Kreation

kakimasu · 10:08am

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain

Talon

Image Credit: DC Comics

Detective Joe Halloran grew up despising his heritage. The product of his parent Mary Halloran's many indiscretions and looked down on from what she did for a living the hard-up denizens of their section of sprawling Fort Mojave embodied ignorance and self-loathing in young Joseph's eyes. He sought relief from the taunts and repeated fights taking solitary walks in the still desert though the budding skeptic ridiculed the stories from the tribal elders. Both Hallorans eventually earned more prolonged respite when her actions landed the mother in prison and her teen-aged son a bed in the home of relatives in Bullhead City.

The reception at the Bullhead Hallorans hovered at mutual indifference till the eldest son arrived from Nevada. Sam's confident demeanor and his face in the papers had total strangers addressing Joseph's cousin with respect. The hero cop had everything the young outcast wanted. So reinforced Sam's advice hit home: deeds not their origins found each person a place. Two years onward 18-year-old Joe entered the police academy in Las Vegas after writing Mary in prison for the first time.

Four years later Joe wore his uniform determined to make an impression. Hard work won results and a detective's badge then a first real challenge. A serial killer stalked the streets of Sin City leaving savagely torn bodies and an outcry over police futility. The Ripper became Joe's personal crusade after the youngest and most photogenic investigator on the force bore the brunt of its failures. The grudge went to a new level when the Ripper's letters singled Joe out for their taunts. Defying all warnings and breaking every rule Joe closed in alone and found himself fighting for his life against a seemingly inhuman foe.

Joe awoke in the hospital finding Sam at his bedside, the cheers of his brother officers and little way of explaining his apparent triumph over hopeless odds. He revealed even less about the visions that plagued his sleep. About an ancient force spying on a troubled innocent trespassing its domain, a bloodsoaked madman raving about his benefactor finally delivering on their bargain and the look of immeasurable relief on the dead man's smile.

With a wounded officer going from media scapegoat to sensation and a mass murderer in the morgue the LVMPD played down the gaps in Joe's story. After a swift recovery friends reasoned away shifts in behavior to the pressure of expectations even as gripes of a heightened reckless streak failed to take the shine off Joe's improving arrest rate. They pried into the newly-minted hero cop's obsessive drive and solitary ways even less after a copycat killer emerged. Talk of fights with fellow officers hushed after the news of prison guards packing off Joe's mother to a psychiatric ward as the woman cried about a figure flying outside her window at night. Hours after meeting his aunt Sam began tailing Joe's car and narrowly returned in one piece.

Exposing the second Ripper Sam rallied every resource to rein in his cousin. Joe resurfaced to find the Southwest's metahuman champions ready. The rogue lawman evaded every masked vigilante until the Black Condor stepped in his path with a final plea. After Joe brushed it aside victory fell to the warrior who fought of his own free will.

Safely locked away the disgraced cop awaited trial with a city in uproar beyond his cell. Meanwhile the Black Condor guided his recent adversary in waging the battle within. A trying ritual successfully stemmed the Blood Condor's influence and assured Joe the strength to withstand its resurgence. Along with his aid John Trujillo passed on a warning about a persistent and subtle foe who deeply grudged failure and told Joe he deceived himself thinking his desires under its power belonged wholly to his enemy.

Realizing his complicity Joe resigned himself to atoning for the lives lost during his rampage. If he had to embrace the heritage he turned his back on to do so.

NPCs:

Sam Halloran - Cousin, 36. LVMPD captain, Joe's role model and the brother he never had. Hopes for his relative's redemption and eventual release. Takes responsibility for his aunt while her son remains in Belle Reve.

John Trujillo - Divinely-appointed protector. Grim. Swears to help Joe through his trial but has made clear he's prepared to stop the Blood Condor's reemergence by any means necessary.

Mary Halloran - Parent, 51. One-time exotic dancer now full-time inmate after robbing an abusive John of his wallet and his life. Currently confined to a Phoenix, Arizona psychiatric facility. Her son suspects his "benefactor" for her condition.

The Blood Condor - Mysterious entity out of Native American legend. Delights in chaos and violence. Joe maintains a lonely vigil against an enemy that cannot be defeated by mundane means.

