Fetzen

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Skarsat Ma'dawc

Level: 1
Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice)
Currency: 99G, 39 bits
Ammunition: 44 arrows
Armor: +1, heavy leather

Vitality: 9/10
Status: normal

Skarsat

BASIC INFORMATION

Gender: Male
Age: 31
Race: Tork
Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location)
Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits
Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed.
Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward

ATTRIBUTES

Awareness: 2
Intelligence: 2
Strength: 3
Wit: 2
Dexterity: 2
Willpower: 3
Charisma: 1
Luck: 1

SKILLSETS

Archery: 3 (familiar weapon +2, archery +1)
Brawn: 2
Hand to hand: 2
Intimidation: 2
Knock-out: 1
Extortion: 1
Horseback riding: 1

FLAWS

Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size.

BACKGROUND

Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect.

However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned.

From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way.

PERSONAL EFFECTS

• Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life.
• Heavy leather armor for those rugged times
• Champion's bow

  DMG: 1d8 + Strength
  CRIT: 18-20 (X3)
  RANGE: 110ft
• 39 common steel broadhead arrows (+1 to piercing damage)
• Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size
• Iron knuckles

  DMG: 1d3 + Strength
  CRIT: 18-20 (X2)
  RANGE: 5ft
• Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins

Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807

The Blackwood

As much as I outright hate putting another character of mine into mothballs, I can completely understand your decision @POOHEAD189. If things don't go well they don't go well and if there's not enough creativity then there's no fuel for a roleplay. I am looking forward to what you'll come up next, my friend!

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Skarsat Ma'dawc

Level: 1
Class: Mercenary/Thug (novice)
Currency: 2G, 9 bits
Ammunition: 4 arrows
Armor: +3, heavy leather

Vitality: 10
Status: bored

Skarsat

BASIC INFORMATION

Gender: Male
Age: 31
Race: Tork
Origin: Great plains of the Marth (nomadic, so no distinct location)
Religion(s): Su-Mar-Kaan, the council of nature spirits
Attire: Simple gray-white linen cloth, furs and boots for everyday life, armor for when it's needed.
Demeanor: Sarcastic, rough and reckless at times, but also honest and straightforward

ATTRIBUTES

Awareness: 2
Intelligence: 2
Strength: 3
Wit: 2
Dexterity: 1
Willpower: 3
Charisma: 1
Luck: 1

SKILLSETS

Familiar weapon: 2
Brawn: 2
Hand to hand: 2
Intimidation: 2
Knock-out: 1
Extortion: 1

FLAWS

Skarsat has a serious tendency to go forward without putting that much effort into planning ahead. It has gotten him into more trouble than would have been necessary to achieve his goals in the past and is bound to do the same in the future. Also his Tork nature and physiology brings its own bunch of major and minor problems with it, such as his unfamiliarity with the details of what many consider 'civilized' customs or his sheer, extraordinary size.

BACKGROUND

Skarsat was born into a tribe called 'The Vanyr' as one of three childs, two brothers and a sister, of his father Marrask and his mother Cafol. The tribe, just as many Tork, follows a lifestyle of never settling down too long in one place, and thus Skarsat's early life follows pretty much the story the average western or eastern citizen might tell about them: He learned how to ride from early on, soon had to help picking up and dissecting hunted down animals and then got trained in the art of archery himself. There was no such thing as a real settlement, just an allotment of tents that were placed down near water and then picked up again some days or weeks later when there were no more local resources to collect.

However there is a small twist to the Vanyr that ultimately forced Skarsat to learn the concept of town and cities after all. Each and every child, once having reached the age of 17, has to go on a two-year journey on his or her own that has to lead outside of the Tork's native soil and go either west or east, the further the better. It is there for them to learn about the world and to respect it and the others living in it, but of course also a test of both survival and character as noone is actually strictly obliged to return to the tribe. However those who don't are either assumed dead or, should it become known that they are still alive, scorned.

From that point of view Skarsat has failed the test. He tried to return, but life isn't easy and he got stuck in affairs that ultimately forged him into what he is now. However the Vanyr are just one tribe of many, and others might have entirely different views on things and not care about his past in the same way.

