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Jumpin' Jack Smash
Name: Thealora Justinia
Class: Cleric of Mirros
STR 11; 0
DEX 13; 1
CON 14; 2
INT 14; 2
WIS 16; 3
CHA 15; 2
AC 11 (I have not added armor yet)
Escape Artist: 1
Gather Information: 2
Move Silently: 1
Sense Motive: 3
Use Rope: 1
Wilderness Lore: 3
First Aid Kit
Cleric's Vestments (Worn)
5 pints Lantern Oil
Small Leather Pouch w/ Various Herbs
1 week supply of Trail Rations
Wooden Holy Symbol of Mirros
Book of Holy Scripture - Mirros
Widam's Sapphire Holy Symbol of Mirros
Ketch - 25
Silvers - 9
Alertness: +2 bonus on all listen and spot checks
Spell Focus (Conjuration): Spells in that school are more potent
Healing: Can cast healing spells at +1 caster level
>b>Protection: Can generate a protective ward (spell-like ability) to grant someone you touch a resistance bonus on their next saving throw equal to your level. Abjuration effect that lasts 1 hr per day.
Thealora has lived a rather sheltered life. While she has seen the results of violence she has not witnessed much violence first hand. Confrontation, especially in a physical manner, is something she greatly fears. In line with that weapons are also something very foreign and fearful to her personally.
For as long as she can remember she has idolized the priests of Mirros and hopes to one day be so favored in the light of the Goddess to join their ranks.
Jeorum Justinia, Thea’s older brother, was slain during a bar fight when was 8 years old. It was a senseless killing over whether or not a glass of ale had been drunk or spilled. The man responsible for his death was executed for the crime. Two lives were lost, one of which was very dear to her. Not long after this incident she devoted her life to Mirros.
Above all else she is devoted to non-violent means of solving problems. She is not quiet naïve enough to believe there will never be disputes among people, but does believe that all should strive to rise above the desire to hurt and kill as a means of resolving those disputes.
Thea has a penchant for sweets, especially baked sweets. Often her pockets are filled with cookies and presented with cakes or tarts she simply cannot help but to take more than her share of the delectable morsels.
She is what one would consider to be a very ‘virtuous’ young lady. She will not swear, loose her temper, drink, or in any way sully her ‘honor’. Perhaps her most notable virtue, however, is her kindness. Even to those who have wronged her in some way she is always disarmingly sweet and humble.
*In a nutshell she is the kind of person whom you wish you could hate, and would if they would stop being so perfectly sweet all of the time.
At 17 years old, standing 5’4” with pale skin, shockingly red hair, freckles and green eyes Thealora is simply adorable. There is still a very childlike aspect to her face and to her mannerisms. She dresses very simply in a pale blue gown with a white belt around her waist, a full length white cloak graces her shoulders. On the belt is a small pouch in which she carries the implements she needs to fulfill her duties as a healer. She carries no weapons.
Thealora is the second, and youngest, child of Portenya and Havrahm Justinia. The family has a small home outside of Vyrrmas. Havrahm provides for his family by doing carpenter work, he is capable of doing just about anything with wood, although his real gift is with making beautiful wooden furniture. A few noble houses in Vyrrmas have a piece or two that have been polished under his fingers. Her mother is a dutiful housewife.
For the most part Thea has lived a very peaceful and harmonius life. Until the past year the most tragic thing that had ever happened to her was the death of her older brother Jeorum. Jeorum was eight years older than her. When she was seven years old her mother came to wake her and with the harsh winter sun bearing through the window told her that her brother had gotten in a fight the night before in a tavern. He was dead. The man who killed him had been arrested and was scheduled for execution at the end of the week. The loss of her brother was difficult on the young girl. It was made more difficult due to the senselessness of it.
As she placed flowers upon her brother’s fresh grave she promised to him that she would keep his memory forever and shortly after she began to visit the temple to Mirros regularly. With the guidance of the priest there she began to find peace once again and has since come to the realization that her brother’s murder has led her to Mirros.
When the plague arrived she went with the local priest up North, under the strong protest of her parents. She still had little training in the healing arts but they needed all the help they could get. She did her best to simply watch, learn and assist where necessary. Most of her tasks involved changing linens, kitchen duty, and simply comforting those being tended to. As hope seemed to fade and the sickness spread across the country she again followed the priest south.
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:02:24.
Edited on 2010-01-23 at 10:21:12 by Tek
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Name: Igni Stonelighter
Con: 14+2 Racial= 16
Cha: 17-2 Racial=15
Speed 20 ft
Knowledge Duskan history- 4/2+2=4
Summon Familiar- Raven speaks dwarves
Low light vision
Spells- known 4 lvl 0 2 lvl 1 spells per day 5 lvl 0 3 lvl 1
Equipped equipment 4+4+2=10x9= 90 starting gold
Padded armor- +1 AC, 5% spell failure, 10lbs, 5gp
Heavy Crossbow- 1d10 dam, 19-20/x2 crit, 8lbs piercing, 120 ft range, 50 gp
Bolts 40 4gp, 4lb
Shortspear- 1d6 dam, x2 crit, 20 ft. range, 3lb piercing, 1gp
Pouch with strips of cured leather- 5gp
Acoustic guitar- 5gp
Entertainer’s outfit- 3gp
1 week trail rations- 3 gp 5sp
Left over money 12 gp 4sp
Phobia- Scared of being trapped. Not really claustrophobic because Igni has no fear of close spaces but lock a door, cause a cave in, tie him up, block the exit he’s terrified to tears and irrational behavior. Igni has acquired a new phobia of getting caught as an arcane spell caster.
Ambition: Igni’s ambition is to become a near god so he doesn’t have to lose anyone else and maybe he can bring back those he did lose.
Motivation: Igni lives to live. As it was the last wish of his people he lives because they asked him to.
Obsession: Igni is obsessed with gaining more power. If only he had more power when his people came down with the sickness. If only he had more power when his father was trapped in the cave in. If only he had more power when the necromancer attacked his clan and his mother died at the hands of a skeleton. One day he will not fail to save those he loves, if he ever loves anyone again.