TalonPlayer Level: 10
Starting Point Total: 150
Total Ability Points: 64
Total Power Points: 21
Total Points: 150

64

Abilities

Strength: 8
Stamina: 8
Agility: 5
Dexterity: 2
Fighting: 5
Intellect: 0
Awareness: 4
Presence: 0

n/a

Offense

Initiative +5
Unarmed +12 DC 23
Throw +2
Grab +5 Escape DC 18

21

Defense

Dodge +12/+14* (7)
Parry +12/+14* (7)
Fortitude +10 (2)
Toughness +8
Will +9 (5)

*Favored Environment: Air

33

Skills

Acrobatics 1 (+6)
Athletics 3 (+11)
Close Combat Unarmed 7 (+12)
Expertise: Police Officer 8 (+8)
Expertise: Streetwise 8 (+8)
Insight 6 (+10)
Intimidation 12 (+12)
Investigation 8 (+8)
Perception 8 (+12)
Stealth 5 (+10)

11

Advantages
All-out Attack
Daze (Intimidation)
Defensive Attack
Diehard
Evasion 1
Favored Environment: Air
Luck 1
Move-by Action
Power Attack
Takedown 1
Uncanny Dodge

n/a

Complications
Motivation: Responsibility - Talon strives to redeem himself from his crimes as the dupe of a murderous demonic entity. He loses sleep fearing a second fall from grace thus will claim lives only for a cause that stands just in his eyes. (So he hopes.)

Enemy: The Blood Condor - An evil force lusting for carnage and conflict. While its voice has gone silent Talon fears it holds power over his actions in a less apparent manner.

Quirk: Actions Speak Louder - Viciously bullied growing up Talon has a less-than assured approach to human relations. (Missing a father figure doesn't help.) Lets his actions do the talking when he shouldn't have to. This comes across as either chivalry or bullheadedness with equal frequency.

21
Powers

Avatar of The Blood Condor - Immunity 4 (Aging, Disease, Environmental Condition: Heat, Poison; Limited - Half Effect), Regeneration 1 (Every 10 rounds; Persistent), Senses 6 (Accurate: Scent, Acute: Scent, Extended: Sight 1: x10, Low-light Vision, Tracking: Scent 1: -1 speed rank), Speed 1 (Speed: 4 miles/hour, 60 feet/round)

Blood Condor Aspect - Flight 6 (Speed: 120 miles/hour, 1800 feet/round; Activation: standard action)

Talon

Image Credit: DC Comics

Joe Halloran grew up seeing himself a victim of circumstance. A product of his parent Mary Halloran's many indiscretions and looked down on from what she did for a living. He got into fights and took lonely walks in the silent desert and laughed off the stories from the tribal elders. He got himself a change of scenery when her actions sent his mom to prison and her teen-aged son to the home of relatives in Bullhead City.

The welcome at the Bullhead City Hallorans hung on mutual indifference till the eldest son visited from Nevada. Sam's winning ways, pricey clothes and the handgun in his Aston Martin's glove compartment had total strangers mumbling about Joe's cousin with equal parts fear and respect. The gangster had everything the young outsider wanted. Sam had an eager new recruit by the time he drove back to Vegas.

Joe had himself a good thing going until some meddling no-lifer took his cousin out of the picture. Permanently. He could not understand what got into some people's heads that made them put on a costume and mess up the lives of people who never bothered them personally. He rounded up a crew and decided to ask. When the shooting stopped Joe lay on his back with a dead vigilante at his side and a voice in his head.

It called itself the Spirit of Slaughter. Declared its motives beyond mortal inkling of good and evil and that it really didn't care who did what to whom or why so long as the "what" involved death and violence and that its agents proved it chose wisely. Walking away with an offer he couldn't refuse and an absence of micro-management Joe had his life's mission.

First he rebuilt his cousin's enterprise. After taking it to bloody new heights Joe returned to the problem that set him on his newfound path: superheroes. The chief difficulty involved discovering the heroes' secret identities. Breaking into a superteam's very public headquarters for personnel records seemed obvious but risked alerting them to the threat. Careful analysis opened a figurative backdoor: for all their varied costumes superheroes tended to lump themselves into a surprisingly small number of recurring archetypes with a just as finite set of origins. All that Joe had left to do began with finding an insider of some applied science lab or martial arts dojo with a drug habit or gambling problem. In the State of Nevada this did not prove difficult.

Joe had his names. He already had his purpose. He would not stop at mere vengeance. Joe wanted justice and would exact it in a way he knew would prey on the heroes' minds: removing the people closest to them as the first agent of the Blood Condor had done to Joe. Of course he recognized the other obvious benefit of possession and anonymously sold a select few identities to the highest bidder.

That done Joe did away with lovers, cousins, co-workers, bosses and at least one sidekick coaxing terror and impotent rage from the Southwest's costumed community. He only blanched before the lines even he dared not cross: Joe wouldn't threaten small children and as a doting son could not bring himself to lay hands with ill intent on a woman. This became his downfall.

