom's quite friendly, your touch seems to have soothed his anxiety in these crowds. My thanks and have a happy Armasse!"
He turned to go, taking Keldrom with him. He had the urge to glance back to see that old woman once more, perhaps to ask her name, but he pushed it out of his mind and wondered down the street. After visiting a few merchant stalls, getting a rather delicious hot dish from a street vendor, and admiring a few performers doing a rather lewd reenactment of the First Crusade, Daylen finally found his way to Clydwell Plaza. Keldrom had been happy as a clam since meeting that woman, despite the crowds. "Well boy, that old lady sure improved your spirits." He looked forward to the inner square but could barely see what might await him due to the massive throngs of people. Thinking to the old woman once more, he moved slowly to the center, he muttered to himself, "I wonder where I might have met her before, and what had she meant about childhood dreams?"
I'm game for whatever. I like to work what i'm given. Let's have fun being awesome!
Wait, should we table-three'ers also PM?
Seems we're already kind of already set up.
Might need a tank, though... Hm.
Wait, should we table-three'ers also PM?
Seems we're already kind of already set up.
Might need a tank, though... Hm.
I think we need one. Let's each PM the GM with our choice.
Just a few days to wait before her first real mission. The thought of going back to the worldwound sent shivers in Katia spine as she dressed herself for the ceremony. But she was not sure yet if excitation or fear was the dominant expression.
"Come on", she willed herself, "This time, you won't be alone, exhausted and hungry. And you've learnt a lot about those beasts and yourself. This is what you trained for and you must find what happened to your village or... maybe to your mother. This will be the first step."
Straightening herself, she looked into the mirror of the small room she occupied in the large house hosting the clergy of Desna in Kenabres. The woman she saw in the glass did not look like the exhausted and frightened girl that arrived her 6 years ago. Fitting trousers and boots, matching shirt under a worn studded leather armor. All in dull gray, unlabelled and as common as possible. eyes traveling up, she settled on the plain face of the woman, long flowing dark hair and golden eyes with a large round pupil similar to those of the eagles.
Grabbing a stuffed pack, she pried out the cover, fishing out a worn tabbard of Desna before putting it on. "Got to show the colors today of all days. Then it's back to black", she thought with a last look at the mirror. at her belt, she attached a wicked looking morning star on one side and two quivers on the other.
With a decided gait, she exited the room and use and took the direction of the Cathedral where the benediction were taking place. This was the last step of her training. While the actual ceremony already took place in the house, the blessing performed by a cleric of Desna, her new position as a scout required her to attend the one of the Iomedae clergy before being assigned to her unit. Then it was down to the archery contests to observe the masters and back to the Crusaders' camp to get her assignment.
will look over things today and send it. got busy last night...
I think I'm going to drop my application. I have too much going on at the moment and I am not sure how I should really introduce my character let alone keep my interest in how the recruitment is going. So I shall pull out, happy gaming!
Sarthonn makes it to the inner square of Clydwell Plaza and sees a group beginning to form up.
Clearing his throat, he stands up straight and announces loudly "Watch Sergeant, Sarthonn Elenviel reporting for duty!"
An older man in an ornate uniform turns to face Sarthonn. As the man completes his motion, Sarthonn makes a half-hearted salute.
The man moves close to Sarthonn, stopping with his face only inches from Sarthonn's and says gruffly, "Just in time. Five minutes later and I'd have you mucking stables for being AWOL. Get in line and try not to fall over."
"Yes, Sergeant!" replied Sarthonn as he walked to formation.
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The flames flickered from the tavern's fireplace tempting its guests with promise of warmth and comfort. In the furthest corner of the room, Zakon sat cross-legged on the floor enveloped by shadows. A fine beaver fur cloak overlapped his tunic with matching embroidered deer skinned breeches and oily black boots. His clothing was better suited from his recent long journey north and sweat began to bead on his forehead near two protruding horns. A quiver strap and bow string made a X on across his thin chest. He sat slowly drinking hot jasmine tea with a bit of honey and pondered his future.
I'm lucky to be alive, he thought as his forked tongue tasted nourishment for the first time in a week. Tonight, I will eat a cup of potato soup and the maybe half of a garlic roasted rabbit in the morning. Ambition only rewards the patient. A wide smile formed revealing two large fangs remembering his former master's words. Zakon took much satisfaction in passing his final test. He escaped training alive.
Tomorrow also marked an important day. It is the anniversary of his second chance when he deserved none. His heart was cold and bitter then. He distrusted everyone and let anger rule his actions. Strength and purpose began to warm his bones more than any fire or bowl of soup could. The knots in his stomach loosened as the honey melted the rawness in his throat. Tomorrow, will be great day. I will keep my vow and offer my services to fight the demon horde. Devon's sacrifice in the fourth crusade will not be in vain.
Zakon awoke very early in the morning to groom and bathe the month long journey away. He wanted to make an positive impression with the new recruits and perhaps capture the attention of prominent crusauder. I'd better be prepared for confrontation. They may mistake me for spy on the wrong side of the battlefield. Or someone could remember my face from the gallows two years ago. Abadar, please give me your strength and courage. Zakon strolls to the Clydwell Plaza with a heavy fur cloak hiding his visage to enlist as a Crusader.
Thanks, I look forward to playing with everyone!