Vice: Igni’s vice is selfishness. He shares nohing and gives nothing away waning to hold onto what little he has left.
Virtue: Dedicated. Having lost everyone he cares for Igni will throw his life away in the defense of anyone who calls him friend or brother.
Igni has lived a hard and troublesome life, especially for a dwarf. His clan mined an iron mine where his father worked. His mother was the clan’s history keeper and storyteller. His early years were much like any other Duskarni. Full of him helping his parents and getting into trouble. When he was about 15 human years he began manifesting powers. Nothing too strange and it wasn’t entirely unheard of amongst his family. He learned to move small objects with his mind and encompass stones in light. His mother recognized the signs and showed him how to meditate on the astral plane to gain more power. She counseled patience saying that power was dangerous and not easily bestowed by the gods. She was right power wasn’t easily given, and it never seemed to arrive in time to help. A year after Igni began manifesting his father was trapped in a cave in caused by an earthquake. His father wasn’t killed in the cave in; he was killed slowly by starvation and thirst while the clan attempted to dig him out. The sight of his father, usually a large jolly dwarf, shrunken half decayed was scarring to a young Igni. It was that day that Igni first asked himself ‘with wondrous powers, why was I sill useless?” but that wouldn’t be the last time. Several years later a necromancer with a grudge against all dwarven kind paid a visit to the clan. He raised the clan’s graveyard and commanded them to attack the village. Igni as a part of the village militia had helped free the mine of goblins. gnolls, and kobolds, but those enemies didn’t fill
Igni with as much hate and unease as the dead apparitions before him. The undead ravaged the village killing many including Igni’s mother who died defending a child. That was the second time Igni felt hat if only he was stronger, more powerful things would have been different. The third time was when the Scarlet Fever struck. The clan had been trading with a small human settlement for years and so was fairly abreast of the news of the surrounding area, so they knew when the first case struck the doom hey were witnessing. Igni went into his favorite cave to meditate and find the answer to this curse. He spent days concentrating on the astral plane that granted him his powers, praying to the gods for the power to heal his people. He did not at that time realize there was a difference between his power and the power of a priest. His powers being arcane and him being largely inexperienced Igni found no cure. He returned to his clan to find that they were all infected. He was denied entrance into the village. The clan elder sat at the village gate and bade Igni to leave the doomed valley and survive that at least the clan would not perish by the hands of a disease.. Heartbroken Igni obeyed his elder. What was he supposed to do? When the elders spoke young dwarves listened. He journeyed lost for a time until he came to the decision that the reason an entire clan of Duskarn dwarves could succumb to such a sickness was because there was no god to look after them and so Igni would become a god and watch over his people. To that effect he began his search for power arriving at a prominent library he learned a little of the basics of arcane magic. Then the law against arcane spell casters came into effect. Deciding that he couldn’t be a god if he was captured or killed Igni turned to the one disguise he had, a dwarven storyteller after the custom of his mother. He has wandered a little after the law hoping to hear rumor of anything that will grant him more and greater power. He still meditates on the astral in hopes that he may gain some insight into more power, and dodges the witch hunts largely by not flaunting his power and keeping a lower profile.
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:03:10.
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Name: Agrin Stoneoath
Player: Grugg/ Vilyamar
Race: Dwarf (Krosan)
Class: Cleric 1
Alignment: Lawful Good
Str 14 (+2)
Dex 11 (+0)
Con 18 (+4)
Int 13 (+1)
Wis 18 (+4)
Cha 8 (-1)
AC: 16 (10 Touch, 16 Flat Footed)
Weapon: Heavy Mace
To Hit: +2
Weapon: Light Crossbow
To Hit: +0
Damage: 1d8/19-20, x2
Concentration +8 (4 ranks, +4 Con)
Craft (Armoursmithing) +7 (+4 ranks, +1 Int, +2 Racial)
Knowledge (Religion) +5 (+4 ranks, +1 Int)
Dwarven, Common, Gnome
Darkvision up to 90ft. Krosan spend most of their lives in the dark halls of their homes beneath the earth, and have accordingly developed proper retinal receptors to deal with it.
+2 on all Craft or Profession checks related to stonework, metallurgy, forging, and gemcutting. Krosan are particularly talented artisans, and their social structuring involves many guilds related to such practices.
+2 to detecting hidden doors when crafted from stone.
+2 bonus to attack rolls when combating Orcs, Goblinoids, Troglodytes, and Minotaurs, due to specialized battle training.
+4 bonus to attack rolls and AC when combating Delvers and Bulettes, as specialized training is mandatory to repel these frequent invaders of their mountain halls.
Bright Light Stun: Since Krosan are so used to seeing in the dark, the sudden introduction of bright light will cause them to be Dazed for two rounds while they clear the stars from their eyes. Once their eyes adapt, they are immune to this until returning to the darkness once more.
Extreme Racism: Partially incurred by their chosen seclusion from the world, Krosan are exceptionally racist towards most other races, excluding Duskarn and Gnomes. While cooperation with others is generally possible, a group of rock dwarves in the company of those of different races will almost always speak their native language to shut out the others, and generally do not listen to suggestions. Furthermore, their natural gruff tendencies tend to cause them to speak what they think of others without hesitation, which generally contains a plethora of racial slurs.
When an exchange of ideas takes place between a Krosan and a member of another race, the Krosan must pass a will save to hold his tongue, or he’ll throw down a racial remark in contempt. This almost always turns the debate bitter, and will generally result in hostilities shown towards the dwarf (And often his party!). The DC adjusts accordingly based upon the situation. Furthermore, a Krosan is generally reluctant to make use of products produced by members of other races (Armour and weapons, drink, jewelry, etc.), though depending on the situation, this may be ignored.
Turn Undead 2/day
Turn Air Creatures 2/day (Earth Domain)
Rebuke Earth Creatures 2/day (Earth Domain)
Protective Ward (Protection Domain)
Known Monsters: Minotaurs, Earth Elementals, Mind Flayers, Ogre, Skeletons
Phobia: Deep Water
Ambition: Isolation, safety and prosperity for the Krosan Clans.