PERSONAL EFFECTS

• Simple linen cloth, fur and leather boots for everyday life.
• Heavy leather armor for those rugged times
• Bow and a makeshift quiver with some arrows, adjusted to his large size
• Iron knuckles
• Leather bag for personal belongings that can't be carried otherwise, such as his spare coins

Dice campaign: roleplayerguild.com/campaigns/807

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Vaught

_{Early spring of 315 P.F.}

The Motis affair had gone surprisingly well overall. He did not know whether the hunters would be scared for their lives and make a run for it or if they had just received a big boost to their determination. What he could assume with utmost certainty however was that their goals had changed: No more going after a big humanoid being, but after some unidentified monster instead! This meant that he might have regained some of his freedom outside of The Greatwood which had been one of his goals for the attack in the first place. He could turn back to human, jump onto some stolen horse and get away from this utterly boring landscape of nothingness!

And yet, just as his recent actions had solved one problem, they had given birth to another. Walking around on two legs, wielding some big primitive axe and trying to arrange oneself with the inhabitants of this region just didn't seem as fun and worthwhile anymore if one knew that the much more monstrous experiment had started to work out... In a growing region of his mind and heart he didn't want to take the tedious route back to his other shape. He always could when there was the opportunity, but right now he simply didn't feel the desire anymore. And the monster he was right now had not even learned how to fly yet! Speaking of which... couldn't that finally be fixed ? Vaught had hatched the plan of doing a little cut-and-watch procedure to himself and maybe he should just proceed with that plan while motivation was so high!

Running on all four legs, his claws dug deep enough into the ground to leave a trail of destruction behind in the grass. It was easy to notice that this would make any pursuers' job dangerously easy, so at some point Vaught started to run in circles for a while. Once a big enough mess of seemlingy erratic loops and hard to understand twists had been created, he continued on a straight line towards his hideout in The Greatwood's hills again. There was a small creek nearby in whose riverbed he marched on for a while just to create an outright gap in his tracks as well. He also tried not to crush too many bushes on his way back, even if that meant slowing down a lot in order for a lot of tedious maneuvering.

Up on the hill, Vaught reached for the big axe of his alter ego: It slipped right through his fingers. Or were these even fingers ? He tried again to no avail, then altered his approach for a third and fourth attempt only to come out with the same ridiculing result. So this didn't work... but he needed the blade on that thing! While still not having an alternate plan, Vaught lowered his mouth and carefully bit into the weapon's shaft to move it along with himself that way. This monster of his choice clearly had not developed with much craftsmanship in mind, had it ? But... but maybe he could arrange for some contraption!

Looking around, Vaught discovered what had once been one large stone, but which had degraded into a pile of smaller pieces over aeons of freezing cold and sweltering heat. Each of them still would have been far too heavy for a simple man to lift, but that was good! Trying not to damage his teeth in the process, Vaught dropped the axe's shaft into one of the large gaps where the aggregation of minerals had broken apart and let the blade point upwards. He slammed his torso against one of the rocks sideways and pushed it against its counterpart, thereby wedging the weapon's shaft in the closing gap. Friction would do the rest.

Now the ugly part! This was a good idea to cut open one's own joint gently just to see why it didn't work properly, right ? Vaught maneuvered the malfunctioning part of his body over the axe's blade as carefully as possible, then lowered it and started to induce a forth and back motion. The pain! The pain was so awful! Blood started dripping at an increasing speed, but as Vaught's confidence in his own idea vanished his skin gave way just enough to see what was beneath it. Maybe he could adapt now...

Ignore this

Would y’all like me to go ahead and post with Lalei again?

@Bitterblue111

I've been waiting for such a post, but if you'd like me to I could certainly try to get another post out before Lalei :)

The Prince's Royal Guard

Manald

So that was it...

The troll ? Burning to his well-deserved death!
The goblins ? On the run, leaving behind countless instances of dead comrades!
Himself ? Tired and plagued with the uneasy knowledge of this fight having had its close calls. This could have ended in other ways, too.

The lycanthrope, now lacking prey and the need to fight, felt the animalistic aspect draining and fading away. He did not even try to hide somewhere before shifting back, but just delayed the action long enough to be certain that none of the enemies would turn around and backstab him while the process took place. Many soldiers, albeit having fought for the whole time, still had the necessary energy to watch with great interest as bones turned and twisted, flesh shrunk and skin adjusted to wrap tightly around a much smaller body. It probably had been a good decision to shift back while still on the ground in front of the wall for the ropes that had been lowered from it looked like they were designed for humans, not for Manald.

Halfway naked, the man retreated into the guard's tower just like he had done when shifting into his wolf form. He had stored his clothes there and had not the slightest interest in losing them to the logistics of the city guard. Manald decided to put the insignia of the royal guard on open display this time. Some of the soldiers had laughed at him just before the battle had begun. Would they be laughing, still ?

He decided against finding out today and opted for getting some rest and nourishment instead. His stomach reported some goblin meat that must have found its way past his throat during the battle, but neither was goblin meat of particularly good quality nor was it enough in this instance. During the fight, Manald's priority had been to just bite his enemies to death. Anything more than that had been a mere accident! The lycanthrope trodded past the riflement and onto the steps leading down the wall and into the city. He did so more dragging his feet than lifting them properly, seemingly being either very tired or just not feeling the need to pay attention to things like this. The truth was he was both.

In the barracks, Manald dropped into his bunk right away.

Ignore this

Calit

So this was the party, right ? Yes, right. Each and everyone of them matched their respective visual appearance in the strange dream, so this could simply not be a mere coincidence. What the vision had not told Calit though was anything about those strangers' personalities. Unfortunately what they had revealed so far was anything but encouraging when it came to the task of slaying a dragon which had a very long-lasting and nasty sounding prophecy behind it...

There was a male with hair brighter and whiter than that of most elderly and a scar that looked even more nasty than his own. As if this hadn't been unusual enough, the man's body appeared smaller than everybody else's, but taller than that of the dwarf nearby. The latter found Calit's silent approval when openly calling out scar-man's pomposity, but the accent and overall way of talking was bound to give a headache! Still... Odran, as he called himself, gave the first impression of being a friendly lad. It could never hurt to have someone around who was well versed with what little technology the world could muster. And he seemed strong!

The same, albeit to a lesser degree of course, seemed to hold true for the female elf. To Calit, Rosarine appeared more curvy than the typical representative of her race, but in the sense of having more muscle and not fat. The assassin glanced at her hands, noting that they looked different than the rest of her skin while she did not seem to have a problem with that at all. At least there were no bandages or other measures that could be expected when dealing with a severe burn wound, so: Was she a fire mage ? Calit couldn't tell for sure, but it was a suspicion he put great confidence in.

The next in the bunch appeared to be the least capable of all of them. Her body, quite obviously, was coated with a significant amount of fat which told a potential story about a lack of fitness. However, in a world filled with shifters and magic, this could very well just be a very first and evenly wrong impression. If the prophecy was right she just had to have some potential, too, and he merely lacked the means to discover them right away. And the last one ? Exotic to say the least with silver hair and eyes. She could not be 'just' an elf, but there had to be more. A shifter ? Calit could only wonder how she'd look like in any different form.

"So I am Calit, a former member of the royal special forces and working on my own since then. In case anyone of you happens to break a bone instead of anything else I might be the one to ask for fixing it, but otherwise I'm more on the opposite side of healing." He said this with an almost monotonous tone, not putting any emphasis on any of his words and with his facial expression not changing over the course of the two sentences.

And then Lalei appeared. If any further proof of this dream not being just a dream had been necessary, this was it. One did not see a spirit every day, let alone a spirit who could present so many scenes of... Wait! Polis ? Calit just stared at what had felt like one giant, comforting home to him for many years. All gone ? The thought about his parents crossed the assassin's mind, or at least about his mother for his father had found a natural death some years ago already. She did not live in Polis itself, but in a village nearby. If that was gone, too... or no. It probably was gone even more likely than Polis itself because it didn't have a fancy king to deliver the words of surrender!

Anybody looking very closely could see Calit clenching his teeth behind closed lips and his face being in turmoil as many opposing muscles built up tension simultaneously. When the spirit reached him and asked for any further questions, Calit only had one: "Are we allowed to choke him using his own guts ?" This time the assassin's voice wasn't neutral, but dripping with sarcasm. If they would succeed, he'd certainly do it!

Ignore this

I will get my post out tomorrow. The work-week has killed me, that's all ;)

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi Tabletop, Extensive Campaign)

Hello everyone!

I would definitely like to try and get into this thing again :)

The Prince's Royal Guard

I'm still in :)