This are the limitations:
lvl 10, 50 point buy, no stats above 18 at first lvl, excluding racial bonuses
half hp each lvl
only tier 3 or lower characters. tier system: link
wealth by lvl
no psionics or tome of battle
The groups purpose will be good aligned, but you can be neutral or evil as long as you have a strong motivation to follow the group and aid it and its causes
Players handbook 1 & 2
All Complete books are ok
Book of Vile Deeds, Book of Exalted Deeds
Fiendish Codex 1 & 2
Request anything else, but no books bringing in new mechanics, like Tome of Battle / Complete Psionics
What I want to see in the character submission
Name, sex and class
link to character sheet
description of appearance
Background: at least half a page, not more than one page.
Slightly shorter than average. Very thin build. Short, black hair and black eyes. No very discerning features. However, rarely ever seen in light due to his hood.
Halt was originally a new recruit into the king’s archers. He was a trainee with them many decades ago. At the time, he was quickly gaining a reputation for his skill with a bow. As he was preparing to join the full force of archers as an actual soldier, the Civil war broke out. He followed the king until the end. He was at the church when it burned, but couldn’t his king. Halt escaped from the people attacking the church and hid in the nearby forest. He ran to the farthest town he could reach and tried to lay low. However, he was soon tracked and had to run into the forest again. He learned to live in the woods, practicing stealth. He developed better skills with his bow and other tools. He became great at controlling animals, sneaking, and shooting. Rarely did he ever have to use these skills on a person, but the jungle was full of dangers. He was attacked by bears, tigers, and snakes. After he managed to kill a particularly large constrictor, he realized how helpful one could be to him. He tracked the snakes path back to a nest, and found a group of small snakes. He took one and reared it to be his pet. He trained it to silently hold prey while Halt would take aim on the easy target. The plan worked well, and he lived happily in the forest for years. One day, a carriage rode through his area. It was very unlikely, so he followed. He managed to overhear the rider tell another man on the cart that the king’s son was now contesting the throne. Halt thought back to when he worked for the king and remembered the duties he failed, letting the king die. Then, the rider stated that an army was attempting to kill the prince. Halt decided it was his duty to see the prince was rightfully put back into power. Halt, with his snake at his side, left the woods in order to join the war. He knows very little of the world as it is today, only what he overheard from travelers. He followed the path he’d seen the carriage take and ended up at a small village. A sign labeled the town “Pereslav.” He realized his first priority is to find money and some new tools. As of now, he only has a few gold pieces and some magical artifacts he grabbed from the church when he fled so many years ago. He filled his quiver before leaving the woods and is ready to see what has become of the real world. He walks down the street to a tavern, seeing it as good a place as any to find work. As he walks, his bow hangs on his back, being wrapped in a large snake. It looks at the town as he walks by, not knowing what to expect.
Player Information: Here is a little bit about me. As a devoted player of DnD since starting in college in 1980, I reliably check Mythweavers periodically during the day until late at night since I have the net both at work and home. Posting a minimum of once or twice a day, or more depending on game flow, I try to bring my posts to life by the occasional incorporation of pictures as well as describing my PC's various senses, emotions, and thoughts along with his actions. I've played many games on Mythweavers over the years, am a very reliable player and poster, and have never left or quit any game. I refined my writing skills while earning my doctorate in law and also while practicing as an in-house corporate attorney. Most importantly as a team player, I always try to be considerate of other players and the DM so we can all have fun together and enjoy the game.
I'd like to reflavor the bard class a bit. Instead of "music", Sam recites draconic prose, sort of a guttural, mysterious arcane incantation that fills his allies and himself with magical energy. Mechanically the same, but a little more rugged and bad ass than strumming a barbarian's favorite theme song on a lute while arrows and magic missiles are flying through the air. Similarly, if I choose to buy a "musical instrument" to improve performance, instead of that, it can be something like a totem, rod, or staff that is held in hand to channel power. Once again, mechanically identical, just cooler and better fits my character concept. All this with your permission, of course.