Motivation: Returning to his clan
Obsession: Reading/Reciting Religious Scriptures
Vice: Superiority Complex
Virtue: Extreme Piousness
Spell Save DC 14 + Spell Level
Spells per Day:
0 – 3
1st – 2 + 1 Domain Spell
Gear: Heavy Mace, Light Crossbow, Scale Mail, Large Steel Shield, Silvered Holy Symbol, Spell Component Pouch, 20 Bolts, 2 days Rations, Cleric’s Robes, Backpack, Bedroll, Flint and Steel, Religious Texts.
Agrin stands 4’4” and is a stocky 185lbs. While his head is shaved, his black beard is long and thick, woven into long braids held together by a bronze clasp. Almost a century of living within a mountain has left his skin a pale white, a stark contrast to his deep black eyes. When unarmoured he prefers earthy tones and functional clothing, as well as wearing his clerical robes whenever the situation is permitting. While his armour is otherwise unremarkable, his shield, as is standard from his church, bears the world emblem of Hamar, a silvered holy symbol through which he channels his spells.
The Stoneoath clan had provided their underground home dedicated servants of Hamar for twelve generations, and it would come as no surprise that Agrin would feel the call of the divine at an early age. The majority of his youth was spent in the custody of his father, being groomed for the life of a clergyman. When he was of proper age and maturity, his father submitted him to the church for training.
Consuming lore and scripture at a ravenous pace, he was taught the teachings in the tradition of his family, a more earthen philosophy that focused on clan unity and superiority through stone-like resilience. By the time he was a full fledged member of the clergy Agrin could recite the majority of the passages from heart, and his passion and dedication soon caught the eye of the senior members of the order. He was granted clerical training, taught to allow the divine power of the earth itself to flow through him while encased in the heavy metal armour of his people.
As time passed, news of the plague reached his people, and concern was raised over the safety of the dwarves of An’Kessta, forced to live among humans following the explosion which had destroyed one of the proud mountain range’s many peaks. It was decided by the senior clerics that the human’s were not to be trusted with a cure in this dire circumstance, and Agrin was selected to travel with a cadre of clerics to Vyrrmas and administer the cure to those dwarves that had been infected. Though he was loath to leave and live among the lesser races, he begrudgingly accepted, confident in the fact that his patron would not keep him away from his people for an extended period of time.
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:04:16.
Edited on 2010-03-12 at 06:54:25 by Tek
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Mith’Ganni (Twilight Elf) Ranger 1
Str 13 (+1)
Dex 18 (+4)
Con 14 (+2)
Int 13 (+1)
Wis 13 (+1)
Cha 11 (+0)
Hit points: 12 (=10+2)
AC: 16 (+4 Dex, +2 Armour)
Base Attack: +1
Phobia: Autophobia (Fear of being alone).
Ambition: To survive and find a cure, this could be achieved by just living in one place but he's always been a nomad. He secretly wishes to rejoin his tribe but knows he can’t without a cure to Flashfever.
Motivation: To never be alone (be the last of his race), to find an effective cure for Flashfever.
Obsession: Survival of the Fittest, this idea has played such an important role in his life.
Vice: Is all too happy to leave behind those that fall or fall behind. Whenever he stops for the night or to work or whatever other reason he must have an open (camp) fire, it gives him a sense of belonging. He will not settle in one place for more than a few weeks.
Virtue: He has very strong ideals of community and companionship, would willingly go out of his way to help someone he considers a companion.
Languages: Elven (Mith’Ganni Dialect), Common (Alcanese, Mercrean)
Animal Empathy 1 [=1+0+0]
Appraise -1 [=0+1-2]
Craft (Durable Clothing) 3 [=0+1+2]
Craft (Bow making) 3 [=2+1+0]
Handle Animal 6 [=4+0+2]
Hide 5 [=1+4+0]
Intuit Direction 2 [=1+1+0]
Knowledge (Nature) 2 [=1+1+0]
Move Silently 5 [=1+4+0]
Ride 10 [=4+4+2]
Sense Motive -1 [=0+1-2]
Wilderness Lore 5 [=4+1+0]
Weapon Proficiency (Simple, Martial)
Armour Proficiency (Light, Medium, Shields)
Ambidexterity (When wearing light or no armour)
Two-Weapon Fighting (When wearing light or no armour)
Melee 1: Longsword +2 (1d8+1), 19-20x2
Melee 2: Handaxe +2 (1d6+1), x3
Ranged 1: Shortbow +5 (1d6), 60ft, x3
Combat Options: Two-weapon Fighting (-2, -2), Favoured Enemy (Gnolls +1)
Known Monsters: Bullete, Centaurs, Goblins, Hill Gaints, Orcs, Ogres, Worgs, Gnolls
50 Arrows Maxed out
Belt Pouch (Contains 7 Gold, 18 Silver and 10 Copper coin)
Flint and Steel
Money Pouch (As belt pouch, worn under arm, but contains 60 gold)
Trail Rations (4 days)
Gold - 67
Racial Traits: +2 Dex, +2 Con, -2 Int, -4 Cha, +2 Ride, +2 Handle Animal, +2 Craft (Durable Clothing), -2 Appraise, -2 Sense Motive, Restless Spirit, Immune to sleep magic, +2 saving throw bonus against Enchantment, May sleep for four hours instead of the normal eight, Low-light Vision, Automatic Languages: Elven (Mith'ganni Dialect), Common
Class Traits: Weapon Proficiency (Simple, Martial), Armour Proficiency (Light, Medium, Shields), Ambidexterity and Two-weapon Fighting when wairing light or no armour, Track Bonus Feat, Favoured Enemy (Gnolls)
Daily activities changed as the seasons passed. Spring would be preparing for the hunt, summer the hunt, autumn time would be spent salting meat and gathering fruit, roots and nuts, and winter would be spent in the woods trading. A day wouldn’t pass without numerous hours of work. A good deal of time was spent horse riding, we are a proud people of the horse, or playing with cousins or siblings, a favourite game of ours was a scavenger hunt that would take place every time the clan moved it’s campsite. In hindsight this game was a cleaver way to teach us how and where to find food and for the clan to scout the area for herbs or local animal. A good deal of time was spent learning from the elders about the history of the Mith’ganni and how to defend the tribe, occasionally one or more of us were taken on hunting parties to learn how to provide food and use weapons. The main danger posed to the clan where ever they went were gnolls, tribes of gnolls would wander the plains as his clan did. When practicing archery or combat we were taught specifically how to fight and track gnolls, we did not hate them but we needed to know how to defend ourselves.
