[@Nariate] No worries! I would be completely okay with working it into her history. But in the case of magic vagueness could possibly turn into OPness :P Would it be alright if I come up with a religion for the humans? My character is a temple maiden/priestess so she needs a religion.
Well, I should have also mentioned the holy trinity of sorts. Roffella the Warrior by the Dwarves and the Glamhoth, Haron the Wise by the Firen and the Lavas, and Artimus the Father by the elves as a whole. But you can create another at your whim :)
Maybe she can be something of a comic relief with my guy. Every other character seems so serious.
Indeed, I probably wouldn't have gone with mondo badass coolguy if I knew that's what everyone else was going to do. But despite having a rough and tumble history, Rothelion is likely to appreciate humor more than stoic warriors on a mission.
Appearance: Height: 4’11 Weight: 150lbs Grizzled with age, Sirgala is a few years before the point where the body starts to not be able to do things no matter how much the mind encourages it to do otherwise. Creaky in the morning and slowly losing her flexibility, Sirgala is still in good shape, sharp of mind, hearing, and sight. Her hair and eyebrows are the fair blond of an elf, but is wavy and occasionally tangled, thick like a dwarf’s, tied back into a bun. Her face is rather round and squat, and has many laugh lines and a small scar over her left eyebrow. Her eyes are a deep brown, large, almost intruding on her nose, which accentuates this appearance with its diminutive size. Her thin lips hide a mouth missing a few teeth, and her neck is beginning to do that thing that happens on old people where loose skin kinda just hangs out there. Her overall build is squat and solid, though she still maintains the grace typified of her father’s lineage. Still in good shape from years of hunting, her hard work is starting to take some toll on her body. She limps slightly on her left leg – not from any specific injury, just kinda started coming on in the last 20 or so years. Her flat feet are also beginning to affect her lower back, though this has yet to do that much to her. The most noticeable bit about her body are the three and a half-ish missing fingers on her right hand. A swordsman got in under her spear and took the shot, fully taking off her pointer and middle fingers, the ring finger just below the first knuckle, and the pinky on the last knuckle. She can still pick up most things with pinky and thumb, but any fancy movements (like, say, weapon handling) are beyond her abilities, with that hand, anyway.
Personality: First and foremost, Gala is well aware that one’s origins are absolutely no indication for their future acts, and as such judges people purely on their actions, never on their race, clothing, or any other basic features. This has led her to a natural affinity with other mixed and shunned groups, and may lead her to seek restitution and mutual understanding in place of conflict. Secondly, Gala knows that the only things about which one can know too much are related to people. She generally shuns politics, history, and the petty squabbles of mankind for any learning she can take from books or with her own hands and body. This is not to say that she is unaware of that which goes on around her, but she will often be willfully ignorant of anything unless it presents to her a danger, and will rarely profess to knowing anything at all on such matters.
Gruff, protective of those whom she is supposed to protect, and quite adaptive, her tough-guy demeanor is certainly an important part of her, but may hide her love of community and wish to gain a group of friends that could possibly stack up to the love given by her family caravans. That being said, never doubt her word, and never expect her to show emotion if you’re trying to scare her. Even if she opens up to you, she’s got some dignity.
History: Gala, born of two outsiders who bonded together working as travelling tradesmen, has lead a life that is often of transience, often of strife, always interesting. The circumstances of her birth were equally strange, the product of a happy marriage between her elven father Armer Uneraam Goldenfall Qodrori and dwarven mother Gadegith Chebeh. Her upbringing, though often poor in treatment (forced to stay outside city walls, occasionally run out of town – their group stereotyped like gypsies) and funds, was wealthy in love, a communal effort. While her family initially raised her to continue their business of hawking their wares (mostly ornamental spears, beautifully made metal and wooden dishware, and other crafts that combined the talents of her parents), they realized relatively early that Sirgala had much more of a mind for their hunting trips and weapon designs than she did for dealing with the often brutish customers coming to their caravans, so they sent her to work with the few guards the caravans did have, learning their craft instead. It was here when she lost the aforementioned fingers during a raid (and was thereby forced to switch her combat hand, and left unable to use most two-handed weapons and shields.), and where she spent her formative years, a full 40 years going by before she found her first book of magic in a rare visit to an Andraan city. Magic though, is wild and unpredictable, and very often feared. Concerned for her safety and wellbeing, her parents encouraged her to hide the gift. As many youths do, she thought she knew better. Here though, it felt rather merited, given that she seemed to already have some sort of gift for wards and runes. They came to a compromise, and let her practice magic if and only if she target it onto objects – they figured that they could then just say that the thing was cursed or traded to them at the last stop or whatever, avoiding her being arrested. She still eventually felt like her experimenting was making the whole group nervous, and chose to leave to pursue her own path anyway. Over the years since, she has been many things. Mercenary, caravan guard again, oarswoman, royal hunter, near-destitute beggar, prisoner (turns out hunting in the royal forests is a bad idea), and eventually, accepted as an enchanter and hunter, living on the outskirts of a small Firen city, doing good work for the local guard and bringing in meat for the local lord (taking a nice cut for herself in the process). Still rather alone, still doesn’t really fit in, but still quite happy.
