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  1.    Caedmon Bishop   “The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living”   DRUID (SPIRIT MENDER) FIGHTER (TWO-HANDED SOLDIER)   PRIMARY ROLE FRONT LINE FIGHTER   SECONDARY ROLE HEALER SECONDARY SKILL MONKEY   RACE: Half Minotaur AGE: 26 GENDER: Male   Appearance Seeing him from afar, one might think Caedmon wears an horned helm to battle, but upon meeting him, his melded visage is quite unsettling.  The horns that sprout from his otherwise human head matched with his cloven hooves cause many to assume he is some demon spawn come to claim their children.  He once tried to hide these off-putting elements, but once the spirits joined in their dance around him, it became an exercise in futility.     A few scars line his neck and cheek, the remnants of a burn from his youth.   Spending much of his time traveling in the untamed lands between the cities, Caedmon opts for simple garb.  A pair of woolen pants covers his bovine legs while an old--once loose fitting--leather jerkin strains against his muscular torso.  The humongous axe strapped to his back is the only truly remarkable part of his ensemble, though it is memorable enough that one is not likely to mistake anyone else for Caedmon.   Personality Caedmon is a man of warring sides, the ultimate form of nature versus nurture.  His father's brutality and desire for murder rage within him constantly, but the sacrifice his mother made to bring him into the world and the care of those at the monastery instilled in him a longing for peace and harmony.  Most of the time the nurture wins out.  Caedmon is kind and always ready to lend a helping hand to villages in need or to his allies on the battlefield.    But there are times where his darker side breaks through to the surface.  When the stench of blood is thick, when innocents are threatened or murdered senselessly, when the desire to hurt becomes too much, Caedmon unleashes the bestial nature of his forefathers.   Backstory Drip.  Drip.  Drip.   The woman's tears create channels of clear skin through grime that covers her face.  She can hear them behind her, the beasts that have held her captive for months.  They will catch her.  The knowledge pounds like a battering ram against her brain, but she will not succumb to that reality.  She will not go back to the beasts.  They will not have the child she carries.     Ahead, a caravan.  Soldiers?  No, their clothes are too neat, too ritualistic.  Even if they cannot fight the beats, they can hinder them.  She flees towards the wagons and mules calling out in a hoarse screech for their help.  The men and women respond quickly, forming a line to protect her.  They are not soldiers, but they are warriors.  She does not see what happens, but she falls asleep to the screams, both man and monster.   When she wakes, she is in a wagon, the caravan is moving.  There are stars above her, watching.  She tries to get up, but the pain in her abdomen is excruciating.  There is blood, too much.  A nurse's hand holds a washcloth to her head.  And the woman knows.  "Keep him safe," she whispers.  "Love him."   Drip.  Drip.  Drip.   The rain rolls down Caedmon's window.  Filling his lungs, he releases an exasperated sigh.  "Five days, Papa!  Five days of mud and wet and dark.  When will it stop?"   The old monk chuckles from his rocking chair.  "Caed, I hate to tell you.  If the omens read true we have another week until the downpour clears."   Caedmon clomps away from the window and sits down next to one of his adopted fathers.  "I just want to run in the fields.  I get so antsy cooped up in here; it makes me want to scream and hit the walls and..."   His father leans forward and ruffles the boy's hair, careful to avoid the stubby horns growing out on either side.  "And what, son?" he asks in a measured voice.   "And...and hurt things.  The chickens, the goats...people...you."   The monk sinks back into his chair, not frightened by the admission but resigned to its implications.  "We knew this might happen one day, Caedmon.  You probably don't remember what a terror you were as a toddler.  Headbutting Sister Agnes if she wouldn't let you have seconds.  Stomping on Father Michael's foot--he was limping for a week." He sighs.  "You see, there is a side of you that will always want to do things like that.  It is...who you were born to be."     "But--"   The monk holds up a hand to forestall Caedmon's interjection.  "But," he agrees, "you do not have to be that creature of hate.  We have watched for many years as you have become a better man than any of us hoped.  The miller will remember all the times you pulled his rotary mill when his horse went lame.  Sister Agnes has forgiven your youthful tantrums and welcomes your help in the kitchens.  And I cannot imagine anyone more tender or skilled to work the gardens here.   "You are a good man, Caedmon.  Whenever the anger builds like this, remember that you love those around you, that you are kind, that you can be better than that."  The pair sit in a heavy silence.  "And maybe I can talk to Sir Roderick in town about some...outlets for your anger."   Drip.  Drip.  Drip.   Is that the rain? he thinks as sleep slips away.  No, it doesn't smell like the rain.  It smells like...     Oil drips from a toppled lantern.  That is bad, but for a moment Caedmon cannot remember why.  His head hurts.  His fingers slide back across his head and find the lump just below his right horn.  Did I fall?  No, someone hit me.  He watches the pool of oil slowly spread across the floor as he tries to piece together the fragments in his memory.  Father Jacob was running down the hall screaming 'They're coming!' and then I came outside and...  The oil creeps steadily across the worn stones toward a bright, flickering light just beyond Caedmon's field of vision.   The oil ignites a moment before Caedmon's brain connects the light to a flame.  The fire almost seems to eat the oil as it flashes across the ground.  Caedmon's torso and face scream with pain and he recoils from the heat.  Despite the ache in his head and the sickening disorientation it causes, Caedmon rolls across the ground.  The flames go out quickly, but the damage is done.  Even the slight breeze that flows through the courtyard sets him on the edge of screaming.   At the very least, Caedmon regains his senses and recalls the Minotaur raiders that have been savaging the countryside.  He rushes quickly through the parts of the monastery that are not on fire searching for survivors.  There are bodies in the dining hall, the kitchens, the sanctuary.  He has seen death before, but these are his parents, his aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, his family.    It has been years since he felt the anger this strongly.  His vision narrows, his body feels hot, and a scream rises unbidden from his chest.   The sound of metal dragging on stone echoes in through the halls behind Caedmon.  He turns to see a massive beast, head and shoulders taller than himself, stomp into view.  The shadows hide most of the monster's features, but Caedmon makes out the horns on the creature's head and marvels at the similarity to his own.  The Minotaur bellows and charges Caedmon with frightening speed dragging a large, bloody axe behind him..  Caed is unaware of his body reacting--bracing, lunging, running.  All he sees are the faces of those he loves.  He lowers his head and feels the impact.  Two lines of agony snake down his back just before his head and neck are jarred with hitting a solid mass that collapses atop him.   Caedmon struggles out from underneath the Minotaur.  His head is covered in blood, and he has to work to extricate his horns from the beast's gut.  The anger is slaked for the moment, but seeing the Minotaur take a shuddering breath rekindles it.  Caedmon kicks with one hoof to turn the Minotaur on its back.  He reaches down and awkwardly wrestles the axe from the beasts hand.  It is much larger than the battleaxes Sir Roderick introduced him to, but Caedmon makes due.  He brings the axe down in a swift chop to end his foe's life.   As the battle haze lifts, Caedmon hears a human scream in the distance.  Someone is still alive.  He hefts the axe onto his shoulder and makes his way into the night unaware of a wisp of light bobbing along behind him.   Drip.  Drip.  Drip.   "The ice is melting."     "Damn.  Why can't anything go our way?  This was supposed to be a cakewalk!"   "This is what, your third assignment, Caed?  I thought you would have figured it out by now; if the Guild gets a contract it's never a cakewalk."   Caedmon paces as well as he can in the fissure he and Clayton are trapped in.  Three steps to forward, awkward turn where Clayton has to duck, three steps back, repeat.  "You think Donovan abandoned us after he made the wall or did the delvers get him?"  Clayton stays silent.   Another hour passes, and the magically formed wall of ice gets thinner and thinner.  Clayton conjures up a little ball of light every now and then, but its feeble illumination is little comfort.  Caedmon fares better with his monstrous eyes, but even he misses the light of the surface.  When the ice shrinks enough that movement is visible on the far side, Caedmon picks up his axe, Heart Bane, and readies for a fight.   Clayton's anachronistic chuckle startles Caedmon.  "You have less than a foot either side to swing that overgrown twig.  You're more likely to gouge your own arm than knock one of these slugs about."  He pops to his feet and unsheathes his rapier.  "You need finesse in a close space like this, not brute--"  Clayton vanishes as the ground drops away beneath his feet.     Caed barely registers the slimy slug that emerges from the hole before he charges forward.  He slams into the slug and feels the creature's acid bite into his skin.  He doggedly pushes forward slamming Heart Bane's shaft into the slug and jabbing forward with his horns.  The brief battle of strength sends the pair toppling down the hole.  The slug hits first, alive, until it splits apart under the force of Caedmon's landing.    Amidst the burning acid, Caedmon spies a body wrapped in robes.  Though the face is gone, he recognizes Donovan, the mage who saved his life.  And there just a few feet away is Clayton.  At first, Caedmon assumes the swordsman has shared the wizard's fate, but a shallow breath gives hope.  Caedmon scrambles over and reaches for the potion he always keeps in a belt pouch.  A shard of glass pricks his hand, the vial shattered in the fall.     Frantic Caedmon searches Clayton and then Donovan's belongings for some potion or poultice he can make use of.  Nothing.     "There must be something.  You can't die, Clay."  But after a few minutes Caedmon collapses beside his friend's dying body.  He takes Clayton's hand in a gentle grip.  "I'll make them pay.  Every slithering, creeping one of them.  I'm sorry."   The grays and whites of Caedmon's vision retreat suddenly.  A dim light brings color back to him.  A glowing ball hovers above Donovan's corpse.  It bounces through the air and runs a circle around Caedmon's head before sliding down his arm.  In a brief flash the ball is gone, and Clayton's wounds close up.  His breathing becomes even.   Caedmon stares in wonder.  "What in the nine hells was that?"   Drip.  Drip.  Drip.   The blood falls from Heart Bane and pools on the ground.  The battle is done.  There are casualties; there are always casualties, but fewer, he thinks, than there used to be.  Caedmon stands next to the surviving hunters and relishes the afterglow of a good fight.   "MmonSTeR!"   Caedmon sighs.  This happens more and more these days.  He steps away from the others with a nod and kneels down beside the mountain troll's corpse.   "I waTCHed yoooou.  MmonSTeR!"   Caedmon pulls a spade from his pack and begins testing the ground.  Trampled, but not thick with clay; it would be fairly easy to dig.   "Yoooou ARE a dEEEEmon.  A KILLER!"   "I am sorry.  You made your choice, my friend.  You could have stepped away, gone off to find a hairy flood troll with all her teeth and settled down."   "You LIKed the BLOOD."   "I'll see you to your final rest.  I hope you find peace there."   Caedmon sets to work digging.  It will be a few hours before he can bury all of the fallen, the sooner he starts, the better.  He hears the jeers and questions of his fellow hunters but simply shrugs off their attentions.  The spirits will be back in a few hours, he wants some peace before then.  
  2.                                                           NAME Roh'Gau “Anyone can be a barbarian; it requires a terrible effort to remain a civilized man.” Leonard Woolf CLASS CLASS 1 Unchained Barbarian (Painted Savage) CLASS 2 Conscript VMC Monk PRIMARY ROLE     RACE: Giant (Two-Headed Ogre) AGE: 38 GENDER: Male           Appearance The two-headed ogre stands at 8'4" in height, his massive frame and broad shoulders are what help support his extra head and both with individual thoughts of their own. Body covered in mystical zodiac tattoos, as part of his heritage, the tribe gain power from these and are a mark of their accomplishments. Roh supports four tusk like horns and protrusions on his right head, while Gau only has three, two from the jaw and one from the back of the skull. The barbarian chooses not to weigh himself down with armor, as he has always preferred to toughen his body instead of relying on material gains.   Personality Roh and Gau are quite civilized for what many would consider a fierce and savage ogre. Although the nasty reputation, the Hunter's guild always accept talent from all walks of life. So as he may be unique, he is but one of many in the guild that have their share of experience and skillset. Although he is known for his physical skill and stature, Roh'Gau's dual mindset often help him in making wise choices when facing different situations that help his group tackle even the most dangerous of targets. Backstory Roh and Gau were born on an island chain fairly near the Island of Oculus. Every so often an ogre who has magi blood are born with two heads. When such a feat happens, it is customary to ogre culture, that each head is given an individual name at birth, but often merged them into one. Thus Roh and Gau became Roh'Gau. This largest island of this chain that Roh'Gau was birthed on was larger even compared to Oculus. Often nicknamed the Primordial Islands by the sea fairing folk, the name given due to the chain's prehistoric nature. Creatures were large or larger, and most of the inhabitants who lived on the island had to constantly learn tactics to protect themselves from these creatures. Roh'Gau was a young giant who was much smaller than many of his brethren, the island chain was home to many different types of giants and each tribe had an understanding between them. Roh'Gau constantly felt that he must prove himself, at an early age, he learned to enhance his body with tribal tattoos that helped reinforce his physical prowess. First and foremost other than his extreme training, he also learned animal handling and began training many of the beasts that his tribe would capture. This provided a source of wealth for his people. Very few merchant ships ventured to the Primordial Islands, but one safe harbor called the Cape of Fangs, was the place that imported goods and sold exotic beasts that cannot be found in the more tamed lands. That brought these merchants far and wide the in order to obtain exotic creatures for rich nobles and merchants who had more money to than any normal person could ever dream of. Although Roh'Gau was accustomed to this life, he wished to venture these other lands that the visiting sailors described and see if there were other beasts he could tackle head on. One of the merchant ships afforded him passage to the mainland which led Roh'Gau to join the Monster Hunter's Lodge. Seeming to fit right in, he enjoyed many expeditions that had to deal will all sorts of monsters.      Roh'Gau's first mission tested his ability to work with others. Having been introduced to Captain Fairweather, leader of the small group, they ventured far north into the icy mountains of Scorn Ridge. There were reports of a long lived frost wyvern that began to terrorize a small village. The creature did not attack directly, choosing to pick off anyone that dared to venture out alone or in pairs. For this reason, the villagers began to go out in groups of three or more. Even then, it has become more brave and a call to the Monster Hunters was made. The trek hunt lasted almost a week, as the wyvern was intelligent and avoided combat directly. This made it difficult to locate it's lair.   The stench of urine was strong in the air as they approached. Strewn about were frozen half eaten corpses of beast and man alike. The group moved in quietly, the elementalist named Peittra  sealed the entrance after the group passed through. Pitch black, Roh'Gau was comfortable in the dark, but a light had to be made for the others. As the party scout, Neegan ventured downward into the tunnel, he waved us forward quietly.  The tunnel opened up to a wide cavern before them. As luck would have it, the wyvern was asleep, and by the Gods it was huge. Nets weren't going to keep it still, so Roh'Gau used his training with his great spear and the others with theirs, used several of them back to back to help pin the beast down. The party followed through, one handed weapons, the Peittra made the final blow, as she unleashed a searing destructive fire orb into it's open maw as it was about to let loose it's breath attack. There, the party stood motionless as they watched the glow from within it's neck, suddenly a sickening pop, as the head exploded. Bits of flesh and bone sprayed the party. That day, Roh'Gau made a bond with his companions, leading to him being invited to join them on future missions.           His crowning achievement was the battle against a Hybriean hydra. An Alchemist by the name of Kreiger Gnull wanted rare components for his experimentation. Little did the group know that the beast would be a great challenge to the entire group. The captain was familiar with the set of islands, and since they were not too far off where Roh'Gau once lived, he was once again invited to join on the expedition. Upon arrival, the ship was unable to make shore due to the harsh terrain of the coast line. So the part had to use a small boat and traverse the rough waters. The jungle hugged the shore and almost immediately there was a thick fog that engulfed the party once they ventured not even 60' below the dense canopy.   There was a wide variety of exotic reptiles that found refuge within the lush jungle, eventually the group was forced to fend off against a nest of constrictors, it was the only passage they could find between the high cliffs along the river they followed. Roh'Gau managed to keep some of the snake hide which was later used in crafting the decorative outer lining his large sized efficient quiver. Three days into this jungle, and it began to turn into a swamp, The group had difficulty moving, but the group makeup was to walk in pairs when they could, leaving Roh'Gau taking the rear. It was then the scout found a prospect. The trail was fresh, it appeared as though there was a half eaten corpse of some kind of sauropod. The captain called it a Diplodocus, and it was being scavenged upon by small group of Velociraptors. The the party attempted to skirt around them in an attempt to avoid combat, but the lead raptor, a female with a particular bright red and green coloration, caught their scent in the air. If Roh'Gau had time, he would have loved to capture it, but since the group was on a schedule, the captain called out to only subdue the beasts, with minimal effort, the party watched the raptors scatter off towards the jungle from where the group came. A short distance away, they found the lair of the hydra. It appeared to have made it's home in some kind of sunken temple, it was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding growth. Upon entering the ancient ruins, it opened up to the sky above. Trees had grown throughout what was once a courtyard and was overgrown by plants. There, the hydra, which had already sensed the groups presence, reared it's multiple heads in preparation. The group focused their efforts in slaying the beast. One after another, the heads would fall, another two would take it's place. It's regenerative powers were great. It was immune to any acid damage that the elementalist had initially used, so she changed tactics and focused her blasts with fire. Not only could it regrow lost heads, but had a caustic breath weapon that burned the flesh off a normal man. Roh'Gau nearly lost his life to the beast as three of it's heads bit down, the acid sizzling against his skin. The beast attempted to rend him to pieces, but his companions managed to send great spears into each of their necks, while the Roh'Gau grasped the center neck with all his might. The captain finally seeing an opening ran the flaming spear directly into the chest of the hydra, the beast finally fell to the ground lifeless. Roh'Gau with his natural healing watched his muscles and skin stitch themselves up, his companions were thankful to have the ogre in their party, as the group was made famous after this and several more exploits.      