As children we were taught by the elders that life is sacred, or to better describe, that life and sacred are the same thing. You can never ask permission to take a life as it is the one thing no creature should ever have to give up, to live is always better then to die, so you must ask forgiveness and if you honour your enemies then you will be forgiven. We were also taught never to disgrace ourselves; all life is equal and every action causes joy to some and pain to others and that it is the pain we will cause that we should be mindful of. Our upbringing showed us the beauty of nature but I could never see it, all I could see was struggle and suffering. The gods are incontestable so the actions of their followers are to keep the balance of the world, arcane magic stems from no god. Arcane magic is the pursuit of power by those hungry for it; it throws a shadow over the natural order and disturbs it where its foot falls.
It was only midway through Mairon that we learnt of Flashfever, our dwindling existence was put at great risk by this plague. The elders decided we could only spare one of the clan; all of the youth - that is my generation - put our names forward. The elders picked me to leave the clan and search for a cure, they said I should go because I was the best rider and showed the most promise of meeting them in a year’s time at the winter camp in the woods of Alcana. That’s where I rode for, I left the clan and for the first time the side of my twin sister. The birth of twins was a joyous event among any Mith’ganni clan, with dwindling numbers and death was mourned but any life celebrated, it was said that the birth of twins brought two hundred years of good fortune upon the clan. I hope the belief holds true.
My clan has good connections with the centaurs, a tribe within the woods in Alcana, so that’s where I first headed. Our winter campsite is on their territory and we regularly trade with them so I was hoping that they could help me. The centaurs told me of the cure found by the priests last month but that it wasn’t as successful as the humans had believed, none of their number had died of Flashfever so they didn’t know what exactly the cure was, no one from the city had approached them with an offer and they saw no reason to seek it out as they hadn’t been affected. My hope is that my clan will not be affected like the centaurs have not been. As thanks for the hospitality of the centaurs and for the extra food that they provided me with I left them Caleviel, the horse I had ridden, and started my journey to the city on foot and alone. Upon leaving the centaurs they blessed me with a name in their own tongue, Éofara, meaning horse traveller and I honour them by using it. Travelling to the city I found what I was like to be truly alone, cut off, for all you know the last man alive, I hated it but I kept travailing. Night was the best time, under the stars and with the flickering light of Thosi gave me a sense of belonging. I belonged under the stars and Thosi kept me company as my clan once did.
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:07:24.
Edited on 2010-02-05 at 23:00:46 by Tek
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Class: Rogue 1
Weight : 90 lbs
Hair : a dusty brown
Alignment – Chaotic Good
Strength – 13 + 1
Dexterity – 17 + 3
Constitution – 15 + 2
Intelligence - 11
Wisdom – 13 + 1
Charisma – 16 + 3
Fortitude - + 0 + 2 = 2
Reflex - + 2 + 3 = 5
Will - + 0 + 1 = 1
Initiative – 3
Base Attack - 0
Ac- 10 + 2 + 3 = 15
Feat- Ambidexterity + Bonus (alertness)
Special – Sneak Attack
Skill points – 32
Gp – 4
Alchemy Int 0 0
Animal Empathy Cha 3 3
Appraise * Int 0 0
Balance * (#) Dex 3 3
Bluff * Cha 7 3 4
Climb * (#) Str 5 1 4
Concentration * Con 2 2
Craft * Int 0 0
Craft * Int 0 0
Decipher Script Int 0 0
Diplomacy * Cha 3 3
Disable Device Int 0 0
Disguise * Cha 3 3
Escape Artist * (#) Dex 7 3 4
Forgery * Int 0 0
Gather Information * Cha 7 3 4
Handle Animal Wis 1 1
Heal * Wis 1 1
Hide * (#) Dex 4 3 1
Innuendo Wis 1 1
Intimidate * Cha 3 3
Intuit Direction Wis 1 1
Jump * (#) Str 1 1
Knowledge Int 0 0
Knowledge Int 0 0
Knowledge Int 0 0
Knowledge Int 0 0
Knowledge Int 0 0
Listen * Wis 7 1 4 2
Move Silently * (#) Dex 7 3 4
Open Lock Dex 7 3 4
Perform * Cha 3 3
Perform * Cha 3 3
Perform * Cha 3 3
Perform * Cha 3 3
Perform * Cha 3 3
Pick Pocket (#) Dex 3 3
Profession Wis 1 1
Profession Wis 1 1
Read Lips Int 0 0
Ride * Dex 3 3
Scry * Int 0 0
Search * Int 3 0 3
Sense Motive * Wis 1 1
Spellcraft Int 0 0
Spot * Wis 5 1 2 2
Swim * (%) Str 1 1
Tumble (#) Dex 5 3 2
Use Magic Device Cha 3 3
Use Rope * Dex 3 3
Wilderness Lore * Wis 1 1
Weapon - Dagger x 2 (1d4, crit 19-20/x2, 10ft. 1lb, tiny, piercing)
Shortbow (1d6/x3 crit, 60ft. 2lbs, medium size, piercing)
Armor – Leather +2 Ac speed 30ft. 15lbs.
Backpack with waterskin, bedroll, 3 days rations, sack, flint and steel, thieves’ tools, hooded lantern and three pints of oil. Sweets.
Phobia – Being alone (this refers to things like walking through a forest alone at night, not moving through a crowded city by herself)
Ambition – To raise her skills to the level of her mentor or greater
Motivation – Find the women who abandoned her again
Obsession – sweets (had none until she was taken under her mentor’s wing, and now she’s addicted)
Vice – Trusts no one. She may follow or work with other people, but she will never trust them.