Why join this adventure? Why not? If the Mad King has truly opened the doors to the fucking apocalypse, and this random-ass staff might just have the power to save the world, what has she got to lose? She’s an old, un-loved, un-needed cripple who knows the value of going out on a limb. This might be her last great adventure, but she’s surely not going to go out without a bang. Or unprepared for that matter. It is time to don the gear that the protector of the caravans used to wear, now enchanted with her new knowledge. The gauntlet, a gift from the captain of her Mercenary squadron. Her cloak, the trappings of a hunter for the lord. The Morningstar, stolen during her daring prison escape. The knives and javelins, tools of a crippled huntress robbed of her ability to use a bow.
Equipment: -Full Leather Armor (helmet/shirt/gauntlet/pants/boots), enchanted to be as tough as full plate (having tried both ways – using runes to lighten and mobilize steel, as well as others to let leather take on the hardness of steel, this has proven to be both more cost effective, and a much easier set of spells) -Morningstar, enchanted to deal impact damage as if it were twice its size, while moving as fast as a sword. Stored under her left arm on a strap attached to her belt, or in her sack. -two all-purpose knives. One is stored on her left leg, the other under her right arm. -two throwing knives, enchanted to slow those from whom they draw blood, eventually freezing them if they lose enough. stored on the front-right of her armor. -3 javelins, strapped across her back. -A cloak, enchanted to regulate her body temperature and function as a bedroll. This enchantment isn’t the best and does not protect her against the extremes of weather (below 0 and about 100 degrees Farenheight). In shades of green and brown, it also functions as decent camouflage, especially for hunting. -her right hand, mostly useless otherwise, can be covered in a large, heavy gauntlet with a decently sized round shield, enchanted to resist magic. Otherwise she just leaves the hand bare. This can be kept in her sack or strapped onto a hook on her belt below her right hand. -a waterskin -basic travel equipment in her rucksack - a few day’s trail rations, flint, a pot, a few tankards, some rope, decent amount of coin. -less than basic travel equipment in her rucksack -some scribbled notes about locations frequented by some of her more useful friends: Toross Morgan Urddusk the elemental archer and some tradesmen and women in a few towns who know their way around the local black market. -some scribbled notes on particularly good enchantments she’s learned. These are enchanted with a rune which causes anyone who begins to read them to be blinded for a few minutes, with a ringing in their ears that lasts for another few hours. Gotta protect your trade secrets, you know. -a small, very rounded rock, enchanted to slow and eventually stop bleeding if pressed on a wound, allowing the healing process to accelerate. Obviously this will not save someone from the effects of, say, evisceration, but it's good for not-life-ending injuries.
Other: -Ranger: More than capable of living off of the land, and has done so in the past – making camp, hunting, laying traps (smaller ones can be made using only the environment if you know where to look), tracking, foraging using herbs for healing and the like, etc. -Enchanter: Has often made her profession in enchanting arms and armor, and is capable of channeling her innate magical energies into inscribing runes and infusing metal, leather and wood with magic – provided she can find the right ingredients. Her use of material components and unorthodox methodology (having no formal training), makes her enchantments much harder to detect and dispel. It also makes them take much longer to make than normal enchantments, and be somewhat more taxing. The exception here is when enchanting arrowheads and throwing weapons, as she was trained by a former elemental archer at one point and picked up the whole freezing arrow thing. -Poet/singer: Often going for months without interaction with many people, Gala has taken to the composition of poetry to stave off the hermit madness, and may decide to make her own epic on this adventure. Or maybe recite some other poems and songs she knows or has made. -Sirgala doesn’t know the whereabouts of her family – or even if they still live. She may be especially interested in travelling groups of traders, and will often ask questions as to whereabouts of such groups, especially if she travels into familiar territory.
Example post: Afternoon. Late. Been chasing this deer for 2 days. Wounded it then, rustled some leaves behind me as I threw the javelin. Not going to give up on a kill. Finally though, it seemed to be giving it up, sheer exhaustion weighing it down. -but-
There’s a rustling in the bushes. It’s getting louder. Sounds… dangerous. better get down she thinks, moving fully into the cover of the bushes, trusting in her cloak.