I'm not interested in being a team killer, crazy or stupid. Nor do I want to betray any PC's or have them fearful of it (at least the actual players, I think good RP would dictate some mistrust from the player's characters). I'm also probably going to be working on the border of Chaotic Neutral from Complete Scoundrel. you could also argue that Sam is trying to become Neutral Good, from a place of Chaotic Evil. Sam Owitt is a crazy coot, who knows that unpredictability is one of his greatest tactical advantages, and he's certainly not afraid of committing evil acts if it's towards a goal or greater good. Plus, I'm modeling the character after Tom Waits, and that's the Alignment I think best suits the intense experimental crooner.
Picture on the sheet is more accurate than the one above. That one is when he's caught unprepared and gets a little upset.
Name:Jason Bradley Class: Fighter/Tempest Alignment: Neutral Good Description: Jason looks quite ordinary. His face is in fact to regular that upon cursory inspection, a dozen others with the same appearance spring to mind. Eyes a normal green hue, quite like moss, with a similarly common color of brown trailing down in waves to below his shoulders. His shoulders, however, are at the height a normal man's head is, with his head sticking up above and beyond the height of normal men. Even with his height, Jason's build is far from bulky, muscular and lean inf act, to a degree of almost twin perfection.
Personality: Jason was born a humble man. Though he's obtained a position of status in Pereslav, at heart he's still the little boy that was frowned upon for being different. He constantly feels like he has to prove himself to others, that he's not good enough, somehow. In essence, Jason is a pretty regular guy, most like any other you'd meet. His most defining trait, however, not only sets him apart from all others, but also makes his physical ability with weaponry that much more impressive. He's humble through and through.
I changed the background a bit and this fits more with his Humble personality, as well as the suggestions that were posted. (The pair of blades he comissioned are the ones he's said to own in his sheet, I hope that's alright?)
Description: Na'Dara is a plain looking woman with very long black hair tied back into a single long ponytail. Her eyes are a bright green that shine with a curiousity previously hidden due to monastic life.She wears an odd assortment of clothing. Aside from what apears too be a fairly odd smithing outfit, she wears a pair of well made leader gloves with metal studs were each of the knuckles are, a nice white feathery cloak, a small ring on her left hand with the image of a shield engraved in it, an amulet made in the shape of a fish scale and a rope belt.
Underneath all this mishmash of clothing, if your ever see them, are three intracite tattoos on her body. On her abdoment is a tattoo of the ocean. Just above the ocean tattoo is a crane walking across the water. Across her shoulders and breasts is a tattoo of a large crab.
Personality: Now that she isn't tied to the life of a monestary she lets her curiousity roam freely while trying to also maintain the balance of law and good she grew up knowing. Otherwise she is very modest, making her acoplishments seems little more than everyday things, but she has a habit of taking even a joking insult to heart and feel horible about herself for a while. She is somewhat horrified at the thought of having to kill other people, but is willing to swallow it down if it means keeping only thoses deserving of the power they seek in power.
Backstory: Na'Dara was the result of a forbidden love between her father and a young girl within a village at the base of the mountains. Once they monks found out about it her father was excomunicated from the Monestary, as is tradition, and she was taken into the order as soon as she was born. From a very young age she showed talent that few other students had ever show in centuries past and she was contantly tested, tried and pushed to her limits. Compliments from her teaches flew right over her head and insults she took to heart and did her best to better herself at all times, going for days at a time with little to no sleep trying to perfect a style or art that she was learning.
Once she finally came of age, her teachers inducted her into the order of the Tattooed Monk and taught the sacred art of inscibing the mystical tattoos. As the order dictated, she had shaved her head an allowed them to draw her first tattoo on her body with pride. Only a few weeks later a group of mercenaries barged in and ordered them to surrender, and being arrested under charges of supporting the Royalists. Naturally, the monks resisted but all were cutdown, save Na'Dara. Enraged that such people would barge in and murder the only family she had ever know, she lashed out and killed them all, passing out shortly afterwards.