Virtue – Refuses to abandon those in need (doesn’t like seeing her own situation repeated).
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:09:10.
Edited on 2010-02-05 at 23:02:41 by Tek
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Joseph David Gabriel Feroz
Name: Joseph David Gabriel Feroz
STR 12; 1
DEX 14; 2
CON 14; 2
INT 13; 1
WIS 17; 3
CHA 10; 0
Animal Empathy 3 (3+0)
Concentration 5 (3+2)
Handle Animal 3 (3+0)
Heal 6 (3+3)
Intuit Direction 6 (3+3)
Knowledge (nature) 5 (4+1)
Wilderness Lore 7 (4+3)
Point Blank Shot
4 extra skill points at first level
1 skill point at each subsequent level
Bonus feat at first level (point blank shot)
Animal Companion (see below for Tristessa, the wolf's, stats)
Short Bow (2 lbs.)
Arrows (20) (3 lbs.)
Quarterstaff (4 lbs.)
Knife (2 lbs.)
Waterskin (4 lbs.)
Backpack (2 lbs.)
Traveler’s Outfit (5 lbs.)
2 Days of Trail Rations (2 lbs.)
Book of Poems by Rico Lorca Garcia Fede (2 lbs.)
Beginning Gold: 45 gp.
Remaining Gold: 5 gp. remaining
Total Weight: 26 lbs. (light load)
-One Handed: at.b. 1; dam. 1d6+1; crit. x2.
-Two Handed: at.b. -3/-7; dam. 1d6+1/1d6+1; crit. x2.
Short Bow (with wooden arrows)
-Target w/out Metal Armour: at.b. 3; dam. 1d6; crit. x3
-Target w/ Metal Armour: at.b. 2; dam. 1d6-1; crit. x3
Knife: at.b. 1; dam. 1d4+1; crit. 19-20/x2.
Spells per Day
Cure Minor Wounds
Purify Food and Drink
Cure Light Wounds
Hit Points: 15
Speed: 50 ft.
AC: 14 (10+2 dex+2 natural)
Str. 13; 1
Dex. 15; 2
Con. 15; 2
Int. 2; -4
Wis. 12; 1
Cha. 15; 2
Bite: at.b. +3; dam. 1d6+1
Move Silently 4
Wilderness Lore 1 (5 when tracking by scent)
Weapon Finesse (Bite)
Joseph has a constant desire for an ever-closer proximity with nature. He years to spend each day in the wildernesses of the world, learning its well kept secrets in finer detail with each passing moment. Though he maintains a similar affection for people (of all races) he regards them merely as an extension of the natural world and their grotesque cities and they abominable buildings they spend their lives in creates an agitated restlessness in Joseph. Perhaps not a phobia but he becomes something like a caged animal when the streets of city envelop him and the walls of a building shut out bare back of the world he loves so dearly. An unhealthy aggression and inattentiveness overtake his normally calm, good nature, when this claustrophobia steals his focus.
Joseph's absolute obsession with nature allows all other matters to fall away as unimportant. The timeless shifting of a world far beyond the pitiful practices of politics and people have volumes of interest for Joseph. No popular success or accomplishment interests him, however he feels himself completely ignorant of a world, which he bears an unending, aching love for. Each passing moment he spends amidst the trees or deserts or mountains that blanket the planet which Joseph populates, leaves him ever more conscious of this inadequacy. He yearns to be one with nature and shed the pathetic human concerns that addle his brain. He wishes to rid himself of the thoughts of past and future that clutter the space, which should be devoted, exclusively, to nature. It is hard to fully understand this ambition of his, however, secretly he desires to be welcomed into the pantheon of the world, and become a god of nature in his own rite.
Clearly, Joseph has an unequaled passion for the natural world. He wishes to see every corner of Baelenoa and understands the secrets of every quiet and hidden nook and cranny of the world. He desires to know the entirety of the planet with an unparalleled wisdom, and also considers silently to follow in the footsteps of Rico Garcia Lorca Fede, just as these poems have driven him on his travels down the many paths of Baelenoa that have seen his feet, he wishes to perhaps compose his own book of poetry someday to inspire the people to forgot their meaningless lives and embrace nature.
Baelenoa, stripped of the plague that is the people's industrial and technological progress. He may perhaps one day come to respect the ability to harness the energies he has such a devout respect for but currently his obsession is with the natural world. He has an unending focus on all of its aspects, from the smallest of things to the cosmos, the sheet of stars that envelop Baelenoa.
Joseph has an odd relationship to all other people. Whether this is a vice is arguable, but it certainly acts in order to create dislike for him amongst others. Joseph has a hard time understanding other's emotional engagement and interest in each other. He is rarely affected by anything people say to him emotionally and assumes a similar indifference from his fellow conscious beings. This leads him to often abandon others, disregard them and answer bluntly honestly to anything he's asked. Though he can often see into the souls of people, he has a naive conviction that everyone is essentially good and will often appeal to this as well, not quite understanding evil intentions as being at the core of people. He will do whatever he desires to do and assumes that others will do the same, he isn't concerned with what they do and expects the same.
The vice of Joseph is irrevocably entangled with his virtue. He cannot help but perceive all beings as equals. He bears no prejudice to any other race and is extremely intrigued to meet all walks of life, he is excited by all the subtle differences they bear and can't understand why they would incite racism. He will not patronize people but treat them all with the same respect he bears for nature, he will care for physical harm in the same way he will in the wild, however will be completely incompetent to care for people in emotional crisis and assumes solitude is the only cure. He also has an extremely thick skin and an ability to laugh at almost all situations, but this can be taken as arrogance or as an inability to see into the seriousness of an occasion.
