Algorhythm

Star Wars: The Other Orders

Not interested in being a force user, but is it possible to be a supporter, or anti-imperial character that helps them out?

The Guardians of Sa'Renak

Hider

After a long and arduous journey, The Smiling Wind's caravan set up camp just outside the eastern gates of Alo'Quin. Three of the four travelers hovered around their modest cart, each giving the other much needed space after being cooped up in tight quarters. An hour after everyone had settled in, Iko, the dancing fox woman, returned from her hunt. She carried a bucket of blood in one hand, which belonged to the hare she grasped with the other.

"Well done!" Said Yania, the troupe's elvish singing actress. She set down her cup of mead and rolled over to greet her dear friend, staring excitedly at Iko's hunt. "That'll go well with the seasoned yams and gold taters we picked up at the Orchid Market."

Iko nodded. "It's not quite the parting feast I wanted to give Zahir, but the company is where it counts, eh?" She flashed her white fangs into a smile.

"Speaking of which, where is the lad?" A dwarf appeared from the other side of the cart. It was Ironshard, acoustic musician and special effects wizard. His long brown hair and beard were meticulously braided, no doubt the work of Iko and Yania.

Yania shrugged. "He wandered off with Chuvalo. Said he'd be back." Ironshard frowned, but not because of Zahir's disappearance.

"Either drink the Ruby Ale I brewed, or hand it over to someone who appreciates its craftsmanship! We're low on resources making this unexpected trip to Alo'Quin as is." Ironshard snarled, pointing at the cup Yania had been nursing for the past hour. Yania growled, engaging in what would be her 22nd argument with the dwarf for the day. Iko laughed as she trotted toward the campfire. Without warning, a powerful scent stopped her in her tracks. Iko stuck her nose in the air and gave two sniffs, then let the hare drop onto the grassy floor.

"What is it?" Ironshard said, startled at Iko's behavior. Yania looked over, showing concern as well. The fox looked back at them both with a devious smile that sent chills down their spines.

"Boar..."

***

Zahir Kadmizahri smiled at last nights farewell feast with The Smiling Wind, cherishing the look on their faces as he dragged in a succulent boar on the back of his white-coated llama. The meat was roasted with a tinge of honey and spiced seasoning, washed down with Ironshard's tasty Ruby Ale. After the meal settled warmly in their bellies, and the ale kept their spirits rambunctious, they performed one more time as a quartet, singing and dancing to their heart's content. Their audience? the woodland animals and insects of the night. They filled every bush and tree branch in site, watching with zipping curiosity at these peculiar characters.

His thoughts wandered off to the late hour, when Ironshard and Yania were off asleep and it was just him and the beautiful fox...

Zahir clutched the aqua blue scarf around his neck, drawing it close to smell Iko's haunted scent of lilac and sunflowers. In his trouser pockets is a folded letter from Iko, one he can only open if his ears came across "their favorite song." His ears had been searching for its melody ever since. Another letter was folded in the same trouser pocket, one he opened time and time again. It was the reason why he now gathered with this group of strangers inside a tavern called The Cup and Barrel. Years of aimless travel with The Smiling Wind now seemed like a distant memory. The perilous adventure detailed by the robed man awoke something deep within the Gnome, a feeling he welcomed with much fervor in his heart. The time for song and dance is over. Now, it is a time for song, dance, and grim adventure!

The gnome swayed to and fro between the giants that lumbered about his path, whistling a joyous tune.

Hider

"Well, quite the task set before us, eh?" Zahir said aloud to no one in particular. He placed the mugs onto the table and hopped onto the closest open seat. All of the attention seemed to be focused on Merlin, so Zahir slid one of the mugs he brought over to him, clanking everyone's cups with his own. "To new friends and new enemies...May the former be the only ones sharing this toast!"

The Guardians of Sa'Renak

Name: Zahir Kadmizahri
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Race: Gnome
Class: Bard
Bio: Zahir is son to the great Geetz Kadmizahri, renown gnome gadgeteer and esteemed tinkerer of cogs, metals, and other loud and obnoxious things. Zahir had made up his mind from a very young age to seek his own destiny. He simply could not, would not, run his hands through the oil-soaked grime of his family legacy any longer. He'd rather drink a Scycor's full bladder than be cooped up in stuffy rooms, banging on metals with cumbersome tools for the rest of his days. And so, the rebellious pup said his farewells in a beautifully written letter and dashed into the night, never to be seen by another Kadmizahri for many years to come.

The young runaway wasted no time in making a name for himself. His legend speaks about a pirate of the blue coast, a treasure hunter of the iron wood, and a thief of hearts for all shapes and sizes. Most noteworthy of all are his tales as The Bard of Bridgemoor. Creatures, both civil and unsavory, have been bested by the magisterial wit of Zahir, armed with but a flute, a lute, and a soothing voice. How he obtained such spellcraft is cryptically interwoven into one of his many tales. Nobody knows for sure how he acquired them. Some believe Zahir doesn't know either.

The bard toured across the kingdom of Sa’Renak with a caravan troupe of entertainers called: The Smiling Wind for a couple of years. Recently, he was approached in a dusty tavern about a promising opportunity in Alo-Quin. Intrigued by the mysterious man and his propositions, he redirected the caravan’s course to the Kingdom’s capital, eager to add yet another adventure to his already bolstering legend.

Special Talents: Bestiary Knowledge, Artistry, Musicality of Spellcraft, Sleight of Hand, Persuasion, Mid-Tier Alchemy, Manipulation, Disguise, Linguistics, Navigation, Proficient with Knives, Escape Artist, and Lama Whisperer.

Appearance:

Equipment: A silver flute, affectionately called: Moon, and an ember-colored lute named: Sun. They are both imbued with magical properties that can summon a variety of spells. He keeps a mage-masher knife strapped to his side, and a multitude of accessories neatly packed on the traveling saddle of his prized lama, Chuvalo. He also carries Masks of Trickery, which allow him to momentarily shape shift, blend in with the environment, or perform magic rituals.

The Guardians of Sa'Renak

@CallMeMisterSmith Awesome! Thanks for having me. Working on my post now.

The Guardians of Sa'Renak

Name: Zahir Kadmizahri
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Race: Gnome
Class: Bard
Bio: Zahir is son to the great Geetz Kadmizahri, renown gnome gadgeteer and esteemed tinkerer of cogs, metals, and other loud and obnoxious things. Zahir had made up his mind from a very young age to seek his own destiny. He simply could not, would not, run his hands through the oil-soaked grime of his family legacy any longer. He'd rather drink a Scycor's full bladder than be cooped up in stuffy rooms, banging on metals with cumbersome tools for the rest of his days. And so, the rebellious pup said his farewells in a beautifully written letter and dashed into the night, never to be seen by another Kadmizahri for many years to come.

The young runaway wasted no time in making a name for himself. His legend speaks about a pirate of the blue coast, a treasure hunter of the iron wood, and a thief of hearts for all shapes and sizes. Most noteworthy of all are his tales as The Bard of Bridgemoor. Creatures, both civil and unsavory, have been bested by the magisterial wit of Zahir, armed with but a flute, a lute, and a soothing voice. How he obtained such spellcraft is cryptically interwoven into one of his many tales. Nobody knows for sure how he acquired them. Some believe Zahir doesn't know either.

The bard toured across the kingdom of Sa’Renak with a caravan troupe of entertainers called: The Smiling Wind for a couple of years. Recently, he was approached in a dusty tavern about a promising opportunity in Alo-Quin. Intrigued by the mysterious man and his propositions, he redirected the caravan’s course to the Kingdom’s capital, eager to add yet another adventure to his already bolstering legend.

Special Talents: Bestiary Knowledge, Artistry, Musicality of Spellcraft, Sleight of Hand, Persuasion, Mid-Tier Alchemy, Manipulation, Disguise, Linguistics, Navigation, Proficient with Knives, Escape Artist, and Lama Whisperer.

Appearance:

Equipment: A silver flute, affectionately called: Moon, and an ember-colored lute named: Sun. They are both imbued with magical properties that can summon a variety of spells. He keeps a mage-masher knife strapped to his side, and a multitude of accessories neatly packed on the traveling saddle of his prized lama, Chuvalo. He also carries Masks of Trickery, which allow him to momentarily shape shift, blend in with the environment, or perform magic rituals.

The Guardians of Sa'Renak

I have interest in making a bard.

Unlikely Heroes <|> Medieval Low Fantasy

lol wtf sorry

Unlikely Heroes <|> Medieval Low Fantasy

Hogun Shantrix

"What, are you -" Were the only words a normally verbose, and long-winded tongue of Hogun Shantrix could make coherent. Truxis, his elephatian son, the young mountain of Cowfallow, puffed his chest and let out a thunderous roar that blared out of his dual-trunked nose. It was a call-to-arms meant to rally the farmhands, but all it did was make Hogun's stomach churn.

"Come on, father!" Truxis pleaded. His prepubescent voice was no different than a human boy's. He cast aside the giant mound of crops slung from his back, making a loud thud next to Hogun. "They need our help!"

"No, Truxis! Don't!" Outstretched hands did little to restrain his child's determination. Like a lone ant trying to hold back a dung beetle, Truxis ended up dragging his father along with him to the bridge. When Hogun felt the heat from the burning village, he released his futile grip and desperately stepped in front of the young elephatian with his hands raised.

"Stay here, Truxis!" But his son didn't listen. Against the hued flames of their burning village, the elephatian stood at the foot of the bridge like a glowing statue, parting the rushing river of Cowfallowers into two streams. Truxis radiated the bravery of a god warrior. It was clear that the spirit of his mother, Letra, commanded him. Nothing was going to stop Truxis now. Hogun sighed.

He turned and took in the magnificent display of Kalem's balance before him. The panicking souls desperately running away towards death, and those, like him and Truxis, willing to meet it. But why is he so reluctant? Now, When finality of this lifetime has been a longing of his since past failures as a would-be mage. He looked back at the young elephatian and nodded.

By grace of Kalem, Letra, do not force our son's next life upon him so soon... not before his father's, you beautiful tyrant!

Hogun puffed his chest like his son did back in the fields. Already, other farmhands were crossing the bridge and navigating through the wave of people, farm tools raised. Despite the crisis at hand, the most basic of emotions still took over. Jealously. Embarrassment. Shame. Hogun wasn't going to let his son outdo him. He sensed an ill-advised opportunity to instill courage and clumsily ran with it.

"Let us go, seed of Letra! Son of the will-be great arch mage of time and space! And... anyone else!" He randomly unsheathed two knives from his utility belt, one of which stumbled around in his hands and fell to the floor. Truxis bent just low enough to scoop the blade with his trunk and transferred it to his hand. Hogun pulled out the next tool, two small blades welded together to make a shear. "Let's go see what the color of orc's blood looks like! I was always curious as to whe-"

Truxis' trunk roar blared out Hogun's unhelpful rally, nudging him forward to finally take action. Father and son both clambered forward and tag-teamed on the first green-skinned intruder they found. A dense blanket of smoke made it tough to see, and tougher to navigate through, but a silhoutte could be made out raising what looked to be a sword. "There!" Hogun blindly leaped forward, shear and skinning knife raised.

"NO FATHER!" Truxis' large palm reached for his father. Unlike Hogun's earlier attempts at keeping his son back, it required little-to-no effort from the strong elephatian boy. Hogun felt the sharp tug of his tunic yank him back. Before Hogun could ask what he was doing, Truxis' large finger pointed at the silohoutte, who turned out to be Took Buckridge, one of the farmhands. He was clearly disoriented from the smoke clouds. "Took! You're swinging the wrong way! Behind you!" Truxis screamed.

As if on cue, an orc appeared from the mist. Before Took could process the situation, a rusty cleaver burst out from his chest, mangling his innards in a violent crimson. Truxis flinched for the first time since the chaos started. Hogun simply stared at the fantastical spray of blood that painted the bridge. The orc raised his human kebab and booted it clear of his blade.

"Come, little lambs! Come, feed me!" The orc's putrid tongue slithered out to lick the fresh blood on his blade. Of all the words that could move a man, the utterance of the word lamb stirred something fierce in Hogun.

"NO! NO LAMBS!" Hogun's eyes widened until his eyelids draped back into his skull, revealing two maniacal orbs. "There will be no slaughtering of sacred lambs!" He let out a guttural scream as he darted toward the now confused Orc. Charging toward a beast who was much stronger, armed with a much more efficient weapon, was suicide. Luckily, it served as a distraction for ambushing farmhands. From all directions, they stabbed the orc relentlessly with pitchforks, rakes and knives. By the time Hogun was within striking range, his bare feet tripped over Took Buckridge's decapitated body. He stumbled onto the ground, diving face first into chunks of sloshing innards. Truxis charged onward, assisting the farmhands by wrestling the blade from the Orc. He stabbed the green-skin with the knife he grabbed from Hogun. It was done in a panicked frenzy, with no precision or technique, guided only by the need to stop this monster from killing more people. The orc's struggle finally weakened, and after the elephatian youth wrenched the cleaver free, he picked the dying orc over his head and flung it over the bridge.

"Father! Are you okay?" The elephatian pounced over to his father lying prone in someone's loose guts. "Father!?"

Hogun's bloody face emerged from the repulsive clump of wet organ and smiled affectionately. "Did, did I get him?"

Unlikely Heroes <|> Medieval Low Fantasy

double post

Unlikely Heroes <|> Medieval Low Fantasy

Race: Human

Avatar: Hogun strongly believes that he will be a 'grandiose mage of complete importance" in his next life. It is the only way he can rationalize past failures as a terribly untalented and clumsy occultist. Because of his beliefs, he turns to avatar Kalem for guidance. His devotion is made known by the markings on his forehead, a tattooed symbol of the four limbed serpent king.

Name: Hogun Shantrix

Gender: Male

Age: 42



Current Equipment: Tool belt containing: Pouches and slits for cutting tools like a sickle (for corn harvesting duties) shear (for fletching duties) one butcher knife, and one skinning knife (for livestock butcher duties.)

Handy Skills: Fletching, Butcher, and Crop Harvesting

Personality at RP's Start: Hogun comes off as a learned yet eloquently spoken mad man. His macabre, and often unintentional, form of humor is conveyed with such sincerity that it’s hard to tell when/if he’s joking. Prepare to get awkwardly caught in the throes of topics you never cared about, nor wanted to discuss in any sort of capacity. Despite an otherwise off-putting first impression he may convey to newcomers, he is a hoot to have around in social gatherings. His storytelling is truly engaging – so much so that he’s had to tone it down after last year’s festival. To this day, The tale of Bishan’s Screaming Child on Blood Orgy Mountain is a prime cause for many of the children's nightmares.

Facts Likely Known To Others: It is common knowledge that a young Hogun was part of a commune devoted to the spiritual and practical study of magic called The Whisperers. Hogun lets it be known that magic exists and that he could have been a grand mage if not for his dabbling in the dark arts. According to Hogun, he botched a conjuring ritual where he sacrificed what turned out to be a sacred lamb. A high level archmage stripped away his magical powers and threw him out of the commune. It turns out that The Whisperers were infamously known throughout the land as traveling con artists. They tricked their followers into believing they could summon mystical powers – all for a one time hefty sum of coin. It also turns out that the archmage that banned Hogun from the commune was a wanted criminal named Spiltz Fonzworth. A common detail that is described in most of Fonzworth’s wanted posters is that he is usually seen with a black lamb. I think you can see where this is going. Hogun received no refund for his enrollment fees into The Whisperers.

He was married to an elephantian (elephant humanoid) named Letra, a Cowfallow native who died while giving birth to their only son, Truxis. He is 11 years old.