Joe learned a client had used his information to get at a hero's mom. Seeing red and visions of his parent in prison he burst through the door in the nick of time and lost track of it giving his fellow evildoer the mother of all thrashings. Then the house-owner's son arrived with his friends and proceeded to do the same to Joe. Then another vigilante going by the ominous name Black Condor got a line on events and beat his antithesis so savagely Joe came-to in the trauma ward with no recollection of the previous twelve months.

Sent away to Belle Reve Joe had literally nothing to show or even tell for his short-lived period of ascendancy. He managed to remain in touch with his criminal contacts long enough to see through his efforts at freeing his mom before retiring to his cell time on-hand to ponder fate's fickle turns.

kakimasu · 1:51am

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,

M-W BB Code List.

Code:

[spoiler="Vital Stats"]
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Hometown:[/b]
[b]Age and Gender:[/b]
[b]Height, Weight and Build:[/b]
[b]Eyes:[/b]
[b]Hair:[/b]
[/spoiler]

Code:

[spoiler="Background"]
[/spoiler]

Code:

[spoiler="Personality"]
[b]Positive Traits:[/b]
1.
2.
3.

[b]Negative Traits:[/b]
1.
2.
3.
[/spoiler]

Code:

[spoiler="Character Sheet"][left][fieldset="name or picture"]Power Level: 
Starting Point Total: 
Total Ability Points: 
Total Power Points:
Total Points:
[/fieldset]

[TABLE=3,1][R=1,1][fieldset="xx"][center][b][u]Abilities[/u][/b][/center]
Strength: 
Stamina: 
Agility: 
Dexterity: 
Fighting: 
Intellect: 
Awareness:
Presence: 
[/fieldset]

[fieldset="n/a"][center][b][u]Offense[/u][/b][/center]
Initiative
Unarmed
Throw
Grab
[/fieldset]

[R=2,1][fieldset="xx"][center][b][u]Defense[/u][/b][/center]
Dodge
Parry
Fortitude
Toughness
Will
[/fieldset]

[fieldset="xx"][center][b][u]Skills[/u][/b][/center]

[/fieldset]
[R=3,1][fieldset="xx"][center][b][u]Advantages[/u][/b]

[/center]
[/fieldset]

[fieldset="n/a"][center][b][u]Complications[/u][/b]

[/center]
[/fieldset]
[/TABLE]
[fieldset="xx"][b][u]Powers[/u][/b]

[/fieldset]
[/left][/spoiler]

kakimasu · Aug 20 '12, 9:40am

listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,

kakimasu · 6:10am

listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain

http://pic100.picturetrail.com/VOL59.../403837818.jpg

Wealth:
Dice Roll: 5d6*10
d6 Results: 3, 1, 4, 6, 2 (Total = 160)

kakimasu · 2:26am

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain

d6 Results: 6, 5, 3 (Total = 14)
d6 Results: 5, 4, 6 (Total = 15)
d6 Results: 6, 4, 4 (Total = 14)
d6 Results: 6, 3, 5 (Total = 14)
d6 Results: 4, 3, 2 (Total = 9)
d6 Results: 6, 6, 6 (Total = 18)

Jones

Name: Thothilvar Jones (WiP)
Age: 94
Race: Gnome
Class: Wizard 4, betwixt Transmuter or Conjurer

Appearance: Jones is a handsome little rock gnome in the prime of gnomehood. He grows his russet beard down to his knees thinking it makes him look virile. A loose grey linen robe covers his big feet as he walks. Drooping hazel eyes hide behind a pair of dark-tinted spectacles propped on his schnozzle.

Personality: Jones is a free spirit. He'll try anything once. Low maintenance and won't try to bite a friend's head off if they come up with a quip. (Like he could get that high.) Don't belittle this wizard for his ethic. His mind's as sharp as it could be, his will and inner core adamant.

Despite getting his Zen on Jones is a gnome of principle. The capitalistic principle. He sets his sights low. Give him his fair 1/4 and watch him give back what an adventurer craves in a companion even more than the strongest arm or purest heart. Predictability.

(Image: Warhammer Fantasy)

Background: Ain't got much to say. Growing up in the Lortmils I was the lad who bothered about the way things worked. It got in my head to read up on these adventurers down on the plains. How the men were decent, stalwart and courteous and the women were unattainable.

Soon as I could I went down to stay with family in the Kron Hills to see these heroes with my own eyes. See if I had what it took to belong in their company. Even latched on as a gofer with this old gnome of a mage. Make myself useful if I got lucky.