Joseph David Gabriel Feroz appeared an outsider the moment he entered the world. He was an odd blend of both his parents, standing just noticeably shorter than his elder brother. His hair rapidly grew long and thick, the black locks hanging about his shoulders and framing his skin coloured brightly pale. His eyes were sharp and striking, hued as a ghostly azure. They were quick, rapidly investigating the world around him. They had a ferocious curiousity and an unrelenting insight, an unwavering gaze that was at once strong and inquisitive. His nose was narrow but pointed out sharply giving his features a quality of force that was almost regal. Surrounding his bright red lips was an unkempt beard that lunged down his jawline and around his mouth in long, dark, thick curls. He didn’t bear the strength of his brother, appearing more thin than muscular with his shoulders that fell away into arms quickly, which were long and wired with lean muscle and veins. Many mistook his frame for being delicate but he showed a hardiness not seen in any other member of his family, including his brother.
Nature Sense allows Joseph to know all animals on sight
The Town of Lloboe
Lloboe was a quaint hamlet of tiny houses and huts gathered around a lively market that, every day, saw the same faces come and go for the friends and the trade. A selection of family farms skirted the village in and food was driven in daily and dispersed in exchange for other simple goods set up in the kaleidoscope of kiosks. Almost every townsperson had a stand of their own where they spent their lives peddling common needs and that which their skilled hands were adept at crafting before passing the makeshift shop of wood and cloth onto their children. The sun rose and set on this simple life that existed in silence on the south-eastern border of Telim Tak.
The Llobans shared the skin of pale pearls with their Kirvass brethren who occupied similar small towns riddled throughout the area. Their hair fell around their shoulders in slight waves seeming obsidian beside the fair skin. Their eyes had a piercing, blue quality that sat on either end of their sharp noses. Lips of rubies joined the firm jaw that lined their faces and held the features together. The male Llobans were tall men of lean muscle. This belied their hardiness and ability to live a life of quiet contentedness off of a land of harsh beauty. They often bore thick dark beards that seemed like black wreaths about their cadaverous faces. Like the desert flowers, the Llobans were known for the elegance and grace of their woman, their gorgeous features rippling across the Delmarian landscape as rumors.
The Desert Rose, the solitary inn stood smiling over the market, warmly welcomed its neighbors as patrons every night. She was also pleased to meet the small array of travelers and tourists that passed through for the sights or the rest stop. So, the life of the Llobans went unbothered from one generation to the next, quiet tales of these beautiful, simple people spreading slowly through the lands in passing and leaving them to their lifestyle.
This tale is all but forgotten, none but the enigmatic Vicario Tribe remember the kind gentleman or the lovely women of Lloboe. Even the ground that once moaned with the gashes and burns that the All-Saints War left, when it swept across the land, has forgotten the charred spots that held farmhouses or shop stands. Time has eventually stolen even the memory of the wound, which land once nursed from its bleeding and its weeping, that was the Desert Rose.
The Vicario Tribe
The war came like a devil, scorched the earth and stole the homes of many. For years the land cried in pain as flames ravaged her beauty and families wept while death crept into their lives and snatched them away one by one. Delmaria was a new kind of continent when the fighting had finally breathed its last and it bore peoples torn apart by hate and suspicion, who spent their days wrestling the land for some rite of life.
The people of Lloboe, carefree though they were, wore their stubborn streak like a badge of honor and when men went through bearing tales of terror that was sweeping towards them with a vicious wrath their heels sunk deeper into their homes and their jaws became set against the shadow that made its way towards them. The battle of Lloboe was a slaughter quickly forgotten beside the legions of towns who saw similar fates with the same brief flicker of determination, quickly blown out by the swinging axe that cut them down and left them nothing but a list of stunted towns in the annals of history.
However, another history lives on in the close companions that make up the nomadic merchant clan, the Vicario Tribe. When the armies trampled over that small flower that was Lloboe a tiny resistance stood against them with a scattered collection of swords and sickles. Though many lives were blotted out beneath the harsh sun, and other bodies found themselves in shackles, sent back to prisons that took them in with grimaces and dark looks, there was a small collection of men who escaped and hid while the smoke of their smoldering existence curled towards them.
When the armies had left and the boot of war had crushed their small civilization, the people were pulled from their shelter into the bright sun that now showed a malicious countenance, looking down upon them with blunt honesty and laying the wounds that were their lives naked before them. One family led them forth against this harsh reality that now greeted them, the Vicarios.
With a new fate facing them, the last remaining survivors of Lloboe met the world with a dark resilience. They collected their history and shed the roots that had been all but burned, gathering up what they could find to assist them in a new life of a lost and lonely people. They became a Tribe of their own and set their feet into a land that battled every step they took with brutal antagonism.
A life on the road formed itself before a people born from the flames of war. They listlessly careened from one town to the next, amassing what they needed through trade, con or theft and built a new name from themselves. No longer the beautiful people who gave a brief glimpse of paradise to every passer-by. They were now a mysterious group who were heard of briefly between tales of magicians and murderers. They were merchants, peddling their crafts in some towns; a circus displaying their talents in another; or a gang of marauders cutting the people free of their purses in a separated sanctuary of simpletons. The Vicario Tribe were a beautiful, harsh people who had appeared from some lost land of the desert and came as tricksters or hawkers, criminals or clowns. They existed beneath a rigorous loyalty and savage exclusion, each family unit ruled by the fist of the father and serving the chief, for better or worse. This was the community that bore Joseph David Gabriel Feroz.
Joseph David Gabriel Forez
Speeding away from some prairie village that had been cut loose from the prison of their purses by the Vicario Tribe, the Feroz family bore their third child, Joseph David Gabriel Feroz. On a dusty road in the back of a ramshackle caravan, Maria Feroz gave birth while the men stood outside and listened to her wailing, brows wrought with worry and eyes blazing with a terrible anxiety.
Maria’s husband, Gabriel Sebastian David Feroz stood staring at the cart, covered with hanging cloths, wearing eyes of stony stoicism, jaws clamped together like a bear trap. He was a quiet, hard man, smaller than either of his sons would grow to be, he was short with wired muscle and a silent, brooding nature that would, at times, rage past the floodgates of repression as a brutal wrath. This tyranny would submit to tenderness on occasion, in brief moments, that drew back his shroud of isolation and revealed a ma ruled by deseperate concern and passionate love. This flicker of reality came perhaps in a quick whisper when loving his wife or a gentle smile to one of his children. It was his first son, Michael David Gabriel Feroz, who had clenched a fist loosely closed when Maria and Gabriel had led a furious, exuberant and ecstatic love affair alone.