Apon awakening the next moring and finding herself covered in blood she began to panick and fled the monestary, never to return. She has spent the next few years traveling and learning, begining the slow process of tattooing herself as she got stronger. Having heard of the Bandits raiding the outlying villages, she signed up to hunt them down, not wanting what happened to her monestary to happen to anyone else.
Description: To see him, really depends on when you catch him. At times he'll be laughing, his eyes aglow with a new jape or jest, seeming so vibrant and alive. Then there are times when his black hair seems less shine and more oily, his skin paled and his chest shrunken. The times when it's as if the shirt of mail links and armored cap are more solid than the man behind, as if he were to hide in them. Where he's so silent it's easy to forget he was there. Standing just a few inches taller than five feet, he's not as it would seem the weakest in the village, but as he is the smith's son... His arms seem scrawny, and he was more oft seen sneaking off by himself, rather than hard at work helping his father by pumping the bellows. The belt and pouches rig he habitually wears is generally full of oddments, and he's taken to wearing a warm black/brown cloak that always seems to have a new stain. His brown eyes are so dark they seem to catch one's gaze and draw it in, but it's rare he looks someone in the eye for long as he's generally either keeping an eye out as if spooked, or busy with one of his pet projects.
X Sex: Male Class: Bard 3/ Dread Necromancer 4 / Dirgesinger 3
Tall, gaunt and without a doubt lanky are the first few words that flit about in the mind when first observing the remains of a once proud man known as Serval. Be it a punishment for dabbling the dark arts or the fact the man rarely allows himself the pleasure of the sun in his later years his skin is an ashen pallor. His fingers are slender, tipped with dangerous yet carefully maintained nails with a deceptively feminine view that have the strength to strangle a man on the earliest of whims or unrelentingly disperse tragic music from his instrument as is insinuated with the ever present twitch they give out. Many times they have been compared to a poised spider and to each time a slow, crazed grin sweeps across his lips along with thanks.
Hidden away from the view of all those not willing to peek at the man whilst he dresses is the black ink of his transgressions. Ritualistic markings of varying degrees litter his pale skin, some the innocent scribing of a now dead tradition while others cater to the reason for his declining health. His garb is something that catches most off guard, with the rich satins and silks of some nobles dressing him it is hard to imagine him as anything but; however it is in those crimson pools known as eyes and the worn tips of his fingers that differentiate him from the sometimes fat but always pompous high-breds.
The story of the man named Serval D’Epinay starts as any other, a happy child having grown into a man seeking the bliss of everyday wherever he could attain it. Happiness could be garnered in any way for the common man, but for Serval it had to be from the dancing chords of music. To feel the rhythm of his very soul reciprocated through an instrument to share with all, this was what made him the happiest. Carving a way into another’s life by the soothing tunes he either played or sang along to was how most came to know him and for many years he would never wish to have anything more.
The twist to the man’s tale hadn’t happened until the mid-year of his thirty fifth year. Gone from his calm, hanging valley town to play at a youthful couples wedding he had been unaware of the atrocity that had happened back in Summerveil. It was only upon his arrival at the smoldering remains of what he used to call home that he was greeted with the truth and a most grisly sight, his family burnt to blackened statues of themselves. From what he could tell the door, as many others in his town had been, was sealed shut with a beam and lit aflame with its residents within. Further inspection showed that before they too were taken by flame that the granary and food stores had been raided, what few workers there had been trying to save what they could were dispatched to the waves.
For the better part of two years Serval remained within Summerveil if only to rebuild at least his home. Rarely would he be seen away from the slowly coming together building, his visage being as ghostly and terrifying as the ignorant caravans seeking trade with a now dead town labeled him. When next a caravan passed along his valley he bought his way to the next town over, he would refresh himself from the endless days of work and then he would travel abroad once more. Travel for his family, travel for his grief and travel, most certainly, for a chance at revenge.
"Your computer will eventually experience disaster. Like viruses, spyware or electro cancer."
- Puppet Master
My apologies too all my current games for slow posting rates. Posts whenever mentally capable.