  3. Bonaparte T. Rasque "Le Commandant Magnifique"   “Rejoice men! My brilliance has seen us through yet another perilous battle!”   Commander (Braveheart) Skald (Skaldic Poet)   PRIMARY ROLE Company BattlemasterAKA: Party Buffing Heavy use of Gladiator and Warleader sphere talents. Also combines various teamwork, squadron, and passive buffs for nearby allies.   SECONDARY ROLE Esteemed DiplomatAKA: Party Face and Knowledge Junkie High social skills and knowledge checks.   RACE: Tarrasqueborn AGE: 36 GENDER: Male   Appearance The Regal Majesty of Le Commandant Magnifique Bonaparte strikes a regal and imposing figure with his full height measuring close to six foot three inches. At a glance one might mistake Bonaparte for a half dragon due to his scaled skin, numerous spines, thick tail, and two dominant horns atop his skull. The truth may be something a little more complicated although with his broad shoulders, maw of sharp teeth, and piercing amber gaze it is a mistake all too easy to make. Weighing in at close to two hundred and forty pounds, Bonaparte prefers to exemplify the superiority of his blood via his personal appearance as opposed to his martial might. Bonaparte always dresses to impress but prefers the stylish military uniforms often attributed to maritime naval commanders. Rich colors of fine silks adorn his flesh in perfectly tailored proportions with even proper holes for his tail and spines. His scaled are almost always glistening in the light from the perfumed oils Bonaparte regularly applies to himself. His claws are manicured, his fangs spotless, and his horns polished to a pristine gleam. Always walking with his shoulders back and back straight, Bonaparte exemplifies civility and regality at all times. Never does the reptilian appear hurried or rushed and he speaks with a deep baritone that focuses clearly on the emotion and pronunciation behind each word.   Personality The Mind Behind the Legend The exemplary specimen of civility, charm, and cunning. These are traits Bonaparte himself would use to describe himself. The reality however is far from it however. Bonaparte is first and foremost an unapologetic narcissist. He views himself both by blood and abilities to be above the common rabble of the world. This superiority complex is only exacerbated whenever Bonaparte believes his own efforts have directly led to the success or failure of those around him. Even when all obvious signs would otherwise point to Bonaparte failing or being unable to achieve some task, Bonaparte's psyche easily excuse the failing as simply being a matter of Bonaparte not putting his full effort into the task, or worse yet, the failings of other lesser folk. The level to which these excuses can reach can and often do borderline on self delusion, but no amount of thoughtful explanation could convince Bonaparte otherwise. (Though many MANY have tried.) In tandem with his narcissistic ego, Bonaparte regularly displays active signs of machiavellian thought. The world is his personal entertainment and his one calling is to spread the glory of his person and deeds throughout its realms. This leads Bonaparte to actively seek out opportunities to attain power or reputation even if said gains were the works of others. You can be certain Bonaparte will attempt to attach himself to any venture he deems has the potential to raise his own personal station higher. Thankfully, Bonaparte does possess a strange semblance of honor and finds using less undignified acts of immorality to attain his goals beneath him. This tends to balance his actions towards a more beneficial outcome for those around him; however, this code does little to prevent others from viewing Bonaparte as nothing more than a narcissistic egomaniac. Having spent his early life in relatively poor conditions, Bonaparte understands that all people have the potential to better themselves. He himself constantly strives for perfection and innovation, but he recognizes not everyone is possessed of the same drive as himself. To this end, Bonaparte views himself as a role model for lesser folk and that by aiding such folk both his reputation and network of skilled individuals will increase accordingly. Those that continue to fail merely need more time to reach Bonaparte's level while those who flat out reject Bonaparte are folk who need time and maturation to truly appreciate the wisdom Bonaparte brings to bear. This mentality, and delusions, make Bonaparte a surprisingly patient and understanding person even to the most extreme of cases. If one can look past the man's ego one might actually find a good listener.   Backstory Early Life Prior to Monster Hunting An abandoned orphan to the streets of the desert city known as Mar'Zhaladul, Bonaparte was taken in by a group of other street urchins for his unusual appearance. Indeed his heritage proved a useful trait for even at a young age Bonaparte was able to aid his adopted family in a scrap. Often times Bonaparte would find himself drawn to using unorthodox tactics to overcome physical threats which earned him the admiration and respect of his fellow urchins. This sense of pride and gratification took root in Bonaparte's psyche and as he grew he began to crave the admiration. In time, this desire made Bonaparte arrogant causing many of his former family to despise him for looking down on them. The tension eventually boiled over when Bonaparte's family abandoned him to the local guards after a botched food raid. The trauma of abandonment was subverted and twisted by Bonaparte's psyche and he instead came to believe that his family had merely thought him more than a match for the guards. Unfortunately for Bonaparte, his martial skill and quick wit were not enough to prevent his capture and subsequently being sold into slavery. Where most would have found the act of being sold into slavery a blatant demonstration of ones own powerlessness, Bonaparte took the change in his life as a challenge and learning experience. At his own auction Bonaparte actively sought to increase his own value by undermining the slave masters, an act which earned him a swift beating. When even after such harsh treatment Bonaparte rose again and boldly proclaimed that he would earn whoever purchased him one hundred times his price within ten years on the condition that he be freed afterwards the crowd burst into a mixture of guffaws and laughter. One man among the crowd was not laughing however and shortly thereafter Bonaparte found himself in the service of an aged general named Chancy Lassiter.   Bonparte's life under Chancy Lasssiter began as most slaves would, hard labor. Each day however once Bonaparte had finished his work, Chancy would take him aside and teach him one game of skill. Each day after, Chancy would play against Bonaparte until Bonaparte managed to beat the man. When he did, Chancy would teach Bonaparte a new game. This cycle slowly evolved with games turning into a fundamental education and eventually to military training. Bonaparte drank in the opportunities eager to prove himself. When he had earned enough favor with Chancy to be allowed some free roam, Bonaparte began to aid the advisors whenever they were sent to purchase food and goods from the local markets. Between his intimidating appearance and surprisingly devilish tongue Bonaparte took a shine to negotiations. The years past swiftly and before long Bonaparte had all but forgotten his promise. So engrossed was Bonaparte in the intrigues of the master's social circles and the challenges put forth by Chancy that he found himself in fact enjoying his time as a slave. By the end of his tenth year Bonaparte had risen to become a trusted advisor to Chancy and despite his rank as a slave, Bonaparte lived life more akin to a well treated hired help. When his nightly ritual with Chancy began, Chancy revealed to Bonaparte a massive ledger tome which detailed every instance Bonaparte had given monetary value back to Chancy. Bonaparte marveled at the level of detail in the ledger with even the most minute details having been meticulously documented. Years of his life flashed before Bonaparte's mind as he flipped through the pages of the tome. By the time he finished, Bonaparte realized he had far exceeded his original promise of one hundred times his purchase price. True to the spirit of the deal, Chancy Lassiter granted Bonaparte his freedom. The act of which surprised Bonaparte less for its benevolence and more for the realization that Bonaparte could now go anywhere he desired. Bidding farewell to his former master, Bonaparte set out satisfied that he had not only kept his promise but that he had excelled through trials and adversity along the way. What Led to Joining the Hunter's Lodge Upon his release into the world once more, Bonaparte found it both fascinating and slightly disappointing. While his reputation and skills within his former household had spread far into the neighboring towns, his name and skills meant nothing outside of them. Bonaparte needed a method to spread his reputation far behind the confines of his previous slave life. It was one day while sipping a mug of ale in a tavern that Bonaparte concocted an idea after listening to the bard sing of adventurer's slaying vile beasts. If adventurer's could have songs sung of their great deeds than why could not Bonaparte? To that end, Bonaparte resolved to become the greatest adventurer the world had ever seen, unlike any who had come before. Desires and reality are often conflicting to some measure of extreme degree. This Bonaparte quickly began to learn as he set out on a his grand scheme to become an adventurer. His skills  had certainly improved from his youth but as he pitted himself against monsters of the wilds Bonaparte found himself set back time and time again. Clearly there was more Bonaparte had not yet learned. As if to add insult to injury, each time Bonaparte did manage to achieve some feat he believed deserving of renown he would be overshadowed by groups of adventurer's overcoming far greater obstacles. Of course, given time, Bonaparte knew he could likely achieve such feats but for the present Bonaparte recognized the benefit for him to work in a group. His attempts to do just that continued to end in abject failure however for nobody quite seemed to understand Bonaparte's cunning or skill. They always just seemed to complain about him being self centered and arrogant. Clearly such adventurers did not know genius when they saw it and despite his best efforts, Bonaparte made little headway in his goal to be seen as a famous adventurer.   At a crossroads yet again, Bonaparte realized he had been thinking too small. He needed to chase after the bigger prizes in order to reap the biggest rewards. In time, Bonaparte learned of the Hunter's Lodge and its world wide reknown. Such an organization seemed the perfect fit for Bonaparte to not only impart his expert wisdom but to also boost his reputation to new heights. With that in mind, Bonaparte set out to join the Hunter's Lodge. Monster Hunter Extraordinaire Bonaparte's early years at the Hunter's Lodge were rough by anyone but Bonaparte's view. Bonaparte struggled to reveal his genius to his fellow hunters and many refused to work with him. Bonaparte knew these nay sayers could be brought to see the light but it would simply take time and effort. Fortunately for Bonaparte, guild rules required teams for most hunting jobs and as such many an unfortunately soul was stuck working with Bonaparte. These forced groupings were certainly eye opening experiences for Bonaparte who quickly realized that there was far more he needed to learn in order to accomplish his goals. In keeping with this, Bonaparte offered his cooperation and talents to compliment his fellow hunters. Over time, these efforts bore fruit by honing Bonaparte's skills and, more importantly, revealing to other hunter's that Bonaparte was not just a pompous egotist. One event in particular that had a defining effect on Bonaparte was the Battle of Blood Troll Gulch. During that particular hunt, Bonaparte and his team had been sent to root out a band of blood trolls that had been terrorizing a nearby town. The hunt was grueling and for weeks Bonaparte and his team were hit with guerrilla tactics by the blood trolls. Being unable to pin down their targets, Bonaparte and his team were forced to seek refuge and recover in the nearby town. It was during this time in town that Bonaparte began to develop relations with the townsfolk, though particularly the children. Unlike the adults, the children were eager to talk to the "dragon man" and loved hearing of his might deeds. Bonaparte relished the attention and grew fond of the towns children. So it was that when the blood trolls led a full on assault upon the town that Bonaparte fought tooth and nail with his team to fend off the assault. As the dust of the battle settled, Bonaparte and his team were victorious and the townsfolk praised them. Upon their departure, the children of the town surrounding Bonaparte with farewells with several promising to one day become great adventurers just like Bonaparte. Hearing this caused Bonaparte's ego and heart to swell with pride. He realized that while seeking his own fame, he could inspire legions of others to do the same. The notion gave Bonaparte a sense of grander agency in the world then he had ever known. As his tenure with the Hunter's Lodge grew more seasoned, Bonaparte become more tolerable within the more seasoned ranks of the guild. New members were often still rankled by the man's seeming arrogance, but none could deny that any taken under Bonaparte's wing would thrive in the field. Admittedly, with his growing experience so too did Bonaparte's ego grew. The wealth and prestige of the guild afforded him the ability to live more akin to a noble than any commoner. Fine clothes, good food, music, and even a nice cigar every once and awhile were all luxuries Bonaparte considered perks of his rising stardom. He styled himself as a self made adventurer and eventually gave himself the nickname of "Commandant". Along with generous patronage to various orphanages, libraries, and other institution for the people the nickname stuck and tales of the "Commandant's" adventurer's became well known tavern tales.
  4.    Avalan Novis       Elementialist (Martial Elementalist) Incanter   PRIMARY ROLE Buffer, Nuker, Utility Spellcaster   SECONDARY ROLE Crafter   RACE: Elemental AGE: 40ish years GENDER: He/him   Appearance Avalan's form was crafted by magic the whim of a ritualist far older than appearance would suggest. As such, a term like 'statuesque' would be far more literal than is normally suggested. Indeed, a statue was the target of the ritual to bring his life about. That being said, numerous runes carved about Avalan's form, each of which glow with an inner firelight give him a more arcane golem look. Avalan himself has done little to change that appearance, and his equipment often does more to actuate that look as not. After all, people are generally more willing to except a wizard's working than a rogue elemental. Most notable, he carries about him a dozen stones at a time, held in various pockets and pockets. Each of which is of different color, size, shape, and composition, although each are about palm sized and bear obviously magical runes engraved into them. When speaking, Avalan has a habit of speaking with his hands, as his stony face does little to convey any sense of emotion. Although his inner flame will often react with shifts of color and intensity.   Personality Avalan is a product of both his nature and teaching. He was born of fire and earth, his teachings that of precision and diligent thought. Being of earth, he is often slow and meticulous in action, inexorable in his goals, but acting quickly only after great momentum is built. Being of fire, he can feel the drive to act, the passion of creation, and the fury of destruction. Taught the ways of ritualized magic, he is meticulous in preparation, careful in execution, and focused on the end goal. This makes him focused and steady, as the mountain of patience holds the burning will in check. When the mountain of patience holds too much sway, however, he is often slow to change and inflexible in approach. When the mountain cracks the fires unleash, he can be ceaseless and tunnel in on his goal at the cost of everything around him.   Backstory The entity known as Avalan Novis was created some four decades past. Within the grounds of the Dundragon Estate, the ritualist for whom the estate was named cast the latest version of the ritual. A ritual that blended the arts of Alteration, Death, and Nature magic to form a body elemental essence, shape the form as desired, and imbue it with something akin to a living soul. The ritualist Arvenee spoke with him just long enough to ensure that Avalan was given a name and given to someone to care for him before he was led away. Nothing quite made sense in those early days, but he felt the lingering effects of the ritual that bound him not just to this place, but to her. It was a month of lessons and care from others like him before he would see her again. She explained that the magic used to create him would demand his obedience to her will and that she left him alone during until that effect wore off. She had little desire to enforce his cooperation but would welcome it if he allowed. In exchange, he would be free to explore the estate and learn whatever he wished that could be taught or read. With little enough reason to leave, he chose to stay, and renamed himself as Avalan Novis for the sake of hiding his first and True name.   The following years were marked by the exchange of knowledge. The cost of staying was to allow the occasional magical essay into his form and answering inquiries about himself and his growth. But these usually just involved some lengthy discussions and the being looked at very closely with divination spells. While they were sometimes uncomfortable, they never hurt and rarely took more than a few hours every few days. In exchange, he was taught the intricates of magic, the basics of fighting, and learned of the histories of the lands and cultures around the Estate. The Dundragon Estate was more than just a manor, it was part home, part magical laboratory, and part school. He listened as other students read magical texts to him, and others like him. Many of the library rooms were warded against incidental damage but they still never let those who manifested fire or water to hold the books. Avalan learned to fight from his older 'brother' along with a few other 'siblings', as the others like him referred to themselves, finding themselves to be the closest thing to family that they would likely ever have. In addition, many others would come to the Estate. Some came to be students, to learn from one of the regions greatest wizards. Others came searching the great library for one tidbit of lore or another. Still others came seeking assistance from such a gifted ritualist. She turned most of those down, though she rarely forbade them to seek help from the others there and more than a few offers of service were brokered within the halls of the Estate.    Avalan Novis grew up with his fellow elementals as a kind of extended family, with the ritualist Arvenee Dundragon taking the place of a distant, if caring, mother figure. Among them, their age became something of hierarchy rank, with the second generation taking charge of day to day life of the estate. The sole member of the original ritual had apparently left long ago and none who knew of what happened to it spoke of it. One each of the basic elements of air, earth, fire, and water, they controlled the various aspects of the estate when Arvenee was busy with her research, which was most of the time. The third generation was composed of many others like them, though most of them left shortly after the fourth generation established themselves to pursue their own goals. Avalan, who had been the eighth of the fourth generation, found his life within the Estate to be lacking something, a sense of purpose, a goal to achieve other than to learn and study and watch over the next generation. He stayed for a decade while him and his siblings first grew into themselves, and then raised the fifth generation of his kind upon the estate. By the end of those years, he found himself burning to explore and experience, rather than just hear about the world outside.   So, about three decades ago, Avalan left home. The first few years he wandered. He knew he was looking for something, needed to do something. But he could never quite figure out what it was supposed to be. He tried a few different crafts, a few different trades, and a few different places. But he found no crafts outside of magic that really called to him. Some of the trades he liked well enough, but none that he felt would be fitting for him forever. And there was no place that he felt he could truly call home. That is, until he met Veshra, a tiefling fighter from the Monster Hunter's Lodge. She was investing some disappearances around the town of Galandruss. Avalan had found himself there selling inscribed rune stones as he tried to figure out where to head towards next. Veshra stopped by his stall, little more a workbench of stone he had earth shaped in place, to purchase some divination magic. After a brief discussion, Avalan decided to join her, after all he had not tried monster hunting yet and the sells had be rather slow that day. A half hour later found the pair marching out of the town, following news of the latest disappearances. Between her tracking and his magic, the pair followed the beast to its lair. Uncertain of his fighting skill, Veshra told Avalan to stay back and wait for her to return. Avalan, full of curiosity and confidence, followed behind shortly after she went inside. What he found inside was Veshra dueling a displacer beast. They were both wounded in the short, but intense, fighting in the short time between her entry and his. But while the displacer beast could see its target to scour hits against, Veshra could only seem to land glancing blows against the displacer beast, whose body was never where it seemed it should be. Avalan pulled out two rune stones. The first he used to shield the pair behind a stone wall, the second he emplaced on Veshra. The rune stone granted her the ability to feel the tremors in the earth around her, revealing the displacer beast's true location. With the ability to 'see' the creature properly, Veshra made quick work of the beast.    Veshra recommended Avalan to the Monster Huner's Lodge, after something of a trial run. The next several years saw the pair of them off on contracts together, her teaching him how to properly be a Monster Hunter, him leveraging his magic to assist them in the hunt. They teamed up with a few others for various missions. Of particular note in some circles was his work while clearing out the underground regions of the Hollow Steppes. His natural skill with earth magic mapped and molded the various caverns towards the expedition's needs, while he inscribed numerous runes to strengthen and protect the teams as they ventured deep into the natural maze of the place. As the decades pasted, Avalan would semi regularly step back from active work, taking some time to study his magic, craft new runic creations, or make his way back to the Dundragon Estate. But he always came back. He had found a purpose in the life of a monster hunter, a chance to do something important for its sake and his own.  