Michael was clearly cut from the cloth of his mother, he showed the enthusiasm that had since been quieted in her. He was fervently carefree and this careless nature brought him into sharp relationship with a father who valued his authority highly. The first son was taller than both his parents, as his younger brother Joseph would also prove to be. But Michael’s shoulders extended out broadly and muscularly, something not seen in Joseph’s more slight frame. His smile held an immediate charm and his eyes bore the wildness of the landscape they travelled over.
Their second child, Rose Feroz, was the antithesis to Michael’s reeling lifestyle. She adhered strictly to everything her father said, scolding her older brother viciously if he overstepped any bounds. Clearly the child of Gabriel in her appearance as well, she was small and short, inches below her mother and of a frame that was svelte and slight next to her mother’s tall elegance.
Joseph David Gabriel Feroz appeared an outsider the moment he entered the world. He was an odd blend of both his parents, standing just noticeably shorter than his elder brother. His hair rapidly grew long and thick, the black locks hanging about his shoulders and framing his skin coloured brightly pale. His eyes were sharp and striking, hued as a ghostly azure. They were quick, rapidly investigating the world around him. They had a ferocious curiousity and an unrelenting insight, an unwavering gaze that was at once strong and inquisitive. His nose was narrow but pointed out sharply giving his features a quality of force that was almost regal. Surrounding his bright red lips was an unkempt beard that lunged down his jawline and around his mouth in long, dark, thick curls. He didn’t bear the strength of his brother, appearing more thin than muscular with his shoulders that fell away into arms quickly, which were long and wired with lean muscle and veins. Many mistook his frame for being delicate but he showed a hardiness not seen in any other member of his family, including his brother. Despite being weaker than Michael, Joseph had an enviable fortitude. The wilderness and its boughts of cold, lashes of heat, stretches of hunger, or paths of agonizing effort had little effect on Joseph. He seemed to take great enjoyment from the long walks, pulling a cart or carrying a heavy sack, moving swiftly and eagerly through the world, drinking in its beauty.
From the earliest of ages, Joseph bore an unequalled passion for the natural world they passed through. Each plant held some secret of great beauty for him, the rocky crags of the world’s spine were giants and gods that whispered gospels to Joseph in the silent moments he spent crawling through them. Every animal, inhabiting the world with its own survivalism, that Joseph came across quickly bore the badge of the boy’s love.
The cities, with their thick smell of industry and grubby faces marked with greed, had a malevolent effect of Joseph. He wandered through the collection of invasive monoliths that wore their evil like honour. He found no safety in a warm bed, the close ceilings staring down at him maliciously. This towns had no comfort for the growing boy and after a few passing days, he’d disappear into the wilderness reappearing when the tribe was preparing to make its escape. Each time he returned he’d meet the ire of his father, who had been awake each night with anxiety.
Joseph’s unique understanding of people and the world around him made him an immediate candidate for apprenticeship from the Vicario shaman. Paul Hector Moses Estado was a man of curious intrigue for everybody in the town. He had a fiery passion and a quiet cunning. His wild visions guided the tribe across the Delmarian landscapes, his hands of healing keeping each member alive.
Joseph instantly agreed to learn the secrets of this enigmatic man, longing to master the ways of magic, an art of nature in its own rite. He yearned to discover the secrets the rocks held and the power of the trees, he longed to harness them, to become one with them. Perhaps Paul could not do this, but he could teach Joseph the beginnings of this art.
Joseph had an insatiable passion for his studies with Paul. He quickly drank up the language exclusive to men of their art, learning first the unique alphabet and rapidly moving on to speech. Simple, magical arts were taught to him and he mastered them as thoroughly and swiftly as he had the Druidic language.
The lessons were interrupted finally as they stopped in at a new town, prepared to snatch as much gold they could before stealing away. Joseph couped up under the roof that was housing his family grew restless. After remaining in the prison of four walls for two nights, he crept slowly through the long, wide halls displaying the house’s opulence before silently disappearing through the door and into the wild outside. A new sense of peace slipped over him as the open air filled his lungs and the stars smiled down. He cloaked himself in the darkness and wandered out into a neighbouring field, laying himself out and staring up into the multitudinous universe.
The rustling that waded through the grass towards him, filled him with worry. His father had seen him leave and now he faced the anger his brother greeted weekly. He leaned up on his elbow to face the fury of his father and held his breath with surprise. Elizabeth, the daughter of the family who lived in the house who had offered the Feroz’s hospitality, stood before him in her nightgown looking at him curiously and holding a small book.
“Hello.” Joseph murmured. “What are you doing here?”
Elizabeth appeared both reticent and eager, whispering slowly, “I saw you leave. You’re different. I’ve never met people like you. Tribes… nomads… And you’re… from the Vicario Tribe.”
“Yeah…” Joseph was confused.
“Rico Lorca Garcia Fede is from the Vicario Tribe isn’t he?” Her excitement was rising rapidly now.
Joseph himself was becoming intrigued, “I don’t know… Maybe… Probably… There’s a Fede family. Why?”
“You don’t know who Rico Lorca Garcia Fede is?”
“No… but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you just calling him Rico Fede, no one uses their full names.” Joseph laughed kindly. He thought the blush it brought to Elizabeth’s plump cheeks was beautiful. “Who is he?”
“He’s a poet. He’s amazing. I thought you would know him.” She smiled still, though she appeared disappointed now.
“Is he famous? He got out?” Now Joseph’s earnestness was bubbling up, saying to himself in awe, “He got away from the tribe…” An inspiration filled Joseph. Escape, it was possible. Perhaps a life of freedom, of solitude, was possible. He saw himself wandering alone down the paths of the world. Never again, would he have to find himself walking among the shadows of man’s constructs the faces of cities could fade from his memory as al the creatures of the world entered it. “Would you read me one of his poems? That is his book?” Joseph asked pointing to the small leather bound volume she held dearly.