Fine way that worked out. Those heroes man they weren't exactly thick on the ground. Busted my feet pounding on it looking everywhere in Verbobonc. Couldn't meet a knight was more noble than aggravating if I burnt down a castle. And if a maiden was trembling it was incriminating circumstances.

What's a working-class wizard to do if he wanted some action? This gnome he packed up for the Free City that's what. Ain't got that far before I met this trio. Caravan guards they were. Eclectic sorts was that elf barbarian, the half-orc bard and this tiefling cleric who called herself 'lesser'. Said they read about a job out in the sticks. Wasn't buying the spiel until the busker let in she'd gone before and got far enough to learn about the buried treasure.

I buried my childhood beside that damned lake. A meat grinder that crazed cairn was but it matured us. Sad me and Bruce, Nikki and Salome parted ways. Things like revenge and careers it was. Me? I had a chance to scratch an itch for something more non-linear, closer to home. That's just the way this gnome rolls.

Never got around to meeting big damned heroes. I'll miss those guys.

kakimasu · 10:07am

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain

kakimasu · 6:16am

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
the day is still leaving,
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,

At Amaen's and Cora's approach the tall man with the scar licked his thumb, ran it through his thinning hair and presented a smile that had lost several teeth. In between liberally appraising their figures he somehow managed to notice the talk about the distinction between 'murder' and 'killing'. He bent toward Rebecca after Sydrik. "Aye lass the hin and the axe-swinger have the right of it. Some blather about the Law standing up for the weak when they can't swing a sword themselves. There be the Heralds and the King's Court for those."

He shot the half-orc a look and glanced over his shoulder at the desks inside the pavilion. His gruff voice had become nearly a whisper when he gave Amaen a nod. "Though it wouldn't hurt to have a care. A goodly kingdom they call themselves."

kakimasu · 8:29am

POSTED HERE

Akaraun Gildor

Character Name: Akaraun Gildor, "Raun"
Age/Gender: 22/Male
Race/Class: Human (Taldan)/Paladin of Iomedae

Description:

Desired Kingdom Role:

General: Strength or Charisma

Into the Stolen Lands:
DICE WERE DELETED FROM THIS POST

kakimasu · 7:31am

POST APPLICATIONS IN THIS FOLDER

Please format your submissions as follows :

Name : Kestrel Lacklund, "Kes"
Race : Human
Class : Ranger

Brief Description : 25-year-old Kes stands shy of six feet and hides a reserve of wiry strength in his lean frame. He shaves his brown hair close and grows a thin beard. His green eyes and firm mouth appear frozen in something between a sneer and a comprehending smirk. He switches to a look of determination apparently brought on by outrage when provoked. He holds his head high as he walks constantly looking about with a smile for a person he recognizes. It looks like a sigh of relief to those who witness his intensity in the field.

Kes has learned much from his travels and his employer but knows conflict instead of acceptance from Titus's ideas. He has matured enough to bear his uncertainties lightly and keeps them beneath the surface in the hope they stay untried. The kind of person who seemingly speaks without giving a second's thought only to hear him wrestling with doubt moments later. He loves life. Certainly the enjoyment of it.

Brief History : The Lacklunds escaped the slums of Magnimar for the woods that would become the town of Sandpoint over forty years ago. No adult Lacklund has been out of the employ of the Scarnettis and the lumber mill since. A fact widowed Loletta drilled in the minds of three red-blooded sons about their cousins several times removed.

Kes the youngest and rowdiest nearly landed in a Magnimaran court from his brawling if not for his mother begging her wealthy in-law Titus's intervention. Humbled he promised loyalty to his patron and conformity with his conservative beliefs. Starting with reluctantly agreeing to turn away from the person who drew him to the path of a ranger, the elf Shalelu Andosana.

He has spent much of the last five years far from home escorting the mill's products on their way to cities across Varisia. His visits in that time have seen him hunting the goblins that threaten his one time friend (and have cost him family) as often as he has an ear to the ground for his employer's personal enemies.

The mill has him in town looking to the safety of visiting business partners for the length of their stay.

Campaign Specific Trait : Friends and Enemies (Scarnetti)

Tell Me Something :
Significant Person
You should have seen me. It was like I owned the place. Mother was chasing them out of the yard from all their whining. Hah! That's mom.

But sometimes . . . there I am in the woods thinking maybe I should be a little more careful the gobbers don't see me coming. I hear these punks talking behind my back and right when I'm ready to turn around I keep walking. It doesn't make them stop. It never does. But . . .

I couldn't begin to imagine what she had to go through because of me. But she did.

