MrFuzzy

Hey ya'll, I apologize for ducking back out, but I have not been able to get back into a regular posting pattern. I'm going to bow out. Thank you for letting me join in!

Apologies! I could have sworn I already had, but I must not have hit submit. On the other hand, it is neat to know that the new site will save a post for more than a day just sitting there.

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Gaping, Alvan shuffles back, trying not to step on anyone. Shifting his long staff around, he tries to conjure a flame at the end; he's not familiar with combat like some, but in the worst case scenario, sending bright flames at a beast while backing away has worked wonders in the past. "Careful, now!" he said, to no real effect or purpose. Action: Trying to cast a 1d6 flame jet to use next turn. Flame Jet 17

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Moving carefully along behind the others, Alvan tries to keep his staff out of the way. Action: Dexterity 12 Health 10

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Following the others, Alvan says, "If there are a cluster of enemies below...try not to tip their hand immediately. I may be able to replicate the flash of light that threw the flying Orc to the ground, and allow us to rush in at great advantage." Action: Following the others, this time sticking close to avoid missing the action.

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Rushing forward, Alvan goes to join the the others, before pausing where he stands. Preparing himself in case a spell is needed, he looks about; from the appearance of things, he once again came just as the battle ended. "Hank, Harolde! Are you alright?" Action: Looking around to try to make sense of the scene and intervene if there are any surprises.

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Nodding sharply at the boy, Alvan rushes towards the noise. Presuming Richard will follow, Alvan feels the acrid taste of adrenaline and fear in his mouth, at the back of his throat. He's not made for this sort of confrontation, but of the two of them, if someone takes a swing, he can likely fend it off with a shielding spell or the like. Long enough for Richard to help, or for Alvan to stumble back. Action: Moving as directly towards the drama as possible.

Alvan, Hedge Wizard HP: 10/10 FP: 10/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: Disgruntled Actions:

Equipment Encumbrance --- None 20, Light 40, Medium 60, Heavy 120, Extra-Heavy 200 Total Weight: 7.25 (No Encumbrance) Clothes 2lbs Staff 5lbs Equipment --- Current Funds: $0 Weapons Long Staff Sw+2 cr, Thr+2 cr Reach 2, 3 Parry +2 Weight 5 Cost $15 - Enchanted with ‘staff’ spell $30 - Balanced +1 to skill $60 A sturdy, well-balanced carved wooden staff. He rarely carries it, usually leaving it in the wagon, but he holds onto it when he is nervous, or if he needs to thwack any annoying cultists roaming about. Armor Clothing, ordinary, freeman $0, 2 lbs Dirty and threadbare, but otherwise well maintained road clothing. Pants, shirt, shoes, with a cloth hooded coat and a pair of gloves he wears when chilly. Adventuring Gear Power Item, Pipe $895, neg. A strangely heavy pipe, with intricate designs beneath layers of accumulated dirt and soot. Made from an unknown, extremely dense metal, that is always slightly warm to the touch. 8 point capacity, $5/point to recharge Wineskin, 0.25 lbs Holds up to 1 gallon (8 lbs) when full.