She nodded enthusiastically, “No one likes poetry here! They think I’m silly and girlish for liking him but I think he writes beautifully, of timeless things. Of the reign of nature and ove, and its power beyond our petty lives. I think he’s a genius.” They smiled at each other. Joseph’s heart raced. He watched the way her lips moved as she spoke and her eyes shone with the passion she held for the world that he had found such adoration for.
“Read me something.” He said quickly.
She flipped through the pages, searching for something short, something that would keep his interest, something that would astonish and inspire. “Okay… It’s a short one” She cleared her throat, nervous now to be placed before an audience. “It’s a short one…
Were you once arrows
fallen from the blue?
What terrible warriors
cast you down? The stars?
Your music springs from the soul of birds,
from the eyes of Candri,
from perfect passion.
Will your tough roots know
my heart in the soil?”*
Joseph stood before her frozen. He gazed at her silently letting the words soar through the sky, dance before him. All the dear thoughts and emotions he held for the trees, the birds, the sky, the world that loomed before him were pulled from him and shone brightly in the arms of this poet’s words. His breath was suspended, he felt he was a new man. Elizabeth searched his face, her lips gently turning to a smile.
“Did you… did you like it?”
Joseph gazed at her long, before nodding slowly. He took a breath then smiled, “Yes, its gorgeous. Thank you.”
Through the night, they sat beneath the night sky and she shared many long excerpts from the dog-eared little book. They fell asleep in the sanctuary of the earth, bodies warm against each other. He woke first and stood, surprised to see the sun slowly crawling over the horizon and spilling bright flames over the eastern sky. He watched the ritual dance of colour and light performed daily, drinking in the passion painted over the world, murmuring what small pieces he could remember from what she’d read him the previous night.
Elizabeth lay beside, peaceful in the solace of her repose. The sun bathed her in its light casting shadows across her face and dazzling her beautiful brown eyes as they opened slowly to meet the morning. She looked up at Joseph who sat staring out over the fields, smiling. She sat up next to him.
“Good morning.” She whispered to him. He turned to her and smiled before facing the sun. “We should be going home, before our parents worry.”
“I’m not going back Elizabeth. I can’t.” Joseph’s voice was low and steady.
“What do you mean? You have to!”
“No… I don’t. They will be fine without me. I can’t live with them anymore. I’ve got to lead my own life.”
“Let me come with you. We can go back, I’ll pack a bag of all we’ll need for the road and we can live in nature together.”
Joseph said and turned to face her. His eyes meeting her’s unwaveringly, “No. I have to go alone.” Elizabeth took a small slice of air in quickly, looking at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You cannot come with me. We will not live together happily and you will be left lost and alone in the world. Prepare yourself. Travel with someone first, tell your loving parents and see the world with others before you set out on your own. I am searching for something… and I can’t force that journey on another.” Tears drove streams down Elizabeth’s cheeks but she stared at him silently and nodded quietly.
“I’ll explain everything to your parents.”
Joseph sighed and smiled, “Thank you.” He rose up, “Good-bye, Elizabeth… thank you.”
“Wait!” He turned back to face her. “Here.” She thrust the small book of poems into Joseph’s hands. He stared at her silently for a long time before smiling and nodding.
“Thank you… thank you.” He stepped forward and gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly before turning around and leaving Elizabeth and the Vicario Tribe behind.
*Trees by Federico Garcia Lorca
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:10:33.
Edited on 2010-01-29 at 23:51:36 by Tek
Jumpin' Jack Smash
This is ready to use. I'll be able to get a game introduction beginning sometime within a day or so, but we are now able to use this thread to post in. A real Q/A thread, not the recruiting drive anymore.
Anyway. I'll still be filling some gaps in the early information posts, but this is at least a move in the right direction.
Posted on 2009-11-29 at 23:13:59.
Hate to be the rules lawyer... But the ranger has 67 gold.. The sorcer had 90 starting goldThats not possible for a first level character.. Did i miss out bigtime on my 6d4 minus one modifier being 5d4???
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 18:25:38.
Edited on 2009-11-30 at 18:28:27 by Kaelyn
Jumpin' Jack Smash
Good eye, sniper. I hadn't noticed that. Thank you for pointing out something I had noticed.
That must be corrected.
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 18:29:07.
Jumpin' Jack Smash
There are a number of places where too much funding has been used to create characters. A starting character does NOT begin with a huge amount of personal wealth. I'll have to go over these and modify them myself if they are not corrected. Remember that ALL equipment is bought out of starting wealth.
Merideth, I don't even have a list of your own belongings! I will require that..
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 18:55:57.
Jumpin' Jack Smash
It appears that the mistake is in fact my own. Funding seems to be correct, and Ion has the breakdown listed accordingly. The multiplier is not x10, but x9. Starting roll-outs are correct. My apologies for this, though Merideth, I'll still require your gear!
Man, its been a long time since I've done this.. It'll take a little bit to get back into the swing of things here :S
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 22:17:14.
You told me use phb starting package for equipment.. Which i did.. Additional equipment i undetstood to be bought from starting funds.. If ALL equipment is to be bought as such ur gonna have armorless weaponless pcs aplenty.. 16 gp doesnt go far
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 22:18:17.
Apologies as it appears i was the one misinformed.. I didnt know tek was using yellow equipment page starting funds thing and i simply took the class package and the meager funds associated w it... So yes.. Apologies again..
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 22:29:05.
Confused me there for a moment.
I am pleased that the party contains another dwarf.
My character is less than pleased at everything else.
I am consequently pleased.
EDIT: OH GOD AM I THIS PARTY'S TANK?
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 22:39:16.
Edited on 2009-11-30 at 22:53:59 by Grugg
Tapped Out Bullywog
Worried for a second there. My equipment usually takes me the longest to select as I try to balance out my munchkin and roleplay personalities. It's gonna be interesting playing a magic user with our particular paladin and a couple of clerics probably hunting for people like me. I'm excited.
To Grugg we do have a pally we can talk into tanking...but just in case stay in front of me.
Posted on 2009-11-30 at 22:54:51.
Edited on 2009-11-30 at 22:55:55 by Ion Kired
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