dog?... two dogs… one? Chasing… being chased? At least three people…
A soldier – local guard. Far too young these days. Too many good men at war – bursts into the thicket ahead, startling the deer, whose leg finally buckles with an audible snap as it turns to run. Following them; a dog and two men, human – one in hide armor, poor quality, and lugging around a warhammer, the other, plain clothes. That second one moves his hands, and the earth groans audibly and shoots up in front of the soldier. “No! Please!” “You and your friends walk into our trap searching for us. Kill our comrades. Kill our leader! Not only must we avenge them; we need to make sure word of our location doesn’t get out. Gotta catch those traders. Get our cut,” the Mage winks, breathing heavily. “Grump. Sick!” But before the dog can move, a javelin grows out of its side. The mage turns “I feel… another on this ground. I’ll get him,” he says, turning to his friend “finish him.” Mr. warhammer gives the mage a “no shit, the gods don’t just sit around throwing javelins at dogs from the bushes” sort of look and moves in. The emboldened soldier, now hopeful – and cornered anyway, clashes with this man toe to toe. The mage, meanwhile, closes his eyes. Sirgala, from a new spot a bit to the right of the old one, slowly and quietly takes one of her throwing knives out. The Mage inhales. She readies her arm – and has to dodge out of the way as the earth rises to grab her. “there you are!” the mage cries, pulling out his own knife. “still bold enough to fight me now?” Gala simply smiles, and charges him. He lifts a small chunk of the earth from the ground and throws it her way, but she leaps it, tossing the knife in the same motion, not losing a step. He brings up a rock wall but it can only deflect the knife, catching his wrist as it flies by, embedding itself in a tree behind him. Unable to stop her own momentum, Sirgala bowls the mage over. they wrestle for a bit over his knife until he squirms away, managing a quick slash at her wrist, bouncing off her gauntlet. She pulls another javelin off of her back and moves in, clubbing him in a flurry of hits as she and her opponent dodge and square off again and again, the mage clearly fighting a losing battle. Eventually she connects with a solid crack on his head and he goes down. She quickly drives the javelin through his chest. Looking over to the soldier, she sees that he is flaking, his opponent slowly beating him up against the wall. Sirgala quickly plants her foot on the chest of the mage and pulls with both hands, freeing the javelin. In a smooth movement she readies and throws the weapon, driving home a perfect meat-shot between his shoulder blades. The man falls. She wanders over to the tree and retrieves her knife, placing it back into its holder, then doing the same with both javelins after cleaning them in the grass. “you… you saved my life. how… how can I ever thank you?” the soldier asks. “you see that deer?” She replies, pointing at the fresh carcass; “You’re gonna help me walk it back to my hut…. I think I’ve seen you in the markets of Oak River? I live outside of there, shouldn’t take you too far out of your way. Oh, and don’t mention me in your report. Captain Olliandrar doesn’t like it when I interfere with official guard business. I just think he’s jealous that I still can while he’s stuck back in town with that leg of his.” She says, allowing herself a slight boast. “don’t tell him I said that, either. So, what’s your name?...”
The CS has been fixed. Am I accepted, or should I revise anything else?
Name: Irrak the Savage(to his own clan he is know as the Protector)
Gender: Male
Age:23
Race: Gnoll
Appearance:
Personality:
Irrak is a warrior of his clan, so he has to be protective of his own people, however, he has taken this to an entirely new level. He would give his life gladly if it meant that his own people would survive, however if any other sentient being trespassed on his clan's territory, then he will kill them without a second thought. However, due to the Mad King's armies victory, he has learned to at least tolerate other species, knowing that only together could they hope to survive.
History:
In gnoll society, you have to be strong from the moment you are born, for even a moment of hesitation or weakness, means that you would be your siblings first meal. Luckily, Irrak proved from the first moment of his life that he was strong as he was born twice the size of his siblings. And the fact that even other gnolls, even some juveniles thought that he was quite intimidating.
As he grew up, it became blindingly obvious what Irrak was meant to be... he was meant to be a warrior for the clan and he had to live up to his role as protector of his people. And that he truly proved. On day, at the age of 12(for gnolls, this is about the time they grow to adulthood), during a raid from a rival clan, he proved to be very powerful... and very savage. After his slightly hesitant first kill, he turned into a different person entirely.
And from that point onwards, he became the stalwart protector of his clan, killing any foreign being that tried to enter, no matter if it was demon, human, elf, dwarf, or even other gnolls, if they were not part of his clan, then they did not deserve to approach them. He even defeated three humans, who were apparently renowned champions, but to him, they were simply intruders. However, he decided to wear the heads of these "champions" as warning to other humans that might dare to intrude on his territory.
And when everyone unified to take down the Mad King, he did not join, though a few other clans joined... and were butchered for their valiant efforts. He would not risk his own people for such a folly. However, when news arrived that now the demons were coming closer and closer to his clan, more and more demons were able to come near to his village, so he made a hard decision. He would align his clan with the survivors of the unified army, he would learn to tolerate the other species, but if any one of them so much as looked the wrong way at his clan members, they would find themselves without a head.
Equipment:
* Steel war-axe * Thick steel shield * Steel armor over a thick leather vest. * A hellhound skull as his helmet, used mostly to intimidate other beings * Two day's rations of dried meat
Example Post:
Will get around to this...
Other:
Irrak is big, even for a gnoll. He's a head bigger than other gnolls and two times bigger than the average human. Strength-wise, he is nearly twice stronger than many other gnolls and much, much stronger than the average human, so he is a very tough opponent.
Like most gnolls, Irrak is very tough and pretty much fearless against any opponent, no matter the size of this opponent, so if he'll see a demon twice his size, there'll be a high chance that he will fight it, not run away from.
Irrak has a odd weak spot for tragic or sad songs. These songs make him feel calm, for whatever reason and much, much less aggressive.
I imagine it as an effect, that when activated, increases both his reaction timing and his muscle control; while it may have the feel of time slowing, I think it is merely the perception changes.
