An Outsider

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard - Would the Warden have armed and dressed us ready for a mission at this stage? Or would we still be kitted out as would be appropriate for inmates on a prison?

Blackguards!

<Snipped quote by Expendable>

Remember it's Necromancing not Neck-romancing. Two similar sounding things but very very different.

@BigPapaBelial

That sounds like the voice of experience.

Blackguards!

This is like a DnD Evil campaign from Hell. We've got such an eclectic group here. I can only imagine who's going to end up butting heads against who.

And I'm all for it.

EDIT: Found a picture for Bors! Woot Woot!

@BigPapaBelial

I know, I initially envisioned Feras as a peacekeeeper of sorts, keeping the most volatile members of the group from killing each other and on mission. Now I think he's more likely just to hide in the back and hope no one notices him when the rest of the team start murdering each other.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard



I had a suspicion when I seen the IC, then reading your Character Sheet basically confirmed it. Yeah, BSC is one of my favourites too.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard Just wondering, have you ever read Joe Abercrombies First Law Trilogy?

Blackguards!

Feras the Frail

Feras the Frail

---

---

Name

Ferns the Frail

Race

Half-Orc

Gender

Male

Age

33

Appearance

Feras isn't your typical half-orc. Rather than bulging with meaty muscle his build is lean and lithe, more dancer than prize fighter. Hes still as tall as the rest of his kin though, easily standing over 6 foot with change. His skin, where it is not criss-crossed with silvery-grey scarring, is a pale green. His hair is dark, grown long and braided on one side of his head, shorn to the skin on the other. That, coupled with his winter blue eyes lends him a rather striking appearance.

Personality

Calm and thoughtful, well-spoken and better educated than his background would suggest, Feras is a true oddity. His wry observations and sardonic wit bely his quick mind.

Life as both a Half-Orc and a peasant has taught Feras that life isn't fair, especially not for people that look like him. He has learnt that the only way to get through life is to be careful, to consider all the angles, and plan for all eventualities. If that all fails, then it pays to be adaptable, and he's anything if not adaptable. If there's an easy way through life, he hasn't found it yet, but he's working on it.

All that said, he's still a half-orc, his rage runs as hot as any other greenskin's. He's just learnt to hide it better. Piss him off and he might not charge you down with axe drawn then and there, but he'll mark the slight down and plan to return the favour in future. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.

If you ask him he'd say he prefers the simple things in life, though as it's only the simple things that have been open to him that may not be by choice. Nevertheless a refreshing pint on a hot day, a hearty bowl of warm soup in winter, the smile of a pretty girl, swapping stories with good comrades around the camp fire; these are the things that keep him going. Or at least that's what he tries to convince himself.

Background

Like many a Half-Orc Feras doesn't know who his parents are. Whatever maternal instinct that entices the mother to carry the baby to term usually stops short of actually raising the little monster. Still, Feras was luckier than most. At least his mother dropped him off on the steps of an Abbey, rather than off a cliff, which isn't an unheard of fate for his mongrel kind.

His luck held out insofar that this Abbey did not follow the ways of the Temple of the Sun, and were in fact more accepting of monsters and demi-humans. The Monks there raised the baby Feras, educating him when he grew old enough. He eventually learnt that they meant to induct him as a lay brother in their order when he reached his twelfth birthday. As much as he appreciated them taking him in and looking after him for as long as they did, the thought of surrendering himself to their boring, ascetic lifestyle horrified young Feras. He fled the Abbey the night before his birthday, with no idea of where he was going to go, but knew anywhere he ended up would be better than swearing his vows to God.

It didn't take long for him to fall in with the thieves guild. The guild were only too happy to accept a youngster with as quick hands (and even quicker wits) as Feras. It also helped that he was handy in a scrap, be that with rival gangs or the city guard. He spent years in the guild, learning the skills of the pickpocket, the footpad, the burglar, and eventually the enforcer. The guild got too big too quickly though, eventually earning themselves the attention, and the ire, of the Crown. Soldiers flooded the streets, clamping down on all Guild activities, and throwing any guild members they found in irons. Recognising his time in the city was up, Feras had a forger contact craft him up some fake documents that allowed him to sign on with the Kings Commandos, a specialist unit of foresters and rangers primarily made up of non-humans, who were heading out into the wilds on an Orc hunting expedition.

With the Commandos Feras travelled the length and breadth of the Kingdom, fighting a every sort of vicious beast, monster and barbarian to slink out of the shadows of untamed wilderness and sink its teeth into civilisation. It was a hard life, but Feras grew to enjoy the camaraderie, the excitement and the danger. He revealed himself to be an excellent tactician, and his superiors marked him for a leadership position.