  5.    Nemeia, Thaumaturge, Giftgiver, Beloved by the Cosmos   "'thȯ-mə-ˌtər-jē - the working of wonders, miracles."   Armiger (Antiquarian) 15 Hedgewitch (Triple Goddess) 7/Incanter 8   PRIMARY ROLE Control, Damage, Crafter, Unbridled Arrogance   SECONDARY ROLE Skills   RACE: Possibly Once Human? AGE: [Redacted] GENDER: Currently Female?   Appearance Nemeia fancies, and has fashioned themself, as a being of cosmic nature and import, an incomplete shadow of the the ritual interrupted long ago, pieced together from the scraps pieced together while being bound and restrained by those that do not understand their glory. Their body is infused with star-stuff, aether and the quintessence of the cosmos, starry and fulgent, their mood expressing through the flashing, twinkling and swirling of stars - save for their accursed left hand, a thing formed from metal, accursedly resilient to their best efforts to cure - they can only reinforce the material and transmute it to other suitable metals to match their other physical alterations. Starry eyes and shining hair, skin with pinpoints of light as freckles and gossamer robes mark the daily appearance of the figure, but their almost ethereal nature belies the proof of their hard labors and work, a form that is muscular and robust, powerfully formed and shaped, more than capable of the kind of mundanity that the Monster Hunter's bindings and oaths upon them have required of them. Most often, they wear a somewhat indifferent expression, though they seem to delight in being able to express their intellect, their features nearly glowing when they are satisfied with themselves. Likewise, their temper is well known, a furious glowing and pulsing of stars when the careless amateur or new recruit tests their patience a little too much. For all their self-assumed cosmic import, though, they have taken the form of a fairly short figure in this iteration, though the manner in which they carry themselves would suggest that they haven't noticed and don't particularly care. Put another way, Nemeia has strived to fashion their physical form to match their view of themself, of a being of grandeur and sublime radiance and beauty.   Personality Nemeia is, by the estimation of guild members who have had to work with them, professional, skilled and not especially easy to work with. A dry wit at the best of times and a downright vexing one when matters grow heated, Nemeia has an air about them that one might expect of a higher being, like a djinni put upon to grant a wish - indeed, 'the Giftgiver' moniker was granted after an especially loud exchange between a high-ranking adventurer and Nemeia, when discussing increasing ridiculous and absurd requests for magic and creations. Those who have had the chance to get to know Nemeia, though, have found that they are the very embodiment of living what you preach, an exacting perfectionist who holds themself to account far more than the lodge ever could. While their time of service has been marked by terrible lows and marvelous highs, Nemeia treats it as a temporary, and inevitably soon to end condition that they have determined to make the best of, and as such carries themself through true hardships with a stoic grit, working the problem rather than dreading it. On certain rare occasions, though, they can express an almost overwhelming excitement, unaccountably pleased with how things have turned out, or with some point of order that seems known only to them, though they will gladly speak of it if asked, if they wish to do so. While they are downright chatty about the minutia of their work, there are also some subjects on which they will simply refuse to speak, for whatever reason, simply saying they will not, or speaking nothing, rather than deceive or misdirect. Taken another way, Nemeia carries themself as if a cosmic being trapped byof unknowing mortals who, having caught the glowbug in a jar, don't actually have a plan for it, and can only think of what to do with it in the narrow confines of their imagination. For form's sake, though, as part of their own plans to inevitably be free of their obligations and the layers of oaths and restraints, they keep it polite. All of which is to say that they have an odd relationship with the Monster Hunter's lodge. They are known to leave for only some few short days at most, normally at the request of Steelstaff herself, or her proxy, and even then, it is clear that they negotiate their terms - there is no snapping to at orders with Nemeia. They are especially... acerbic, when it comes to the history of the lodge, though they rarely elaborate, when questions of its ethics or history arise - but those eyes shining, and those nostrils flaring - a trait that has remained consistent across all their iterations - suggests there is much to be said. Through and through though, their work has been a measurable boon to the Monster Hunters, and not just in the local lodge. While they do not often spend much time abroad at the other lodges, they are known for coming for very specific, specialist work, typically relating to some important matter. Between their striking appearance, their... efficient... and brusque manner, and the method of their arrival, in a shaft of light resolving itself all at once as a person, then gone again, they are much more remarked upon in other lodges - though it can be decades between visits if there isn't a pressing need for repeat visits.   Background The Final Battle The sound of men and things doing violence rose through the air from below, rising to reach the tower. The figure, a short man of uncertain expression was biting his lip as he worked. It was already apparent to him the work wouldn't be done in time - someone had alerted the local fools and someone had scrounged up enough promise of gold and magic, and tales of defiling the dead, razing the towns and this or that evil act to get a mob of furious and frightened sheep together to launch an attack on the tower. In their ranks, opportunists and masterminds of this attack against him, adventurers of some kind, a band with dreams of grandeur and wealth, and sellswords and brigands. The entire region could tell which way the wind was blowing. Moving to the window anew in a flow of robes and snapping cloth, he deigned to look out the window for a moment before snapping his fingers, a flashing of light in the air outside the window.   "Cover!", came the immediate response from below. Damnable, they had enough sense and knowledge to know what to expect, which meant that they had put in the work learning about him - or someone had told him. As the flashes materialized from mere concepts to real creations, gravity took over, doing what it did, an old, reliable friend that way, two score of sharpened blades crashing down in a display of gratuitous violence. By a quirk of the metal, a curious ore that had chronomantic properties, not all the items that fell at the same time from the same height fell at the same rate, landing in a wave of lancing impacts, made all the worse for the guttering flames that flared to life in the descent, setting wounded to flame, a rising of smoke and screams and a familiar smell, as well as orders, or what passed for such passing for a response to the volley.   Behind him, the universe in miniature, or something nearly as beautiful but surely not as complete, roared with all the primal power of an untamed existence. It was everything that his familiar could do to maintain the magic as he worked additional magics, and the shattering, crashing sound from below suggested that his front doors had just yielded. If he were to guess, with an almost rueful, bitter expression on his otherwise plain features, they went after the hinges. If they did their research, and if they had half a brain between them - both things that he had good reason to suspect with the relative speed they were tearing through to him - they would be present soon.  Moving to the main entrance to the observatory, another snap of his fingers and a flashing of light brought a giant floating blade, like something a giant butcher would use, into being, and  a gesture of his hand and a word commanded it forth. It was apropos, perhaps they would understand that they were being led to the slaughter. Perhaps they'd even-   His world went brilliant and wondrous, light flooding the chamber as a knife flew through where his corporeal form had just been, triggering a contingent spell that saved his spinal cord from being neatly severed. Turning to look over the path it must have taken, two different versions of the thaumaturge began to spread out in the observatory, clad in fulgent, glorious light, reducing to mere beams before reforming as vaguely human-shaped entities of light. Even as they moved, another blade flashed towards one of the light entities, the attacker now clearly visible, a lithe looking male figure in the garb of every would-be assassin, with a stupid expression of hoping he picked correctly on his face. Of course, neither was correct, as the thaumaturge manifested more bodily as the other figure. The loud crashing and cursing suggested that his animate blade had already been defeated, and he had precious few moments. Then again, so did the intruder. Another snap, a flashing of light. It wasn't a technique he went to often, but it had an artistry he could appreciate, as the would-be murderer's flesh began to betray him, collapsing into a loose pile of cloth.   .oO&Oo.   The battle - slaughter, was the right word for it - continued in much that way, meeting a brief stalemate when the two sides found they could match each other for throwing power back and forth, in the short term, no less than three charges of fodder being dropped by walls of actual steel, metaphorical walls of steel, a delightful death trap of repeating conflagrations, broken spells. A few of the veterans, the adventurers, and the bold managed to close to cross steel, devoured into a void shaped like his hand, but the writing was on the wall - they had worn him down, even through the literal twisting of fate helping to shrug off their attacks and magics. Or at least, that was how this idiot standing above him as he bled on his own observatory floor was narrating it to some excitable bookworm. How broken had they left his body that they thought it safe to rummage and dictate in his presence. A brief, and painful consideration of that question suggested badly.   "...think that covers it, don't you think so?" the oaf was asking him now, looking down directly at him. "Sorry about this, by the by, but until the spell breaks or you give it up..." a blade stabbing down to counteract the undoing of harm by fate itself, the remaining traces of his defenses. "...I'll just have to do it the hard way. Can't say I mind, we lost... a lot... of... well, lets call them friends. Honestly, kind of did us a favor, though there were a few we liked. But since you're still with us, I've got a suggestion. You put up quite the fight, and my mage tells me your magic is... well, effective. So, you'll come to work for m- us, and you'll get to live. Or we can keep doing this until one of us gets tired of it. And I've got to be here until they're done with the body count and preparing the bodies, so I've got time to not kill." Early Days, Fools, and Funding It galled her. Of all the things she could do, this was what they wanted? Looking up from the parchments and folio, the thaumaturge's nostrils flared. She had half a mind to tell them where to stick this, and were about to, before catching themselves. The geas was painfully effective and this was not worth it, whatever the smug little fool thought. At least the last oaf had been a man of his word, where this little rat was a vexation and a liar both. With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her hair with one hand to soothe herself and snapped delicate fingers with the other hand, causing a rain of rare metals to issue forth, stamped coinage and all.  His obvious delight at the windfall told her all she needed to know about what this new 'association' or whatever they deigned to call it was about. Eventually, someone would see through even her well-made works, and that gave her satisfaction at least. Manpower and Ethics A puff of smoke rose from the dwarf's pipe, a grumbling sound from beneath their beard, a bushy brow rising incredulously. They had heard a lot of things in their time - but this was a new one. An ambitious one, even for the dwarf. It just wasn't original. Someone had gotten into his notes, as the thaumaturge recognized some of the verbage and specifics of the plan from their own notes and plans - and they both knew it. This one, this woman, all scars and hammered iron, was the shrewdest of the latest batch of 'guildmasters'. Where the first few had been idiots and small men, she had vision, and she had him by the beard. He had managed in the past few years, to make his... inhospitable stay... palatable. She saw to it that there would be no such, unless he served.   With a shrug and a wave of his hand, he turned to be about it. The idea wasn't that wild, when you thought about  it. Just another thaumaturgical act, another blurring of wonder and miracle. A minor act of god, really. Hefting his hammer, he began working, letting his familiar assist as he prepared himself. Even as he went through the rote motions of preparing, he thought about what must have caused this change. Some kind of monstrous humanoid invasion? Undead uprising? Something as such. She wanted numbers, she needed soldiers, but what she demanded was recruits. She must have been remarkably knowledgeable or well advised, to avoid asking for animated weapons or constructs, which is what he had expected her to ask for. No, she needed flesh and blood humans, recruits, ready to drill for the coming spring. As if such things just came out of thin air, as if they migrated en masse every winter from the rural villages to take up swords.   Hefting his orrery sledge, he began working. It was within his abilities, though it would be involved. The main restriction was time, really, and the ethics of creating disposable human life to throw into the maw. And of course, there was the other concern - he would directly be supporting her ascension among both her contemporaries and peers, as well as the wider world. Then again, she had also made clear that this wasn't a request. A small act of creation then, to prepare the empty workspace with evenly spaced stone slabs, large enough for a grown man each, as well as the sundry supplies and materials he would need to begin, especially raw vegetable matter. Tapping his sledge to set a work rhythm, the thaumaturge let calloused digits snap heavy, thud-like snaps as power was invoked, a deliberate pace that let them muster more power with less of their own reserves. Fleshcrafting was clearly one of their masteries, so it took little effort on their part to begin shaping the vegetable matter, working it through passes up the chain of complexity of materials, until he was shaping the fine details of strapping, tawny-haired farm boys - or at least the soulless mimicries of such. That they all looked as if they could pass for siblings was of minimal concern to him - and he doubted, to the guildmaster. She needed passable fodder, not unique specimens.   Now the harder part of the work, bestowing intellect and life, or as he had thought to himself long ago in the observatory when he dabbled with playing god, a little heresy and a little transgression. The small shiver of excitement that ran up his back was something he couldn't deny. He did love being able to challenge himself, and if creating ten lives out of nothing at once didn't qualify, what would?   .oO&Oo.   The guildmaster looked pleased. Well she should. He had been at work for the last twenty four hours and more, spinning from whole cloth the finer details of existence - something that parents had decades to do - to bring her this thaumaturgy. Still, there was no denying the look on her face, it surpassed anything she had expected when she came to him. It was apparent, and neither of them bothered pretending otherwise.   Rapping his knuckles on the workbench, he gestured towards a folded note, awaiting her. Unfortunately, this was still a necessary step to be able to articulate more complex thoughts, and this one was just so. As she lifted the note to read it, a glow filled the chamber as a snapping sound rang out, followed by the guttering of flames. Of course they both knew that coming to blows in such a place made no sense, especially with her in reach of him, so he wasn't surprised that she didn't immediately lash out - but he was pleased with the widening of her eyes as she saw roaring flames lingering dangerously close in the air above her precious new recruits. While the note was, perhaps, enough to express what he wanted, it was the gesture that he was sure would make the point. After giving her a few moments, he gestured with his hand once more towards the note. It didn't take long before the guildmaster extended their hand to shake on the terms.   .oO&Oo.   While it hadn't worked out exactly as they had hoped, they were sufficiently pleased with the results. The workspace was... acceptable, but they were at liberty to improve it. They were given a new name, but at least now they would be visited by a few of the higher ranking to fulfill high importance requests. No squandering of their talents on the trivial. The tall, androgynous figure, with vaguely sylvan features, was a new adventurer-mage to the burgeoning lodge. Their timely intervention in the last invasion had built much goodwill and reputation, and no few heroes were minted in the pitched fights and patrols. Of course, the good stock of the realm turning out in droves, straw-haired farm boys raised on tales of derring-do lending their strong arms to the effort, was invaluable, and the lodge did much of the hard lift hammering them into actual warriors... and retaining them in their ranks to better serve as adventurers and hunters going forward. To protect the innocent, of course, and to grow the 'association', founding new lodges. Already they had a stack of requests for plans for individual lodges, as well as marching orders to get to the sites and start building.   At least the guildmaster had been true to their word, and some of the other magics, including a few they were sure were pilfered from the very rituals they had been working on on that day so long ago, were now at least partially enacted, giving them enhanced gifts and powers while they slowly ground away at the nearly insurmountable back orders that would eventually earn their promised rewards, one notch at a time.   The Dossier Interview The figure known as Nemeia was seated comfortably in the well-appointed little office, tastefully decorated with signs of wealth and success, finely, lovingly crafted furniture and  attractive furnishings - save for the sole seat that had occupied this side of the broad desk, a small, low, uncomfortable looking thing with a leg shorter than the rest, made to make the sitter uncomfortable. Or at least, it had been such a thing when they had entered. Nemeia was familiar with the song and dance at play and their skin was alight with annoyed pulsing, a cosmos of twinkling star-stuff all flaring in anger at once before a needless breath was released. It was rare for them to be invited up out of their domain, much less to receive a written invitation. Much less still as a matter of urgency, and insisted upon, no less, at 'first opportunity'. While the dynamics were obvious even to them - they had played those games when they were a smaller, sadder person, Nemeia did not mind dabbling a toe back in the pool after this time. Striding to the chair, they laid their metal-form fingertips on the back of it. Lifting their other hand, snapping fingers to the side, meant to draw attention, the chair was suddenly enveloped in a flare of light like a swirling cosmos and magic, cascading through a sudden collapse, the appearance of lines like a blueprint coalescing into a framework - and suddenly the chair was a far more comfortable and inviting, suited to both their tastes and their status. It always helped to set the right tone. After a moment to recover, the interviewer, small behind their overlarge desk, mousey in appearance in comparison to their written word, muttered and made a note, before speaking.   "Well, uh... I've called you here to go over a few things. During a cursory and entirely warranted review of personnel files to search for efficiencies and outstanding issues, as well as dues compliance, I came across your..." he trailed off, looking over at what could only politely be called a stack, and could more accurately be described as a child-sized tower of parchments, additional folders and scroll tubes "...tucked away in a dusty corner. When I started reviewing dates, you can imagine I became concerned! You haven't had your file audited or your status as a Monster Hunter reviewed in... well before my tenure!" Which said something, what with the gray that had long overrun whatever color, possibly a mousey brown, he had once had. "Worse still, it seems that you have some kind of 'waiver in perpetuity' regarding member's dues?!"   It was all so amusingly, tediously droll, so much so that Nemeia couldn't help but laugh, the first vocalization they had made in... their last three iterations, they decided, after a brief recollection. Feeling that the man must be upset to have his work laughed at, Nemeia added a casual, single shoulder shrug, to express the exact amount of concern that this series of facts caused in them, which did nothing to ingratiate them to their auditor, or so it seemed.   "Yes! Well, I'm preparing a report, and I am obligated to give you a chance to present your case before this is provided to our superiors, so, what do you have to say for yourself!?" he inquired, nearly red in the face, vacillating between anger and smugness in a truly unflattering manner.   "Your superiors." Nemeia clarified simply in their telepathic response, canting their head with a truly disagreeable little smile. Before the auditor could work himself up past sputtering threats, so red in the face that he might well have discovered a way to change his coloration on demand, Nemeia snapped metal fingers together, a heavy, thudding sound filling the air, purely from the sound of such dense metal against itself. "You want me to account for my work. I do not keep accounts. You want me to report on my actions. I do not report. I state, clearly, once, and when I do so, it takes the form of 'It is done', because that is all that I require. I am given my work by the guildmaster, and it is to the guildmaster I speak about my work. You will not find it in that file - if you had, you would not have asked me to be in the same room with you." Leaning in, Nemeia waited, giving the auditor just as long as they needed. It took a few moments, but they seemed to find the nerve.   "Listen, you, the days of running roughshod and unaccountable are over. When Steelstaff is ma-" they began, looking unaccountably and unduly smug, before Nemeia cut them off with what could only be described as a sharp telepathic retort.   "IF this Steelstaff is indeed the next guildmaster, then what will happen will be as has happened with the last guildmaster. And the one before that, and the one before that. She will sit down. She will begin reading from a tome passed down by the guildmasters, and keep reading until she gets a queasy, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. It will get worse, and worse, the more she reads. Eventually, she will send for me, and more politely than you did. I will complain, but I will attend. Words will be exchanged, an understanding come to, and I will return to my work. Steelstaff will make her notes, and hope that the tome does not have to be opened again during her tenure. I serve the guildmaster by agreement. I serve the guild by choice. I do not have a quota for tasks taken, or monsters slain, for income, or dues. The guildmaster knows what I have done, and how much is left to do." Nemeia explains, at length, in a slowly transmitted telepathic thought, giving the auditor time to appreciate both the words themselves and their careful, deliberate selection, along with the dread implications that might be taken from them. "Now, did you have anything else you wanted to address? Complaints about my temper with the rookies? Requests for my construction and maintenance services from other lodges? A plea to do more of 'my part' for the guild by taking on more jobs? No? Then until Steelstaff IS the guildmaster, I will continue to serve as I have been, in capacities you clearly know nothing about, and are not cleared to. Once she is the guildmaster, I imagine I will continue in much the same way, and while I relish the opportunity to do more work, I imagine every effort will be put into not needing to call on me."   With that finished, Nemeia proceeded to stand, turning their back towards the auditor. They began to move towards the door, stopping only when they put their hand on the knob, glancing back over their shoulder.   "Keep the chair. If you are going to claim to serve the guild, then have the decency to show your fellow hunters a modicum of respect. This is as pathetic as it is pointless. Be glad I only corrected your error, another might have responded poorly to such blatant disrespect."  
  6. Thrack Golasson "Don't open your mouth unless you want it punched shut." Ancient History   "I was born to some big schlub up in the mountains.  Smart lady in the smelly tent taught me how to blend in with the littles.  Came down to the town when I was 15.  Met a lot of people who talked too much.  I started making them talk less."  - Shown to left, Thrack Golasson silencing "Not Thrack Golasson".  To right, an artist's rendering of his father 'some big schlub'.   "The hunters talk a lot too - but only about important stuff.  I usually let them get on with it, 'cause a lot of their talking lets me go out and hit stuff - stuff I don't get in trouble or chained up for hitting."  - There've been a lot of incidents around town that have led to Thrack doing some side jobs breaking up big rocks in the quarry.  If nothing else, he seems well suited to the job.   "Dumb littles always seem surprised at what happens around them, and always stand there with slack-jawed stupidity, like they can't see the world clearly.  Always asking dumb questions like "Can you believe what just happened?" and "Why did that happen to me?"  Pay attention!  It's all there in front of your faces!"  - Thrack gets frustrated with others easily.   "It ain't all bad livin' with the littles.  They eat a lot better than the old bigs."  - Thrack picks something out of his teeth with a scrap of bone. General Description Thrack is a mongrel mutt of various mixed giants from some religious commune in the mountains.  He left there when he was approaching the age where he'd be more involved in the activities, and, through some innate magic somewhere in his twisted breeding, is able to blend in 'mostly' with the regular human-like folk.  He can channel some deep internal magic and shrink down to near human proportions.  He still appears as a real beast of a man, but his smaller stature reduces the fear in those he meets. He also has a bit of prescience, likely the result of no small amount of cyclops blood in him.  He doesn't use this so much to help others, as he does to know when to silence others before they get around to saying something stupid. Mechanical Summary Origins Summary: Thrack is a giant (huge size) of indescribable lineage.  He spends most of his time in a more human form (sizeshifter talent).  Class Summary: 15 x Brawler (Prescient Pugilist; Snakebite Striker) 14 x Bloodrager (Mystic Scion) + 1 x Sorcerer (Inheritor) [Shapechanger Bloodline for both] Spheres Summary: Combat - Boxing, Brute, Athletics Magic - Divination, Alteration The "future" of Giantkind   When Jali Bram, a hill giant of exceptional wisdom, saw how the different giant 'breeds' were constantly at war with each other, while also constantly targets for persecution from the littles, he took it upon himself to do something about it.  He began conversations with individuals from various giant clans throughout the lands - expeditions funded by anonymous donations to various false charitable organizations - working to convince them that there are other ways, and that there was a better future for giantkind.  Eventually, with the help of some of the more disgruntled samples from various groups, he formed a commune in an isolated and elevated plain near the center of a jagged mountain range.  There, his ragged mix of giants built a small insular society where everyone lived in equal squaller, but all survived.  Through a few generations of interbreeding, a number of new members began to accept this new way as the destined future of all giantkind - the divisions of the past were starting to erode away.  Jali was gone, but his idea had started something.  Only the long future will tell what it was he actually started, and the success of the endeavor was absolutely not assured - but the breeding rate was certainly high enough to prolong the experiment for at least a few more generations...   Thack was an offspring of this interbreeding - but he grew disenchanted with the idea of breeding being the sole answer to the future of giant kind - and left the commune.  Through a number of less than fortunate encounters with other social groups, he found the Monster Hunters, and begrudgingly signed up. Attitude Thrack is a 'big dumb brute' at first blush, but he is wise enough to know that his power needs to be managed.  He didn't trust the elders of the cult he grew up in to manage it for the greater good, and that was one of his main reasons for leaving when he did.  He lived without any guidance for quite some time, and left a trail of problems in his wake.  Eventually, he found the guild - or they found him - and they earned his trust.  Now, he gladly follows orders from the guildmaster, because he trusts that she will point him in the right direction.  Once he is set on her path, he is certain nothing will stop him from carrying out her wishes.  
  7. Concept: A heavily armored swordsman who specializes in the minimal use of magic to take down his prey. Yaronvael The Steel Wolf of Volnadyne   “When hunting monsters that nullify magic, don't use it.”   ARMIGER TECHNICIAN   PRIMARY ROLE Switch Hitter, Trapfinder, Crafter   SECONDARY ROLE Healer, Skill Monkey, Librarian   RACE: ? AGE: ? GENDER: Male   Appearance A tall solitary figure dressed in the heavily customized noqual armor of the Volnadi Ragnavolkr. His most notable weapon is a large adamantine greatsword with an intricate hilt and mechanisms strapped to his back. Upon closer inspection, one can notice a massively impressive array of gear concealed in the nooks and crannies of his armor along with acrid scent of alchemy wafting around him. He walks quietly with focus and purpose.   Personality Like many Ragnavolkr, Yaronvael is silent, professional, and secretive. He commits himself to the Seven Virtues of Valor codified by the Ragnavolk Locrina Vecnabane:   Vigilance - he almost never removes his weapons or armor in the company of others, that he might spring to action at a moment's notice. Only when a trusted ally takes up the watch does he allow himself respite. Honesty - he speaks his mind bluntly when he must. Only cowards besmirch others behind their backs. Diligence - he puts his best in both crafting and fighting. Only when weariness or affliction of body and mind sets in does he give otherwise. Honor - an oath made is always an oath honored. Never shall he promise what he intends not to carry out. Never shall he slay an enemy in retreat or surrender. Discretion - his true name and face, remains hidden for the duration of his tenure as a Sentinel. Only the closest of friends and family are permitted to know either. The secrets of the Volnadi craft he shall only share with outsiders who have earned the right in the eyes of two other Sentinels. Benevolence - never cruel nor cowardly. Give aid to others as is within your power. Only cowards let others starve when granaries are full and the sick succumb when treatment is possible. Ingenuity - monstrosity and adversity is overcome through intellect. Never give in to superstition in the face of the unknown for knowledge shall shine like a light unto the dark.   Furthermore, he has sworn the Vow of Reclamation: a promise to retrieve any noqual object or Volnadi artifact that was lost to the Fall and the Diaspora, by force if necessary. Though he has code of honor, he is pragmatic and cunning in combat. He will use every weapon at his disposal if it means survival. Backstory The Rise and Fall of Volnadye   Volnadyne, once a prosperous nation state renowned for its potent technology, alchemy, and warrior culture, now the stuff of hushed tones and dread whispers. Founded on the lands of the Grand Crater, their settlements were built on rich deposits of the noqual and other rare minerals. The Volnadi people could not rely on arcane magic or the miracles of the gods like other peoples. This left them vulnerable to attacks from both monsters and neighboring raiders, so they turned to less mystic means of defending themselves. They invented alchemical compounds to provide healing, mechanical devices to supplement the need for magic, and forging techniques that allowed them to create flames hot enough to forge adamantine. Soon a city of steam and steel called Endravol flourished as the capital of this civilization. Alongside this industrious growth, the Ragnavolkr sentinels and the Gufstalridder cavalry of Volnadyne evolved as a warrior culture with a reputation for shrewd battlefield tactics, using knowledge and specialized gear as well as martial discipline to overcome any threat be it monstrous, magical, or mundane. A Gufstalridder Scout   Though they kept their techniques and inventions a close guarded secret, Volnadyne's reputation as a supplier of exotic gear and alchemical reagents gave them high esteem in the Monster Hunter's Lodge. However, most other nations, magical organizations, and theological institutions saw this secular republic as a threat. What need is there for god and magic if the technology and alchemy could achieve identical results? What if the prosperity of Endravol soon devoured the economies of other cities and kingdoms? What if Volnadyne became an empire and sent its noqual armored Sentinels to expand its borders beyond the Grand Crater. Every once in a while, some wanton king or priest thought to nip this potential threat in the bud and drew up plans to capture Endravol and appropriate its resources. Wiser minds prevailed in the neighboring courts, temples, and towers and decided not invade the powerhouse and potentially provoke a backlash. Still the resentment and paranoia fomented in the background. Ultimately, their worst fears never came to fruition as a different fate befell their rival: The Night of Ruin.   In the course of a single night, the city of Endravol fell to an onslaught of blood and fire. The people were driven from their homes by a wave of beasts, demons, and dark engines. Only by the effort of their fabled Ragnavolkr and the Lodge, was the bulk of the destruction kept at bay long enough for survivors to evacuate. Yet the fight drive it back was a losing one. In a month's time, Volnadyne was destroyed and now only the Ruin inhabits the mist filled Grand Crater.   What caused this disaster? The answer varied with whom you asked. Wizards and sorcerors claimed that the Volnadi's over-reliance on noqual and other skymetals caused them to delve too deep within the Grand Crater and awaken some sort of horror that had slept beneath their feet. Clergymen declared that the Ruin was divine retribution wrought upon Volnadyne for the nation's atheism*Even though most accounts agree that Volnadyne tolerated most non-evil faiths, they refused to adopt a state religion or grant tax exempt status to temples and churches built on their grounds.. Others conjectured that it was result of some sort of invention or experiment gone wrong, an ill-fated technology or alchemical invention that caused a planar rift through which the Ruin invaded. No single theory to holds more water than the other, however, and the truth ultimately remains hidden within the Ruined heart of Endravol. However, they have shaped the world's attitude towards the survivors.   The Diaspora of the Volnadi saw them become strangers in a strange land. Soon their name became synonymous with nomadic caravans and reclusive enclaves stigmatized both as refugees and for the prejudice other cultures had long fomented. Many Volnadi groups were subject to harassment, slander, and pogroms. Yet they weathered the persecution in stride. Though much of their knowledge and advanced technology was lost to the Night of Ruin, the Volnadi retained enough of their alchemical craftsmanship and secrets of working noqual, adamantine, and other skymetals. They kept a sense of community over guarding these secrets and utilizing them to earn a place in the kingdoms that tolerated them. Their greatest ally was the Monster Hunter's Lodge, who worked closely with them to develop techniques that allowed noqual weapons and armor to benefit from magical enhancement.   Furthermore the surviving Ragnavolkr of Volnadyne remained as the engineer guardians of their culture while supporting themselves as mercenaries and monster hunters. In recent times, there has been talk of Lodge-sponsored ventures into the Grand Crater to recover lost technology and alchemy. Now there is an ember of hope that one day, the Volnadi might reclaim their lost homeland from the Ruin and restore their former glory.   The Forging of the Steel Wolf   Raegonn Vercosterbran was only a youth of five on the Night of Ruin. He remembers the smell of smoke and the sound of screaming as he was carried by his mother from the inferno of his former homeland. One striking memory was of his father, girded in noqual fullplate, striking down a horror as they made their escape. Before that? Playing with others on a steel rise as the sun gleamed about the Crater Mounts, riding a steam gondola with his family in the Shining City, and other faint images he can scarcely recall.   Now the most vivid childhood memories were as a refugee in a caravan traveling the dangerous wastes and wildlands with only the Ragnavolkr to guard them. He could recall their group seeking shelter and safe haven in a merchant city only to be spurned away with slurs and slander by the host watch. Eventually they were allowed to settle in a barely livable territory by a minor lord. His father found work at the local Monster Hunter's Lodge. His mother trained him in alchemy, mechanics, and forging while a retired Ragnavolk trained him in the sword and marksmanship. It was a relatively stable life that was suddenly uprooted when the minor lord died and his less tolerant daughter banished all Volnadi from her lands.   On their second exodus, they were beset by a red dragon and its kobold cult, eager to reap the noqual and adamantine implements for the former's hoard. Thought he fought valiantly, Raegonn's father was slain in the din of battle, the body carried off by the red dragon, Harkonthrax. Enraged by the loss, Raegonn took up a modified crossbow, a battered greatsword, and some alchemical weapons and set out with his father's brothers in arms. They assailed the lair and scattered the kobold honorguard. Through clever handicraft, he set their own traps against them. When at last they reached Harkonthrax himself, the Volnadi youth and his companions unleashed a volley of bolts tipped with liquid ice and tanglefoot to ground and bewilder the dragon, then engaged in melee melee with the fell beast. Regius dealt the final blow with his own modified greatsword.   Having successfully avenged his father and recovered the latter's body, armor, and sword, Raegonn was deemed a complete Sentinel by his fellow warriors. His father's armor was refitted for him and his adamantine sword re-modified for him in his Initiation Ceremony, in which he was given the title Yaronvael "Steel Wolf". Furthermore, the wealth of the red dragon's horde allowed his caravan to purchase land where they could establish an enclave in a friendly kingdom. Now hailed a hero by his people and having developed a taste for monster slaying, Steel Wolf took up with the Monster Hunter's Guild with the head of Harkonthrax listed as proof of his first kill. He quickly gained notoriety throughout the Guild for combining the use of alchemical weapons and traps as well as martial prowess to dispatch his foes, such as ensnaring the Chimera of Geldrenheim in net of Elysian Bronze, or when he managed to slay the seemingly immortal Trollborn Ogre by forcing it to ingest alchemist fire.   Naturally he was one of the Guild's first choices when tasked with a lair of creatures that constantly nullified magic. Armaments Just as children are the sum of their parents and culture's blood, upbringing, and experience, so too do the Volnadi see a creation as the sum of its components and creator's time and effort. The act of crafting is one that ties the soul of the craftsman to their creation. The builder puts some of themself into the building, the blood and sweat of the blacksmith links them to their forge, and a tinker's gadgets are expressions of their mind. A story is born in from the moment the object is deemed finished. Even when the fruits of their labor are sold on the market or passed down a line of inheritance, these are simply chapters in the journey of that object's tale. To the warrior-craftspeople of the Ragnavolkr, the process of training and raising of a fledgling Sentinel is likened to the forging and tempering of metal. Upon completion of the Final Trial in the eyes of three seniors, a new formed Ragnavolk is considered "complete" in their training. They take on a new name as part of their Initiation, their past moniker but a hidden "component" in their make. Their weapons, gear, and armor are custom fashioned by their hand, named, and treated as their own flesh and blood. In the case of inheritance, a Sentinel may elect to re-name their parent's gear after modifying it with their own design.   Lyfngrath - "Roaring Fang" The adamantine greatsword that Yaronvael inherited from his father after slaying Harkonthrax. As part of his initiation, he re-forged and re-modded it with mechanism of his own design. The blade was treated to form minuscule tubes through its edge to augment its cutting power. Further more, a frame was installed in the body of the blade that allowed the wielder to extend it at will. The frame at the cross guard was modded with reinforced hooks and notches that facilitated catching enemy weapons. Furthermore, the hilt was designed to extend as well, giving the user better leverage when attempting to disarm or unbalance a foe. Finally, the handle is fitted with a piston mechanism that can build up pressure overtime when activated by twisting handle. When enough pressure is built up, the wielder can release it by twisting the handle again, causing the blade to vibrate and augment the force of the blow.    Etirngreus - "Heaven Striker" A heavy repeating cross bow forged from horacalcum, the Etirngreus is outfitted with a targeting scope and an adjustable riser that aids in striking targets at long distances and in close range. A fast loading mechanism allows him to reload a cartridge of 5 bolts in under a second. The bow itself is a compound model with wheels and cabling that maximize the release drawn string and serving. Finally, the stock is built with a similar pressure mechanism as the Lyfngrath which can increase destructive impact of the bolt.   Sievr Bolts - "Raven Bolts". Specially-made ammunition for Etirngreus, sievr rounds are actually split into two components: the body, composed of the shaft and fletching, and the beak, the arrow head. The only difference between the sievr body and standard bolts is that the body is thread at the tip to quickly interlock with the second component. Beaks vary from barbed points to hollow flasks to compact trap containers, allowing the Yaronvael to turn his crossbow into a launching platform for various snares, fuse grenades, flashbangs, and other alchemical compounds. Because of varied shape of the ammunition payload, the riser on Etirngreus must be adjusted to only shoot targets at long range, leaving him open to melee.   Nidvolshrygg - "The Guardian's Shell" The signature noqual armor of the Ragnavolkr is a rare sight. Before the Vow of Reclamation, many caravans and enclaves were forced to sell valuable sky metals as a means to support themselves...that is the ones that still kept their valuables after being assaults from opportunistic brigands, hostile soldiers, and monsters. Yaronvael's father was not one to do so, but the red dragon saw fit take the set of armor that resisted his spells and flame as a trophy. Recovering his father's armor was deemed his final trial and reworking it was his Initiation. Over the years, he has implemented modifications to his most valuable piece of equipment. The joints were fitted and worked so that he could move as swiftly and as much precision as his own skin. His gauntlets built to swiftly retrieve stowed objects at a moment's notice, tethers that launch, retract, and even twist and turn thanks to lode stone manipulators in the lining, and even a device in the palm that allows the wielder to sense motion in the earth. His helm has a set of rotating lenses that allow him to perceive minutiae, telescopically observer from longer distances, mirrors refract illusion magic, and shaded lenses that augment darkvision. Most recently, he has built a new modification into it. After a being struck by natural lightning while in battle with the weather manipulating lich, Carrie, he discovered that running an electric current through wrought noqual projects a field that repelled both physical and magical attacks. After trial and error, he was able to build a module composed of lode stone and copper that could implement this newfound property.  