Alvan, Hedge Wizard Name: Alvan, no surname Archetype: Hedge Mage under Shadow Origins: Oerid Race: Oeridian Gender: Male Age: 35 Height: 5'11" Weight: 180 lbs Religion: Worships Wenta, goddess of Autumn, Brewing, Harvest, and the West Wind Specialties: Utility casting Background Alvan was born in the Great Kingdom of Northern Aerdy, in the year 564, in a small, semi-permanent camp among the foothills in the Iron Hills. His parents, whoever they were, did not raise him; instead, he was a child of the commune, never understanding what the community was, or that this was not how all children grew up. In fact, the commune was a hidden community of Cultists, worshipping a figure who claimed to be an avatar of the recently raised Vathris, but was actually a Falxugon Devil. Alvan was completely unaware of all of this, until one summer night, when he was nearly 8 years old. Beneath the stars, a great fire was built, and each of the cultists, one by one, threw themselves amongst the flames, all under the watchful eye of a great, shadowy figure. The children were cast in first, save for Alvan, who was held back at the direction of the shadow; for unknown reasons, he was to be the beneficiary of the ritual, which ended as the last of the cultists threw themselves into the flames, and the shadowy figure smile and walked in after them. He was found two days later by an enterprising Dwarven prospector and her husband, a Gnomish merchant, on the outskirts of the badlands. They took him in, raising him as best they could, despite his peculiar nature from being raised in such an insular community. He grew to love them, and the structure of their community, something lacking before. Upon his twelfth year, as he was picking firewood from the foothills, a large, disheveled black Raven flew up to him, landing on a branch before him. It spoke to him confidently of the oncoming storm, how his fire-tainted blood gave him the strength to survive the secrets the Raven bore, secrets of blood and ash, and power. Alvan, always a practical boy, threw a stick at it and moved on, continuing his chore. The Raven flew behind, befuddled at the complete lack of interest. All children wanted control! All humans wanted power! This boy was literally born and bred to be the vessel of conquest, and…he just didn’t care? Eventually, the Raven determined it would remain by his side, teaching him, molding him, preparing the boy for his destiny. Alvan named him Piddles, and declared they were best friends. Later in 576, Alvan lost his father to the Red Death, and went along with his Mother to live with her sister’s family across Relmor Bay, near the Celadon Forest. By the time they’d arrived, his aunt had perished, along with her children, and her husband wanted nothing to do with them in his grief. The continued to travel, taking well to a life on the road as Alvan began to show greater and greater signs of spellcraft. Unlike many, his spells were broad, though individually weak; he was able of an astonishing breadth of sorcery, making their nomadic lifestyle much more tolerable, though he struggled with anything more than basic cantrips. As he grew, he learned ways to offset those struggles, elaborate, lengthy rituals, unusual to most spellcasters, which gave him more control at the cost of time and expense. In 582, his mother passed away in an unexpected attack on the roads, which he responds to with great force. Leaning into the whispers of Piddles, his familiar (now known to him to be a small, winged humanoid Imp) guides him in casting spells of true power and horror. He does so, losing himself in the vengeance he wreaks on those unwashed thugs, before collapsing. It takes him weeks to recover, and despite the clear joy in his familiar at successfully channeling greater magic, Alvan swears he will not do so again. The sheer disgust he felt at himself, the oily residues of dark powers, sickened him, and made him yearn for more control over his magic, and his emotions. He put his mother to rest some distance from the slaughter, taking their family cart and resolving to offer aid wherever he could, as the world grew darker and colder than before. For the next decade, he traveled, relying on his spells to find work as a Hedge Mage, never setting down roots. It was dangerous, but he did the best he could to stay out of sight and away from the true threats. While many around the land grew to become renowned heroes, or despised villains, he stayed true to his path, avoiding the limelight, avoiding danger or risk, to the eternal frustration and apoplexy of Piddles. Eventually, he found his way to the region of Greyhawk, traveling the outskirts, but never entering the city proper. As he aged, more and more he began to run into madmen, cultists and cloaked figures who expressed great interest in him. He always politely deferred, moving on as quickly as he could, but on more than one occasion, he had to leave behind a corpse when things went badly. Something, somehow, drew them in, and despite Alvan’s complete disinterest, the attention only grew. For now, he acts as a traveling spellcaster, occasionally buying and selling small staples like wine or cookware, or selling food from his cart. Though he has grown to be an exception, once-in-a-generation Mage, he downplays his skills, preferring to avoid attention rather than flaunt his abilities or gain any notoriety. As far as almost anyone who meets him knows, he is a minor Food mage, with a secondary specialty in harmless Illusions, mostly used to entertain. He worships Wenta, the goddess of Autumn, Brewing, Harvest, and the West Wind. He isn’t particularly devout, but then, she doesn’t really require that, and the idea of a beautiful woman with a mug of ale and a smile for him in the sky is enough to keep him going on hard nights. She is everything the cult wasn’t, which brings him a certain spiteful joy in worshiping her as well. Appearance and Personality Alvan would perhaps have been a handsome man if he had lived a different kind of life. As it is, he is...worn. Aged before his time, his long, unruly hair and beard are a dirty mix of brown and black, with streaks of silver throughout, and his eyes are slightly sunken, his skin ruddy from the sun, and his general demeanor dusty and trail-worn. Much of this is deliberate, of course, and he can always wash up and change if need be. However, he prefers to keep himself looking beneath the notice of most, and he doesn't mind a little healthy dirt or a few friendly little beetle friends in his hair. They all share the open sky and sleep beneath the stars together, it's not going to do him any harm. He is otherwise an extraordinarily average man. Not particularly broad shouldered, nor slim. Not strong, or robust, but not particularly sickly either. Apart from looking a bit worn around the edges, he is just...a man, like you could see anywhere. Despite his history, Alvan loves people, and finds day to day life endlessly charming. While he lives a fairly rough life from the outside, a good bit of that is pretext; he is entirely self sufficient, his own brand of wildly broad magic providing for all of his material needs, so he doesn't see the point in seeking out more money, power, or notoriety. In fact, he would love to live the rest of his life as he is, moving from town to town on his cart, meeting new folks, even being mocked as a failed Wizard. It's all fine. Unfortunately, he keeps being accosted by Cultists who are insistent he is the Shadow behind the All Consuming Flame, or some-such nonsense, so he has to keep on the move. Still, he is prone to finding small joys, utterly unbothered by inconvenience or rudeness to his person, and generally cheerful in a gruff, slightly scruffy kind of way. Character Sheet ST 10 [0] DX 10 [0] IQ 14 [80] HT 10 [0] Basic Speed: 5 [0] Basic Move: 5 [0] Will 14 [0] (Fright Check 13) Perception: 14 [0] Basic Lift: 20 lbs Base Damage: 1d-2 thrust, 1d swing Hit Points: 10 [0] Fatigue Points: 10 [0] Advantages --- Ally (Familiar; 100%, Constantly, Special Abilities +50%, Summonable +100%, Backlash, Agony -100%, Costs 6 FP -30%, Costs 5 HP -50%, Preparation Required, 1 Hour -50%) [4] Eldritch Blessing 4 (Alchemy, Hidden Lore, Occultism, Thaumatology, Ritual Magic, Symbol Drawing) [20] Energy Reserve 8 (Granted by Familiar -40%) [15] Magery 0 [5] Magery 3 (Ritual Magery; Granted by Familiar -40%, Solitary Ceremonial +10%) [21] Black Contract [1] Staff Bond [1] Language: Common (Spoken - Native, Written - Native) [0] Cultural Familiarity (Greyhawk) (native) [0] Disadvantages --- Chummy [-5] Enemies (Unknown; he is often accosted by madmen, occultists, and raving lunatics. It's probably nothing.) [-15] Frightens Animals [-10] Nightmares (CR 12) [-5] Sense of Duty (Party) [-5] Unluckiness [-10] Likes animals, keeps trying to befriend them [-1] Anything that reminds him of the cult commune, he deeply resents [-1] Enjoys bringing people together over food [-1] Thinks ofPiddles as his best friend [-1] Dislikes fanatics, no matter what they are fanatical about [-1] Skills --- Alchemy IVH IQ-3 11+4 [1] Cooking IA IQ-1 13 [1] Diplomacy IH IQ 13 [2] First Aid TL4 IE IQ+0 14 [1] Hidden Lore (Demonology) IH IQ-2 12+4 [1] Hiking HA HT-1 9 [1] Innate Attack DE DX+1 11 [2] Intimidation WA Will-1 13 [1] Merchant IA IQ-1 13 [1] Occultism IH IQ-2 12+4 [1] Ritual Magic (Black Magic) IVH IQ+3 18+7 [24] - Symbol Drawing IH 14+4 - Religious Ritual (Black Magic) IH 12 - Exorcism (Black Magic) WH 15 - Air College IVH 13+7 [1] - Body Control College IVH 13+7 [1] - Communication College IVH 13+7 [1] - Earth College IVH 13+7 [1] - Enchantment College IVH 13+7 [1] - Fire College IVH 13+7 [1] - Food College IVH 13+7 [1] - Gate College IVH 13+7 [1] - Healing College IVH 14+7 [2] - Illusion / Creation College IVH 13+7 [1] - Knowledge College IVH 13+7 [1] - Light / Darkness College IVH 13+7 [1] - Making / Breaking College IVH 13+7 [1] - Meta-Spells College IVH 13+7 [1] - Mind Control College IVH 13+7 [1] - Movement College IVH 13+7 [1] - Necromantic College IVH 13+7 [1] - Protection /Warning IVH 13+7 [1] - Sound College IVH 13+7 [1] - Water College IVH 13+7 [1] Staff DA DX+0 10 [2] Thaumatology IVH IQ-3 11+4 [1] Changelog Current Character Total: 155 Unspent Total: 8 221112 Character Approved [150] 221117 fixed Per and Will to correct levels 221207 Earned [4] for S1E1. [1] into each of Diplomacy, Hiking, Merchant. [1] unspent free point. 230117 Earned [2] points for S1E2. 230307 Earned [3] points for S1E3. 231104 Earned [2] points for S2E1.2.