Things changed when King Tyronde took the crown though. Under his new reign a mixed force of armed demi-humans couldn't be permitted, at least not one as autonomous as the Royal Commandos. They were ordered to surrender their weapons and stand down. However the Commados had heard of Tyrondes purges, his executions, and the sacrifices he allowed the Temple of the Sun to commit, and believed that was what was in store for them if they complied with his demands. They chose to disobey the King, and go on the run.

Long years of a deadly game of Cat and Mouse followed, the Commandos performing a guerrilla campaign against the Crown and the Temple, always persuade by Royalist forces. While they enjoyed some initial success the Commandos numbers were eventually whittled down, piece by piece, until only a few dozen remainder, led by Feras. Surrounded, starving, and outmatched, Feras was convinced by his men to treat with the Royal forces. Assured that his men would be spared if they surrendered, Feras called a cease to the hostilities. He was split from his men, sure that he would be executed as the sole remaining leadership figure of the Commandos.

To his own surprise he was instead thrown in chains and brought to the Maw. His mission now is to escape the hellish prison he finds himself in, and to track down his serving men and somehow escape the Kingdom that has betrayed him and all like him.

Talents

His childhood at the Abbey has left Feras with a quite comprehensive (for a peasant) education. He knows his history, literature, Royal genealogy, theology and arithmetic, more so than would be expected of any impoverished orphan. Of special note is the fact he can read, a skill he utilises often, but rarely reveals to those around him.
The Thieves Guild taught him stealth, pick pocketing, and lock breaking. Show him a rich merchant's house and he can break in, sneak around, and be out with the valuables in a matter of minutes and without the owner being any the wiser. They also taught him to fight, in a rough, brutish, brawl-like manner anyway. It wasn't pretty, but damn if it wasn't effective.
His time with the Commandos took all this skills and refined them unto excellence. Under their weapon masters he became a combatant that could give even the most experienced of knights pause for thought. With their rangers he learnt to move like a ghost, and to fall upon his enemies like a storm. And under their commanders he was taught all the intricacies of warfare; how to read the terrain he fought upon, how to inspire his men, how to strike fear into his enemies, when best to retreat from superior foes, or how to best punish an enemies weaknesses.

Flaws

Feras is almost completely uninitiated in magic, and so holds a healthy fear of all magic users, and will always think twice before facing one.
His rage is also something of an issue. While not the frothing-at-the-mouth brute that most other Half-Orcs are, he still has a hotter than most temper, one that sees him pursue grudges long after he should, or make choices that could be generously described as ill-advised in pursuit of those grudges.
He's also something of an idealist. While he has seen the worst of what the Kingdom has to offer he is, somewhat subconsciously, always looking for the best in life and those around him. Not a useful trait in the Maw, perhaps even a fatal one.
While being a Half-Orc has its perks, he's still just a mortal. He can't rely on godlike strength or sorcerous powers to get him out of scrapes. Instead he has to use his skill at arms, his wits, his cunning, and a fair measure of luck to help him survive. All that on measure, shooting fireballs out your eyes would probably be more helpful.

Equipment

Feras' equipment had long been removed by the time he had entered the Maw. As a commando he was never particularly fussy about what weapons he carried. Battle is a chaotic thing, so you're better being able to fight with the tool that suits the job rather than relying on one catch all weapon that might be good for some tasks and bad for others. He'll wield a mace if he has to fight Knights in plate armour, a dagger if he's sneaking about in the dark, a shield if he has to fight in the wall. The smell goes for armour.

Miscellaneous

Interest Check for Blackguards!

@Red Wizard Thanks. I did have a look for a picture but nothing really fits what I have in mind unfortunately. I'll keep looking and if I find anything I'll add it in.

Interest Check for Blackguards!

Feras the Frail

Feras the Frail

---

---

Name

Ferns the Frail

Race

Half-Orc

Gender

Male

Age

33

Appearance

Feras isn't your typical half-orc. Rather than bulging with meaty muscle his build is lean and lithe, more dancer than prize fighter. Hes still as tall as the rest of his kin though, easily standing over 6 foot with change. His skin, where it is not criss-crossed with silvery-grey scarring, is a pale green. His hair is dark, grown long and braided on one side of his head, shorn to the skin on the other. That, coupled with his winter blue eyes lends him a rather striking appearance.

Personality

Calm and thoughtful, well-spoken and better educated than his background would suggest, Feras is a true oddity. His wry observations and sardonic wit bely his quick mind.

Life as both a Half-Orc and a peasant has taught Feras that life isn't fair, especially not for people that look like him. He has learnt that the only way to get through life is to be careful, to consider all the angles, and plan for all eventualities. If that all fails, then it pays to be adaptable, and he's anything if not adaptable. If there's an easy way through life, he hasn't found it yet, but he's working on it.

All that said, he's still a half-orc, his rage runs as hot as any other greenskin's. He's just learnt to hide it better. Piss him off and he might not charge you down with axe drawn then and there, but he'll mark the slight down and plan to return the favour in future. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.

If you ask him he'd say he prefers the simple things in life, though as it's only the simple things that have been open to him that may not be by choice. Nevertheless a refreshing pint on a hot day, a hearty bowl of warm soup in winter, the smile of a pretty girl, swapping stories with good comrades around the camp fire; these are the things that keep him going. Or at least that's what he tries to convince himself.

Background

Like many a Half-Orc Feras doesn't know who his parents are. Whatever maternal instinct that entices the mother to carry the baby to term usually stops short of actually raising the little monster. Still, Feras was luckier than most. At least his mother dropped him off on the steps of an Abbey, rather than off a cliff, which isn't an unheard of fate for his mongrel kind.

His luck held out insofar that this Abbey did not follow the ways of the Temple of the Sun, and were in fact more accepting of monsters and demi-humans. The Monks there raised the baby Feras, educating him when he grew old enough. He eventually learnt that they meant to induct him as a lay brother in their order when he reached his twelfth birthday. As much as he appreciated them taking him in and looking after him for as long as they did, the thought of surrendering himself to their boring, ascetic lifestyle horrified young Feras. He fled the Abbey the night before his birthday, with no idea of where he was going to go, but knew anywhere he ended up would be better than swearing his vows to God.

It didn't take long for him to fall in with the thieves guild. The guild were only too happy to accept a youngster with as quick hands (and even quicker wits) as Feras. It also helped that he was handy in a scrap, be that with rival gangs or the city guard. He spent years in the guild, learning the skills of the pickpocket, the footpad, the burglar, and eventually the enforcer. The guild got too big too quickly though, eventually earning themselves the attention, and the ire, of the Crown. Soldiers flooded the streets, clamping down on all Guild activities, and throwing any guild members they found in irons. Recognising his time in the city was up, Feras had a forger contact craft him up some fake documents that allowed him to sign on with the Kings Commandos, a specialist unit of foresters and rangers primarily made up of non-humans, who were heading out into the wilds on an Orc hunting expedition.

With the Commandos Feras travelled the length and breadth of the Kingdom, fighting a every sort of vicious beast, monster and barbarian to slink out of the shadows of untamed wilderness and sink its teeth into civilisation. It was a hard life, but Feras grew to enjoy the camaraderie, the excitement and the danger. He revealed himself to be an excellent tactician, and his superiors marked him for a leadership position.

Things changed when King Tyronde took the crown though. Under his new reign a mixed force of armed demi-humans couldn't be permitted, at least not one as autonomous as the Royal Commandos. They were ordered to surrender their weapons and stand down. However the Commados had heard of Tyrondes purges, his executions, and the sacrifices he allowed the Temple of the Sun to commit, and believed that was what was in store for them if they complied with his demands. They chose to disobey the King, and go on the run.

Long years of a deadly game of Cat and Mouse followed, the Commandos performing a guerrilla campaign against the Crown and the Temple, always persuade by Royalist forces. While they enjoyed some initial success the Commandos numbers were eventually whittled down, piece by piece, until only a few dozen remainder, led by Feras. Surrounded, starving, and outmatched, Feras was convinced by his men to treat with the Royal forces. Assured that his men would be spared if they surrendered, Feras called a cease to the hostilities. He was split from his men, sure that he would be executed as the sole remaining leadership figure of the Commandos.

To his own surprise he was instead thrown in chains and brought to the Maw. His mission now is to escape the hellish prison he finds himself in, and to track down his serving men and somehow escape the Kingdom that has betrayed him and all like him.

Talents

His childhood at the Abbey has left Feras with a quite comprehensive (for a peasant) education. He knows his history, literature, Royal genealogy, theology and arithmetic, more so than would be expected of any impoverished orphan. Of special note is the fact he can read, a skill he utilises often, but rarely reveals to those around him.
The Thieves Guild taught him stealth, pick pocketing, and lock breaking. Show him a rich merchant's house and he can break in, sneak around, and be out with the valuables in a matter of minutes and without the owner being any the wiser. They also taught him to fight, in a rough, brutish, brawl-like manner anyway. It wasn't pretty, but damn if it wasn't effective.
His time with the Commandos took all this skills and refined them unto excellence. Under their weapon masters he became a combatant that could give even the most experienced of knights pause for thought. With their rangers he learnt to move like a ghost, and to fall upon his enemies like a storm. And under their commanders he was taught all the intricacies of warfare; how to read the terrain he fought upon, how to inspire his men, how to strike fear into his enemies, when best to retreat from superior foes, or how to best punish an enemies weaknesses.

Flaws

Feras is almost completely uninitiated in magic, and so holds a healthy fear of all magic users, and will always think twice before facing one.
His rage is also something of an issue. While not the frothing-at-the-mouth brute that most other Half-Orcs are, he still has a hotter than most temper, one that sees him pursue grudges long after he should, or make choices that could be generously described as ill-advised in pursuit of those grudges.
He's also something of an idealist. While he has seen the worst of what the Kingdom has to offer he is, somewhat subconsciously, always looking for the best in life and those around him. Not a useful trait in the Maw, perhaps even a fatal one.
While being a Half-Orc has its perks, he's still just a mortal. He can't rely on godlike strength or sorcerous powers to get him out of scrapes. Instead he has to use his skill at arms, his wits, his cunning, and a fair measure of luck to help him survive. All that on measure, shooting fireballs out your eyes would probably be more helpful.

Equipment

Feras' equipment had long been removed by the time he had entered the Maw. As a commando he was never particularly fussy about what weapons he carried. Battle is a chaotic thing, so you're better being able to fight with the tool that suits the job rather than relying on one catch all weapon that might be good for some tasks and bad for others. He'll wield a mace if he has to fight Knights in plate armour, a dagger if he's sneaking about in the dark, a shield if he has to fight in the wall. The smell goes for armour.

Miscellaneous

Sorry if this seems a bit sparse on detail. I usually like to give an outline of the character then see what coalesces during gameplay. If I need to add/edit anything please let me know.

Fog of Torvelt

Gentle

---

Gentle brayed in pain, skin burning, eyes watering. What kind of diseased sack of poison was this thing? His hands itched, eager, he felt, to grip a sword pommel. Slide back towards being the monster of his youth, that's all that would achieve, he told himself. He had to keep a grip on the person he was now, even if that person was like to end up troll-food in the next few minutes.

He stepped backwards, dodging snapping teeth, not so lucky when it came to sharp claws, feeling them peel through the skin of his chest. Felt the wound burn hot, probably infected, no time to worry about that, his feet were slipping from under him. He put a hand to the ground to steady himself, palm gripping on worn wood. His staff, the one the troll had knocked from his hand. It wasn't a sword, but it would do.

Surging back to his feet he thrusts the staff like a spear, aiming straight for the ugly fucks chest, snarled curses on his lips, heartfelt prayer in his mind. Apollokeos, he intones silently so only she can hear, Goddess of second chances, help me make this one count.

Help me bury this fucker.

Fog of Torvelt

Gentle

---

Attack, he thought as he watched the trolls charge, Minotaurs are built for attack. Charge and gore, it was why Minoas gave them big bloody horns. But he wasn't Minoas's first son anymore. He hadn't been for a long time. He was as much a follower of Apollokeos as he was a worshiper of the Horned-Father. Base born instinct warred with long hammered-in lessons of piety and pacifism, but in the end they reached a stalemate. Gentle might as well have stood there with his big thumb up his arse.

He stood, racked by indecision, as the two trolls tore across the hills towards them, gory flesh and grey fog sloughing from their bodies like drippings from a roast, though a damn sight less delicious smelling. As they closed and he got a better look at them he realised that they stood even taller than he did. Well that was fucking peachy. One of the monstrosities - two headed, so twice as ugly - made a beeline for the little Aasimir. Shame, Gentle hadn't gotten to know him very well, didn't seem like he'd get the chance now. That problem quickly receded to the back of his mind when he realised the second beast was aiming for him, and suddenly all his indecion melted from him like winter snow.

Nothing like actual bodily peril to put a theological crisis into perspective.

He threw up his staff to block the trolls razor-sharp claws, but hadn't readied himself for the sheer power of the creature and lost his weapon in the process. A lifetime lived in the center of bloody melee flooded back to him in less than a fly's heartbeat, his hands moving without him needing to tell them to. He attempted to clamp both of the trolls wrists to keep it from swinging anymore at him, then readied himself to headbutt it into the dirt. He was willing to bet that as hideous as this thing was, its skull wasn't as thick as a full-grown 'taurs.