  8. Martial Tradition: Decisive Fist Critical Genius Boxing Sphere Open Hand Sphere Unarmed Training Casting Tradition: Deep Crystal Implant Your magic power stems from a surgically implanted deep crystal that fuses directly with your skeleton and nervous system, letting you galvanize your body with mystic power. Unfortunately, this also leaves you with a tempting target for anyone seeking a more physical approach. Witchmarked Verbal Casting Center of Power Bodily Enhancement Protected Soul Enhancement, Protection, Time, and Fallen Fey spheres Oath Benefits Immortality Keen Senses Spell Resistance Accelerated Recovery Bonus Feats (4 oath points) Skillful (4 oath points) Skill Superiority (Climb, Perception, Acrobatics)
  9. Sub Tag: Braxton the Big Burly Blind Blacksmith Brawler, who Bull Rushes on a Shield Bash to Batter and Bruise Bouncy Belligerent Beholders.  Braxton Firebreaker   “Evil is Evil. Lesser, greater, middling… Makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred. If I’m to choose between one evil and another… I’d rather not choose at all.” - Geralt of Rivia   “I am a Dwarf, who lives in a hole” - Wind Rose RACE: Half Dwarf / Half Giant AGE: 138 years GENDER: Male       Classes Brawler (Shield Champion) Blacksmith (Techsmith)   PRIMARY ROLE Hitting things with a shieldAlmost 100 ft. move speed. 80 ft. Blindsight 40 ft. range increment with Shield. 6d8 Shield Bash. Can perform Maneuvers (at range) with Shield. Breaking ThingsThunderous Blows is Greater Sunder +8d6 damage as an Attack Action. +40 to +65 Strength Mod for Break Item checks.  Tanking Hits47 base AC +5 AC with Active Defense -2 AC, +18 Temp HP and 75% Fortification with Berserk 45% Etherial Miss Chance from Blink If Hit DR 8 / Bashing Fast Healing 7 Salve heals 7d8+45 1 Maintenance = 8 Ray Deflections   SECONDARY ROLE Crafting and repairing arms and armor Alchemical Healing Trapfinding and Disabling       Appearance Height: 20 ft.  Weight: 3 tons.  Skin Color: Dusky   Eye Color: NA   A mountain of a man by Human or Dwarven standards, Braxton Firebreaker stands at an impressive twenty feet tall. Deemed ugly by both parents’s societies he falls into the uncanny valley with Humans where he appears almost normal until one realizes just how big he is. Even his face appears to be a normal, if large, human face except for the eyes which are pocked and scarred closed. He keeps clean shaven as he regards his attempts at growing a beard a failure (to a human it would be a respectable beard, but to a dwarf it would be akin to a bad combover). As swarthy skinned as any Dwarf or Fire Giant his hair is black with a gray highlights when hit by the light. Untrained in armor he disregards its use as something that would only slow him down, relying only on muscle and skin to see himself through combat and his skin bears witness with countless scars and tattoos chronicling his victories.   Personality Moving quickly with confident assuredness that belies his blindness Braxton displays an awareness of everything happening around himself that borders on supernatural. Despite his dramatic height and massive size he is actually a gentle giant with a soft touch in difference to his great strength. Using this gentle touch he helps guide initiates of Angradd The Forge-Fire, helping mould the younger generations into the Axe that chops Evil at the root. Because of his time teaching he is very protective of his teammates, reflexively sending out his shield to block attacks.    Backstory Braxton's history begins with the prior generation, his father Gladrick was born in the Dwarven kingdom of Dalgoran and raised in the church of Angradd to fight the forces in opposition of the Dwarves. For twenty years Gladrick fought the Fire Giants on their western front in the hundred year War of the Red Mountain as the two forces fought over the rich resources in the Teihs Mountains. On one unusual occasion the Fire Giants and the Dwarves briefly joined forces to fend off an incursion of Chaos Demons summoned by some cultists who had opened a rift in the mountain to The Abyss. Braxton's mother was a Witch of some sort, though Gladrick never got her name, by Fire Giant metrics she was said to be terribly ugly, which meant by human standards she was somewhat comely, if twelve feet tall.    After successfully driving off the Chaos Demons the Giants and Dwarves shared a drink to celebrate before returning to killing each other the following week. Waking up the following morning still drunk and in bed with an unclothed Giant Gladrick quickly dressed and made himself scarce. Two years later, heavily repressing the memory of the Giantess, Gladrick received a package via an enthralled Roc carrying a small baby. Addressed with a note in Giant script that explained the child was his, and the Giantess had thought to keep him, but he was too small and not fire proof enough to survive in the Giant camp. Gladrick took they child and named it Braxton, and brought it to be raised in the church of Angradd.    Braxton grew swiftly among the acolytes of Angradd, growing tall as a human, rather than squat as a dwarf, but lacking a dwarf's trademark beard he was shunned by the Dwarven acolytes. During puberty he grew to such a size that could only stem from 'hybrid vigor' in the unusual mixing of Dwarf and Giant. Eventually reaching the rank of disciple he was sent off to the northern boundaries of Dalgoran to fight the xenophobic Elves of the Stuilan Protectorate, a group of elves exiled from their home country for their colonial views. Facing the Stuilan Elves was a fierce fight, as the near immortal elves held the edge in combat prowess, but lacked in numbers.    Strangely, in the midst of the fight with the elves, another Chaos Demon Cultists ripped open a rift to The Abyss and began summoning through a greater demon, naming itself Luzrick The Mad. This time, the forces of Dalgoran fought the demons alone, though thankfully uncontested by the Stuilan Elves. The brave dwarves did not make it to the breach in time to stop the summoning of the demon prince but were in time to contest his appearance. Upon seeing Braxton though the demon did the oddest thing, declaring Braxton a product of his own meddling and a herald of his coming.    Raised in the faith of Angradd, Braxton denounced Luzrick, forsaking any ties to him and shoved a holy symbol into the demon's chest. The demon, quite upset with Braxton, proceeded to rip out his eyes and scour the wound that no healing magic could fix it. While Braxton’s teammates fought to the demon back through the portal he heard it wonder aloud if perhaps he (Braxton) was just not ready yet.    When the party returned to the Dwarven fortress at Kipbron, where they staged against the Stuilan Elves, the high priests there threw their most powerful magic at the problem of Braxton’s eyes, but none were able to remove the curse that prohibited the flesh from regrowing. Unable to see or fight Braxton was removed from the rolls of active members and sent back to the interior of Dalgoran to recuperate. There, in the great halls of stone, he learned to navigate by the peal of hammer on metal echoing off walls and the breeze of his own movements. Drawn by the rhythm of steel he learned from the master smiths how to see even fine details in metal and stone by the way they rang. Able to see again, instead of rushing to the front lines again Braxton spent some time training with the youth of the church as a way to ease himself into fighting shape.    After almost twenty years and a crisis of faith since he lost his sight, Braxton returned to the surface. Armed with a new appreciation for the outside air, a new shield, and a reforged hatred of Demons. Leaving the aegis of the church Braxton joined the Adventurer’s Guild to reach a wider arena, hoping to broaden his experiences, and possibly get a chance to find Luzrick and punch his face out the other side.    Angradd's Code Show Angradd's Code I oppose Evil In All Its Forms   I do not accept a weak evil just because I must also oppose a mighty evil. To defeat evil, I must understand it and know its strengths and weaknesses.  Any evil I cannot defeat now, or that by opposing I would allow greater evil to escape or develop, I must study and work against so that I may more fully defeat it when I am ready. I must share what I learn with others who will fight.  I Am More Than A Warrior Against the Darkness  I am a symbol of all that is just and fair. I must serve as an example and as an inspiration, by being righteous in all my actions and showing others how benevolence and order can be used to create a more just, stable, and sustainable society. It Is Not Enough To Stop Evil Actions  The source of evil must be found and decisively defeated. I am not satisfied to passively wait for wrongs to come to my sight; rather, I seek them out. I will be a torch in the darkness and expose evil to the sight of others who are also willing to oppose it.  I Am Open In My Dealings I do not lie or look away from actions I cannot support. My opinions and goals are open for all to see. I may use stealth and deceit as needed for tactical purposes, but will not promote untruths or fraud.   Oaths and Boons Show Oaths and Boons Oaths Oath Against Magic     [+3]     (Cannot voluntarily cast magic or have magic cast on him)  Oath of Candor        [+1]     (Cannot lie including bluffs, half-truths, exaggerations or white lies)  Oath of Loyalty        [+1]     (Loyal to Angradd's Paladin code)   Show Oath Boons Accelerated Recovery    [3]        [7]     (Fast Healing equal to 1/2 Level)  Enhanced Armaments    [3]        [+8]     (Held weapon gets an Enhancement Bonus after 4th level and another +1 at 5th level. Enhancement Bonus goes up by +1 per 3 levels over 4 and +1 per 3 levels over 5.) Enhanced Defenses    [1]        [+4]     (Armor gets an Enhancement Bonus after 5th level. +1/3 levels)  Enhanced Defenses    [1]        [+4]     (Shield gets an Enhancement Bonus after 5th level. +1/3 levels)  Inhuman Resilience     [1]        [+5 / +4]     (+1 Resistance per 3 levels. +1 Natural Armor at Level 5, +1/3 levels)  Maneuver Expert        [1]        [+5]     (+1 Competence to Bull-Rush per 3 Levels)  Maneuver Expert        [1]        [+5]     (+1 Competence to Sunder per 3 Levels)  Maneuver Expert        [1]        [+5]     (+1 Competence to Trip per 3 Levels)  Shielded Form            [1]        [+4]     (+1 Deflection to AC at 6th level. +1/3 Levels)  Imbued Magic (Time)    [4]        [Complexity 8/9]     (Time [1] + Improved Haste [+1] + Duration [+6] )     (+2 To Hit / AC / Reflex + 40 ft. Movement)         (+1 Attack per Round / +4 AoO per Round) Imbued Magic (Blink)    [4]        [Complexity 7/9]     (Warp [1] + Blink [+2] + Duration [+4] )      (45% Ethereal Miss Chance [Negated by Ghost Touch] ) Bonus Talents            [4]        (+5)      (+1 Talent at 2nd, 5th, 8th, 11th, 14th, 17th, and 20th)  
  10. Character Fluff Post   Name explanation. When I make names, I usually take the origin of the name and translate something about the character into the language from that name. My character is based on the concept of slime (as I have wanted to work the Oozemorph Shifter Archetype into a build for a while now, and really haven't been able to do it until this game). So I tried to find the original culture of the slime, and work the name out from there... The slime doesn't have one. It's a modern invention, dating back to works in the 1930s. It's first appearance in games is from DnD first edition, and it was widely popularized in Japanese video games. The original works are in modern English, so no translating to be had there... That left me with Japanese. After a few tries for a good phrase, I got "Emperor Slime" as "Kōtei ga nijimideru". Remove the 'ga', take of the 'deru', remove the 'i' at the end of the last word, and then flip them we get "Nijim Kotei". Not terrible. It'll grow on me.   Backstory   (NEW) Childhood-Teenage years. Nijim Kotei had a childhood. And a teenage hood. He wasn't overtly poor, nor overtly rich. His family went through hard times, and they went through good times. He had friends amongst the town's children. His parents are alive and doing well enough off with their bakery and lumberjack work. He doesn't know anyone who died tragically. No romantic interest. A stable future planned out that he wouldn't have minded for himself. He was like every other kid... Except for one thing. He loved sneaking out at night when he wasn't supposed to.   Sometimes he went to the farm. Sometimes the hill. Other times the river. Occasionally the stables. If he was really daring, the town square.   Though most nights he just laid outside his window on the grass, looking up at the stars until he drifted off to sleep.   No one knew of course, Nijim was always very careful to be quiet and unseen. He could walk silently, see traces of people's paths, and could hide behind anything larger than a chair. It was almost like a game to him, hide and relax. He rarely got caught, and the less-than yearly occasion that it happened, it was treated as a one-off event and was ignored. He wasn't doing any harm anyways. On his 16th birthday he had a wonderful day with his family. His mom made a wonderful honey-filled pastry for everyone to share, his father made him a model tree carved from the wood that Nijim cut down on his 14th birthday. They went for a nice walk through the town square, past the river (and in it for mere moments to cool down), over the hill, and through the farm. It was one of the best days of his life. The next day they woke up to an newly emptied room, with only a single letter in it explaining the situation. Their boy snuck out late at night and was already a day's travel to the nearest city. While he had everything in his life that he could ever need, it wasn't what he wanted. He needed something more, something engaging, something worth sneaking around.   (NEW) In the big city, Young Adult Being in a big city for the first time ever was overwhelming. Nijim didn't know where to go, what to do, or who to see about any of this. Eventually he stumbled his way into an adventuring guild. They registered him and showed him simple quests to complete. He found some cheap place to stay and did odd requests for a few months. Gathering herbs, delivering letters, cleaning gutters, digging holes, pretty much whatever was needed.   After the few months he felt more confident in his ability. Doing the hard labor increased his muscles, the gutter cleaning helped him practice his balance, digging holes his endurance. His interactions with the people on the job was a constant test of his wit and charismatic charm, and his brain was filling from the constant streams of information that everyone freely gave. And during all that time, he still continued to sneak out every night and enjoy the night.   He left town in small groups to do different requests. Gathering slightly rarer herbs, killing weak monsters, scouting out situations, in-town bodyguards. This continued for about 2 or so years until his results spoke for themselves, he was ready to move onto harder missions.   From 19-20 he did just that. Every mission was life-risking. Subjugating stronger monsters, long distance protection, gathering important material, transporting important information, bandit hunting. Sneaking off at night and returning before anyone was the wiser. He would either continue to grow and meet the increased challenges or... ... He died trying.    Canonically the "Guild interview" goes after "Before the interview" in the timeline of his life, but I put it here for story reasons. This was also the first thing that I wrote out, so if some details don't exactly match the timeline that would be why (though I tried my best to keep everything consistent).   Guild Interview (from over a decade ago) "How long have you been hiding this from us?"  The guild member said lifelessly, the large scale of the recent operation and the sleep deprivation that came from it draining him of any force behind his words. -"Just slightly over 3 years now... It was when I came back from the forest." A young man of no more than 20 years old was sitting in a reinforced wooden chair opposite of the Guild agent. There was nothing peculiar about him. He had short but shaggy hair, limbs on the thinner side, and a regretful look plastered on his face.   "3 years ago from the forest... James, can you pull up those files?" The duo heard a noise of confirmation from a 3rd party before resuming the talk. "And why did you hide what you are? You know that not all the other adventurers are humanoids, it would be impossible to not have been working with at least one of them during your time here." The guild representative took a sip of his drink. The cold drink was ice against his partially raw throat. If it wasn't somewhat soothing, he would have put this interview on pause and gotten a much warmer cup.   Nijim took a moment to remember what it was like that long ago, a moment longer still to organize his thoughts. -"When it first happened I was so confused. I was trying to get back to the group, and failing. They were leaving me behind... Not out of spite of course-" He was cut off for a moment as some paperwork was placed in front of the questioner, who motioned to continue the story. "- but because they wanted to run from the giant lizard chasing us."   The man was thumbing through the papers while Nijim was explaining. "Yes, the Megalania that the team failed to subjugate. Continue on." -"I was the only one seriously injured from the fight... I couldn't keep running, each step hurt more than the last. I saw my only chance of salvation just ahead. A tree with it's roots above ground. I saw a gap just wide enough for myself to get through. I went into it... but couldn't stop myself from falling into the hole that was further under the tree. I hit the ground hard. Hard enough to knock me out." The young man paused for a few moments. The Guild member finished looking at the documents and put them down. His empty stare and lack of reply prompted the continuation of the tale. "I... I think I died down there. The pain from the bitten off arm was only getting worse... Then I found myself."   The guild's agent cocked one of his eyebrows. "What do you mean? Is that some sort of spiritual enlightenment?"   The boy shook his head. -"No no, nothing like that. I have other memories... They aren't like mine. They are fragments of places, events. Years of stone floors, then years of moss-covered floors. Falling dirt, some rays of light. Warmth where there was usual cold. Then a thud sound, a warm object, new materials over the squishy warm object. A desire to bring it inside..." He paused again, trying to figure out exactly what he wants to say. "Then I woke up as me again. In that moment I thought it was a miracle. I was alive and not injured, though I couldn't think at all due to these other memories bombarding me. After just sitting and existing for a while I was able to think about the situation... I felt weird. I looked my hands over and saw that I was a bit sticky. I tried to shake it off, rub it off my cloths, but nothing worked. I got slime everywhere. I freaked out for a while before accepting whatever happened to myself... and then I turned into a slime." -"It was a rough few days getting used to myself. I eventually came to the conclusion that I became an Ooze after dying... But I was wrong. After the few weeks it took me to get out of whatever underground ruins I found myself in, I realized that I was the Ooze who ate my body's fresh corpse... And somehow gained the memories I had when alive." The guild member took a few moments to understand what the boy just said. It seemed he was using "I" for both himself and the Ooze. "So to make sure I can write this in the report correctly... You are an Ooze that ate Nijim Kotei, gained his memories, and resumed Nijim's life after 3 months of being in the forest?" -"No no, I am... Well, yes, that's technically right, but I'm not just the Ooze. I am Nijim. I resumed my own life when I got back." The guild member nods. "I see. What affect has this change had on you?"   Nijim shifts and slimy tentacles sprout from his sides -"I am a ball of ooze unless I force myself into a humanoid shape. I can't talk when I am in that form, and I don't have arms to hold things, but I can make these." He motions to his tentacles as they sharpen and become claws, jaws, and a fist-like shape. "I can use these to attack... But not much else. They are too..." He pauses, trying to find the right word. "Unwieldy to do anything with precision."  The grown adult scribbles down some notes onto a new page. "Any other changes?" Nijim nodded in response. -"I have found a few more things I can do in the 3 years since. I can stick to walls effortlessly and climb them. I don't get easily injured from hammers and spears, but things that cut like axes and swords still hurt like they always have. And I can... Talk? Communicate? With other Ooze. It's like I can make them think of me as a friend, even though they can't think usually." The man finishes writing and twirls the pen in his hand. "So once again. Why did you keep this from us?"   Nijim's regret finally starts to slip from his face. -"Because even I didn't know what I was. I couldn't trust myself. If I couldn't do that, I had no reason to believe the guild would trust me either. When I finally started trusting myself and my abilities, I didn't know how to bring it up or what to say. But I just did it, I finally said it. And now." He paused for dramatic effect. "I'm ready to really use them."   (NEW) The Big Event A 20 year old Nijim was out on a monster subjugation request like any other. Someone wanted the materials of a giant lizard in some forest, so him and a team of other guild members went to retrieve it. They failed. It wasn't that everything went wrong, in fact they were quite prepared for the battle that was ahead. They were just unlucky during the fight. Nijim got heavily injured early on, the healer of the party wasn't able to get to him immediately, the frontline couldn't land a solid hit in while taking a decent amount of damage themselves, and the spellcaster's magic didn't do much damage either.   The team decided to run, but not before the Lizard got one more bite into Nijim, tearing off his left arm. He was more winded then the rest of the team, unable to keep up with the party as they fled the scene. He was going to be eaten alive unless he could find some place to hide. A tree with roots above-ground and a hole underneath caught his eye. Headfirst into the hole he went... and went... and went... It was much deeper than the young man realized. If he counted he would know that he was tumbling down the dirt hole for 23 seconds. 23 seconds isn't a long time for most things, but it is an excruciating long time when you constantly fall onto a gaping wound while utterly exhausted.   The hole finally spit him out after what felt like an eternity of pain onto a mossy stone-tiled floor. He wasn't expecting the sudden change of dirt-tunnel to stone floor and hit his head hard, knocking himself unconscious. An ancient Ooze from the past felt this new warm presence. It inched forward towards the warmth. It wanted it. It took the warmth within it. It started absorbing this warm thing...   (NEW) Ooze Memories It used to be light, bright, and warm often. It got dark, but then it got light again. Dark and light and light and dark, but always warm. There were other warm things sometimes, they came and left, but the ooze stayed. Light and dark and light and dark. Then light. Then dark. Then light. Forever more. Until it went dark, and it didn't get light again, but it stayed warm. Then it went cold. The ooze stayed dark and cold. Things shook. Things moved. But it was dark. It was cold. It stayed dark and cold forever. Longer still. The floor was hard, but it got fuzzy. Dark still. Forever. Something warm came. The Ooze moved for the first time in a while towards it. It wanted the warmth within, to feel warm again. It took the warmth within it and absorbed it... And it became different.   (NEW) Waking up When the Ooze woke up it was assaulted with two sets of memories. One was short, colorful, exciting, overbearing in it's sheer intensity of high definition of multiple senses. The other was long, monotonous, overbearing in the sheer scale of the passage of time and of the repetition of similar cycles in limited senses. After taking time to nurse his headache he looked at his own condition, his arm that grew back, and how slimy he was. He freaked out. When he finally calmed down he accepted what he was... Some sort of Ooze. He didn't know how it happened, his memories could not make any sense of the situation. He was unconscious and bleeding out, then he was alive and slimy with a massive headache. Perhaps this was some sort of reincarnation? He mused. It was not, but Nijim doesn't know that. Time marched forth and Nijim needed to find his way out of the cave and out of the forest. The first problem was apparent when he finally had a chance to take in his surroundings, it was pitch black and in ruins. The walls destroyed, the floor upended, the pillars toppled. It was a miracle that there was even space to exist down here. He was about to be worried about the air, but a gentle breeze was flowing past him, out from the hole he fell from.   It took him 7 weeks to get out from the deathtrap that was the underground ruins. With limited sources of water and not much to hold it in he was constantly backtracking while trying to map the place out in his head. The ruins led to caverns that lead to other ruins, as if some sort of civilization lived there centuries to millennia  ago... Once he did finally get out, it took him 3 weeks to get through the forest, and 2 weeks to arrive back at the guild headquarters.   The 10 weeks in the ruins and forest taught him how much stronger he was now. His current body has all the skills his prior one did, along with the abilities of the Ooze that he now was. He could squeeze through places he would have never been able to before, make tentacles to attack his enemies, heal from injuries over minutes instead of days. He felt more comfortable and relaxed in a completely different form, one of a large round ooze, at twice his normal height. He can climb walls easily in this form, and sleep much more comfortably, even on the stone floors. Staying in his humanoid form was a bit restrictive, but it allowed him to have hands and speak. Getting back to the city was a godsend... Realizing what his new situation there was heartbreaking. His apartment that he was renting was now rented to someone else. His assets inside were seized and sold off, as he was reported MIA by the guild. He had to start all over... But with his new abilities it was easier than ever to get back to where he was.   Was typing the next part up, when 1 hour into it I hit the "back" button on my mouse, lost it all. I can't make myself re-type it in depth again, so I'm going to shorten and summarize it even more than what I'm already doing. The ones following should be back to normal length.   (NEW) 3 Long years Nijim had to go back into accepting requests, as he didn't have anything to his name. He wasn't yet willing to work in groups yet. He wasn't sure he could keep his Ooze side a secret. He focused on solo missions for a few months. No one thought much of it. They guessed he just had trust issues since he was abandoned on the last mission by his team.   After almost 3/4ths of a year going solo he was finally confident in hiding his Ooze self, abilities and all. He also discovered a few new things about himself, such as finding that as he grew stronger his Ooze form grew larger. It wasn't immediately noticeable to himself. The only way he noticed was by relaxing in his new room. He used to be a few feet from the ceiling when he first moved in, but after a few months his slimy self was pressing up against it. Now that he was comfortable and confident he went back to group assignments. These were the longest 2 years of his life. Hiding his abilities from his group of assorted casts was harder said than done. He got strangely good at lying and misleading his comrades. 'No, I never got hit. That attack just barley grazed me.' When in reality, he was hit hard and naturally healed most of the damage. Also staying in human form all day every day was uncomfortable at best, almost-painful at worst. He needed to create situations to get away from the group to de-transform, for even just a few moments, and re-regain his humanoid shape. The stresses of hiding were too much for Nijim to do this every day. He took more breaks between adventures. Slept under the stars as a giant Ooze whenever possible. These relaxations only bought him slight reprieve from his jobs. But he pressed forward.   (NEW) Before the interview An issue came from the forest that Nijim died in. Some strong presence was forcing out the monsters that lived within. While the presence was a serious issue if left alone, it was far too strong for Nijim to even think about dealing with. Stronger guildmates rushed to the scene to fix the threat. However there was still issue of the monsters stampeding out of the forest. Whatever was making them leave their territory was also messing with their heads, each and every monster was overly aggressive and simple minded. While this would cause massive eco-system damage by itself, there was a more immediate threat that the guild was worried about. A hoard of Goliath Stag Beetles were headed straight for a town that lived close to the forest. The guild put up an immediate notice for help with the situation. Nijim applied.   The massive group of guild members got to the city just minutes before the Beetles did. They had little time to prepare defenses and start the evacuation of the townspeople. The Beetles came fast and hard, trampling many people underfoot, many critically injured at the start. A few minutes of skirmishing against the waves of bugs finally brought the end into sight, but not until a few beetles broke off and tore through the protective walls between the on-site medical tent.   The only way to stop the Beetles from killing the already-injured was to have something blocking their way. This was the first time that Nijim showed his Ooze form to the people of the world. He took the charge head on, blocking it with his huge round form, stopping the assault from reaching the injured behind him. Thanks to him dozens of people were saved. Some people appreciated what he did tremendously, especially those in the tent. Others meanwhile were wary or angry that he has never shown this power before, even more so since many of them have been on missions with him and could have used this form's powers. The guild was curious and cautious towards him, but the cleanup and paper work were intense. After a nice discussion Nijim was free to resume his employment, now without the stress of holding parts of himself back.     (NEW) And 10 short years. After that time passed by. Nijim didn't have to hide himself, so missions became easier and his stress levels decreased. He continued to fall asleep under the stars when he wanted, just for the sake of it.   As a year passed he continued doing group missions and become stronger. He found his Ooze side to be lacking in combat as it can't hold the daggers he usually uses. Someone suggested martial arts, as the monks can attack with any part of their body. Training proved that his Ooze form could in fact attack this way, so he continues with the training when not on missions.   A 2nd year passed quite the same. Missions and training and relaxing.   3rd year came and he was doing the same level of missions, but completely solo most of the time.   The 4th year brought an increase in mission difficulty, but his own improvements did not stop. His rate of growth was proven rapid compared to others, with no stopping in sight. A real trial came in his 5th year. Not a physical one, but a mental one. He was told that he does not posses the soul of Nijim Kotei, and that the soul he has is an ancient one of a created being. An error of Revival magic use might bring back the boy who died in the forest 9 years ago instead of the Ooze he is today. This revelation caused a 7 month hiatus in Nijim accepting requests. He went home, spent a few months with parents, and few year old younger sister. It was as if they were a family once more. A few months in Nijim dropped the bomb on them that he was not their son, but just their son's memories that an Ooze absorbed. Many tears were shed, but at the end of the day they accepted him with open arms. He was the only brother that his little sister knew, and he was pretty much the same person to his parents. The year came to an end with Nijim leaving for the guild once more, this time with an actual send-off. 6th year brought growth, and a newly formed yearly tradition of Nijim going home and visiting his family for 2 weeks.   With his 7th year came the long missions. He was trusted by the guild to take on some of the hardest missions, including those that were long infiltration and assassination. Nijim spent months on a single mission, always killing those that needed to die.   the 8th, 9th, and 10th years were very similar. The only difference was that the difficulty of the missions increased each year. He finally got the call from the guild for it's current Beholder issue. A group mission... It's been a while since he's had a group. A few years. But he's also been on teams for several years before that. It'll be a good chance for him to get back into that groove. And really, how hard could this new mission be if he has a team backing him up?         (NEW) Personality Nijim is very free-spirited. For his actions: He does what he wants when he wants to, within very reasonable limitations. He doesn't like causing others hardship with his actions, but if he has leeway to do something he deems more enjoyable without causing impacts upon others, then why not? Why sleep in a bed when the stars are doting the night sky?    His interpersonal interactions aren't much different. He likes to lightly tease his comrades, but never takes it far enough to cause serious offense. He treats neutral parties like allies, but airing on the side of caution with the teasing. For enemies he is cold and calculating when stealthing, he'd rather get it quickly done and out of the way to enjoy the other things in life. When discovered and cornered he'll try to tease and misdirect the enemies from his true goal, whatever it may be for the mission. Depending on the situation, if possible he'll try to go and hide once more to take the enemies out as fast and easy as possible. For family he is warm and caring, with a playful side, as there is not much else he would rather be doing in that moment. But like always the urge to stretch his limbs will eventually get the better of him. Then he'll leave to go on another mission.   (NEW) Appearances Human form- Varies from 3'5" to 5'2" depending on how big/small he needs to be for the occasion. Darker-brown hair, tho not so dark it looks black, hangs from his head. Due to always needing to be transformed into this state his hair and face are always perfect, never blemished by scars or laying in weird positions. He looks like a 20ish young adult even though his mental age is in his 30s, and his physical Ooze-based body is somewhere in the hundreds.  Besides being blemish free and young looking there aren't any other distinguishing features about his face. He is pretty much an average looking 20 year old guy. His clothing set is loose furs that accommodates his varied changes in size quite well, while not being all that difficult to reproduce if destroyed. His body type is not overly muscular, but is definitely not string-bean thin. He has tones muscles hiding under his clothing.   (NEW) Party roll, strengths and weaknesses. Nijim is a DPS, Assassin, infiltrator, info gathering, dodge+offtank. -DPS: Nijim's forms allow him to Full attack 6-9 times a turn, many/all of his attacks benefiting from styles to increase usability, and are all able to sneak attack. He also has his dex to damage for 6 attacks, and those 6 do extra damage in his huge Ooze form with a melee range of 20 feet. -Assassin: Using his high stealth, speed, maneuverability, and the ability to stealth even while observed, Nijim is able to sneak around until he is able to get close enough to the enemy and end them in a turn. His Scout Gaze allows him to learn the enemy weakness and abuse it for this purpose. -Infiltrator: Going heavy into the Scout and Athletics trees allow him to maneuver himself in and around anywhere, with his compression ability allowing him to really fit through tight spaces. His Rogue talents also help immensely. His stealth allows him to do this unseen. Beastshape 1 allows for swimming/flight while still having 6 attacks that can proc sneak attack damage. -Info Gathering: See above. Also his constant True-sight from Scout allows him to see the truth behind magical lies. -Dodge+offtank: Having high DEX and WIS while being a monk allows him to have a very high AC. Along with this he has a high Constitution, allowing him to be naturally tanky. All 3 of these are also the Saving throws of the character, allowing each to be decently high. Only WILL doesn't get full saving throw bonus from class. Ooze form is immune to precision damage and crits. Also Natural healing allows him to take damage and continue fighting without much worry. He can't lose limbs if he doesn't have any. Also he can run for hours at 56 miles/hour, and in short bursts go 113 miles/hour. That has nothing to do with the above, I just think it's neat.   (UPDATED) Technical Character info. One Side is going to be Shifter, Oozemorph 8 -> Unchained Monk, Master of Many Styles and Monk of the 4 Winds Other side is Unchained Rogue, Canny Scoundrel + Planar Sneak Using compression and class to specialize in stealth, full attacks, sneak attacks, and general durability. Stat block will look something like this: maxed DEX, high CON, high-mid WIS, mid-low STR, low CHA, dumpable INT. Going huge from Race. The oozemorph alter-self can make me small-medium, and even then I have access to compression, so I can go through tiny spaces when needed. Nijim main forms will work as follows: -Small-humanoid through alter-self for stealth and full attacks. With TWF and natural attacks, he can make 9 attacks. If he catches the enemy by surprise, each does sneak attack damage ontop of his high dex damage. -Huge Ooze form. This is his form when in Anti-magic, or when he needs to make use of his size/reach/other ooze abilities. His attacks do more damage due to size increase, tho he is limited to 6 attacks in a full action (3 unarmed, 3 natural). However all 6 benefit from feats that have unarmed strike as a pre-req, and as a monk of many styles he'll be versatile in his fighting styles. -Beast shape 1. This is for when he needs an ability he doesn't have, such as flight or swim speed. Technically his weakest form. His attacks do less damage, though it is easier to sneak in this form than in his Ooze form, so getting off sneak attack dice might be easier.     Google Spreadsheet has his build 80% set up, still a few more things I need to pick. Will move to a myth-weavers sheet when possible.    
  11. Name:  Zaldunak de Rathemore, goes by Zak   Race:  Alchemically Created Human   Class:  Reaper (Magekiller) 15 || Armorist (Living Weapon, Martial Armorist) 15   Gender:  Male   Age:  60   Physical Description:  Zak’s appearance is quite fluid. A natural shapeshifter, his form changes to suit the needs of the mission; and while he always returns to the appearance of a male human, the details change. His shifting is always permanent, and no master of disguise, when he rebuilds his human form, it’s always only the closest approximation of what it was the last time. In fact, he barely remembers what he looked like when he was made; but the form he usually takes is more handsome than what he vaguely remembers as a hairless visage, scarred by lines of stitching and mismatched body parts. Now he appears as a tall, rugged human, dressed in warm, soft, fur-lined robes for comfort and warmth, unadorned by armor or weapons, and with only minimal jewelry. He tries to appear as the age he feels, young but not a youth, seasoned but not yet grizzled or weary.   Personality Profile:  Zak is an anomaly in the guild. Quiet and unassuming, he doesn’t seek glory or reward. He was created to fight abominations and evil wielders of magic, for the good of all, and he is quite satisfied to fill that role to the best of his ability. His truest friends are those who prefer quiet and contemplation, but he enjoys the company of almost everyone, and having observed that their sometimes outlandish and overlarge personalities may be annoying, but usually do no harm, and often act as a defense for their vulnerabilities, he tolerates the quarreling and boasting, not engaging in competitions, but often acting as the audience.   He only objects to outright lies, especially when obscuring the truth could create a dangerous situation for others, or dishonor those who don’t deserve it, and when this comes up, he changes from his quiet passivity to become an unshakeable champion of truth. It has never come to blows yet, but his willingness to do so has given some of the biggest liars in the guild pause, and tempered their lies to harmless superficiality, ensuring that the guild has an accurate tactical record, and that no reputations are unfairly destroyed.   Background:   The frail form of an ancient human lay, still as death, in an oversized feather bed. Outside, frigid wind gusted clouds of snowflakes around the ancient battlements of dark stone. A storm was blowing into the Tusk mountains from Irrisen, where the ice witches sent the fury of winter south and east in their eternal war against the Mammoth Kings.   An old servant came into the room, bearing a steaming tray with creamy soup and an herbal drink. He set the tray to one side, and as he started stacking fresh coals onto the guttering fire, a brawny figure came into the room behind him, and gave his shoulder a gentle touch. "I'll do it," said the newcomer, "You go rest. It's going to be a cold night, I'll stay with him."   He shoveled fuel onto the fire, then went over to sit in the plush chair next to the head of the bed. The old man was awake, but it was always hard to tell whether he was here, or far away, wandering through his memories. But the bald head turned, face creasing in a smile. "Hello, Zak," he said. "Dinnertime?"   The big man nodded, smiling gently, and began feeding the old man soup, telling him about his day's studies and investigations. Their spy network had reported that some cultists of Rovagug had been seen heading to Malipurd, a village in a valley some days' travel away, and the two agreed that it would be best to deal with it soon. If they waited until winter was over, there could be none left in the village but the cultists, and neither wanted to let such a tragedy happen.   Decisions made, the meal over, Zak rose to depart, when the almost skeletal hand of the old man closed over his. "Wait. I have to tell you... I will be gone when you return."   "Gone?" frowned the big man. "Where are you... oh." he realized the other's grim meaning, and trailed off, sitting back down.   "I'm very old," his companion continued, "too old to go on. It's not an injury I can fix, or a sickness I can cure, I'm just old, and tired. I suppose.." he let out a quiet sigh, "I could make an elixir of youth, but I don't want to. I'm ready to go to Pharasma and be judged. I've known for a while now that this winter would be my last. I divined it at midsummer, that winter's first storm would be my last. The one that's coming now."   Protests and denials rose up in Zak's throat, but he knew from the old man's tone that the decision was made, and he wouldn't be talked out of it. It would be selfish, anyway, to try and convince him to stay just so Zak wouldn't be lonely. If Master Rathemore said his time was ending, it was. Zak thought about losing his maker, his father, the guiding light of wisdom to his constant struggle against the forces of dark magic and madness, and it broke him. He collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down his face, massive body convulsing with sobs. A frail hand rested on the back of his head, patting him gently in an effort to comfort his sorrow.   The storm raged for three days and three nights. Zak stayed by Master Rathemore's side the whole time, listening to his rambling stories, making notes on all the projects and experiments the old man had left unfinished, and just sitting quietly with him, listening to the raging wind outside and the crackling hearth inside. He had missed the moment when his master passed out of the world, on the last night. He was asleep in his bed, and Zak stood at the window, watching the storm, now finally dwindling. After a long while, he walked back to the chair at the side of the bed. Looking down at the peaceful figure in the huge bed, watching carefully and seeing how still it was, he realized that his father was gone.   Their last hours together had been both wake and mourning, the servants had joined them, on the last night, and said their goodbyes as well. Now, in the bright winter morning, there was work to do. He would set Master Rathemore's affairs in order, then leave this place. He needed to find a place to keep the old man's vast collection of ancient and secret books, where they could be copied and preserved forever, protected from the cults who would steal or burn them. The treasures and valuables would be divided between the servants, to provide prosperity to their families in return for their long and loyal service. Zak was keeping very little, he had no need of worldly goods, and preferred to see others benefit. Rathemore himself was to be consecrated, and burned, to ensure no necromancer could ever trouble him, and his laboratory destroyed so that his secrets would never fall into the wrong hands.   A week later, five sleighs moved down the narrow road from the mountaintop where the keep stood, slowly diverging onto different paths, taking retainers home to their families. The last, heavily laden with books, paused at the bottom of the long slope. High above, a winged figure circled the battlements, keeping watch over everything. Leaving such a place unoccupied in Ustalav was an invitation to the worst sorts to take possession of the fortified position, so the in the last act of Rathemore's will, the place suddenly crumbled - no explosion, but an alchemical destruction of acidic fumes that disintegrated all the mortar, and any material weaker than stone, leaving a pile of rocky chunks that already seemed to blend in with the mountain.   The winged figure watched the safe collapse, witnessing the end of an era, at least in his life. Then he swooped down, landing on the top of the last sleigh, and the driver shook the reins, resuming their progress down out of the mountains.     He sat in a common room, brooding. The wagon full of priceless books was in the inn's courtyard, locked and warded. He'd come to this city to find a proper home for them, it was a big enough city that there should be something, but he'd found nothing. Some libraries would keep them, copy them, but let anyone read them, without regard to their sanity or good intentions. Others would actually burn them, or almost as bad, would lock them up and throw away the key, never allowing them to be studied by those who needed the knowledge to fight against such things.   He thought back to Malipurd, his most recent travail. He supposed it should count as a success, but it was no tale of glory.   He’d arrived in the little hamlet along with the book-laden sleigh. He wanted to get them inside a warm, dry building as soon as he could, but he couldn’t leave them unattended, and he couldn’t take the time to find them a home, then return here, the village would be gone. So under the eaves of pines covered in snow, the sleigh rested peacefully, his strongest wards ensuring no damage would come to it, and that noone could enter it.   He trudged around the perimeter of the town, knowing something wasn’t right but still looking for what it was. Back in the inn, the coachman warmed himself by the fire, rest well-earned, but a hidden blade by his side, that Zak had given him just in case. But the big man wasn’t worried about cold or fatigue, or the dark of night… finding this town’s dark secret was more important than those things.   Then he came upon the smell. So strong it was like a finger in his nose, and fouler than anything he’d ever smelled – acrid, cloying, like feet and rotten meat and vinegar and mold, but a dozen times stronger. It led him to a snow-covered mound, in a clearing. The mound had been disturbed, on one side it seemed chunks had been carved away, and exposed flesh was left there, like half-frozen rotten cheese. He’d never seen something like this before, so he carved away a piece himself, taking it with him to study as he retraced his steps, covering over his tracks in the snow as he went.   Zak shuddered at the memory. He could still smell it, he’d probably remember the smell forever. A creature that wasn’t in any of the books, because it was a spawn of Rovagug, and was unique, as were all that foul deity’s creations. It hadn’t been a foe, but a tool. A dead monstrosity the cultists fed to the villagers, having secretly destroyed the food stores. So they corrupted the innocent and earned their devotion, all at once.   They’d been angry with him, when he told them the truth. Even tried to burn him. But he’d promised them food, if they would stop eating the corrupted meat, and when he revealed that the mad priest had burned their food stores, they stood aside, and let him enact justice.   He hadn’t intended to kill the cultists outright. Slaughter was not his way. But they hadn’t given him a choice, they outnumbered him, they were desperate, and they thought killing him would solve all their problems. With what he’d seen in their secret chapel, he didn’t really regret their deaths. And among the defiled corpses of the villagers they’d chosen not to convert, was an adventurer… Fungus grew on him, like the others, but less, the death was more recent… and he had a journal.   He hadn’t had much time to read it, then. He’d had to devote most of his hours to hunting, finding enough food to feed the villagers, after his acidic concoction had destroyed the spawn they’d been eating. He’d spent the whole winter there, to make sure the village survived, but they weren’t especially grateful, some even grumbling about how he was over-hunting the local game. But the village remained, now, uncorrupted. He’d left when the first trader arrived, after buying them enough grain to replenish their stores. They’d probably planted their spring crops by now, and their survival was worth the inconvenience, even worth the damage the long cold and intermittent damp had done to the collection of books.   Since then, he’d read the journal, and learned that the adventurer was from the Hunter’s Guild. He’d heard of them, but he’d always done things on his own, with the support of Lord Rathemore and the old man’s spy network. But now… now things were different. He’d return this journal, and the remains that were in a coffin, atop the carriage. He’d probably let them absorb the spy network, it would do more good as part of a larger organization, rather than serving an individual. He wasn’t sure how scholarly they were, but given the work they did, he hoped that maybe they’d even be worthy keepers of the old man’s library…     He padded quietly down the tunnel, quieter than a cat. His nose led him forward, the dank, vinegary smell of Illithid slime. Behind and above, the rest of the cave network was scattered with the bodies of the monstrosities slain by him and the others. But at the last moment, a crowd of the creatures had appeared on the surface, holding the local town hostage, sending one terrified villager with a ransome missive - forcing the Hunters to choose between killing the elder brain, and rescuing dozens of innocents.   The group had wanted to press on, judging that the killing of the mind flayer progenitor was worth the sacrifice of lives, but Zak had prevailed upon them to try for both. He was uniquely equipped to deal with the giant monster, immune to its mental powers, and not too proud to flee, if it came to that, while the others headed back to the surface to help the town.   So he moved alone, downward and inward, to the deep dark heart of the tunnel-ridden mountain. Droplets of moisture began to collect on the massive bow he carried in his left hand, as the air got damper and colder. He knew he was truly close when his foot suddenly crunched on something – looking down, he saw a larval illithid, broken body squirming, as a few others crawled blindly toward the sound, or the warmth they sensed from him.   Stealth gone, he charged forward, still quiet but not silent, monstrosities crunching underfoot as he rounded a bend in the tunnel to come into a vast chamber – where a huge inhuman brain rested in a pool of protoplasm, surrounded by hundreds of the tiny larva, and guarded by a mighty attendant – an elder illithid, taller than the others they’d fought, with more tentacles and more intellect. His arrows were in flight as quick as thought, metal tips piercing gray flesh, wooden shafts buckling, crushing the glass vials within and creating explosions of alchemical destruction. He felt waves of mental force wash over him, but he’d been built to withstand such attacks, the pathways in his brain toughened and redundant, allowing him to shrug off mental impacts and influence.   He stayed mobile, running around the room, wary of being swarmed by the tiny larvae, firing arrow after arrow at the mass of flesh, as the Ulitharid pursued him, trying to seize him with its long tentacles. He stayed out of its reach, until his vial arrows ran out, and then he dropped the bow, seeing the damage his flames and acid had done to the elder brain. In a flash of magic, he called forth two blades from nothing, and lunged forward at the nearer foe. Chopping off tentacles, in a flurry of strikes, he closed with the creature, plunging both blades into its heart, pulling them apart to rip its body asunder.   He cleansed the chamber with vials of fire, expending the last of his supplies, but making sure nothing alive remained, no way for this vile nest to recover, and went to rejoin the other hunters, topside. He knew they’d complain, not just that he’d stolen the glory, but that he was one of the worst storytellers in the guild, usually not even bothering to speak of his deeds, much less embellish them. It was a waste, they’d say, for such an unassuming hero to be the one who faced the biggest foe. But he’d endure their friendly chiding with a smile. He’d accomplished his true goal – using his unique gifts to end the threat, and also making sure none of his friends succumbed to the mental devastation these creatures could wreak.  
  12. Name: Doctor Know-Body (or just "Know-Body" for short) Race: fey Class(es): Conscript // Scholar (Harmacist) Gender: none apparent, but defaults to "he/him" Age: ageless and immortal, has been around a long time Primary role: monster debuffer (material impositions, poison, stinkbombs) Secondary roles: ranged striker (sneak attack, sniping), support (all Knowledges, crafting alchemical items, Enhancement talents via familiar, inspiration, magical healing via familiar, nonmagical healing and condition removal, out-of-combat Diplomacy/Intimidation, scouting, stealth), tank (Guardian talents via companion)   Physical Description:  The Doctor is typically small when introduced to others, the size of a gnome or halfling. He dresses in simple, long traveler's robes except for a somewhat anachronistic wide-brimmed hat, and he wears a stylized plague doctor's mask with oversized crystalline eyes that covers his facial features. He doesn't speak much, but he occasionally makes slight buzzing noises that are surprisingly expressive, and combined with expansive gestures he can usually communicate his thoughts extremely well without making a sound. He has insect-like wings that flutter restlessly when he is at rest, and punctuate his subtle sounds with a flurry of motion that commonly comes across as enthusiasm or irritation. He carries a large, curved bow and a quiver full of arrows, and has several pouches and a short sword on his hip. He smells like chemicals, a sharp acrid tang of alcohol and sulfur combined with spices, botanicals, and musk.   When he is on the hunt, the Doctor shrinks down to the size of a housefly, rendering him practically invisible. He often flits about on his tiny wings to catch his allies' attention.   Accompanying him in either form is an ugly horned creature with red skin, fiendish wings, and a long scorpion-like tail. It sits on his shoulder in his larger shape, and vice-versa when he is smaller. This devilish companion is more vibrantly colored than other imps, with elfin curved ears, and is much smaller. If not for its fierce expression, one might mistake it for some kind of otherworldly hummingbird. When it speaks, it has a harsh and deep voice that seems quite out of place, with a strangely aggressive accent. It wears a shiny pinky ring and also carries a tiny leather satchel that looks like it's seen a lot of years. Like a herald or spokesman (or talent agent), it sometimes speaks for the Doctor.   Occasionally, the Doctor instead keeps company with what looks like a baby rat, with white fur spotted with black and bright red eyes, or a black raven with mottled gray under-feathers. When it speaks, it becomes apparent that these creatures are the imp in a changed shape.   Personality Profile:  Doctor Know-Body is superior, aloof, and competitive. He believes he has a starring role in a cosmic reality show, where the goal is to kill as many monsters as he can. In his mind it still counts if someone else gets the kill shot, but only if he somehow assisted them. For this reason, he is very solicitous about keeping his allies in good health, feigning great concern for their well-being. In fact, he believes that the prime material plane is a virtual reality simulation that the denizens of the First World visit for entertainment purposes. It is a matter of faith for him that his "real" body is plugged in "back home", and that all the beings he interacts with here are artificial, parts of the Great Game. It is very important to him that he does well, and he likes weighing the system in his favor as much as he can. For this reason he has sought out what he thinks of an "otherworldly patron" in the form of Norgorber. He imagines that the god was another player in the competition before He ascended, and that He is anxious to help others succeed as He did. So, to maximize his chances, he makes a show of worshipping the deity when it matters.   While The Doctor believes he is better than everyone else in this reality, he worries that his allies would be less willing to help him win if they knew what he was and his attitude toward them, so he keeps his true identity secret. He hopes that fake people will believe he is the gnome-like creature he superficially appears to be. But since he is a pure faerie creature, he cannot tell lies-- this is considered cheating, and carries consequences that could affect his score. To get around this restriction he never talks, preferring to communicate nonverbally when necessary. It is a point of pride to him, sort of a personal handicap. Unfortunately, the nature of the simulation as he imagines it makes him bond extremely easily with others. Once he starts communicating through gestures, he begins to "speak" almost nonstop to his connected allies. It becomes very difficult for him to hide his surface thoughts from them, and his unfiltered opinions have offended other members of the Monster Hunter's Guild in the past.   Background:  Doctor Know-Body's memories of the First World are hazy and distant. He doesn't remember much about his family or his life before, only that he was chosen to participate in the Great Game over many other talented applicants, possibly because he is so incredibly intelligent. He can vaguely recollect someone important saying in a publicized interview that ideas and inspiration were more important to the Scorekeepers than the raw numbers of power and might that many contestants focus upon. He thinks he was already well-versed in the genre, having participated in many training programs that instructed would-be monster hunters in the rules for scoring. In fact, he had once finished the combat tutorial so quickly that the showrunners had to add additional obstacles to prevent his "exploit," so he technically earned the highest speed ranking possible.   Once inducted into the simulation, he found himself on the outskirts of a gritty fantasy city, a young man (or at least man-shaped being) come to seek his fortune in the capital. He got to work hunting rats and other vermin, choosing what some commentators called "the stealth route"-- hiding in the shadows and striking from afar with a ranged weapon. He spent several years on this, doing what he thought of as the "grind" to earn enough experience to begin to develop his character's more versatile abilities. During this time he often visited the nearby alchemists' academy, where he studied the secrets of natural remedies and deadly poisons. He also pledged himself to Norgorber at the temple, and many of the acolytes were also thieves in their spare time, so Know-Body began to make contacts with other characters that could help him train his fighting abilties.   He has never told anyone his actual character name (he left it blank during character creation). When introducing himself, he told his fellow students and cultists that he was "nobody," and the nickname stuck. As he became more accomplished in the medical arts and sciences, he began to write it "Know-Body" as a sort of inside joke. Over the years, "Know-Body" (or "Doctor Know-Body") became his public identity. However, he is supposed to keep his true identity hidden as part of his devotion to Norgorber, and he rationalizes this by believing that his true name is "nobody." Thus, signing himself as "Doctor Know-Body" is sort of a nom de plume, or a professional alias.   Perhaps because of his devotion and many tithes to the Black-Fingered god, when Know-Body began experimenting with training animals to act as a familiar, he was blessed (or cursed) with a fiendish creature from the outer planes. For many years it pretended to be a simple rat, albeit one touched by faerie and strangely gifted with magical abilities, but eventually it revealed itself to be a devil imp companion sent from Norgorber's realm to aid and advise the Doctor on his adventures. The imp goes by the name "Hugh," perhaps also a sign of the Doctor's unusual sense of humor. Its purpose is to protect and serve him while also encouraging him to follow his deity's example, though the Doctor rarely needs nudging in that direction.   All of this happened what seems like an eternity ago, though time is hard to measure when you are an immortal being that doesn't need to eat or drink or sleep who is playing in a non-stop simulation where there are constantly things to do to improve your score. Eventually, through his contacts in Norgorber's temple, the Doctor learned of the Monster Hunter's Guild, which seemed to him a perfect match. He spent months learning everything he could about their recruitment policies and the challenge ritual they used to test hopeful members. With some judicious chemical enhancements to their food and drink, he made sure that all the others trying out who seemed to him like competition rather than potential allies all got very sick at the hour of the tryouts. They fought an aboleth, which was a singular challenge, but fortunately Doctor Know-Body had maximized all of his skills during his hours and hours of experience-hunting, and he knew how to swim and fight underwater. It was no surprise to him when he was officially invited to join the lodge and awarded the special achievement title "Monster Debuffer" (M.D. for short).   Since then, each mission began to blend together with the last, and while the Doctor stayed busy, he started to grow a bit weary of constantly seeking to improve his score. Surely he had earned a bit of a break, he thought. He began to spend more time at the guildhouse, healing younger members of their injuries and even training them. Perhaps it might have seemed like he was retiring, but as he saw it every monster that he helped someone else kill was his kill also. He began to enjoy working with others, hearing their stories and assisting them with strategy and tactics. The missions that he did join became so much more fulfilling. He came to appreciate the danger and the risk much more than he ever had, knowing that he wasn't facing it alone. In short, he began to assimilate into the Guild, and to think of them all being on the same team.   When word came of the Julius's discovery and the new grave threat endangering the world, the Doctor indulged in a flurry of research to learn all he could about these floating eleven eye-stalked eyeball creatures, as well as their giant, one-eyed, one-clubbed, spying purple people-eater allies. Beholders! They were the stuff of legend, rarely encountered due to a glitch in the open-source system underlying the Prime Material plane. The Doctor could not wait to test his mettle against their googly grins, and he rushed to the guildhouse to share his knowledge with his allies and plot their downfall together. The Monster Hunter's Guild would be glad that they contracted the services of Doctor Know-Body in their quest to cast down the eyes of Oculus!   Character Sheets:  Doctor Know-Body (no magic version, small version), Hugh (no magic version)   Hugh “Boss, are you gonna post an example of our witty dialogue exchanges, back-and-forth like?” Hugh thought to the Doctor through their mental connection. Nervously, he looked around at the others in the Guildhouse, painfully aware that to them it must seem that his master was doing and saying nothing, even though the imp knew his mind was full of thoughts and opinions. Doctor Know-Body The Doctor paused, as he often did before answering his familiar, to give the impression of gathering his thoughts for something momentous. He mentally cleared his throat to warn Hugh that the awesome power of his mind was imminently going to touch his. “YES,” he transmitted, accompanied by the feeling that he understood the imp’s concerns, but that he did not, at the present time, have the ability to elaborate. Hugh “Glad we cleared that up,” Hugh muttered under his breath.  
  13.    Alekzander Volkov   “INSPIRATIONAL QUOTE (OPTIONAL)”   Scholar (Doctor) Conscript (NO ARCHETYPE)   PRIMARY ROLE Support. Healing, condition removal.   SECONDARY ROLE Support. Trapping, scouting, enemy debuffing and soft CC.   RACE: Human AGE: TBD GENDER: Male   Appearance A compact man, Alekz is slightly below average height and of average build. His brown hair and eyes simply reaffirm an otherwise unexceptional stature and presence.   Personality Focused and direct when working, Alekz is jovial and friendly when not 'on the job'. His past has left him with a very flawed understanding of intimacy and emotional interaction, making him very awkward in such circumstances.   Backstory The Village was the last stop on the trip to nowhere. Too small to be on any map, or of any real consequence to the outside world, it had never needed a name beyond simply 'The Village'. Nestled into the foothills of the mountains The Village offered an oasis of humanity to the few hearty souls who roam the mountains. While there were many and myriad mineral deposits of value in the mountains they were small and scattered, rendering them unsuitable for any large scale mining operations. This was ideal for those brave and enterprising individuals willing to do small scale prospecting or mining and these daring adventurers often found The Village to be their source for fresh provisions and a warm bed as they transitioned between projects and prospecting claims.   Alekz was taught herbalism and healing by his family who offered aid and succor to residents and fortune-seekers alike. He was still a fresh faced young boy, not even 10 winters old when calamity struck. It seems that the mineral riches littering the hills held some key ingredient that drew the attention of a colony of Mind Flayers. The abominations quickly tore through the region laying waste to those few who had the capability to resist and taking the remainder thrall. The colony established an Elder Brain in the mountains and used their thralls to harvest the ingredients needed for their baleful rituals. Being young, nimble and small Alekz was among the thralls selected to tend the Brain itself. His dexterous fingers and agile mind quickly saw him assigned to duties mixing and applying the tinctures, salves and eldritch concoctions used to keep the Brain happy and healthy.   Years passed in this fugue state, decades even. Constant exposure to strange alchemical concoctions did strange things to young Alekz's body and mind though it is impossible to determine which quirks and oddities were cause by the chemicals rather than the long term mental domination. When The Guild liberated the region and rescued the survivors. Alekz recovered his sense of self quickly and worked to support both the refugees and Guild operatives as they retreated from the area. While his parents and youngest sister went missing, and are believed dead during the invasion, both his older sister and younger brother survived as thralls. They have since recovered to lead relatively normal lives giving Alekz a gaggle of Nieces and Nephews to spoil on his visits between Guild assignments.  
  14. Sonja/SHEETLINK   “NO SNACKS IN THE ARCHIVES!”   Bard 15 (Archaeologist)  Elementalist 14 (Tenebrous Stalker) Oracle 1 (sphere oracle) PRIMARY ROLE skills, debuffs(illusions/darkness), a bit of area damage    SECONDARY ROLE it's a jack of all trades : can take an hit for an ally, provide buffs, deliver a vicious touch attack, temporary gain new sphere talents. Entirely magic dependent   RACE: Human Ghost AGE: Older than dirt  GENDER: It's a lady ghost   Appearance Exotic, she's a ghost, a ghost of a woman, of all the things you could use to describe her the most impressive are her eyes, red and intense, her stare has weight that can halt the the strongest man. White hairs and a petite form, hard to determine the exact height since she float but she doesnt reach 170cm, weight absent but she is lithe. Her voice is alien, inhuman, it echo , sometimes it's a soothing, hypnotizing experience, other times it's a terible nightmare She wear a robe with an hood, part of what she had in life, she has a few more possessions that crossed the barrier with her, becoming intangible. An interesting quirk, that will surely raise questions, is the ghost knight helmet she carry, it's one of those possessions that became intangible, the interesting thing is that the eye sockets have been obstructed with a small plate, making it so the wearer cant see anything, even more oddly she does wear it when going outside for long periods, apparently it help her deal with her agoraphobia    Personality I believe it's better to read the backstory before the personality, to avoid spoilers, you have been warned Sonja is complicated, quirky, because she's an undead, a banshee and they tend to have more emotions than your typical undead Sonja is old, old even for undead standards, tend to see everyone as young, to her humans are like mayflies, born yesterday dead tomorrow, due to this she try to not get too attached to them. She is vindictive , viciously so, as every banshee, but time and an healthy environment has dampened this trait. Sonja mood is swingy, sometimes she is the personification of apathy and other times act like a drama queen, as if she was unable to have a balanced set of feelings and just selecting one at a time, this complicate her relationship with the living. She has some odd quirks, first she is moderately agoraphobic, she has spent a lot of time in enclosed space and just got used to it, she love gargoyle miniatures and has an huge collection; a small gargoyle statue is a fine bribery. She love books, in her opinion it's the only other thing that defeat time, she even wrote some hundred or so, maybe all this love come because writing havent been invented yet when she was alive.       Backstory Note: i'll name people and places of the game world, consider these placeholder   Part 0, the intro Lilibeth walked down the stairs of the basement and the sub basement, heading toward the archives of the guild, the Great Archives of the Monster Hunter's Lodge; our hero is not seeking knowledge today but an old friend's help. Crossing this labyrint with the ease that come from being intimately familiar with it "Lili" , our lodge hunter, a cultured warrior approach another set of stairs, leading further down, here she find a fellow hunter, a young one by the confused look, the rookie is standing in front of a map of the archives, a wise addition after the many who got lost inside, he is chewing some hard bread while tracing a path with free hand, moving the finger on the map. Noticing Lilibeth the young hunter shift his focus on her "hello there, do you..." "YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED AND FOUND WANTING" Thunder a spooky otherworldly voice, it echo and seem to come from the archive itself A banshee appear from a nearby bookcase , blitzing the young hunter  "NO SNACKS IN THE ARCHIVES! I'LL EAT YOUR SOOOOUUULLL!" He run, run for his life, in terror, dropping the bread in the confusion and earning some psychological scars. The banshee chase him briefly, then stop, once the young hunter has vanished from the archives she float back to Lilibeth. "Eat your soul? wasnt it a bit too... dramatic?" ask a calm Lilibeth who know the archivist quite well, she's among those who can consider her a friend and Lilibeth has also the honor(and the duty...sometimes difficult duty) of being Sonja's handler, as absurd as it may be, chosen mostly because the banshee like her. "No snacks in the archives" she repeat, with calm voice, staring at the bread on the ground, like a rotting diseased rat inside a sterile room. "I'll clean it" and she does, Lilibeth warp the bread with a napkin and stow it in her pack, this small gesture please the banshee. "good evening Sonja, how are things going?"  After a 10 minute chit-chat, where we also learn that Sonja collect tiny gargoyle statues as she add Lilibeth gift to her collection.    "there is a problem with a tribe of ettins, driven mad by some foul magic, the queen has requested our intervention, I'll be leaving tomorrow, would you like to come? Your help would be important"  "Queen Valecia? How's the old goat?"  "Queen Valecia died 40 years ago"  Follow several awkard moments of silence "Good riddance, she hated undead, racist bigot"  "Calm now, you are talking about our queen grandmother, lets be more respectful, can we?" "she declared necromancy outlawed and undeads abominations to be exterminated!"  Some more seconds of awkard silence where Lilibeth try to remember "it was after the crimsom feast, her parents had been assassinated by a necromancer, she was 16 at the time, her reaction was understandable, beside she calmed down, years later she lessened her restriction on necromancy " "not all undeads are evil"  "true, some are just vindictive, overly dramatic old grumbling spirits   " Long silence , Sonja initially miss the joke, almost a minute later "YOU DARE HAVE FUN OF ME?!" And Lilibeth laugh, the conversation go on for some more but in the end the banshee refuse, having more important things to do, not exactly true but she is a bit agoraphobic and doesnt like to leave the archives.    Part 0, The intro strike again Some time later a man in the mid 30s walk to the Great Archives, a familiar face for you my reader as this man is the bread rookie, now he is a scholar of the Lodge, he has become a respected hunter , learned to deal with the archivist but hasnt touched a piece of bread since that day, some kind of bread-phobia. Lucius Ramic, among the many people has been chosen as Sonja's handler; recently, in a bout of madness he has decided to write Sonja story, armed with ink and paper, lots of paper, he has spent the better part of this year squeezing informations out of the banshee, no small feat.  "Nice day Sonja" "what are you ? a weather man?!"  Having learned the tricks to deal with her he continue nonchalant "i've bought you a tribute, from the far realm of Marathraxas... you have been there, right?" "Yes, yes i have, what tribute?" she investigate the man, believe me, nobody enjoy being stared at by a banshee, they never blink, never need to rest, can keep doing it for hours...days..weeks. Lucius draw a tiny statue of a gargoyle that seem like a chess piece, this please the banshee who welcome the gift. "so, last time you were talking about your husband..."     Part 0, The end of intro    Some time later... Lucius visit Sonya, he's in the late 30s early 40s "Good day Sonja" "Good day Ramic, what brings the -Lore Warden- here?" with an hint of sarcasm, our Lucius is now an important figure of the guild, our banshee does treat him with more respect but it's hard for her to keep up with the living "evolution", she is the same as 20 years ago, not an hair different, living her routine with hardly any change. "Bad news, the Queen has summoned the hunter lodge, it appear that a group of beholders are working together, have driven a cyclops tribe insane, it's a serious threat to the kingdom, possibly to the world! I need your help, your vast knowledge on the field can make the difference when there is no time to go back to the archives" "Oh no... the world ending threat" with such apathy it feel cruel "do you have an idea of how many times i've heard these words? if..." Lucius interrupt her "67 times, according to your biography" this seem to stun the banshee who just float there  "I cant, i'm busy, theres an entire wing that need to ..." "Someone else can do that, but no one can do what you do, please Sonya , the code of the Lodge..." "Do not cite The Code to me, Lucius, i was there when it was written" "then you know, you are an hunter in training, it's what made you an archivist but an hunter in training must still answer to the call, in the face of the end of the world even an archivist, if you refuse I will go, but i'm no where near your level and this attempt deserve the best people we have. " Sonya look up, the ghost version of an eye roll, or a sigh, Lucius is being so overly dramatic, kingdoms rise and fall... "it's true, but an hunter in training need the blessing of their handler, Lilibeth is on a mission, will be back soon, until then..." A long silence follow, it's kind of normal for Sonja but less so for Lucius, the man struggle to find the words to reply, but then does because he has no time for this. "Lilibeth is dead, she died 21 years ago, the ettins remember?" This shock the banshee, as much as an undead can feel shock, she appear lost in thoughts, she liked Lilibeth..she like Lucius "I think...I think i'll go then, kill the cyclops" "save the cyclops... if possible. Kill the beholders"     Extracts from Sonja biography Everything that follow can be the truth or the mad rambling of a ghost, or both.   Sonja was born millennias ago, so long ago a precise date is impossible but it was during what we call pre-history. She was what we would call a witch, working for a lord, a great conqueror who wanted all he could see. An arrogant fool, an handsome arrogant fool, so charming people started to believe him when he claimed to be a god. One day an enemy, an assassin, found himself close enough to kill the Lord but Sonja shielded him, not out of loyalty but for love. Years later she was recalled back from the dead, alive, truly alive, not a ghost. A miracle, a wish, a wish of the lord, of the god, of her love, a wish to have her back. They married and lived happily ever after, until the thirst of power pushed the Lord beyond sanity. Afraid of dying of old age he seeked immortality, such was his determination that he searched the entire world and the stars until he found it. But there was a price to pay, a piece of heart, the Lord, the god, betrayed Sonja and sacrificed her in a terrible and unholy ritual.   She re-awakened, this time as a spirit, a spirit of hate and revenge, she hunted the Lord until she finally cornered him. In life she wasnt anywhere near his power, in death things didnt change and the Lord won. He was an immortal but now she was too, unable to kill her permanently the Lord trapped Sonja in a crypt where she waited until the very island the crypt was on got submerged by the sea, breaking the wards, about two thousands years. This is the kind of thing that can drive even an undead mad, isolated for so long, alone with her thirst of revenge, i think this explain her difficulties with open spaces. Once free Sonja was a monster, she hunted the Lord and his descendants, giving life to many legends and myths, Sonja could possibly be the very first banshee. Thousands years of hunting, millions lives extinguished, anyone standing between her and her target was an obstacle to remove, she had no respect for life, didnt know anything but revenge.   Her rampage was halted by a group of adventurers who one day would become the founders of the monster hunting guild,  they killed her... a few times...until one of them, the one who would later become the first Lore Warder, realized the futility of this struggle, a ghost is a victim of a great injustice and cant rest until what is wrong is set right, so they talked with the banshee...after trapping her.   "A DEAL WAS MADE, WITH THE GODS AS WITNESSES, A PACT BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE DEEEEAAAAD" this is a direct quote from Sonja, our Banshee.   The adventurers would help find the evil immortal Lord and help slay it, in return, until the quest was fulfilled, Sonja would stop her killing spree and live a  peaceful ...unlife  The adventurers didnt find the immortal lord, but their quest remain in the journal of the hunter guild, one day someone will complete it and Sonja will finally rest. Until then, our friendly banshee continue her existance, working in the archives.   Lore Warden Lucius Ramic. Student, Handler and Friend.            Sonja custom casting tradition I had in mind to use the standard sorcerer tradition but double somatic casting on a ghost feel... shady😅 and verbal casting seem a bad idea on a stealthy illusion character so i checked out the various drawbacks and boon for alternatives until i stumbled on something i liked, here it is.   "dread sorcery" your magic is fueled by emotions, usually negative emotions, this reduce the need of complex incantations; while it provide less arcane energies that a classic sorcerer tradition the dread sorcery draw strength from fear . Magic type: arcane Casting attribute: charisma Drawback: Emotional casting, Somatic casting 1 Boon: Power of fear   Note: emotional casting drawback on an undead is a bit limited(to be fair most drawback have less effect on a ghost) but given the level and the many way to pierce immunities(or casts spells that affect undead like turn undead) i think it is a fair choice, fairer than somatic casting 2 on a ghost 🙂      Various refluffed stuff There are some variations i'd like to make, to better fit the character concept, they either have no mechanical difference or a truly minor one: 1) Drawback: Xenophobic, refluffed as Agoraphobic, keeping the same penalties but changing the trigger from "meeting creatures of different race/culture" to "being in open areas/being in crowded areas"  2) oracle curse, Covetous but instead of clothes/jewels Sonja crave for "little gargoyle statues" basically miniatures(but anything that can fit in an human hand would be ok) 3) the whole mestama thing, removed, she's not following a deity and the obedience/damnations (evil alignment/require to make someone cry, or be angry) is just her being your friendly neighborhood spooky vindictive ghost 4) one of her known languages is "ancient dead language" it's a placeholder, i'd like to have her know the language spoken when she was alive.   Character build explained   IMPORTANT NOTE: for the purpose of ghost traits/abilities i assume Sonja is a cr 17 creature(lvl 15 +2 ghost template) i know a gestalt with all these bonuses would have a much higher CR but ghost get more abilities/damage the higher the cr.   Sonja Boons(20): More feats(4 boons for extra feats at 3rd, 6th, 9th, 12th, 15th, 18th) Enhanced armaments(2 oaths for +4 illusion sphere implement) Whisperer to the lost(1 oath) Fated birth (1 oath: Cups ) Skillful(4 oaths) Quick recovery (2 oaths) Skill superiority(intimidate) (1 oath) Extra talents(5 oaths for 1 extra talent ever odd level)   Understanding how a character work from the character sheet can be difficult, expecially at these levels and with all these extras so here a summary of what Sonja do.   -In normal situations, while out adventuring and not under the effect of antimagic field, she is blinded, because she wear an helmet(mask of thousand tomes) that block vision, Sonja rely on divination sense talents to see(in an antimagic field she lose the enhancement from the divination sphere but the magic item blocking her vision also lose it's effect so she see normally)   -Defense wise, i havent invested much, ghost are naturally tough and being cha primary Sonja has good staying power for a caster, beside she is very mobile(can teleport from shadow to shadow) has a lot of immunities(undead plus damnation feats) and a few ways to heal herself (since she cant be healed with positive energy) all in all she can survive the attention of a nasty melee fighter long enough to retreat, or so i believe. With a teamwork feat she is also able to intercept a charge and shield an ally, a bit strange on a caster but with 300+hp she can shield a squishy-er ally   -offense wise she hang back and cast illusions or dark sphere effects, hindering enemy senses while also damaging them, she's also an intimidator for additional debuffs. She has some other tricks like ranged telekinetic disarm, a gaze attack, ability drain, a ranged touch attack for low damage(but she can use it with an ability to make the target believe someone else made the attack, like one of their allies) and even the power to possess somebody or have them dance  but these are backups, for when illusions/darkness arent effective or fun(expecially the possession and the dance ones, took them for entertainment value). She has 1 melee attack, with terrible accuracy(+17!) but it's a touch attack and she is good at feinting so, with proper set-up she can deliver a very accurate and very damaging touch attack, expecially when boosted with her various powers; this ability is more a defensive countermeasure against enemies rushing her or to be used for sneak attacks against guards, doesnt work against elementals or, funnily, other ghosts.    -She is very , very optimized on skill checks, in particular knowledge checks, she can function as party rogue(stealth,disable, sleight of hand) and know-it-all(knowledge, languages) and social checks(intimidate, diplomacy and bluff) she can use both sleight of hand and disable device at range with telekinesis. it all started with the idea to make knowledge epic checks but optimizing these made it easier to also raise others so now she's a skill monkey.   -All her items are treated as part of her(note: this is valid only for the items she start with, stuff acquired later doesnt get this benefit) they are insubstantial like her but still provide their bonuses as if normal, inside an antimagic field they would lose the magical properties but remain insubstantial like Sonja.   -Inside an antimagic field sonja lose all her magic and her ghost attacks since these are supernatural abilities, this means she cant attack or cast spells, she also lose a bit on skill modifiers and cant use sleight of hand or disable device(both require telekinesis) but she remain a scary ghost who can rely on intimidation until she can move outside the magic suppressing area,    -the campaign free boon that resurrect people (barring gm ruling) doesnt work on sonja, it takes a wish/miracle to resurrect her(damnation feats) i'd like it this way, she shouldnt be easily resurrected, ghost do have a way to come back(but it take days) optionally the campaign boon can speed up that process(same effect, different fluff) or i can do without and go without safety nets            Should be ready, need to double check the mechanics      
  15.   NAME John Doe   CLASS Unchained Barbarian (Painted Savage) Conscript   PRIMARY ROLE Quick Movement offensive Ground Troop, Tank   SECONDARY ROLE Comedy Relief, Dad Jokes, Poor Humor   CREW POSITION TBD   Appearance John looks mostly human, but there are tattoos along his body and face that look like fluorescent ink. He has a scar along his right eyebrow and a zigzag scar on left side near the temple to the back of the skull. This is where surgery performed along the scar line and various parts of his body, where the tattoos cover them. He appears youthful and in pristine shape. Much stronger than he could appear physically, this being done through mechanical parts throughout his body.   Personality John has an innocence about him, he recalls nothing about his past. Although he really has no need to sleep, he finds his thoughts wandering to a time from before. Through guidance of his former caretaker, John has relearned a lot of the current state of affairs, though he has an almost innate knowledge of things from a time before. John is blunt and straight forward, his mechanical parts have caused his emotions to be somewhat numbed down, he has no carnal desires and has no need to eat, but will do so in order to fit in. Backstory   John Doe was a human modified with a cybernetic endoskeleton made of genetically modified flesh and titanium steel. It was around the year 2003 in the pre-history that he and other death row inmates were coerced into donating their bodies for medical research. Several years had passed since John's execution and it was around 2018 of the pre-history that the company Cybertech Systems was halted by an unnamed hero. This left the body of John Doe undiscovered in a hibernation stasis where remained asleep for over a thousand years. John Doe woke after an earthquake hit in facility in once what was known as California. The city had long ago sunk into the ocean leaving the facility underwater. The splitting of rock, stone and other falling debris cracked the stasis chamber which housed John's body. This caused the long dormant human cyborg to be activated and restored functionality. John Doe most likely would have ceased to function that day, but with the human part of him, his survival instincts kicked in and managed to endure the underwater pressure and make it to the surface. upon reaching the shoreline, John had wandered the barren wastelands unable to recall who he was.  He simply felt that the world seemed different, but having no memories of his previous life, he was unaware of how time has changed.   It was fate that John found an old railway. Logically he thought it had to lead somewhere. Although he had to fend off attacks from strange wildlife, he was discovered by the Tinker Express. There he met an old engineer named Cristopher Small, a short man who took pity and called the nameless man John Doe due to the fact that John didn't know his original name. Christopher allowed him to stay on the train as manual labor until he could find his place in the world. Chris often teased John for his lack of common sense and awkward behavior, but when it came to combat and military offensive and defensive tactics, he had proved to be a natural.   One of the towns that the rail stopped in had a Tank crew at one of the local drinking holes. Although John never had felt the urge to drink or eat, he did so because he thought he must. As a barroom brawl began by a drunk patron, it was there that one of the Tank crew spotted John's potential as he easily took hit after hit from random chairs and thrown mugs and bottles. Shrugging them off as if nothing and not taking offense to it either. John felt loyalty to Christopher, but when speaking with his caretaker, Chris gave John his blessings and actually urged him to join the Leader of Tank 1A-X B3 who was also acquainted with Christopher took the clueless warrior under his wing, turning him to a strong gunner and tank support.      
  16. Richter "Bricks" Tonov WIP Description: Nobody is sure what caused Richter's mutations.  Richter himself thinks his mother caught the Infection virus while pregnant with him, and then then somehow it affected her and him very differently from normal, but it's a theory based on nothing.   Whatever it was, the result is eye-catching.  Richter is a mountain of a man, just under 8' tall, and heavily muscled.  His size can get awkward inside the confines of the tank, and he prefers to ride unbuttoned whenever the vehicle is not in combat.   The next thing people notice is his skin, a very unhealthy looking ashen pallor that belies incredible durability.  Richter has been shot by heavy weapons in the past, and it hasn't put him down.  Yet, at least.   His hide carries an interesting array of scars and tattoos left over from his raider days.  He wears long sleeves when in settlements to cover them up, in an effort to avoid his past catching up to him.     Richter, early in his raider days Another fashion accessory is his shield, hanging on his left upper arm.  Originally a piece of armor from the tank, it was damaged in combat in replaced.  Richter was able to salvage a section and apply carrying straps to it, creating a movable piece of bullet-proof cover that has proved incredibly helpful in both firefights and close combat.   Richter often smells of either forge soot or engine oil, depending on what his most recent project has been.   Personality: Penitent.  Richter is trying to make up for the sins he committed as a raider any way he can.  This doesn't mean he's sworn off violence, rather he's putting his varied and ruthless fighting skills to use on the behalf of those who don't have them.  When the tank arrives in a settlement, Richter always looks for some sort of charity work to do, provided the locals aren't too hostile.  Locales with a high degree of anti-mutant sentiment can solve their own problems.   As someone who used to have to regularly fight in order to eat, Richter takes weapons very seriously.  He spends a lot of time cleaning, maintaining, and even tinkering with weapons to find something to give him the extra edge.  He's expanded this to cover the tank itself since joining the crew.   Background: Richter was born in the small village of Grenfield, on the outskirts of the wreckage that had been pre-fall Lubbock, Texas.  When he was a kid, Richter was small and constantly sickly.  This made him a popular target for the other kids' pranks.  That changed really fast when puberty hit and Richter started to grow real big, real fast, and the bullies moved on to less obviously dangerous targets.  Like his older sister, whom Richter happened to see being harassed in an alley one day, and came charging to her defense.  Though only 15 at the time, Richter already had a full head of height on the average man.    Sometimes in his nightmares, Richter can still see the other boy's head spin halfway around from the blow before falling top the ground dead.  The other parents, long not happy with mutant in their midst, were extremely upset, and Ricther had to flee town chased by an angry lynch mob.   Out in the wasteland, he was discovered by a band of raiders, who decided to take Richter in after some consideration.  For over a decade after that, Richter rode with with with a succession of outlaw groups, plundering and repaying every insult and indignity the normies had heaped on him in blood.  He went through several groups through a series of groups thanks to the normal power struggles, splits, mergers, and absorptions such loosely organized groups regularly undergo, surviving the chaos by wit and sheer toughness.  His final outfit was the Dust Devils, a large warband that terrorized highways and byways in the heart of the continent.   One day, the Dust Devils had captured a small trading convoy.  Richter watched the gang's leader, Lorenzo "Razorback" Ortega, try to interrogate one of the merchants.  Then Richter watched in horror as Lorenzo drew his gun and pressed to the forehead of the trader's daughter-a daughter who looked exactly like Richter's sister!  Richter only barely restrained himself from jumping in like he had 10 years ago, and only because he knew it would end very differently.  As he watched helplessly, Lorenzo shot the girl, and it wasn't the blood spatter that made Richter sick to his stomach.   The sudden humanization of the enemy made Richter lose all appetite for banditry, and he started trying to figure how to leave a gang of cutthroat and paranoid raiders.  Luckily, fate intervened.  The Dust Devils had gown large enough and destructive enough to draw the attention of another power in the wastes, one of the few operational tanks had been hired to eliminate the threat.  The tank caught up to the raiders one afternoon, and the raiders' improvised combat vehicles quickly proved no match for a dedicated AFV.  Richter lost consciousness as his buggy exploded.   When he came to, night had fallen on a field of twisted bodies and burning wreckage.  Following the trail of destruction, he found where the tank had been parked for the night.  After carefully approaching and quickly spilling his life story, and his desire to make up for his crimes, the crew agreed to take him on as an apprentice.
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