Friends and Enemies
They say these things about the boss. Two-faced snakes. Look around. Where would this town be? They think the Deverins had what it takes? The Kaijitsus?

I'll tell you what it takes. Vision. Integrity. Vision is seeing what needs to be done. Integrity is going out and doing it even when it has to hurt. Because people are counting on you. A whole town. That's how it's like. The Scarnetti way. The boss tells it like it is.

I tell you. No one stuck his neck out when I needed it. The boss did when he didn't have to. I keep it in mind. Walk a mile in a man's shoes.

Someone Doesn't Like Me
Kiki never hurt anyone. That gutless snake has it coming. Enough said.

. . . so I should compromise. Watch what I say so someone doesn't take it out on someone else. You're joking. So it's my fault some lowlife couldn't find the nerve. What do I do now? Is that right? What if it was Mother?

. . . well maybe I owe it to Kiki. To someone. I'll think of it. Soon as I'm done hunting.

Extra Credit :
What is your character's favorite food? - Ale.
Where do they get their clothing cleaned? - At his mother's.
Name One Guilty Pleasure - It's not his fault they put the temple so close to the Pixie's Kitten.
Is your character allergic to anything? - Marshmallows.
When was the last time your character laughed? - Last night he walked into the temple by mistake.
Bacon - Proof that the Gods really love us!

Young Martius Lacklund wanted more from life than what Rag's End had to offer. One day a distant relative shared the germ of an idea. A vision of what could be in what was then a trackless place. Martius and his siblings were on a ship leaving Magnimar before the year ended. The Scarnettis and the Deverins were on the upper decks. It was a little over forty two years ago.

Wresting a town from the wilderness was hard going. Lovely Loletta made it bearable. She chose Martius over his brother and were wed in the tenth year of Sandpoint's founding. The children that blessed their lives knew loving parents and in Martius a masterful man. He taught his sons the fate of the present lay in honoring what had gone before. Which only involved humans.

From the start it troubled young Kes to hear his father's bigotry. The elf maiden that haunted the town's fringes was the most beautiful thing he had seen. Yet Martius distrusted Shalelu. He told his son an elf could show him how to hunt but she couldn't make him see his role in a community the way a human did in the time alloted. He said the elves feared corruption themselves and wouldn't let a human wander inside the Mierani. Of the goblins' enmity there could be no doubt. It was Shalelu who saved twelve-year-old Kes after the goblins killed his father.

His mother mourned her husband and agonized over her son's despair. Her joy when Kes smiled from word of Shalelu's efforts hid a pang of jealousy. It roared in anger when he endangered himself stealing to the woods when the elf was near. He said he needed to learn how to protect not hate and asked if she was like his father. Her furious reply saw him turn away altogether.

He was no more grateful to the town's citizens. Martius had been an uncompromising man and made enemies. His son got into fights and when he grew older frequented taverns boasting or sulking about the results. Entering one he overheard a man who had once lost his living because of Martius and the Scarnettis. A deputy dragged the nineteen-year-old off his prone target and told him it was the last straw.

He sat in a cell awaiting the summons from Magnimar and received visitors. He knew his father's cousin and saw his brothers but was puzzled at a wizened old woman until she started crying. He awoke to the truth he barely recognized his own mother. Titus Scarnetti's words went unheard. All Kes saw was his mother seeing his face and smiling after so many years.

Titus had told him his parents didn't deserve the shame of a son in prison but that the shame of his deeds needed time to heal. But not in Sandpoint. Kes hesitantly agreed for helping him reconcile with his parent. Titus had also known about his friend and said the son proved the truth of his father's fears.

But the elf was missing when he went to say goodbye. Shalelu found out he had worn a different face in front of the people she taught him to protect. Their solitary guardian left her pupil taking to the road with a troubled heart and a final lesson.

kakimasu · 8:51pm

Character Name:
Gender:
Age:
Class:
Race:
Deity: (if any)

Background: 3-4 Sentences. Please include: Region of Golarion they're from, most defining moment of character's life thus far (simple as receiving their first sword or casting first spell to as complicated as being a Half-orc raised by Dwarves), and how they were recruited for this mission.

Motivations: 3 Bullet Points.
Examples: • Greed • Glory • Power
or • Redemption • Hatred of Demons • Devotion to Sarenrae

Goals: (3 short sentences)
1 Short-term attainable goal (I want to clear the Thorn River of Bandits)
1 Mid-term attainable goal (I want to become a _________ or become known a great __________)
1 Long-term pie-in-the-sky goal (I want to seal the Worldwound, defeat a Balor, conquer Brevoy etc)

3 NPCs important to your character: