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Rerun: Blackguards!

Sariel

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The spell was a simple thing. Nothing more than a casual wave of her skeletal hand. The eye that appeared in the sky, some two hundred feet above the now cowering raiders. The Kassan plains revealed themselves beneath the unwavering gaze of the arcane construct.

"Sulfreyans!" Sariel shouted, venom heavy in her voice. "Two dozen and one wyvern riders!"

Battle was as disgusting as she remembered. Blood flying in the air. Blood covering the ground. The screams of the dying. The silence of the dead. It was all so tiresome. So bothersome. So unnecessary. The flesh rendering spell cast by the one called Viktor had not escaped her. Such cruel magic struck her as a tad theatrical, but there was pragmatism in stripping the flesh easily from the bone. The screaming girl likewise touched her. She coursed with undeath.

Moving closer to the frostbound giantess, Sariel remained well back. She would let the others do the cutting, the hacking, and the smashing. She was in no rush to act. Magic was never to be wasted. She had no interest in drawing unwelcome attention. She felt no compulsion to test her arcane grimoire against a steel weapon.

The Easterling attack had already faltered, stillborn as it was. Among them, the dead now outnumbered the living. The greater threat approached. Sulfreyen riders. Fresh. Eager. And spoiling for a fight.

Sariel let a small smile play over the edge of her lips, approaching the azure shaded woman, who stood at the vanguard, bristling with a cleverness that cheered the Necromancer.

Gesturing beyond her, Sariel spoke calmly,"I will be unable to immediately stop all of them, if you have a plan, now is the time to ready it. I will delay them for a moment."

The growing closeness between her unchosen party and the riders suited the necromancer. Taking a deep breath, she began to whisper old words. Untroubled by the mass of knights, teeth, and sword sized claws that fluttered closer with each heartbeat, Sariel placed her hand on her grimoire. A hushed spark coursed through her skeletal arm, smoking beneath darkened leather, as it traveled to across her finger tips. The power that she felt touching her palm pleased the Necromancer and she gathered it together into a closed fist.

Certain that she was ready, Sariel raised her hand from her grimoire, roughly aiming at the riders barreling towards them. She opened her clenched fist, with a final whisper, as if releasing a small ball from her grasp. Thunder cracked in the air, as a lightning bolt hurtled from Sariel’s hand, the smell of a thunderstorm replacing the thick smell of blood, and filling the nostrils of her delicate nose with a renewed scent, mercifully cleansed of all the fresh foulness.

Lurching through the air, the lightning bolt crashed into the right center of the formation of charging Sulfreyan knights. A jagged white flash enveloped the unlucky knight struck by the Necromancer’s spell. Before his screams had escaped his burning throat, four more bolts of lightning jolted outwards from the already dying knight and his smoldering mount. Four more Sulfreyans and the beasts they rode perished in little more than a moment, plummeting from the sky trailing black smoke, and smashing into the unyielding earth.

Sariel watched impassively, offering only a subtle nod of satisfaction as she took a step back and began to ready another spell. She trusted the others knew what to do. They seemed the capable sort. And she had worse spells to prepare.

Rerun: Blackguards!

Gonna drop a quick post, so reserving the spot. :p

Mostly it shall be Sariel using some divination magic to see afar.

Posted.

If it wasn't clear Sariel kills five riders with a nasty lightening bolt (I didn't want to claim too many baddies for her, so there's plenty more for everyone else (25-5 = 20), hopefully some chaos is sown amongst the ranks of knights though).

Interest Check for Westerland Tales!

No worries, take all the time you need!

Interest Check for Westerland Tales!

I need to wrap up a background, but here's what I have so far, basically your bog standard good-aligned monk (with some added loneliness induced temptation).

Samarra the Monk, "Marra"

Marra

Full Size Image

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Name

Samarra

Race

Human

Gender

Female

Age

23

Appearance

Measuring a head below tall, beneath layers of loose fabric, Samarra has a lithe, athletic build forged from years of formidable training under the older monks of her order. Her eyes are calming shade of pale brown. No longer an acolyte, her chestnut hair has grown long with her travels and reaches well past her shoulders. To avoid issues related to travel or combat, Samarra keeps her hair plaited, wound, and then pinned in tight buns. Her skin, warmed by the sun and painted with bronze, bears the varied marks associated with a life of adventure. Her hands are calloused, her knuckles strengthened over long years of practice, and her form speaks of the tranquil exercise of violence.

Personality

Seemingly unremarkable, certainly for a monk, Samarra exudes an aura of calm. She is a kind, gentle soul who desires chiefly to mitigate the endless suffering she perceives in the world beyond the walls of the monastery.

Warm and endlessly empathetic, Samarra commands no silver tongue or deadly charm, but rather wins others over with her obvious goodness. The suffering that afflicts all those in the world saddens her and she believes wholeheartedly that it is her duty to attempt to lessen it. At risk to her own person, Samarra will always try to help those in need, no matter what the personal cost may be for her.

Samarra holds violence as a last resort. Attempting at all times to use diplomacy, mercy, or understanding to resolve conflict. However, if forced to defend herself or others, she is a capable warrior, and knows well that unjust or cruel folk often refuse to listen to reason. Her training has taught her to rarely allow her emotions to master her, leaving her with an unavoidable sense of distance and otherness to people that do not share her ecclesiastical vocation.

Background

Talents

• Dedicated to seeking personal perfection through contemplation and rigorous training, Samarra has hone her body into a weapon, permitting her to fight with little more than her hands or the chosen weapons of her order
• Taught to master not just her body, but her spirit, Samarra can manipulate the mystical energies that flow through her, allowing her harness these forces to protect, heal, or wound in equal measure.
• Skilled in the healing arts, Samarra can administer aid to those suffering from illness and preserve her allies in the face of daunting foes.
• An island of calm, in a sea of turmoil, Samarra is often an emissary of peace, that douses the flames of conflict with soothing words and her tranquil bearing.

Flaws

• Samara adheres to a strict sense of personal honor. She will not kill an unarmed person. She will not take lethal action against an opponent who is unaware or unprepared for her attack. And she will not knowingly act in such a way that she could cause the death of someone who is defenseless.
• Committed to her own perfection, Samarra judges herself severely, viewing any failure or temporary weakness as a grave sin.
• Heedless to her own safety, Samarra has an old habit of obsessively pursuing a goal, usually resolving a problem, to the detriment of everything else in her own life.
• For all her training, despite her daily meditations, and regardless of her love of traveling, Samarra misses her home. She misses the other monks. She misses the routine of her life. She feels isolated. And she feels alone. Seeing others live their carefree lives, she has begun to experience an unwelcome temptation, a fearful desire to experience the hedonistic passions that seduce so many adventurers. The comfort of another seems welcome in the long, cold nights.

Equipment

• Samarra wears the habit of her order, loose breeches, a long sleeved shirt, soft boots, and a belt. Her clothes are made out of a fine fabric and cast in a bright shade of white, bearing subtle patterns of gold thread.
• Over her forearms Samarra wears a pair of ornate leather bracers engraved with simple designs.
• For comfort on the road, Samarra has a gray traveling cloak, the color of stone, with a hood.
• A seasoned traveler, Samarra has a leather backpack well-stocked with traveling supplies.
• As much a walking stick as a weapon, Samarra carries a stout quarterstaff wrought out of oak.
• To dissuade aggressive animals and people at a safe distance, Samarra has ten small throwing darts hidden on her person.

Miscellaneous

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og

Mariel

Name: Mariel
Race: Kalashtar
Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Background: Faction Agent (Plane-Tenders)

Personality Traits:
• I have a lesson for every situation, drawn from observing nature.
• I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.

Bonds:
• An injury to the unspoiled wilderness of my home is an injury to me.
• I owe my life to the priest who took me in when my parents died.
• I will do anything to protect the temple where I served.

Ideals:
• The natural order must be respected and preserved.
• Nature across the planes must be protected.

Flaws:
• I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
• I judge others harshly, and myself even more severely.
• Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.

Appearance:


Personality:
Stubborn, driven, and carrying a fresh wound, a deep cut, that borders on panic given the disappearance of Tir na Og.

The wild, untamed druid that many expect, Mariel is nonetheless unlikely to bite someone in polite company or forget to wear pants. Strangely for a hardheaded druid, Mariel finds cities fascinating, seeing them as stone forests, full of their own peculiar wilderness. Her disinterest in table manners is mitigated by her innate ability to understand others and a carefully nurtured gift of perception.

A devoted member of the Plane Tenders, Mariel has traveled between worlds and is dedicated to protecting the unique ecosystems that can be found across all of the Planes of Existence.

Backstory:

A child of Tir na Og, Mariel remembers little of her parents. Steadfast nature worshipers, they were lost fighting an incursion of fell beings in a distant plane. An orphan, with no family to speak of, Mariel was raised by Alundal the Old, an elven druid who’s years seemed to number less only than the countless stars shining down on Tir na Og.

Her home was no building. No structure wrought out of wood, stone, or mud. She learned to live in the wilderness. In the fresh air, beneath the open sky. A glen in a sea of trees was her temple. Her home. Alundal brought her often to Summeroak. To see the others of her their order.

She was happy with Alundal. She loved the forest. She loved the plants that sustained her. She loved the animals that taught her the ways of the forest. She loved the wind that gently touched her. She loved the water that quenched her thirst. She loved the sunless days. And she loved the starless nights, full of calm.

As she grew, from sapling to small tree, Alundal saw that she learned to care for the nature that surrounded her. The wise elf initiated her into the ancient practices and rites of her order. From Alundal she learned to speak the druidic tongue. From Alundal she learned to shift forms, becoming a true creature of the wilderness.

At Alundal’s encouragement, Mariel began to travel. She saw planes far different from Tir na Og. Planes of air, fire, water, and earth. Planes full of cities. Planes full of civilization. Even away from the wilderness, she found nature. No matter where she went there were was nature to nurture. There were always animals to shepherd and plants to protect. Her calling was to wander.

She was in Sigil, at Alundal’s request, walking through the dizzying streets in search of some ancient wizard her mentor trusted when word reached her that Tir na Og had vanished. Disbelieving she abandoned the quest her mentor had assigned her and threw herself heedlessly into a frenzied attempt to discover what happened to her home.

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og

Found a pic that fits the vibe I imagined for a Kalashtar (human, but a bit ethereal), so here's my character sheet.

Mariel

Name: Mariel
Race: Kalashtar
Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Background: Faction Agent (Plane-Tenders)

Personality Traits:
• I have a lesson for every situation, drawn from observing nature.
• I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.

Bonds:
• An injury to the unspoiled wilderness of my home is an injury to me.
• I owe my life to the priest who took me in when my parents died.
• I will do anything to protect the temple where I served.

Ideals:
• The natural order must be respected and preserved.
• Nature across the planes must be protected.

Flaws:
• I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
• I judge others harshly, and myself even more severely.
• Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.

Appearance:


Personality:
Stubborn, driven, and carrying a fresh wound, a deep cut, that borders on panic given the disappearance of Tir na Og.

The wild, untamed druid that many expect, Mariel is nonetheless unlikely to bite someone in polite company or forget to wear pants. Strangely for a hardheaded druid, Mariel finds cities fascinating, seeing them as stone forests, full of their own peculiar wilderness. Her disinterest in table manners is mitigated by her innate ability to understand others and a carefully nurtured gift of perception.

A devoted member of the Plane Tenders, Mariel has traveled between worlds and is dedicated to protecting the unique ecosystems that can be found across all of the Planes of Existence.

Backstory:

A child of Tir na Og, Mariel remembers little of her parents. Steadfast nature worshipers, they were lost fighting an incursion of fell beings in a distant plane. An orphan, with no family to speak of, Mariel was raised by Alundal the Old, an elven druid who’s years seemed to number less only than the countless stars shining down on Tir na Og.

Her home was no building. No structure wrought out of wood, stone, or mud. She learned to live in the wilderness. In the fresh air, beneath the open sky. A glen in a sea of trees was her temple. Her home. Alundal brought her often to Summeroak. To see the others of her their order.

She was happy with Alundal. She loved the forest. She loved the plants that sustained her. She loved the animals that taught her the ways of the forest. She loved the wind that gently touched her. She loved the water that quenched her thirst. She loved the sunless days. And she loved the starless nights, full of calm.

As she grew, from sapling to small tree, Alundal saw that she learned to care for the nature that surrounded her. The wise elf initiated her into the ancient practices and rites of her order. From Alundal she learned to speak the druidic tongue. From Alundal she learned to shift forms, becoming a true creature of the wilderness.

At Alundal’s encouragement, Mariel began to travel. She saw planes far different from Tir na Og. Planes of air, fire, water, and earth. Planes full of cities. Planes full of civilization. Even away from the wilderness, she found nature. No matter where she went there were was nature to nurture. There were always animals to shepherd and plants to protect. Her calling was to wander.

She was in Sigil, at Alundal’s request, walking through the dizzying streets in search of some ancient wizard her mentor trusted when word reached her that Tir na Og had vanished. Disbelieving she abandoned the quest her mentor had assigned her and threw herself heedlessly into a frenzied attempt to discover what happened to her home.

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og (DnD 5e)

Haha, that's pretty helpful to know, I will figure out something else to mention instead.

Rerun: Blackguards!

Forgot to say earlier, but samsies!

If someone needs dialogue or responses from Sariel (rather than waiting for a whole post from me), just let me know, happy to quickly contribute something to help the flow of a scene.

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og (DnD 5e)

I'm still looking for a picture that I like well enough to use, but I got some quick writing done in order to make my sheet a bit closer to done.

Mariel

Name: Mariel
Race: Kalashtar
Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Background: Faction Agent

Personality Traits:
• I have a lesson for every situation, drawn from observing nature.
• I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.

Bonds:
• An injury to the unspoiled wilderness of my home is an injury to me.
• I owe my life to the priest who took me in when my parents died.
• I will do anything to protect the temple where I served.

Ideals:
• The natural order must be respected and preserved.
• Nature across the planes must be protected.

Flaws:
• I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
• I judge others harshly, and myself even more severely.
• Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.

Appearance:


Personality:
Stubborn, driven, and carrying a fresh wound, a deep cut, that borders on panic given the disappearance of Tir na Og.

The wild, untamed druid that many expect, Mariel is nonetheless unlikely to bite someone in polite company or forget to wear pants. Strangely for a hardheaded druid, Mariel finds cities fascinating, seeing them as stone forests, full of their own wilderness. Her disinterest in table manners is mitigated by her innate ability to understand others and a carefully nurtured gift of perception.

A devoted member of the Plane Tenders, Mariel has traveled from plane to plane and is dedicated to protecting the unique ecosystems found across the many planes of existence.

Backstory:

A child of Tir na Og, Mariel remembers little of her parents. Steadfast nature worshipers, they were lost fighting an incursion of fell beings in a distant plane. An orphan, with no family to speak of, Mariel was raised by Alundal the Old, an elven druid who’s years seemed to number less only than the countless stars shining down on Tir na Og.

Her home was no building. No structure wrought out of wood, stone, or mud. She learned to live in the wilderness. In the fresh air, beneath the open sky. A glen in a sea of trees was her temple. Her home.

She was happy with Alundal. She loved the forest. She loved the plants that sustained her. She loved the animals that taught her the ways of the forest. She loved the wind that gently touched her. She loved the water that quenched her thirst. She loved the sun that warmed her. And she loved the moon that calmed her late at night.

As she grew, from sapling to small tree, Alundal saw that she learned to care for the nature that surrounded her. The wise elf initiated her into the ancient practices and rites of her order. From Alundal she learned to speak the druidic tongue. From Alundal she learned to shift forms, becoming a true creature of the wilderness.

At Alundal’s encouragement, Mariel began to travel. She saw planes far different from Tir na Og. Planes of air, fire, water, and earth. Planes full of cities. Planes full of civilization. Even away from the wilderness, she found nature. Plants and animals to be nourished and protected. Her calling was to wander.

She was in Sigil, at Alundal’s request, walking through the dizzying streets in search of some ancient wizard when word reached her that Tir na Og had vanished. Disbelieving she abandoned the quest her mentor had assigned her and hurried back

Rerun: Blackguards!

Sariel

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Opening her eyes, Sariel registered speech around her, and words that she could understand. A faint smile danced across her lips. The Warden had broken the world that had been. The Maw was gone. There were no walls. There was no floor. There was no longer a ceiling looming above them. The warden had shattered reality. And then reshaped it. An example of the High Art, shrouded in darkness. Sariel shuddered, giddy with fresh discovery. Magic filled her senses. Powerful magic she couldn’t claim. Not yet. She would have to understand. She wanted to.

Having appeared in the untamed wilderness, Sariel shifted her robe, unhappy with the unrestrained wind that touched her. The sunlight, not yet faded, set her skin alight with half-forgotten warmth. It was all too pleasant for her tastes. She preferred thick walls and heavy doors. Her thoughts were interrupted by fresh banter. Names, self-proclaimed titles, and too much prattle. She did not bother with her name. She had no wish to share such knowledge. Names were woven with great power and best kept secret. She offered no title. Such prideful pleasantries could wait. She felt no compulsion to waste her breath.

She found no reason to stand idle as some of the others began to move, following the the pyromancer and his conjurations. She could divine no fault in his geographic estimations. It was assuredly the Spines that loomed westwardly. Given the position of the sun and the likely hour, it seemed a fair possibility that they were somewhere in the vicinity of the Kasan plateau or even right on it. Such truths would mean that they were south west of Sulfrey.

Talk of Easterlings and Sulfreyans was warranted. It would be wise to remain unnoticed. it would be better still to avoid unnecessary fighting. The Easterling barbarians would fight for no reason. The Sulfreyans patrolling the wilds were little better and believed only in diplomacy at the end of a spear. Sariel felt a small frown listening to the tireless chatter of the pyromancer. She did not share his easy willingness to underestimate the Sulfreyans, elite knights mounted on wyverneers diving down from the sky was never a welcome discovery. It was a small mercy that he seemed to understand the danger that the Easterlings posed. A war band of bloodthirsty reavers, spilling out across the lands were an ever present danger on the Kasan plateau. Sariel knew far better than to trust the maddened primitives.

She had no desire to fight. Certainly not without time to prepare. However, fresh materials for her magic would be welcome. Flesh and bones untouched by the slow decay of time were easiest to work with. Such spirits clung to their old lives and slept lightly. She needed servants. She would need many servants. She might need an army. She might need several armies of undead. To find the lost agents of the king, three souls disappeared in hostile lands, was no small task. To kill a living god defended by uncountable faithful seemed harder still. Patience would be required. Skill would be needed. And the party, chained together has it was, would have to work together.

Sariel sensed the knife resting against her throat. Choice marked by a thin line of blood painted over her throat. The Warden's spell lingered, the geas she had cast wordlessly remained. She could see only one path forward, but she chose it gladly. She needed no escape. There was much to learn. There was much to understand. She would study. She would serve. She would aid the Warden. And she would fight...when she was ready.

Muttering a fell incantation, testing the threads of magic that traveled over skeletal hand, Sariel studied her new compatriots, her unwilling colleagues, and the strangers who now shared her fate.

"You are right, of course," Sariel said, addressing the shadow, finding the conversation at last to be more interesting. She watched the creature with obvious fascination. Spells woven with shadows were nothing novel. Illusionists had mastered such magic ages before. However, to become a shadow was a different trick and an interesting one.

"Paper or gold will be required. The Sulfreyans are not fond of unwelcome or unannounced strangers in their cities. Their walls are strong and their guards are many. We will need to exercise great care if we are to gain entry to civilization in these parts."