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Alvan moves up behind Richard, holding a hand up consolingly to the woman and smiling gently at her children. "Not to worry, ma'am. We are not here to cause you any trouble. There are...nefarious men about, we think. We will leave immediately, but...have you seen any dealings, ruffians, thugs, cultists, or...stones? If so, we may be able to compensate you for the information, if it helps us stop what is happening." Action:

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Moving up to the first door, Alvan shifts his long staff to keep it by his side, trying the door handle. Action: Seeing if the door opens; if so, pushing it open and stepping away. Paranoia!

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Alvan inched behind Richard, preparing another illusion if needed. It sounded like the figures above had moved on, but that was no guarantee that they actually had. Action: Staying a ways back from Richard, but preparing to respond if anyone lunges out at him.

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Lifting his staff, Alvan mutters a small phrase, creating the unmistakable scent of burning wood in a region just below the ceiling of the room. Hopefully, it would carry up to the next floor. "I say, I believe there is a fire!" he shouted, banging his staff against the wood, before quickly stepping back to the door and pausing by the exist. Action: Casting Odor, just a one yard radius, right up by the ceiling/floor of the second level. No FP cost on a success, given effective skill and small radius. Odor, Skill 19

HP: 10/10 FP: 6/10 ER: 8/8 Conditions: None Holding up a hand to Richard, Alvan bends to his ear, whispering as quietly as he can. "People above...Should we attempt to flush them out? If they are uninvolved...I could use an illusion, perhaps smoke to indicate a fire. What do you think?" Glancing back out, he pointedly looks back towards the others as well. It may be the best course to rejoin the rest, if they've gotten through the obstruction. Action: