# Exclusive Contest!  WAYNE REYNOLDS draws OR PAINTS your character! No more entries!



## Kai Lord (Dec 28, 2004)

That's right, its time for some fun.  As before, I'm going to pony up the dough for one lucky ENWorlder to have a character portrait commissioned by none other than Wayne "WAR" Reynolds!  Full-on pencil drawing.  Winner gets the original sent right to his/her house.  Sound cool?  I thought so.  Is this something that Wayne just does in his free time?  In a word, no.  But he's worked with me before, and I talked him into it, so he's going for it.  He's really busy with commercial work but he's cool and should be able to work the drawing in toward the end of February.

So let's get on with it shall we?  

All you have to do to enter is just post your favorite character(s) on this very thread.  I'll select 10-20ish finalists based on character concept, description, backstory, and a killer gaming moment.  That's right, something awesome that your character did or was involved in.  Last contest there were well over a hundred amazing character descriptions, so that one session you singlehandedly saved your party from a dragon while hovering on death's door might just be the story that puts you over the top.

Wayne likes to draw characters in *motion.*  Tell me something cool that your character does or did and Wayne just might capture it in pencil.  But be descriptive!  Every detail that you want to be considered needs to be listed.  Enter as many characters as you like.

All entries will be considered, but I'm going to support my fellow Dragonlance lovers by guaranteeing that at least *half* the finalists will be chosen from the Dragonlance characters entered.  Furthermore, if a DL character is ultimately chosen, they may be awarded a special bonus.  We'll see.    But that doesn't change the fact that anyone can enter, and potentially win.

I might have ENWorld vote on the finalists, and I might not.  We'll have to see after the deadline.  Wayne will ultimately be choosing the winner from the finalists that are narrowed down.

So let's see those characters!  This is a once in a gaming lifetime opportunity!  Wayne Reynolds!  His awesome stylized energy...and your character.      All entries will be considered until January 31st and the winner announced the first or second week of February.

And if you want just a taste of what you could be winning, take a look at the preliminary pencil rough of a painting Wayne did of _my_ character, Elijayess Moonshadow, Kagonesti elf Barbarian/Ranger from the world of Krynn.  I gave him the character description, said I'm all about the Manyshot action, and voila, check that out!  My avatar is a tiny glimpse of the finished painting but it might actually be published so I won't show the whole thing.  Anyway, the winning character portrait will actually look a little more finished than this one.

Oh yeah, Wayne reserves all publishing rights for the winning drawing.  Otherwise, good luck and have fun!

*UPDATE*

Half of this contest is just winning the opportunity to even have Wayne look at your character, then draw it.  He simply does not do this.  Private character portraits are not his thing, and he isn't readily accessible to anyone who wants to contact him.  It took me about a year of off and on checking for contact info, speaking with other artists, agents, etc., before finally getting a hold of him through his agent, and even then the only reason he took on my original commission was because I had a sizable portfolio of private work commissioned by other well known artists.

Since then we've actually enjoyed working together and have fun discussing new projects.  He's an incredibly likable guy, and I'm enormously impressed with his work.

Having said all that, I'm going to go one step further for the winner of this contest and offer, since this is such a rare opportunity for fans, to have your character rendered in a full on *OIL PAINTING!*

Yep, a full color _painting_ of your favorite character by WAR.  Just like the ones you see in the Monster Manuals and splatbooks.  But there's a slight catch.  This will be an upgradeable *option* for the winner, for the sum of $180.  I'll take care of the rest.  $180 for an _original Wayne Reynolds oil painting_ capturing your character in a moment of glory.

The pencil drawing would still be free, but the upgrade is something to think about for that lucky, lucky winner.  

Good luck.

*UPDATE 1/17/05*

Hey everyone, guess what! Not content to rest on his laurels, the grand prize winner of the Todd Lockwood contest, Krail Stromquism, is joining in on the fun!

We're actually throwing in a surprise twist to the contest that you won't want to miss! Not only that, but Krail will actually be contributing a full 50% of the cost for the grand prize! How's that for graciousness and generosity! Let's hear it for Krail, who will be choosing half of the finalists along with me. 

Two more weeks until the finalists are announced, so get those characters in before the deadline!


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## Krug (Dec 28, 2004)

Woohoo! Thanks Kai Lord! Thoust are cool!


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## reveal (Dec 28, 2004)

How many characters can we enter?


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## Darkness (Dec 28, 2004)

(Hm. I think it's not necessary to make this sticky...)


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## Krug (Dec 28, 2004)

By the way, could we see the winner from the last contest again?


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## hiryuu (Dec 28, 2004)

*Oh, hot damn.*

Gonna kick myself later for this....but I figure I'd try.

Go Away Shoo Get Away From My Chickens is an odd sort, looking like some conglomeration of random animal skins and human girl more than a person, and typically glancing furtively about. She tends to prefer her meat and avoids vegetables if they’re given. She has slate gray hair in a style that looks more defined by knife cuts than anything more civilized, boots made of burlap and rope, and wolf fur on her forearms held in place by leather straps. Her clothes are made of the hide and teeth of just about every animal she's killed (and needed a patch to cover a hole in her clothing). Being raised by wolves is an old fantasy staple, and Shoo is no exception. She received her name when approached by a group of adventurers.

“What is your name?” they had asked, and she wondered aloud if a name was something one ate, and was told that it’s “what people say when they see you.” To which, of course, she replied, “My name is Go Away! Shoo! Get Away From my Chickens!” From then on, she stayed by them, adopting them as part of her pack and bringing them dead animals at random intervals. Many times she brought the party rogue, a nobleman named Morgan Delkirk, dead rats.

Shoo carries a haversack of rocks for use as ranged weapons, and uses weapons she made herself from sticks, rocks, and various sharp objects she may have found. She collects shiny objects, and many a time has been duped out of substantial monetary rewards for simple quartz crystal or mica chips. If left alone, she _will_ wander off to chase butterflies, chew on flowers, eat random things that smell like they’re edible, and collect anything that’s shiny or that holds her attention for a few moments.

What makes Shoo’s innocent and often naïve demeanor so frustrating for her enemies is that mostly all of it (at least in the context of normal human society) is an act. Certainly she _likes_ sleeping curled up on the floor next to the fireplace and does think of snatching the heels of anyone walking by as a game, but she is a shrewd observer who discerned the details of her new world very quickly. She knows people expect an uncultured and unsophisticated barbarian to simply leap and savage her foes, and so she does, but not without alerting teammates to her presence, so they can better get the drop on enemies she occupies; it also means that if a fight does break out, her smarter tactics are completely unexpected.

She’s all about her tutelage, moving swiftly in combat, preferring to fight like a wolf: tripping enemies before leaping on their backs and savaging them with a knife. When incited to fury, she even hunches over and drops the wolf’s head on her pelt-cloak over her face. Despite being so friendly and doglike when not in battle, she has no aversion to her enemies’ blood and flesh, painting her face and clothing with it, or even eating it.

Shoo’s most awesome moment involved riding alongside a knight on horseback while she rode a dire wolf, the both of them battling as both animals charged across a two-foot high field of old and dried vines covered in six inch thorns. Both animals were torn up and bloody at the end, but there was a knight clad in black armor who'd never emerge from that dead briar patch.


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## ltclnlbrain (Dec 28, 2004)

Most would call Ignacio Vite an eccentric.  He considers himself a sensualist.  He is a member of the Sensates, a faction in the city of Sigil comprised of people like him.  He scours the multiverse seeking out rare and exotic experiences from across the planes.  Be it a beautiful sunset on an ocean in Celestia, an interesting odor in the sewers of Sigil, or the mating call of a fiendish displacer beast on Acheron, Ignacio won't rest until he has experienced all that he can.  Recently, he began experiencing visions of a massive dungeon on Oerth full of unique and wondrous experiences.  Using his own funds, he hired a group of adventurers to escort him through the dungeon so that he would be more adept at handling the challenges that lurked within.

Ignacio is a fire elf (racial variant from Unearthed Arcana).  Long in the past, his family bonded their souls with elemental spirits of flame, and the genetic changes were passed down the family line.  Ignacio stands barely five feet tall.  His skin is ruddy and well-oiled, and his hair a wild mass that resembles a burning flame.  Ignacio is rather frail and weak, but quite agile, and his mental faculties more than make up for his physical shortcomings.  His intelligence is of genius level, but like most geniuses, he is eccentric.  He believes himself to be more charming than he really is.  His normal attire are bright silver robes decorated with gold and ruby dust and a large pack filled with interesting knick-knacks he finds on his adventures.  An well-crafted longbow is strapped to his back, and a leather whip is coiled at his waist. His belt is adorned with myriad pouches of spell components.

Ignacio is an elf of many talents.  He has a few levels in enchanter that allow him to wield magic to influence weak-minded fools and monsters.  He has a few levels in elf paragon that give him deadly skill with his bow and greatly enhance his senses.  A level in rogue gives him stealth and skill.  He even tried to get a githzerai monk to train him in unarmed combat, but ultimately he could not abide the structured lessons of the class and abandoned his training.

Ignacio is quite chaotic, and normally operates according to his fancies.  When he comes across a bed made of reptile hides, he can't help himself from jumping on it to see how comfortable it is.  His hands constantly roam over each surface, savoring the touch of the material beneath his fingertips.  His curiosity and desire for sensation can lead to trouble sometimes, but that is why he keeps around his hired escorts to help bail him out of difficult situations. 

Killer Gaming Moment: With the aid of an expeditious retreat spell, Ignacio chased after a kobold riding on a krenshar.  Finding that the krenshar might still outrun him, Ignacio lashed out with his whip, wrapping it around the creature's legs.  The beast had been running at full-tilt, and as it crashed to the ground, its kobold rider flew from its back and slammed head-first into a dungeon wall.  It was not a pretty sight.


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## Salad Shooter (Dec 28, 2004)

Lendri Brighthoopak


Ever since he was a young lad, Lendri watched the Knights of Solamnia, and swore that he would one day join their ranks. He idolized them, and tried to be as righteous as the Knights themselves were (or, at least, as righteous as a Kender could be).

Then, the wanderlust struck. Lendri struck out across the countryside, seeking the Knights. The knights, taking pity on the desperate Kender, granted him audience. He begged and pleaded with the knights to allow him to become a squire, but they turned him down every time. Finally, after granting himself "audience" with the council at least once a day for a month, he got his wish. The knights, who were either desperate to rid themselves of the nuisance, or perhaps acknowledging that one so firmly set to become a knight should at least get a chance to prove himself, granted him the title of Squire, and bade him set out on a quest to prove his worth.

Lendri, in true Kender fashion, decided that the best way to prove that he could be the best knight that ever existed, set out on a quest to remove the Minotaurs from Silvanost.

He actually almost made it to Silvanesti. 

Acquiring a few retainers, namely two Kagonesti elves and another kender (The Elves, in actuality, are trying to provide damage control, while the other Kender is just having a ball tagging along), Lendri has travelled to the small town of Pashin. Here, some old guy told him that he was the chosen one, and he was to search for some sort of spoon that is not a spoon, or a key that is not a spoon, or a spoon that is not a key. He knows it involves a spoon. Or he thinks so. He's really not sure, as he had consumed a touch too much ale shortly before (Whenever he mentions the spoon, his companions nod knowingly, sigh, and then explain they were sent on a mission to find a key that is not a key. When appropriate, at least).  

When we last left Lendri, they were wandering the sewers beneath Pashin, lost, with Lendri still convinced he was going to rid Silvanesti of the Minotaurs.


Lendri Brighthoopak is a Swashbuckler 2/Cleric 1 Kender. We're running the Key of Destiny campaign, set in the Dragonlance world. He is a linear DMs worst nightmare, as he has frequently attempted to travel into Silvanesti to destroy the minotaurs, or gone of on some random sidequest for something that only exists in his mind (One particular shopkeeper sent Lendri to his competition that, 1, didn't exist, and 2, was on the complete other side of town). He dual wields (quite proficiently) a rapier and a dagger. Lendri doesn't hit very hard, but he sure hits a lot. 

Great Moments of Lendri Brighthoopak:

Set upon by 3 bandits, the tiny Kender proved his combat-worthyness by dispatching the first before the rest of his party could arrive, engaging the second, he rolled a twenty, it went critical and killed the bandit, then when the third attacked him, he rolled a twenty on the to-hit for the AoO, and then another twenty to check for critical, in our game, an auto-kill. Quite a moment. 

I had been discussing for some time about Lendri multiclassing into Cleric, and had been RPing some devout aspects into his wiles. My group uses a rolling XP system, where we recieve XP after every encounter, rather than when they have time to "reflect" on the day. He had just breached the XP amount to reach third level in a combat encounter that left the party cleric in the negative HP range. As we were racing for the towns temple for a quick heal, Lendri began speaking to himself (or so the others thought, in reality, he was conversing with Mishakal). "I can do it!" he said "I can?" "Let me try!"...then, suddenly, he layed his hands down on the wounded cleric and healed her. The rest of my group, players and PCs, weren't aware of my multiclassing just then, so my sudden healing powers and conversation with myself was quite a surprise.


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## Karl Green (Dec 28, 2004)

MMMMAAANNNN, Wayne is like my FAV artist (I LOVE LOVE LOVE the cover of the Black Company, Tales, Denizens and Creaturs of Freeport... so many others)

Most thing of something kewl


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## talinthas (Dec 28, 2004)

Talinthas Shadeslayn (dragonlance character)
 Male Silvanesti elf Rogue/Shadow dancer (align TN)
 Age- well over 500 years old.

 Tal is a rather reclusive and quiet sort, being one of the few mortals to live through three ages of Krynn. Born approximatly 100 years before the fall of Istar and the Cataclysm, he has seen the gods leave, return, leave again, and return again. He posseses the sort of hardened cynicism that only one tired of life could manage.

 He was the child of an illicit relationship between a Silvanesti noblewoman and her Kagonesti house servant, and was abandoned near a human village on the plains to the west of the elven homelands. Tal was left in a wicker basket with but two possesions, a copper amulet bearing the rose of Majere, and a note instructing the plainsmen that found him to bob his ears and raise him as a human child.

 Soon, he was found by a scout and brought back to the village, and taken to the chieftan, who handed the child to the only resident who could read the elven script in the message, the tribe's lead hunter. He took the child in, and in a ceremony attended only by the chief, swore to keep the child's heritage a secret until his death, at which time the letter would be shared to the child.

 Thus did Tal grow up learning the ways of a plainsmen scout, as he was never quite as big or strong as the other boys, but much sneakier and quieter. He spent about 30 years training in the ways of the scout, but eventually it was noticed that he was much younger seeming than his contemporaries and tended to mature much slower. This talk was suppressed by the chief of the village for about 10 years, when it finally became clear that Tal looked like he could have been the child of his younger brother, who was nearing his 40th year. 

 At this point, Talinthas demanded to know the truth, and his adopted father, seeing no other choice in the matter, relented and shared the letter of origin. Immediatly afterwards, the venerable hunter killed himself, as per the condition set during the ceremony years past. Out of shame, Tal left his home of half a century and went wandering the world, with only the medallion to remind him of his birth parents, and his hunter's dagger, bestowed upon him when he became a full fledged member of the tribe after his right of passage ceremony.

 In the course of his wanderings, he returned to Silvanesti, only to find that his birth father had been killed at the hands of his maternal grandfather, and that his mother had been cloistered in a nunnary dedicated to austerity. Tal was turned away by his maternal family, and banished from the elven homelands as a dark elf, merely for trying to discover who he was. 

 It was at this time that the Gods turned their back on Krynn. Tal, having lost sight of his life, was aimlessly ambling northwards towards Istar, and saw the fiery mountain fall from the sky and annihliate the landscape. Watching the destruction of the world as he knew it completely shattered any grip on sanity that this elf had. The next 20 years were spent in a haze, as Talinthas became more and more withdrawn and desolate.

 It was at this time that he began to attract the shadows. The cataclysm caused death on such a massive scale that the souls of the innocent and guilty alike could not be separated and sent to their divine abode quickly enough. Coupled with the complete withdrawl of divine presence, and the lack of final rites, these souls became the restless dead of krynn. Talinthas, with his blasted mind and empty soul, started to attract the attention of these ghosts and shadows. Some of the more aggresive spirits possesed Tal, and started him down the path of the Shadow Dancer.

 The next few hundred years passed quickly, as Tal started to regain his senses and adapted to his new symbiotic relationship with these shades that hovered around him. He searched others who were similarly affected by incredibly mind altering events, and helped them to cope with their empty souls, starting a loose group of Shadow Dancers through Ansalon. Somewhere in there, he managed to get married a few times, and father a child or two.

 Fast forwards to the War of the Lance. Tal, now in his 450th year or so, is a venerable old elf with massive control over the spirits and shadows that reside within him. Years of having been hunted as an evil necromancer and other such misunderstandings have left him hardened and wary of strangers. The return of the gods has not brought him the joy that it has brought to the masses, for the newly indocrinated clergy find him to be an abomination, and try to free the spirits trapped within him by any means necessary. The shadow dancers withdraw from the public light and hide from Gods and man alike.

 Fast forwards another 30 years or so, to the cusp of the chaos war. With minions of chaos wreaking havoc on the realms of mortals and spirits, Tal was forced to fight for the survival of his shadow dancers, and was nearly destroyed once again by a Shadow wight, at the southern edge of the Blood sea of Istar, where 392 years before a young elf witnessed the destruction of the ancient world.

 Shadow wights completely erase every living thing they touch, and force them into a state of non being, deleted from even the memories of those that knew the victims. Tal, having been buffered by the symbiotic spirts, managed to survive by shunting his shadow soul into the wight, leaving a living, but empty husk.

 Once again, the retreat of the Gods was his saving grace, as the souls of the dead were completely unable to escape the mortal plane. Tal's shell, empty of all but the smallest spark of his soul, became a nexus of mystical energy. He lay there, on the beach of the Desolation, while the waters of the newly calmed blood sea threatened to take him away. There he was found by Dauroth, an Ogre Mage looking for a suitable subject to test a new magical form on. The hollow shell, coursing with just enough life and residual energy to keep functioning, was the perfect fit.

 Dauroth took Tal, now known as the Shadeslayn, and proceeded to subject the elf to a ceremony granted to the ogre in a vision from his evil goddess, Takhisis. Tal's body was charged with Spiritual energy and mystic forces, and combined with scores of ghosts and spirits who were tied to the mortal plane. The newly fused shadow soul inhabited the body of the elf, and returned to a form of unlife never seen before. Talinthas Shadeslayn was faster, smarter, and stronger than the elf he had once been. Dauroth the Ogre Mage was stunned by his sucess, and immediatly took a sample of Tal's blood. Discovering that this blood held the magical properties needed to force this magical enhancement, Dauroth took it upon himself to endure the ceremony and transform into the Ogre Titan of legend. It was in the recovery time from this process that the multi spirit of the Shadeslayn decided to take initiative and escaped the prison of Dauroth's laboratory along the shores of the Blood Sea. 

 A struggle of wills ensued, but eventually the true soul of Talinthas asserted victory and regained command. The Shadeslayn went and recovered the remenants of his Shadow Dancers, and went into hiding, lest the Ogre Titans find him and completely drain him of his blood. His whereabouts are currently unknown, though he is thought to be in the north east part of Ansalon, biding his time and gathering souls to him.

 Appearance-
 Tal is an elf of about 5'5. The many soul drains and transfers he has endured have left him rather emaciated looking, with almost porcelin white, thinly stretched skin. However, following the ceremony by Dauroth, he has started to look a little more lively, with a fuller face and a shade darker skin. This change has been slow to come though, as his body has had five hundred years of abuse thrust upon it.

  His hair is caught in a shoulder length pony tail, bound by an ornate clasp in the style of the tribe of his upbringing. However, it is notable that there are two streaks of molten silver hair that start at his eyebrows and go back to the end of his hair length.

 His ears are raggedly cut at the tips, a symbol of his childhood, and his eyes, once a startling hazel/green, are now completely silver, with black irises and small red pupils. When he opens his mouth, his teeth are fanged, but as he never smiles, people hardly notice.

 Around his neck is a battered coppery-green medallion impressed with the image of a Rose and Mantis, symbols of the God Majere, and only relic of Tal's birth. His clothing reflects his profession, and is black leather meant to blend in with shadows and appear completely unobtrusive from his coat to his thick hunting boots.

 Around his waist are an assortment of pouches and packs, and two weapon holsters. One holds a blessed mace of disruption, granted to him by Majere during the Chaos war, and the other holding an ancient hunting knife dating to pre cataclysm tribes of the Plains of Dust.

 However, these are all mundane things, for that which makes the Shadeslayn most noticable are the omnipresent shadows and spirits that dwell around him. Those who are Spiritually inclined, or dabble in Necromancy, can see that there are always shades and spirts in orbit around Tal, the way an electron orbits a nucleus. At times of trouble, Tal can gather these spirits and expel them in a damaging blast towards his enemies. Whenever the Shadeslayn walks into an area, all incorporeal undead, restless spirits, and lost souls are immediatly attracted to his presence, so this orbit is continually renewed. When normal, untalented people are around him, they get the eerie feeling that they are being watched, or feel a ghostly wind down their backs, or hear a faint whistle of haunted air. When clerics attempt to determine the presence of undead, Tal glows like a beacon to them.

 For the most part though, the Shadeslayn is an elf in his 500th year of his existance, with much of that time spent in extreme pain and anguish. As such, his life view is bleak and dark, and he tends not to associate with people as much. The soul ceremonies have granted him a form of immortality, which the tired mind of Tal craves not at all. Some sages have likened it to the curse of Lord Soth, but worse, as Tal had done nothing to deserve this fate but be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 With the end of the War of Souls near, and the freeing of the trapped spirits, only time will tell what happens to the elf without a soul.


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 Yeah, it's a repeat, but i really like this character =)
 --

 Awesome battle moment- Sending my shadows to fight off Shadow wights while taking on their Daemonlord Leader.  The rest of my party had failed saves and were slowly being drained away, and i had to sac a lot of magic items to pull us out of that one.  It was really cinematic, though.  And the battle mat looked awesome, as me and the daemon lord basically played chess with shadows and stuff =)


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## demiurge1138 (Dec 28, 2004)

Klattu M. was always an odd child. Raised in Luskan by his mother, a human bartender, his precocious demeanor and strange appearance made him a potential liability. His father was a renegade drow elf, who was horribly killed by his family hunting him from the Underdark. In order to keep him out of trouble, his mother enlisted Klattu in the wizard's academy in Luskan, where he swiftly picked up the craft, despite the fact that he was just supposed to be a serving boy.

Klattu escaped from the oppresive Academy and made his way south to Waterdeep, where, after a few abortive and nearly lethal adventures, he joined the Mage Guild and soon became a fairly minor buearocrat and wand-crafter. 

This was before he discovered _A Treatise on Beings of the Far Realm_.

Fascinated with the study of alienism, Klattu became an adventurer again as to better plumb the depths of the strange beings of pseudonature. Along the way, he attracted an only partly deserved reputation as a genius on magical creatures of all kinds, as well as serious delusions of grandeur. When last seen, Klattu had established a fortress in Limbo, attempting to discover the key to godhood.

Fairly tall for a half-elf, Klattu's distinctive grey skin and white hair make him easy to spot in a crowd. More disturbing, but slightly less noticable, are his mismatched eyes (one red, one green) and the second pair of needle-like teeth in his jaws, a legacy of his tinkering with Things Man Was Not Meant to Know. He favors black cloaks and is rarely seen without his distinctive purple Hat of Disguise (sadly, the hat is incapable of disguising itself) and Chaosfang, an icy scythe he picked up as a gift from a sympathetic cleric.

Klattu's claim to fame came during the invasion of the Third Hell, an expedition arranged by his increasingly corrupt "friends". Despite the fact that the invasion was simply an excuse to collect the head of the Executioner of Hell in order to enter an alliance with Demogorgon, Klattu participated willingly, in order to blacken the eye of Evil (and see the sights along the way). During an epic battle with Atrogo, Prince of All Cornugons, Klattu summoned a white slaad, which burst from his body, causing Klattu great harm. The fact that Atrogo suffered great harm in the process made the sacrifice worth it, however.


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## Darrin Drader (Dec 28, 2004)

Wayne Reynold's artwork is amazing. I probably won't enter, but I think this is an incredibly cool thing for him to do. Thanks for putting this together Kai Lord!


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## Teflon Billy (Dec 28, 2004)

Whisperfoot said:
			
		

> Wayne Reynold's artwork is amazing. I probably won't enter, but I think this is an incredibly cool thing for him to do. Thanks for putting this together Kai Lord!




Ditto all of that. Wayne Reynolds is one of my favorites currently working.


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## Krieg (Dec 28, 2004)

The resident weapon/armorsmiths are Dwarven twins, Futhark & Malgrym. However, even discounting the rarity of twins among the stout race, they are not your typical Dwarven Smiths…

   In fact, some would be hard pressed to identify them as Dwarves at all. Neither brother tops the 4’ mark, nor do they match the typical Dwarf in thickness of build. When they first made their way out into the world, a few even made the mistake of labeling them as “gnomes”, much to the chagrin of the ones making the mistake. The misunderstanding is a bit more understandable when one realizes that both brothers are virtually hairless, bald as eggs and with nary a whisker between them. Years of wielding a forge hammer have left Futhark with a noticeably larger build than that of his brother. His unusually thickened & hardened skin distinguishes Malgrym. Malgrym’s skin most closely resembles boiled leather in consistency.

   Upon closer examination, it is apparent that the condition is not restricted to the head & face, as the brothers lack the shaggy shoulder, back, chest and arm covering so typical for their race. It is not known whether the condition is innate or carefully cultivated by the brothers.

   There are of course many rumors surrounding the situation, ranging from a non-Dwarven 
father to a shame so encompassing that the brothers shave themselves as penance. These rumors are never spoken within earshot of the brothers and the brothers do not volunteer any information on the subject. 

   However, the most startling aspect of the brothers’ appearance is not their non-hirstuteness. Rather, it is their choice of body decorations. Both brothers are covered head-to-toe with tattoos, sigils, runes, glyphs, symbols & other arcane markings. There is not a single square of skin that is not covered with some of marking or design. If the viewer is able to perceive arcane auras he will soon discovered that many (if not most) of the tattoos radiate magical energy of one sort or another.

   The brothers’ choice of vocations also serves to set them apart from mainstream Dwarven society. Futhark is a priest who has chosen to receive favor from powers outside of the traditional Dwarven pantheon. If Futhark’s heresy wasn’t enough to set beards wagging, Malgrym’s devotion to the arcane arts is incomprehensible to the average Dwarf. The brothers are officially pariahs in their home and have little to no contact with their family. Dwarves passing through in an official capacity are careful to avoid any contact with the brothers, preferring to ignore their existence altogether. However, despite the brothers’ institutionalized status as outcasts, it is not uncommon to find individual Dwarves visiting their forge on dark nights, presumably seeking their services as weapon/armorsmiths in exchange for raw ore. In fact, some say that the Dwarven Thane himself wields an axe that was born in Futhark’s forge. Despite the brothers’ eccentricities, they have few peers in the Smith’s arts.

  The complex of caves in which the Dwarves choose to live and work is nearly as unsettling as their appearance. The waiting room is a semi-hemisphere of perfectly formed stone. There are absolutley no cracks, joins, or tool marks marring the surface of the stone. Even more striking the walls, ceiling & floor are again covered with incomprehensible sigils, glyphs & runes. There is no space that is not marked in some way. If viewed through an arcane eye, the sheer amount of magical energy held within the runes covering the chamber is mind numbing to the average Mage or Priest. 

  The periphery of the room is marked by a number of stone statues representing past Dwarven Thanes. Outside subject choice and excellence of construction, they share little in common. Also notable is the sharp increase in temperature when compared to the outside, regardless of season. Visitors approaching the cave entrance are treated a blast of hot, dry air from within. Perhaps because of the heat, the brothers are typically encountered with a simple cloth covering their midsections and nothing else. It is common to find the brothers, regardless of season or inclement weather, taking a break from the heat, lounging on stone divans & drinking ale just outside the entrance to their home/workshop.


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## Aeric (Dec 28, 2004)

Aeric Bannier
Paladin of Haelyn and Lord Protector of Roesone
A Birthright Character

Aeric was the younger son of a minor landholding noble in the Barony of Roesone.  Blessed with a potent Bloodline of Anduiras, the former god of war, Aeric was promised to the Temple of Haelyn at an early age, where he would grow up to become a paladin of Anduiras' successor.

Aeric's mentor was an odd man, a paladin out of favor with the Temple for his acceping attitude towards elves and magic-users (both of which were considered evil by the Temple).  Aeric inherited all of his mentor's egalitarian views, so that by the time he was granted full paladin status, he chose not to join the ranks of the Temple army and instead struck off on his own to become a wandering knight-errant.  He was not well-liked by the elders of the Temple, and the feelings were mutual.

As a youth, Aeric had met and befriended Maeghan, a girl a few years older than him, who was determined to become a mercenary.  The two met many years later, when Aeric defeated her in a tournament.  He only learned it was his friend after she came to him to give him her horse and armor as per the terms of the tournament.  Instead, Maeghan became his companion in arms, and eventally, his lover as well.

Shortly before the aforementioned tournament, Aeric paid a visit to a noble household in his homeland.  While on a hunting trip in the local woods with a pair of noble brothers, Aeric became separated from his hosts and lost in the woods.  He was then attacked by a wild elf woman, whom he later helped fight off a monster.  Stricken by his uncharacteristic kindness, the elf, Rhiannon, decided to follow him on his adventures.  It was revealed much later that she was the granddaughter of Rhobhe Manslayer, the entity responsible for the anti-human terrorists known as the Ghaele Sidhe.  It was also revealed that she was in love with Aeric, and that he unknowingly returned those feelings.

Aeric was not terribly good at being a paladin.  He was a staunch enemy of corruption and evil, but he was also hot-tempered (a side-effect of his Divine Wrath bloodline ability), and outspoken to the point of rudeness, and clashed constantly with the Temple of Haelyn.  Because of all of this, he lost his paladin status before too long.  Unfortunately, other things were happening at the time, and so his atonement would have to wait.

The Gorgon, a creature of terrible darkness, was waging war on the nearby nation of Ghoere as the first step in a campaign of conquest.  When Aeric's older brother fell in battle against the Gorgon's troops, Aeric became the heir to his father's lands.  At the suggestion of his mentor, Aeric married the young and newly-crowned Baroness of Roesone, thus consolidating her rule with the promise of an heir.  It was purely a political union, but it still broke the heart of Maeghan, who remained in service to Aeric regardless.

Aeric used his new position as Lord Protector of Roesone to create a multi-kingdom alliance, including the normally-reclusive elves to the north, to fight the Gorgon.  During a vital battle to retake the capital city of Ghoere, Maeghan was slain in combat.  Aeric was devastated, having always felt guilty for betraying her, even though he knew he was serving the greater good by doing so.  That night, with tears in his eyes, he prayed for forgiveness in the ruins of a Temple of Haelyn.  An elderly priest found him there, and the two had a brief conversation about what it meant to be a paladin and serve Haelyn.  In the end, the priest gave Aeric a sword and disappeared, for he was the ghost of the priest whose temple Aeric was praying in.  The sword he was given turned out to be the legendary lost Sword of Roele (a unique Holy Avenger).  Aeric's paladin status was restored to him.

As Aeric lay in his tent, awaiting the climactic battle with the Gorgon's army the following day, Rhiannon came to him.  Without a word, the two of them consummated their long-denied love for one another that night.  She was gone in the morning, and Aeric never saw her again.

The battle that day was an epic one.  Aeric, armed with the Sword of Roele, rode out in front of his army to challenge the Gorgon, who was mounted on a red dragon of colossal size.  The clouds parted and a single ray of light shone down upon Aeric.  Lowering his lance, Aeric spurred his steed into a charge, killing the dragon with a single hit.  Aeric did grievous damage to the Gorgon as well, but he was ultimately killed by it.  However, the army that Aeric had created drove the Gorgon and its horde back to their own hellish land.  The threat to the lands of men was ended, at least for the time being.

The final scene of the campaign found Aeric in Haelyn's Hall in the afterlife.  He was given a seat with his father, brother, and paladin mentor (whom Aeric had to kill to spare him an agonizing death via the Spider's poison).  Sitting across from him was Maeghan, who had a look on her face that said, "all was forgiven."  At the head of the table was Haelyn himself.

Killer Gaming Moment: Without a doubt, the final showdown with the Gorgon.  I don't remember it's actual stats, but I think it was something like a CR 20 creature.  This guy was the Sauron of the Birthright world.  It was riding a huge, ancient red dragon when the battle started.  I started the combat by charging the dragon on horseback with a lance.  I rolled a crit.  I did something like 53 points of damage and the dragon FAILED it's Fortitude save and dropped.  Aeric managed to get the Gorgon down to a quarter of its hit points before being killed.  The most killer part about all this was that Aeric was only SIXTH LEVEL at the time.  There was one other PC in this campaign (a half-elf sorcerer) who was busy leading his own troops and kicking much @$$ of his own.

Physical Description *[Edited to add more content]*:
Aeric was a strapping young man of eighteen summers.  Tousled, jet-black hair fell nearly to his collar, a single forelock continually straggling in front of his brow.  He kept his slightly-narrow chin clean-shaven at all times.  He was a handsome young man, being fit of body but not musclebound.  He was a fairly serious person, and his blue eyes held an intensity which could be intimidating, but he was friendly and open-hearted to those who deserved such fare.  To his enemies, however, he was a merciless and terrifying opponent.

Aeric commonly wore a suit of masterwork full plate armor given to him by his teacher the day he became a paladin.  On his left arm hung a kite shield which, in the later days of his career, was emblazoned with a black stag's head on an orange field--the arms of the Barony of Roesone.  His weapon of choice was the bastard sword, and his greatest honor was to wield the Sword of Roele, a Holy Avenger bastard sword, in the final battle of his life.  Around his neck hung the holy symbol of Haelyn: a white sword, point up, against a yellow sun.

Aeric's bonded mount was a coal-black warhorse named Brimstone, a name which suited both its color and its fiery temper.  He would allow no one to even touch him except for Aeric, and had even gone so far as to kill those who tried.  There is an obvious light of intelligence in Brimstone's eyes, but he has never seen fit to share his opinion with his master, even when the ability to presented itself (in the form of empathy or Speak With Animal spells).  Brimstone's fierce demeanor and unshakable bravery was a perfect match to his owner's.


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## lior_shapira (Dec 28, 2004)

Nom-Kal-Tash (Kalashtar Psion[shaper] 5 - Eberron Character)

_The Beggining_

He lay on the cold stone floor of the library curled up in a fetal position, dropping the tomes I rushed to him and rolled him unto his back. Vacant eyes stared back at me, hollow empty black orbs. As a shout started to form in my throat, icy tendrils of a thought not my own clasped at my mind and I felt consciousness slipping away...

I mostly remember Korrandar, it's high peaks forever hidden by clouds, I remember stories about the storm guardians, the dragons who dwell in the mountains and protect us from The Inspired. But that I fear is all. I have no memory of my father or mother, who have been dead all these years, I have no recollection of Malieki stronghold where I was born and lived. I have no recollection of that night of fire, fifty years ago when Tai-Khad, my Khiri-Meth(mentor), took my away with him.
My first memory of my new life is the waves crashing on our ship as we sailed toward Khorvaire, the salty taste of the air and the cries of sea gulls as we neared land. I must have been seven years old as we landed in the port town of Ader in Q'Bara and yet all that came before is darkness.

From the little the Khiri-Meth told me I deduced that it was soldiers of The Thousand Eyes who stormed us that night, crawling like the maggots they are through sewage tunnels and ancient caverns until reaching the innards of the fortress. My parents perished that night and Tai-Khad took it on himself to raise me as his own.
Tired of our jailed existence he decided to brave a journay to a new land, a land torn in a vicious war, where a man of any race can make a name for himself and perhaps make a difference in the grand sense of schemes.
It was not an easy life, growing amongst alien races, fearing the Inspired always, working to hone the skills that would someday, hopefully, allow me to help my people. We settled down in Sharn, City of Towers, my master taking work as a researcher at the university, and me, his apprentice at all things.

"The Dreaming Dark" I thought as the world paled in my eyes, finally catching up to us...
I know not whether it was luck or the Path of Light guiding me, but I managed to call upon a force to fight for me. As my would be assasin and my champion battled, I fled. I will not hide from the truth, I ran until I could run no more, leaving Tai-Khad for dead, protecting only my own miserable existence.

When I returned the next day there was no trace of the attacker, my master has been rushed to the hospital, only to remain in a comatose state. He does not recognize me, I cannot reach him. I've tried to touch his thought, whisper in his mind, to no avail.
A few thrown books and a spilled ink bottle are all that were left in the library and the university funded investigators found nothing. I'm not sure they even believe me it was the work of the Inspired. But I know and that is enough.

Too long have I been in this self made prison of books and scrolls, replacing the mountain fortresses of Adar with this fortress of knowledge. I will go into this world, for good or for bad, will all my shortcomings and fears. Perhaps a cure can be found for my master, perhaps I will be able to fight the Dreaming Dark, perhaps I will restore my honor... that is what I am going to find out.

_Of Me And Mine_

A year has passed, much has changed and yet much remains the same. I am not now the recluse that I was before, I have traveled the land with my new found friends back and forth. I have ridden an astral construct on the cliff roads of Dharguul, bearing down on a black menace, a rogue agent of Breland's own. I have explored ancient caverns and settlements, I have braved the mournlands and returned to tell of it. And yet much still eludes me, my courage abandons me at the most unfortunate times, when I run and leave my friends to fight for me. My hands shake and tremble as I try to sear the enemy with a bolt of fiery energy drawn from the recesses of my mind.
Through all of this the image of my mentor has not left me, lying on a hospital bed, eyes unblinking staring at the ceiling, his mind sealed to mine as it has never been. I know the Dreaming Dark still haunt this land, plotting their webs of intrigue against this decent war-torn continent which I've adopted as my own. I hope to grow beyond myself, to be what I am not, to find within me the energy to stand up to them.

_A Shining Moment_

A wiry lithe young man on a horse, his long brown hair flowing behind him. Loose fitting brown and white robes flap in the wind. One hand clutches the black horse's reins, knuckles white from effort, the other hand holding a simple wooden staff. On his sides ride his companions, a towering half-orc armed to the teeth, a shifty eyed shifter, hair bristling, twin swords on his back, and a bald headed human, pupils wide, clutching his holy symbol of Dhal-Kar as he hangs on with his fingernails.

Ahead of them in the distance looms their target, the black carriage of Lucan, formerly one of Breland's top agents who's turned rogue and has stolen from the treasury of the king. The carriage is drawn by four black horses and driven by Lucan's sister, a fiery haired shrew. As they approach she ties the reins and jumps on the carriage of the roof. The horses lather at the mouth, running on their own on the treacherous road high on the cliffs.

Only moments away from reaching the carriage the woman weaves an enchantment and a ball of fire rolls toward them, the explosion is so fierce the world turns white for a moment. As it dissipates only Nom-Kal-Tash is still astride his horse, his companion's horses received the full force of the blast and were killed on spot. Seeing his companions on the ground he concentrates and conjures an astral construct large enough for G'orlack to ride upon. He continues advancing upon the carriage, beads of sweat on his brow, his heart beating like a madman. X'avier the shifter manages to cast an entanglement spell beneath the carriage, causing one of the black horses to tumble and break one of the axles. Nom approaches alone, the carriage careening out of control, it is his opportunity to show what he is made of, his friends won't get there on time, its only him and the red haired wizard...


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## Tetujin (Dec 28, 2004)

*Perry and Mipin*

Just a quick note: This was essentially one character as I played both at the same time (using a paper hat to show who I was speaking for), and one was techically the other's cohort. Also, don't directly blame me for the name, it just so happen that I was at a loss for names and I so used a halfling name generator, the last two enties were Perry and Mipin.  I played this characters in Demiurge's quasi-greyhawk campaign, hense the use of his previously mentioned character as an NPC.  Also, the name "Miracle and the Sleeper" came from a thread I had a while back about this character concept and someone had suggested it since it was a term used this case in twins where one was an over-acheaver and one was always staying back out of the spotlight.

     Perry and Mipin were born to an ordinary set of halfling parents, in an ordinary halfing home. The only thing somewhat unsual was the fact that they were twins.  But what was just another day for their halfling village was ever more boring for the twins, always the trouble makers they did not have very much respect in their village and after a long fight with some family members they decided to sneak away in the middle of the night.  They wandered for many days until they noticed a traveling circus.  After the twins pointed out thier novelty in both apperence and agility they were put to work. 
     Coming from their near-opposite personalities, at least while performing, the twins adopted the stage name "The Miracle and the Sleeper".  Perry was always the short-sighted and up-beat and Mipin the sarcastic, cold, and exact.  The twins' preformances became famous thoughout the continent, they gained much wealth and knoweldge constantly on the road, but just as in thier humble halfling village, they still wanted more.
     They began with petty theft, using the talents they had practiced tha many years on the road, working for shady contacts from town to town.  Before they realized it they were practicing with their throwing axes more outside of the circus tent then in.
On the run from a boched job assassinating a duke, they took refuge in the Svirfneblin underground city of Dwarrowdelf.
     It was there that they looked for more morally upstanding tasks to preformed. While preforming a small acrobatics show outside a tavern they overheard a Gnoll recruiting advenurers to go with him to slay the gnome exiled necromancer Baron Von Franken, this wasn't so noble, so they did not agree to go with him until they heard about the very large reward.
     On the way to the Gnome's Mannor in the "Sea of Graves", they found out the Gnoll, whose name was Garakesh, was the only survivor of the previous expedition on this very mission. Fortunatly this time the Gnoll had learned of a secret way into the basement of the necromancer, unforuntatly the basement also contained a gate to Pandemonium. They did enjoyed the acrobatic prospects of the strange gravity. They did not, however, enjoy the strange creatures that came from it and caused the Miracle to go insane, poor Mipin had to confine her to a metal locker until they were able to restore her.  This made them both very neavous of what they were getting themselves into, as they had never enountered anything like this in thier previous missions, but they pressed on.  From there they headed upstairs to face the Baron's greatest and final creation, Revenge.  Revenge was a hulking humanoid mass, somewhere between life and undeath, and a sole desire to crush everything in it's path.  The Twins circled the beast, getting shots with handaxes when the opportunity presented itself, in a moment of bravery or stupidity hacked at the beast until it fell. And so he was defeated, and on to the Baron, who they found had died in his sleep.  But, they were in no mood for any more combat, and their deed was done.
     When returning to the city they were approched by a group of extraplanar constructs, "The Keepers", they called themselves, they brought the group to their temple of sorts, through the hallways semetric on 11 dimentions, into an office. There sat a deformed creature who looked like he could have been a half-elf once, who introduced himself as "Klaatu", had a task of great importance. The dark gods of the dreamworld were blending with this plane, and it would be completely taken over if a number of rituals over the entire plane were not interupted.  The band was sent to one such temple much deeper underground.
     While exploring the depths of the cave, they came across a large underground lake, and as we were unable to cross with our armor and gear it became a problem, then came a Kuo-Toa navigating a small boat accross the lake. "I take gold, but prefer a story of adventure" he said, and so the Twins got in and were headed to the other side (there was not enough room for everyone).  The twins soon noticed that there was something wrong with this Kuo-toa...much more flabby then usual, and very mentally unstable...one thing lead to another and he suddenly begins to change...growing 6 more arms.  After his transformation into a Were-Octopus was complete he jumped out of the boat, flipping it the process, leaving 2 halflings, one of which could not swim and one who carried very heavy gear.  They futiley spashed about, Mipin was grabed and dragged deep into the lake, Perry swam down after the creature, hacking at the flailing tenticles trying to free her dear brother, but soon she heard a scream, a snap, and watched as her brother's lifeless body float to the surface and the Were-Octopus jet away.  She swam back up, was able to turn over the boat and get her brother's body inside, and paddle back to where the party was waiting.
After telling her story to the party there was much sorrow, except for one who chimed in with "What do you call it when two halflings fight a were-octopus and 1 accually survives? A Miracle!". She repsponded only with sighs. So Miracle, gave her dear brother a proper burrial, left a carving in the wall depicing them playing leapfrog, and a message that said "Here lies 'The Sleeper' ".  The party slept there that night, watching for the creature to return, only to awake to find that Perry lay in a pool of her own blood, with the weaking scratching "The Miracle &" above the one she left the night before.....

Apperance:  The Miracle and the Sleeper wear purple and green elaborate acrobatics outfits, one the inverse of the other (Sleeper's being more purple).   They fight with a hand axe in one hand and a short sword in the other.Miracle wore a brimmed hat, while Sleeper had a black hood.  Miracle's eys are always wide and eyebrows at alert while Sleeper's eyes were  as though he is trying to focus on the sun.  Miracle is normally the one to introduce them, with something like "Hi Everyone! My name is 'The Miracle' ", then she would look over to the sleeper until he said "...and she insists on calling me 'The Sleeper', pleased to meet you.", and at a given time they would be playing leapfrog or pattycake.

"Action Shot": The Twins battling Revenge, whose apperence in my mind was somewhat like  a cross between the Hulk (the new movie one) and a flesh golem.  Espectially the use of the "Giant Bane" feat, which allowed Miracle to climb up his back, axe in hand, after summersaulting under the creatures legs.
The brief battle with a Kuo-Toa were-octopus might also look exciting, perhapes just when the boat was flipped over and they were heading into the water.

Mechanical stuff: They were Fighter 2/Rouge 8 and Fighter 2/Rouge 6, they each took swarm fighting, two weapon fighting, deadly precsion, weapon finesse and giant bane. The hand axes were +1 Wounding, the short swords were +1, the armor was +2 Mirthal Chain Shirt. They commonly employed tanglefoot bags and marbles. Miracle had ranks in Balance, Bluff, Climb, Disguise, Escape Artist, Jump, Listen, Preform: Acrobatics, Slieght of Hand, Swim and Tumble. The Sleep had ranks in Use Rope, Open Lock, UMD, Search, Disable Device, Preform: Acrobatics, Appraise, and Tumble.  Miracle was CG, the Sleeper was TN


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## Zappo (Dec 28, 2004)

Can you submit more than one character?


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## reveal (Dec 28, 2004)

Zappo said:
			
		

> Can you submit more than one character?




I asked that before and I hope it's answered soon. I have 3 favorite characters.


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## WanderingMonster (Dec 28, 2004)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Wayne likes to draw characters in *motion.* Tell me something cool that your character does or did and Wayne just might capture it in pencil. But be descriptive! Every detail that you want to be considered needs to be listed.* Enter as many characters as you like.*



 Emphasis mine.  Good luck to everyone!


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## reveal (Dec 28, 2004)

Kristobar Chelton (Forgotten Realms)
Cleric 5/Paladin 3 of Torm

Kristobar Chelton grew up in a loving home in Neverwinter.  His father was a cleric of Torm, as his father was before him and his father before him.  All served Torm well and just.  When Kristobar was a youth, his father gave him a small silver key. “This represents your future and with it you can control your own path”, his father said “There are many uses for keys and they will become apparent as you grow older”. 

Kris dreamed of being a Paladin in the service of Torm, carrying justice throughout the land.  “Only those of noble birth may follow the way of the Paladin,” said Kris’ mother, but his father would always say “To every problem there is a key and each man must find his own key and unlock his own fate”.

So Kris toiled and became a cleric of Torm, as his father was before him and his father before him.  Content to his duties, the dream soon became tucked away at the back of his mind, never forgotten but deemed too preposterous to realize.

But soon Kris found himself in a field; naked as the day he was born.  And before him was a vast ocean of green grass, ebbing to and fro with the wind.  And the voice spoke.  And he knew it was Torm.

The voice told him that while humans spoke of nobility, only He would choose his riders.  The voice did not care of a man’s status of birth only that he was pure of heart and possessed a soul wrought of justice.  They all had to prove themselves to Him and carry his message faithfully.  Do this, the voice told him, and he would be allowed to enter into Paladinhood.  

But until then, Kris was to travel far and wide, carrying out His message and defending the just and pure.  When Kris was ready, He would know and He would show Kris the way.

And after he awoke the next day, Kris told his father of the dream and his father wept with joy.  As the family gathered his belongings, he vowed to come back when he was a Paladin.  And he rode away with the hopeful eyes of his parents upon him…

------

Kristobar spent a lot of time as a cleric in the service of Torm. Eventually, he came upon a large church. During his stay at the church, He contacted Kristobar and told him his time had come. After passing a grueling test, one in which he used his father's key to "open the door" to Him, he was welcomed into the service of Torm as His paladin.

Kristobar's defining moment came with his, almost self-sacrifice in the face of a dragon. With his comrades wounded or scared, or both, he took it upon himself to get the dragon to focus his rage on him. He waded into the foes reach, with no fear in his heart. His friends, seeing this bravery, pulled themselves up and waded in too, Kristobar's courage pressing them onward. Eventually, the dragon fell with a final blow from Torm, whom Kristobar always felt guided his sword.

This is the best character I have ever played. I truly felt he progressed as a character into something more than a simple cleric. He had a goal in mind, paladin, and he worked towards it, showing Torm's great strength and wise judgement all along the way. When Torm finally decided to welcome Kristobar into his fold, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and pride, just as Kristobar, himself, did.

Description:
28 years old
6'2"
216 lbs.
Shoulder length Brown hair
Deep Hazel eyes
Wears Full Plate with pride (keeps it polished but is practical and knows it will get dirty and doesn't obsess about it)
Large Steel Shield with symbol of Torm on the front (magically enhanced +1)
Favorite weapon: Flamesinger (Flaming Longsword +1)
Wears the Holy Symbol of Torm proudly around his neck
Has no mount (Unfortunately, the campaign ended before he could get one)


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## Kae'Yoss (Dec 28, 2004)

The fact that he wrote "favourite character(s)" should answer the question of multiple entries.


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## reveal (Dec 28, 2004)

KaeYoss said:
			
		

> The fact that he wrote "favourite character(s)" should answer the question of multiple entries.




Reading never was my forte.


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## Kae'Yoss (Dec 28, 2004)

Antaros Dlardrageth a.k.a. Antar Nimesin (Forgotten Realms)

Okay, I'll start with the charater from previous competition, which didn't make it last time.

To get the rules-material out of the way: Antaros Dlardrageth is a fey'ri (tiefling descended from a gold elf and a succubus) Rogue/Assassin, with a strong focus on "covert ops" - he's a great spy, infoprmation gatherer, and assassin - occupations where it helps that you can change your appearance to just about anything humanoid (the butler might not be the killer, but the guy posing as the butler sure is). If I'd play him today, I'd probably go for chameleon (from Races of Destiny). AL CE, Str 12, Dex 16, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 12 Cha 18 (without items).


Antar Nimesin is a charismatic and graceful sun elf with a keen intellect. Always a charming smile on the lips, he works as adviser for this noble cormyrean or that sembian merchant, offering surprisingly insightful insights into their rivals' current and near-future endeavours, and providing fine details for his employers' plans. He usually wears a fine mithral shirt that speaks of nobility and carries an elegent rapier at his side. 
And... he's only a facade! In truth, Antaros Dlardrageth is a fey'ri, the results of an unholy coupling of sun elves and demons. Those few unfortunates who saw his true face (none of which ever had the opportunity to tell anyone about it, or about anything else) will witness an unsettling transformation: the bronce skin of the charming gold elf turns deep red, the golden eyes become a fiery crimson, and he sprouts bat-like wings and a long tail with a pointed tip. His formerly pleasant and musical voice acquires a dark undertone, and his friendly smile turns into a sadistic grin that promises death - eventually. His true purpose in the realms of Cormyr and Sembia is to gather information about present-day Faerûn in preparation to the great assault the Daemonfey plan to launch, and the recent problems between Sembia and their wood elf neighbours could be exploited, and Cormyr has also ties to the elves.
Antaros is a ruthles, merciless killer who stops at nothing to achieve his goals. He sees the rest of Faerûn merely as tools to gather information, increase his power, and provide fun - especially wood and moon elves, who are responsible for his house's imprisonment ages ago. He's a master of disguises, no small thanks to the ability to change shapes, a great stalker, good at the "usual thief stuff" like open locks and sleight of hands, and a master in all negotiations - he either lies to people, intimidates them into doing what he wants, or just convinces them of his opinion (which, again, is helped by his heritage, as he is able to cast suggestion once per day as a spell-like ability).

As with the first time I entered Antar(os), my favourite pose for him would be in his diguise as gold elf, clad in fine garments and his chain shirt, a buckler on is one arm, brandishing his rapier in a typical swashbuckler-like pose, a rakish smile on his lips. In the background of the picture, his true form in portrait: only the head (with the smile which is at the same time somehow the same as with the sun elf form and a sadistic grin) and part of the shoulders and wings. (Or something like that)

One fond memory of the character was his first use of the assassin's death strike ability (which promptly worked): The party explored some underground structure, and stumbled upon a couple of bound guardians - a couple of devils and a celestial (none of which were thrilled at their assignment, but where bound by will of the spellcaster who brought them here in the first place). They were behind a closed door (Antaros found them with his detect thoughts power) he hid, and as the rest of the party drew them out, he reverted to his true form, watched the eladrin from the shadows, and finally plunged his rapier into the the celestial's heart. The last word the angelic creature ever heard was "surprise".

Another funny story, which I just have to tell whenever I speak of that campaign, isn't exactly something you'd tell your children to impress them: The party (consisting of a moon elven death cleric, a wood elven psychic warrior, Antaros, and an insane gnomish necromancer/alienist) had to find a ship to sail somewhere (not important). The problem: as the nation was engaged in a naval war, there were few ships in the ports, and those were being repaired or prepairing to sail off into another sea battle. 
They eventually found one ship, but the problem was that it was a halfling ship. Not only are halfling ships less-than-comfortable for human-sized persons, the mad gnome had a weird form of insanity: hinophobia - the fear of halflings. Nonetheless, they soon hade a plan: Antaros - in the form of a halfling - is to enter the halfling village and convince the halflings to take him on a small sailing trip. When they're far enough off shore so the rest of the halflings cannot interfere any more, the others use dimension door to appear on the ship - taking it hostage. The gnome is to be put in a sack so he doesn't see the halflings (and be told that the sailors of that ship have a fear of gnomes - a certain fey'ri in the party was convincing enough to sell sandboxes to bedines, and the gnome was quite gullible despite his intellect). Later, he's told to stay in his chamber for exactly the same reasons.
It really worked out. For a day or two. Then, the gnome remembered that he can turn invisible and so go take a look without any of the sailors seeing him and thus panic. He entered the main deck, saw halflings, and was promptly paralyzed by his fear. After a while, the invisibility spell wore off, and at the halfings alarmed cries he snapped out of his fit and right into the next: now he just wanted to destroy the object of his fear. This was a cause for great alarm for his fellow party members for they knew the spell he usually employed to destroy things: reality mealstorm, a spell that pulls everything in the immediate vicinity into a random plane. Antaros planned to race to the gnome and enter a grapple to stop him from spellcasting, while the psychic warrior tried to blow his mind with a mind blast. 
But the mind blast only succeeded in stunning the fey'ri, and the gnome resisted both it and the clerics spell, and so the reality mealstorm is created.
Somehow, both the gnome and the daemonfey resist its pull, but all the halflings, the other two party members - and the ship! - are drawn into a random plane, which was Acheron, the Infernal Battlefield
Tymora must have not only smiled, but rolled with laughter at them, for none survived: the gnome somehow succeeded in holding Antaros over water until he came to and turned into a sea elf, and the other two party members succeeded in surviving long enough in the middle of the Blood War for the cleric to prepare plane shift. The halflings, of course, were just like leaves in a fire storm in the raging war...
It took quite a while (and persuasion) to get the two plane-travellers to forgive the gnome and let him live....


(Addition from here)
Though it is not relevant, and it won't really have any impact on the contest, but Antaros will be back. I'll be playing him in another game, with another DM. The funny part: the DM of the old game is a player here. 
Of course, I won't tell the other players. The old cover identity of Antar Nimesin will be dropped, and a new one will take its place. Sotaran (an anagram of Antaros) Di'Fey (stands for D-Fey, Daemonfey). It will be a sun elf again, though this time fighting with two weapons (Rapier and Dagger).


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## Kai Lord (Dec 28, 2004)

Just a quick reminder to all who have entered or are planning to enter;

*Describe what your character looks like.*

A couple of the entries already submitted have great backgrounds or gaming moments but I haven't a clue as to what kind of hair, clothes, physique, or equipment the characters have.   Remember, be as descriptive as possible.  The background and gaming moments will probably be what sets the winners over the edge, but to even get that far we have to know what the character looks like in the first place.

Some great entries so far, keep 'em coming and good luck to all!


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## Piratecat (Dec 28, 2004)

This is a wonderful contest. Thank you, Kai Lord!


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## Son_of_Thunder (Dec 28, 2004)

*Huzzah!!! Krynn!!!*

Ah Dragonlance. I pretty much lived in Krynn from the late eighties throughout the nineties. I rarely play 3.x but I will only play Dragonlance with 1e.

The Dragonlance hardback opened my gaming up considerably. Hill Dwarf Rangers, Kender Barbarians (I always wanted to summon a kender barbarian horde when I was high enough level but alas, never happened), Silvaneti Elf Paladins, ah the memories.

I'll start with my Silvanesti Elven Wizard of High Sorcery, Wizard of the White Robes named Lamothius, aka Lame-O by irreverent sonsof***** fellow players.

Lamothius was of typical build for his race, 5' tall, silver blond hair (worn long), hazel eyes, and silvery white silk robes. He had the fair skin of the Silvanesti and his build was lean but above average strength (no bookworm was he). He had the arrogance of the Silvanesti but tempered with the fact that the Silvanesti homeland got is arse whooped by dark forces and Southern Ergoth just wasn't home. So with fellow adventurers they set out to do good deeds.

Most memorable adventure with him was a trip to Ice Wall around 9th level or so. Lamothius was the proud owner of a Staff of Power (black staff tipped with a symbol of the Night of the Eye). The party ran into a little trouble known as a Rhemoraz. I don't quit remember everything but I do remember the conclusion. The party was down so I cast a fly to give me some room. Now, I seem to remember that Rhemoraz had a pretty good magic resistance in 1e so my attack spells were doing jack.

Tha's when I said Ferkit and did the 'ol Retributive Strike. Lamothius was doing it selflessly so the DM had Paladine send me back with ONE hit point. We picked up the pieces and got on with adventuring.

Ah the memories,

More later.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Dec 28, 2004)

*Next up Tyvek Ascalhorn*

Tyvek Ascalhorn, Rider of Khur, human male Barbarian.

In the module anthology Mists of Krynn there is a good short adventure dealing with the nomads of Khur. Ah, the adventures it spawned.

Tyvek is a member of the Wey-lu tribe. I took inspiration from many sources so he's pretty archtypical. Deadly on his horse with light lance, scimitar, and composite short bow.

He stood 5'9", even with the bowed legs of a horseman. I imagined him with a lean, compact brutally strong frame. His skin tone was bronze with black hair (worn short). Eyes, blue. He wore studded leather armor and mainly fought with his scimitar and round wooden shield. Expert horseman. Although I did love charging with my lance.

Most memorable moment with Tyvek was in Palanthas during Kitiara's siege of the city. She was attacking with the Floating Citadel to aid Raistlin when he came back from the Abyss at the end of Legends.

I had trained Solamnic cavalry so I was well known and liked among the Knights. I was at a different gate than the one Soth came through. I was leading a unit of Knights whose commanding officer had been killed early in the fight. We were facing a squad of Sivaks lead by an Aurak draconian. Those Sivaks are brutal mean and we were taking heavy casualties, especially with the Aurak backing them up with magic.

Now, my Barbarian hated magic (he'd gotten less jittery around the party mages, still didn't like it, but less jittery) so I charged the Aurak. In one of those rolls that was either cheating or sheer luck I dropped a 20. Aurak went to negative and started his death throe crap. When all was said and done, I was in the single digits and my beloved horse was dead. DEAD ...muttering..... those dirty rotten bast****....

Son of Thunder


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## Son_of_Thunder (Dec 28, 2004)

*Irda*

Now, Irda are hands down my favorite race from Dragonlance. No one in my group played them but me. There was just something really cool to my inner adolescent that I loved about 'em. Their looks, definitely, their magic, absolutely.

Anyway, I had two characters one time. Both Irda. I was the only player at the time. They belonged to an organization strictly Irda based called the Order of Lost Souls. It was formed after the War of the Lance to send agents into Ansalon and Taladas to find captured Irda.

Zy'Quorlan was a Wizard of the White Robes and Kelowan was a Cavalier. In human form they were non-descript. In their true characters they were otherworldly. They both had midnight blue skin, silver hair and silver eyes. Zy'Quorlan was 6' and Kelowan 6'3". Zy'Quorlan had a lean frame hidden by his plain white robes. Zy'Quorlan wielded a simple +3 Quarterstaff. Kelowan retained some of the ogre ancestry bulk and was quite strong. He liked to wear field plate armor and use a longsword and shield. Zy'Quorlan had a unique tattoo on his forehead. It was in silver and was the shape of the Night of the Eye, about 2" in diameter. When in human form the tatoo was definitely muted.

Their most memorable experience was against a dragonriding Cleric of Takhisis. Zy'Quorlan and Kelowan were around 14th level at the time and we had our own dragonmounts. Zy'Quorlan's was a silver and Kelowan's was a bronze. To be fair it was my two to her one except she had some undead support in the form of wraiths and shadows. No 20's or 1's were dropped, never were we really close to dying (although her red dragon gave us alot of grief), it was just one grand fight. And no, we didn't have Dragonlances. I can still imagine the scene in my head, and I can see WAR doing it right.

P.S. They weren't brothers or anything, just both Irda.

Son of Thunder


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## Mokona (Dec 28, 2004)

*Sir Val of Delphis*

Valor (called Val for brevity) grew up as a street urchin after his father had died when Val was still a young boy.  Dwarves, like Val, aren't common in the human cities of Omegan but one dirty begging child looks like any other when unbathed and clothed in rags.  The authorities caught Val stealing from pedestrians.  To repay Val's victims the judge had this homeless dwarf sold to an elven slaver.

Upon cleaning up his slave and discovering a dwarf the elf slavemaster sent Val, who wasn't quite old enough to be a teenager, to work the mines.  Val spent 40 years working in the mines as a slave.  Resentment built up in Val for the crushing labor his taskmasters forced from him and the slavers liberally applied lashes to force Val to comply with their requirements.  After 30 years Val came to see his slavery as just punishment for his evil deeds as a youth.

Throughout the land in which Val lived the deities were forgotten, despised, or not even believed in at all.  Val, however, saw the justice in his slavery-induced payment for past sins as a true sign that there was a good and lawful deity after all.  With that internal realization in mind Val became a model slave working as hard as possible without complaint or resistance.  A section of the mine collapsed on Val's slavelords, revealing an abandoned dwarf stronghold.  Val believed that his slavery had served its purpose of bringing him to a realization of a higher spiritual purpose.  Visions led him to a secret monastery of priests.  There he learned about religion and his deity.

Val entered the world a changed dwarf; he was the sole champion, a paladin, of an abandoned faith in the divine.

Sir Val fought an evil usurper and vile magics to restore the king of Delphis.  While earning a knighthood Val acquired his signature items.  Val wears scale male armor emblazoned (as if etched in the metal) with a rose and stem (a symbol of hid deity).  The armor is a relic created when Val called upon the divine glory of Tritus (his deity) within a defiled holy site to free that site from those who had corrupted it.  Val fights with a large steel shield featuring the image of a green dragon rampant and a one-handed longsword glowing with divine might.  Val has very weathered skin from his hard time working the mines and scars on his back/chest/arms from being lashed by slaver whips.  Dwarves from Val's line wear their hair (Val's is black with speckles of gray) short and neatly trimmed (including their very short, neatly trimmed beards).

The biggest event in Val's life:  

Valor finished a quest against evil elves who had stolen the magic in the world that Val's deity had created.  After Val's companions freed the trapped energy from the elven orrery that acted as a magic singularity Val channeled all magic in the world back to his deity (the magic's divine source).  The resulting removal of all magic from the world sunk the continent where the orrery was; it was a great catastrophe akin to the story of Atlantis.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Dec 28, 2004)

*I present to you....*

Around 6th level an unmemorable character of mine took a dirt nap. I decided to roll up my first non-human paladin.

Talanthas Blackoak was a male Silvanesti Elven Paladin of Paladine (I know, rolls off the tongue doesn't it...shya!). Talanthas wasn't born in the right social class in Silvanesti Society. My rat bastard Dm caused Talanthas much grief over my role-playing experience with that. But Paladine had chosen him and taught Talanthas that all good peoples needed protecting, not just elves.

Talanthas was 5'4", light brown hair and green eyes. He had the fine bone structure of the elves but with sun browned skin instead of the usual pale. He had a well defined muscular frame and wore elven chain mail. Despite the rules from 1e Unearthed Arcana I ran him as using a longbow. Elf, longbow, seems good. I also used a two-handed sword as a melee weapon.

My most memorable moment with Talanthas was in the adventure from Mists of Krynn that involved reclaming the Silvanesti homeland. There was one encounter fighting the souls of Silvanesti who had been corrupted and having another group of Silvanesti adventurers interfere. There was some tense role-playing between the leader of the other party, a highly snobbish Silvanesti Ranger and myself. Things were smoothed out but the DM had a female Silvanesti Wizard of the White Robes take a liking to my character, which cheesed off the snobbish Ranger even more, as she was betrothed to him or something.

He ended up challenging me to a dual after the current pleasantries were solved but he took a dirt nap while still in Silvanesti, sacrificed himself really, noble of him.

Son of Thunder


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## jerichothebard (Dec 28, 2004)

*Calai RedLeaf*

Calai RedLeaf (Caliban) is the last son of a doppelganger family, orphaned when his parents were killed in a fire... that was unintentionally set by him.  Nearly killed in the blaze, he was saved when his father - already ablaze himself - threw him from a window to the ground below.  Nearly dead from the burns and fall, he was saved and adopted by the clan of flame mages called to extinguish the blaze.  They realized he had set the blaze, not with a dropped candle, as all thought, but with the power of his mind.  In him, they recognized the potential for power... and for destruction.

Caliban grew up knowing nothing of his origin or race, believing himself to be an elf, as that was the last identity his family had assumed.  The terrible events of his youth created a mental wall, which prevented him from accessing his telepathic and morphic powers. He also developed an obsession with fire, and an intense dislike of water.

Rejected by the other elven children for his ugliness and lack of family, Caliban has always felt himself an outsider. A few years after leaving the Flamecraft Academy, drunk on cheap moonshine, he commisioned a tattoo that would mark him on the outside as he felt on the inside.  A dragon, talons digging into the flesh of his back, perched on his lower ribs, spreads its wings across his shoulders, as its serpentine neck coils around his to his face, where the head of the dragon shares an eye with its bearer.  Interestingly, the tattoo artist he paid to do the work was inept at best, but the tattoo is beautiful - a subconscious product of his latent doppelganger powers.

Typically, he wears no shirt, black leggings with many pockets, a belt with spell component pouches, and in cold weather, a robe the colors of flame.  He has no hair, and his eyes are coal black, with the light of flame reflected in them, even when it isn't apparent from where.  He is somewhat more muscular than typical of an elven mage, and his pale skin is often somewhat stained with soot.  He smells of smoke, and when sitting near a campfire, the smoke is usually drawn in his direction.

He carries the _WyrmStave_, a staff carved of a single piece of bloodwood, in the shape of a dragon, mouth open, with _continual flame_ jetting from the mouth.  He carries as well a Silver Sphere of _dimension door_, a baseball-sized orb that transports its thrower to the point of its landing (not terribly powerful, but really useful).

In addition to his skill with flames, he is also a master woodcarver and crafter of magic items.  The staff is his work, and has the ability to cast most of the usual flame-based spells.

Caliban is well on his way to completing the Elemental Savant prestige class, emphasis fire.


Notable Exploits: 
Caliban has recently been an (unwilling) visitor to the City of Pirate's Haven.  Used by several bands of pirates, and reachable only by the use of magical astrolabes, this city is located on an island in a bubble in the Elemental Plane of Water.

The city proper is the subject of an epic-level _Sanctuary_-type spell, which prevents both physical and magical violence to all within the walls.  Any who attempt to perform violence within the boundries of the spell are immediately paralyzed. (The city guards carry rings that bypass the spell, and _rods of doing lots of subdual damage_)

Caliban has begun to worry the guards quite a bit, as being in a city surrounded on all sides by water is beginning to get the best of him.  His temprement, never more than dour, has begun to turn downright nasty.  In several recent altercations, he has just about gotten a _fireball_ spell through to completion. In fact, the flaming bead has been fully formed at least once between his hands, and required a mage to dispell it before he could be revived.


Caliban has one rank of Swim, courtesy of an elder water elemental and a well-meaning but not-yet-forgiven companion.


Caliban recently discovered his true race, as he was slain by a high-level _chain lightning_, reverted to his natural state, and was resurrected as such.  The resulting emotional turmoil has broken the mental wall, and he is learning of his true heritage and the associated powers.  In the midst of an identity crisis, he turned to the elementals who have long been his solace.  Unable to understand his upset, they unintentionally offered great wisdom: as beings of essence, they never saw him as an elf, or as a man, or a doppelganger - they saw him as the distillation of his power and person, and this hasn't changed.


He is now debating about which path to follow: the path of the flame mage, leading to elemental perfection, or the path of his ancestors, leading to great psionic power.  He still prefers his elven form, and is uncomfortable assuming other roles - particularly female.


Thanks!

jtb


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## A'koss (Dec 28, 2004)

*Grenloke*

WAR is my current favorite D&D artist - I *must* get in on this. My first two are going to be the same characters I submitted during the last contest but I will be posting a third from a more recent campaign later on. So without futher ado...

*Grenloke*

"Trust me. I'm probably the nicest wraith-like, undead entity composed entirely of ash you're ever going to meet."
- Grenloke, while being rousted by some visiting paladins new to Greyhawk City...

N(G) formerly human Fighter/Rogue/etc.. 
Age: apparant 39, actual 116 (52 of which spent dwelling in a limbo-like state on the Plane of Ash)
Height: originally 5' 11", now 6'-ish.
Weight: originally 189 lbs, now... pretty light.

_Description:_ If you didn't know him, you'd probably be reaching for your holy symbol right about now... Most of the time, Grenloke likes to appear as human as possible - a ~6' well-toned man wearing dark, grey-blue breeches, soft boots with norse-like wrappings, an almost midnight blue shirt with simple gold embroidery and a pair of ornate blue and gold metallic bracers that cover most of his forearms that taper to a spike-like protrusion past the elbow. However the snazzy attire does little to disguise the fact that Grenloke is comprised entirely of a slightly warm-grey colored ash. He is able to alter his color slightly to give himself more _"definition"_ as he calls it, making his "hair" and his "eyes" darker and other features (like his teeth) lighter. His surface features seem smooth, but they are constantly swirling with numerous eddies playing along it's surface. There seems to be a constant low-to-the-ground cloud of ash that follows wherever he goes which makes dusting around the office a real pain. Grenloke's shoulder-length hair just seems to stream away from his head ending in whispy trials as he moves. He does nothing to disguise his nature, relying on his reputation and disarming charm to get him through "the little foibles of life". Barring that, he's still one of the foremost fighters of his age though he always aims to disarm and disable unless the attacker is clearly evil.

_Weapons:_ His little _"accident"_ on the Plane of Ash destroyed most of the items he owned at the time, but one item did survive... albeit somewhat altered. He normally carries it around as a simple ashen staff with a lot of surface irregularities which reveal a dim green misty glow. In battle, he can alter it's shape into any weapon desired, though he creates an ornate, oversized glaive-like weapon. It has the power to cleave through dimensional barriers creating temporary portals with virtually pinpoint accuracy in regards to the destination.

_Brief History:_ Grenloke is currently the proprietor of a transplanar travel service called... well, he never really gave it a name so people just ended up calling it _Grenloke's Transplanar Travel Service._ He and eclectic planar staff offer Safe(ish) Planar tours, Accurate Planar Portals, Search & Rescue services (pricey), Planar Travel Advice and Workshops, and so on. His office has a number of stable portals leading to places like Sigil, the Astral, the Plane of Fire and a deceptively random (and possibly intelligent) one which is locked and barred. The latter being the portal that dumped him into a divinely powered, magically abberrant region of the Plane of Ash for over 50 years and the cause of his uncurable _"condition"._

Though while on the surface, Grenloke treats his undeadish state as source of endless party tricks, deep down he is very concerned. There was an incident several years ago, while on a rescue mission to save a band of adventurers trapped in the Grey Waste, which ended with a pitched battle against a pack of arcanaloths. It was a desperate fight which ended when Grenloke instictively lunged at the Aracanaloth' leader after being disarmed by a powerful spell. Instinctively, he used a power he never consciously knew he possessed - _Life Draining_. It was like suddenly being alive again... even more than being alive, it was like being _a god_. However, seeing the horror on the dessicated arcanaloth's face and the unbridled joy of the experience... he knew there were no heroes that day, only monsters.

To this day Grenloke is haunted by the fear of losing control and becoming a horror worthy of the Abyss... and it is a fear he feels will one day be inevitable. However, he has taken steps to assure that if he turns, that he will be dealt with. He has secretly paid a huge sum to powerful assassin's society called The Garrote to put him down should he turn to evil and is unable to do so himself. Only one memeber in his employ is aware of the deal and Grenloke has given her detailed information on himself, how he thinks, and tactical advice to give to the Garrote should the time come.

_*The moment:*_ I'd love to see Grenloke during one of his _planar tours gone wrong_ rescuing a bunch a frightened sages from a Blood War horde. A _"flowing"_ Grenloke tearing through a group of powerful demons with his glaive and long ash-taloned hand all the while waves of ash dancing about the landscape would be very cool. Maybe one of his associates would be giving one of the overly inquisical sages a comical boot through the portal back home. 



Cheers!

A'koss.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Dec 28, 2004)

*Easy access*

Go Away Shoo Get Away From My Chickens by hiryuu 

Ignacio Vite by ltclnlbrain 

Lendri Brighthoopak by Salad Shooter 

Talinthas Shadeslayn by talinthas 

Klattu M. by demiurge1138 

Futhark & Malgrym Dwarven twins by Krieg 

Aeric Bannier Paladin of Haelyn and Lord Protector of Roesone by Aeric 

Nom-Kal-Tash (Kalashtar Psion[shaper] 5) by lior_shapira 

Perry and Mipin Halfling Twins by Tetujin 

Kristobar Chelton (Forgotten Realms) Cleric 5/Paladin 3 of Torm by reveal 

Antaros Dlardrageth a.k.a. Antar Nimesin (Forgotten Realms) by KaeYoss 

Lamothius Silvanesti elven Wizard by Son_of_Thunder 

Tyvek Ascalhorn Rider of Khur by Son_of_Thunder 

Zy'Quorlan and Kelowan Irda by Son_of_Thunder 

Sir Val of Delphis by Mokona 

Talanthas Blackoak Silvanesti Elven Paladin by Son_of_Thunder 

Calai RedLeaf by jerichothebard 

Grenloke by A'koss

Verions of the Ancient by KaeYoss 

Uhger (Arthur Teilmon) by spigadang 

Tasc A lean, hairless, yellow-skinned, cannibalistic elven merc... who sings? by am181d 

Althaine Catthier by Dacileva 

Lyzelle of Joramy by Eric Anondson 

Charlton Vader'ixmusala by Zebster 

Jadrek Falco by Arc 

Kerad Dyilf by DarkSoldier 

Jack Skellington by demiurge1138 

Bruno by Tetujin 

Miriella Nightbreeze Half-Elven Cleric of Paladine by Aeric 

AYDIA RIEVER FEMALE ELVEN WIZARD by Aeric 

Lyrael, half-elf bladesinger by Zappo 

Laurel Sylvan Oakenblade by carpedavid's fiancee

Mejin A'koss by A'koss 

Arel of Nareldyr by A'koss 

Kosh by Ghostwind 

Laroo Manisaun by Mighty Halfling 

Pulchra by Chrysalis 

Berandor Marikulis, Dragonslayer Paladin by Berandor 

Leif Vignirsson by LeifVignirsson

Talun Swiftbrook by Son of Thunder 

Tynian Lorcan by Son of Thunder

Signoré Derril Maddon by Felix 

Parys Dayl by Parys Dayl 

Milo Yurinov (AKA "Healinov" AKA "Dimitrious Healinov") by Estlor 

Moonhawk by Dragonhelm

Krellick Chergoba by Rawwedge 

Hazmi, the Mighty, a.k.a. Hazmi, the Dragon by Menexenus 

Taurian the Black (The Black Bull) by ivocaliban 

Quickleaf by Quickleaf 

Jaran Enverness by Eosin the Red

TOMI SUZUME, HENGEYOKAI (SPARROW) ROGUE/NINJA SPY by Ogre Mage 

Farzin Ad-ar'Sham Abu.....or, just Ar'Salan by Ar'Salan 

Cyriss - of the Fated by Oryan77 

Stormrunner by Stormrunner 

Efrim MacGregor by Krail Stromquism 

Gertie by Micah

Cash by valeren 

Wikanby by Whizbang Dustyboots 

Raloc by Raloc 

Ta'Vanka by MrFilthyIke 

Ve'sadriphe Mahkeyl by MrFilthyIke


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## A'koss (Dec 28, 2004)

Would someone be so kind as to point me to the thread of the last contest?

Thanks!


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## Kae'Yoss (Dec 28, 2004)

And another one from me:

Verions of the Ancient. (FR again)

Again, first the rules-stuff. Elan Kineticist (Psion) 13, Al N, Str 8, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 21, Wis 13, Cha 12 (without items). Major items: Headband of Intellect +6, Sage Psicrystal. 5 Knowledge Skills with +21 or more.

Although Verions appears as a human in his twenties, he's neither as human or as young as he seems: About 5000 years ago (shortly before the rise of Netheril), a group of Oghma-Worshipping arcanists, priests and psionicists created a cabel whose task it was to preserve - and collect - knowledge, and experiences. They intended to stay around for a long time, but weren't keen on turning themselves into undead, as most undead became quite mad over the time, which would defeat their purpose. Instead, they found, deep within the astral plane, instructions on a ritual that would strip the humanity from the target creature and turn it into a being of psionic power - the race known as elan. This race could use psionic energy to heal, protect and sustain itself, and their body would not age at all. To prevent the insanity brought by centuries of experience and knowledge, the ritual that turns someone into an Elan would strip the recipient of most of his knowledge - only a select choice of memories and abilites would remain with the character, the rest would be transferred to a device called the Nexus of Knowledge, which would serve as the cabal's library. This ritual could be repeated as often as one wishes, transferring the excess knowledge every time and giving the target a fresh start.

One of the cabal was verions, back then a loremaster of Oghma. over the centuries and millenia he walked many an adventurer's path - wizard, sorcerer, warmage, psion of just about every discipline, wilder, even soul knive, as well as some weirder careers. Every time he thougt he reached the zenith of his power, transcending the normal boundries of power, he'd return to the Nexus to surrender his experiences and memories and start another career. 

His current incarnation is that of a kineticist and knower of things. He appears as a human in his twenties, of moderate height and wight, with brown eyes, black hair and white skin. He wears robes that seem to have gone out of fashion aeons ago (which indeed they have). Besides psicraft, he is very learned in all things arcane, religious, psionic, and concerning the planes and history. Besides priding himself to know the answer to most questions about his chosen topics, he uses his knowledge to discern the strengths and weaknesses of his enemies and plan his strategy accordingly. He doesn't engage an enemy without a proper strategy, but he's quite capable or forming such a strategy within moments.
Besides verious mind-over-energy powers which are the bread and butter of a kineticist, he knows several powers to protect and heal himself, to tear down the supernatural defenses of his enemies, or to reduce his enemy to dust. He can also use his psionics to understand every language known and see things as they really are, he can use his mind to move matter in a rather abrupt fashion, and he can take control of not only the mind of the enemy, but even of his very body. His most powerful psionic trick is a brief glimpse into the future, which can be the difference between life and death - and has been in more than one occasion.
He can manifest his psionic powers in rapic succession, even two at once, and has no problem concentrating even in the thick of battle.

Verions doesn't care much about good and evil, or law and chaos, if you want, his sole concern is the preservation of knowledge (though he won't stand idle while innocents come to harm and he could prevent that). While more conventional heroes make enemies of those who enslave and slaugter people, Verions concerns himself with those who would destroy knowledge or keep the public in the dark. His most recent enemies were the Nilshai, a weird alien race of sorcerers who sought to eradicate the star elven race in their home plain of Sildeyuir - obliterating the mithral elves knowledge without hope of retrieval. 

In one spectacular duel he managed to take out several nilshai as he stripped one of his confidence (and ability to cast spells) while at the same time reducing another to a mere trace of fine dust, then he mentally dominated of the most powerful of the remainding ones, turning it against its peers, and finally he took over a powerful undead giant bodyguard - gaining manual control of its limbs rather than mind, fatally surprising its master who thought undead were beyond a psions power.


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## spigadang (Dec 28, 2004)

Uhger (Arthur Teilmon) from Kuntos (a home grown world)
Age 30			Alignment CG
Race Half Ogier	Class barbarian 9    Fighter 4   Rouge 3 
7 feet 2 inches		Key skills ranks    Painting 21 sculpting 23 
355 lbs

Arthur was a by-product of a very horrible time in His mama’s life. She was a younger Human mage, Shari, who was sent to be apart of a diplomatic mission to the elven kingdom.  There she fell in love with a younger elf artisan named, Ellestran. Who was from a minor house. So she looked forward to going to the elven kingdom very much. But one day while traveling Her caravan was attacked by a tribe of ogier. The female were taken and the males were killed. When the diplomats did not show up the elf got worried and sent out a group of rangers. They tracked down and killed most of the Ogiers but a few got away. When they arrived, Shari was very much change as a person. She was once a fun loving beauty, now she was very quiet and to her self. No one knew why until 4 months later. There she started to show the signs of being with a child. She had to tell Ellestran that the Ogiers     d her. He looked into her eyes and told her “ I still love you and will love our child.” The made her the happiest woman alive. They lived in the elven village for a few years but saw that it was hard on all 3 of them. It was hard on Shari to live among the elf that were all grace and beauty but they looked at her as it was something she did. For Ellestran it was hard for soon the people he lived among for hundreds of years were now colder and distant. For Arthur it was hard for he was always the blunt of all the jokes and pranks. So they moved out just outside of the village. There he learned to love nature and most importantly art. Soon he forgot all the tricks and mean things the young elves did to him. He was a happy child pure and good. All that changed when he was in his late teens. Why Arthur was out with his mother and the man he called father, they were on a boat just enjoying time with each other. A terrible storm came and destroyed the small boat. Arthur woke up on the beach in his mother’s arms. She had tried to protect him from the storm. His father was a few feet from him. They were both     . He knew not where to go. He took them home and took some marble to sculpt in to an angel to watch over them when he buried them. He left home and traveled for a few years.

On this trip is where he learned his new name. Uhger.  For where ever he went the town people who scream and yell, OGIER!!!!! Arthur was not too bright and he believed them to call him Uhger. So wherever he went he was shunned and chased out. A lot of time he was luck to have his life with him. He longed to return to the time where he was with his mama and father. Where he was loved. (This part might be hard to believe but it was how he was in the place to join the PCs.) He was traveling he found an old portal to the seven hells. While admiring the art on the portal he unknowing activated it. He was now a scared little boy with out his mama in hell. For a week (prime time) he was in hell. Until the greatest gift came to him, they were a group of good adventurers. They were Darv, the mage, Listra, his wife and cleric, Aeole, a mage      % C Galbrial, a psionisist, Malkir an, elf archer, Falhtu, a centaur fighter, and the woman who would become the love of his life, Abigail, the Paladin of Hepitoc (the LG god of this world like Torm but is also the god of the sun). They saw that he was a good kind soul and he went with them. Unknown to him, they were going to take the ability to teleport from      s. He was out leveled but he was a very important piece to the mission. When the party got to the lair of the       with the talisman that was needed to be taken away, the party was ambushed. Every one was fighting      s and Uhger saw Abby go after this one       and as she reached for the talisman she was killed. This truly sadden him, so he went after the       and took the talisman from the      . As Uhger tossed the talisman to Malkir, he went from 63 hp to –42  and died in hell. The party then left and took the ability to teleport from the      s. As their reward, they were given a wish and they wished for Abby and the ogier back to life. From then on He had a group of friends but to him it was a family. 

He soon became the local artist for the church of Hepitoc . He followed him blindly. For two reasons, one Hepitoc was the one who brought him back to life and second he is the god of Abby. He helped go the art for many of the churches in the area. He always had time though to do art for Abby and to go on adventures with his family. Soon he feel in to a recurring role. Whenever Abby was attack he would take all the AOO against himself, just to save her. Even though she is about 4 levels higher then himself. He even died 3 other times because of this habit. Soon He grew tried of adventuring for to him ,even though he is a great fighter with many magic weapons and goodies, so he left to the main contant and started to spread the word of Hepitoc and the other gods of his new home. He did this all for one reason and I will let you guess….. yes that is right all for Abby.  He started to think in his older age if his mama and father believed in the elf gods and Abby believed in Hepitoc, when he truly died he would only be with one of them not both. ( they live on different planes) This truly made Uhger sad. Even though he knew Abby would and could never love a ugly artist like himself, he wanted to be there with her in heaven. So he left with out telling many where he went. He only told Listra ,the Cleric of Vahalla ( the         of art and beauty) and maybe the only one of his family who understood Uhger and his love for Abby and art. So he sold almost all of his equipment and took the 45,000 gold and sent 6 years in a forriegn land building a church to Hepitoc and Vahalla. ( I picture it much like Michelangelo and his Sistine Chapel). He did this all so he could be with Abby in the afterlife, knowing he many never see mama again. But he received word that Abby is now stuck in the seven hells ( yes, my DM likes the hells and traveling the planes). So he came back to save her one last time. He sold his ring of spell turning for gold to get things that will be needed, and for one thing for Abby. They traveled back to hell and there she was a perversion of her true self. She was now evil but even though this was true Uhger never gave up. The party proceeded to break the enchantment on her and took her back home. After a few days of rest Uhger knew it was time to go back to his chapel so he asked Abby to come with him for a little while. And as he has done many times before he told her how he felt but this time he told her he knew how she felt and knew she could not love him. He told her that is why he loved her some much and so loudly . He loved enough for the both of them . He told her where he was and why he left. He gave her the gift he got from selling his ring of spell turning. It was a Claddagh ring made of platinum and with gold outline of the heart and a red ruby heart in the center. He told her he will forever be waiting for her in the new chapel he made. And then he left. Knowing she would never come. Knowing he would be alone. But that is the lot in life for Uhger. Loving when there is no chance for being loved in return. But he would not have it any other way. 

Arthur never saw himself as a hero from the stories his mama told him but he did see his friends like this. He is a Very tall man with very ogier like features in his face.Yet sometimes he looks very childlike. He has long black hair with green eyes. But you can look in to his eyes and see he never would commit an evil act. He has two small tusks coming out from the bottom jaw.  He is very muscular and scared from the many battles he has been in. Most of his scars on his hands and he always seems to have some paint left over on his hands that he never get completely off. When in battle he has a suit of +3 full plate (given to him by Hepitoc) that he makes sure is clean and shinny, he fights with a very large scimitar of speed he got from fighting Miska. He also as a part of the Rod of seven parts has the Wind dukes chariot that can take people to other planes. Other then that he has sold everything to ether save Abby or to fund his chapel. He is world renown for his painting and sculptures that people say if no one is looking come to life. ( this is very untrue, for Uhger has watched them for many days before just to see) 

I hope you all enjoyed the story of Arthur (Ugher) and by they way none of his friends know his real name.


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## am181d (Dec 28, 2004)

*A lean, hairless, yellow-skinned, cannibalistic elven merc... who sings?*

(Apologies for link. The, um, song took up a lot of space.)

Tasc is a lean, hairless, yellow-skinned elf, with blood red cat's eyes and a snarl full of razor sharp teeth. Tasc bares a red slash tattoo over his left eye and a jagged hook piercing each earlobe. He walks with a crouch--coiled--always ready to strike.

Tasc wears a ratty brown coat over a sparkling mithril shirt. His belt is thick leather, loaded with compartments, both visible and concealed. He wears a pair of bulky, blood-stained spiked gauntlets. 

His boots are enchanted to augment Tasc's natural speed and agility, but more importantly, they allow him to walk along walls and on ceilings, where he often hangs in wait for his enemies.

Tasc only carries one weapon, a double-bladed sword that contains the aspects of two legendary, anarchic weapons of antiquity, "Hellscorcher" and "Deathchill." Hellscorcher burns with a dark fire. Deathchill eminates a spectral cold. The hilt between them is wrapped in black leather and follows a subtle s-curve.

***
Tasc's earliest memories are of murder and destruction. Nomadic Giant marauders tore through his town of birth, Aerallia-in-the-Shadow-of-Sardith, and razed it to the ground. His parents, his family, his past, were all burnt to ash and scattered to the winds.

Tasc, the only survivor of the carnage, was taken as a slave by the Giants. For decades, they raised him as an animal and fed him the flesh of their enemies. 

When the Giants' clan was finally defeated by a cavalry of Men at the Battle of Erden Og, none of the soldiers knew what to do with their feral elf child, so they brought him to the caretakers of the nearby Witchwood Asylum. 

The Mad Doctors of Witchwood had no interest in curing Tasc. To them, he was nothing more than an oddity to be studied. Between tortures, they encouraged his wild impulses, letting him free to hunt, kill, and devour the other inmates.

Eventually, Tasc turned against his captors, killing and eating half the staff before he was finally locked back into his cell. The Doctors decided that Tasc had become too dangerous, so they sold him to the Slavers of Astia.

In Astia, Tasc was branded with the mark of the Fighter-Slave and forced to fight in the gladiator games. He fought viciously, but lost frequently. The Slavers kept Tasc alive, because the crowd enjoyed watching him fight. And Tasc enjoyed fighting.

Tasc survived long enough to find a patron, a soldier named Caleb, who bought Tasc out of slavery and taught him how to speak and to act among humans. Caleb trained Tasc to be his bodyguard, and the two became close. 

One night, Caleb finally admitted to Tasc why he took such an interest in him: He was the commanding officer at Erden Og. He was responsible for sending Tasc to the asylum and then to slavery. Tasc smiled and nodded at the news and said "past is past" and when Caleb went to sleep that night, Tasc crept into his room, killed him, and ate him.

From that day on, Tasc was his own man. He traveled to Venture, the so-called "City of Heroes." He sought jobs as a mercenary and worked hard to control his bestial impulses. Eventually, he was recruited by a renowned party of adventurers, who had just lost their swordsman.

As Tasc's reputation grew, he found himself embraced by the Elves, who were still fighting a bloody territorial war against the Giants. The Humans had just signed a treaty with the Giants, and the Elves were cut off and vulnerable. In his time away from the party, Tasc became a freedom fighter (some would say "terrorist") against Giant oppression. As he was slowly becoming a figurehead for the Elves, he was also learning more and more of the world's true history, and his disdain for the Humans and their god, Mithras the Forger, grew.

All this led up to what I'd have to say is my proudest gaming moment: On the night of Mid-Winter's Eve, a holy day for the worshippers of Mithras, Tasc explains his hatred for the Humans' god to a barroom full of drunken Elf freedom fighters... in song!

_I HATE MITHRAS, by Tasc

For years and years we've all been stranded,
On this worthless humans' planet!
And as we die and suffer greatly,
I've been forced to question late-ly...

Who turned to us when they were slaves,
But now tells us we should behave?
When Giants came and took our land,
Who took their side and lent a hand?
Who cares about who's right or wrong,
If you're not singing their For-ger's song?

Well, I HATE Mithras!

Who can I blame for this life I live?
Who can I hate in this time to give?
Not the men that I called brother!
Not the women I've called lovers!
Just the God to whom they pray,
And their accursed HOLY day!

I. HATE. MITH-RAS!

They gather in Mid-Winter for their holy festival,
And thank the Forger for the freedom for which we're responsible!
While homeless Elven children shiver, displaced by their de-cree,
And Giant warlords toast to their un-deserv-ed victory,
Unwrap your presents, drink, be merry, but NEVER pretend,
Their Mithras is God of ANY-thing but hypocrites and Men!

AND I HATE MITHRAS!

Familes gather to eat pheasant.
Giggling tots unwrap their presents.
Don't feel merry? Just be pleasant!
Save. Me. From. These. Human. PEASANTS!

I HATE MITHRAS!

Let's go for a sleigh ride,
Then warm by the fireside.
Let's take a break.
Let's eat a cake.
Let's decorate.
Let's celebrate.
Let's dance. Let's sing. Let's GIVE!

A cold winter's night is all this is.

I. HATE. MITHRAS!

(And, might I add, humbug.)_

(Don't worry folks, this was during a holiday themed episode in our last campaign, so YES, later on, Tasc learned the true meaning of Mithras.)


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## Dacileva (Dec 29, 2004)

*Althaine Catthier*

Character: Althaine Catthier, male human (Palanthas) Rogue (Dragonlance)

Concept: Acrobatic sneak-attack rogue, operates through deception and misapprehension.  Flamboyant to the extreme, and fights with twin short swords.

Backstory: While it is clear that Althaine's childhood on the streets of Palanthas was complex and eventful, he refuses to speak of any part of his life prior to age 12.  As far as anyone can tell, a twelve-year-old Althaine met Midnight, an elegant harpist with a traveling minstrel group.  Falling almost immediately into deep adoration of the exotic beauty, Althaine snuck into the encampment of the minstrels and stowed away in Midnight's carriage.  After being angry at this kid trying to take advantage of her, Midnight realized his potential.  One of the secrets of the group was that they often had pickpockets do small acrobatic stunts to please the crowd between songs, while steadily pilfering a coin or two from many different customers.  She asked one of the group's pickpockets train Althaine as a juggler and pickpocket.

Several years later, the fifteen year old Althaine found himself at loose ends after attempting to seduce the minstrel group leader's newest young wife.  He was a bit disappointed that the town of Solace offered so little for a flamboyant juggler/acrobat to do for work.  He discovered that a few other people in similar situations had ended up there, and was considering making an alliance with one of them when the War of the Lance erupted.  (( Yes, we were playing the main "Saga" adventures, but with our characters replacing the Companions of the Lance; the DM wanted to see if we'd be able to win the War, and how we'd do it. ))

Description: The first word about Althaine is "flamboyant".  The clothes on this man make gypsies cringe slightly, but he manages to make all of it look cool.  Well, mostly.  He keeps on buying large floppy hats to complete his ensemble, but they almost always get lost when he starts his acrobatic-style fighting.  He wears a pair of short swords on his hips, and chooses to remain unarmored (until he discovers elven or mithril chain).  He has short black hair, and eyes of a deep brown that looks very close to black.  His clothing tends to be in dark scarlets and bright golds.  Eschewing projectile weapons, he prefers to enter ranged combat by throwing daggers, harkening to his days as a juggler with the minstrels.

Killer Moment: (( For reference, this was under mostly 2nd Edition rules. )) The party had found their way to Xak Tsaroth.  In the buried City, they got into their most spectacular fight up to that point, where they fought eight baaz draconians and four kapak draconians.  The party's ranged combatants, a wizard and an archer-style fighter, spread quickly to either side of the enemy, while the party's primary melee fighters, a cleric and a minotaur Knight, charged straight into the fray.  Althaine hung back for a moment to assess the situation and choose an optimum point to fight from.

The party and the draconians clashed, and quickly the minotaur's sword became embedded in his first foe, a baaz draconian slain instantly with the fight's first strike.  As the minotaur attempted to yank his weapon out of the statute-corpse, Althaine saw his moment to shine.  He dashed forward, ran up the now-sloped back of the minotaur, and leapt off the minotaur's head.  A quick flip in mid-air landed him, weapons out, in the midst of the baaz group.  All seven baaz were stunned at the sudden appearance of this small, garishly-dressed human, so Althaine immediately took advantage of the opening and struck, a golden and scarlet whirlwind in the midst of the enemies, unexpectedly striking vitals and then spinning away before the return strikes could finish him.


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## AdmundfortGeographer (Dec 29, 2004)

*Well, It can't hurt to try submitting something*

I've always wanted to see a drawing that came moderately close to this character of mine. I'll give a pretty full listing of stats for an idea of the character concept.

Lyzelle of Joramy, Human (Flan/Suel), Neutral
Holy warrior of Joramy (The Shrew), goddess of fire, volcanoes, wrath, anger, quarrels.
Barbarian 1/Cleric 4
Str 14, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 15
*Special Abilities*: Rage 1/day, Channel negative energy
*Domains*: Destruction (Smite 1/day), Fire (Turn water/Rebuke fire)
*Feats* Combat Reflexes, Power Attack, Divine Might
*Possessions of import*" Masterwork glaive, mighty (+1 Str) elven composite longbow, chain shirt. Her glaive has volcano-like glyphs carved into the wooden shaft.
*Physical Appearance*: Tall and rail thin, (5'11" and 120 lbs), ice blue eyes, flame red hair (appropriately,  that extends to the small of her back. She wears a headband with a volcano prominently displayed in the center of her forehead.
*Skill of note*: Only one. Seriously. She has maxed her Intimidate.

Lyzelle is a striking person at first glance, the casual observer will notice a latent anger waiting to be unleashed by the slightest cause. She is prone to quickly take offense at the weakest reasons, but quickly makes nice when the arguer proves his worth by words. When she's not looking for arguments, she's often provoking arguments between bystandards. Taverns usually don't allow her in a second time.

Lyzelle's driving cause is to purify White Plume Mountain as the largest shrine to Joramy in the Flanaess. She hasn't made up her mind on the best course yet, as the mountain is in land claimed by the demigod Iuz. But for now she is offering her services to the Shield Lands' War of Reclaimation. As devout Heironeous worshippers, the Shield Lands would not take a kind view towards a presence of a temple to a god like Joramy in their nation so Lyzelle is leaving her options open...

Lyzelle doesn't often diplomatically talk her way through an imminent fight. If talk preceeds things, she will attempt to frighten. No, in fact it rarely works that way, but she keeps it up, after all it is the dogma of Joramy, and as a holy warrior of the goddess of wrath, anger, and quarrels, she thinks it is expected of her.

_Power-up routine_: Lyzelle has numerous options to power her up. She is regularly the brute force for adventure bands she finds herself in, and often punches above her level.

Casts _bull's strength_ if time allows.
Rage.
As a free action, uses a turning attempt to fuel Divine Might, (Cha bonus (+2) to damage for 1 round).
Puts 4 points into a Power Attack with her glaive to gain a +8 to damage.
Use her 1/day Smite (+4 to attack/+4 to damage) if needed.

_Memorable moment_: Lyzelle was among a mixed band on an adventure, Lyzelle knew she was not nearly as well-traveled as her compatriots this adventure. Regardless, Lyzelle knew she's be on the front line taking the smacks. While traveling along a road in dangerous territory Lyzelle's band found themselves facing a large warband of orcs, ogres, and Iuz priests chasing after an escapee. Lyzelle's band placed themselves between the warband and the escapee.

Well, sort of, the party's thief hid himself in the woods to save his life. At least the mage in her party came out to keep the Iuzian priest busy.

For the first time in Lyzelle's adventuring career, she found herself in a party with two reach weapon warriors. The other, Colin of Longspear, who fought with a glaive to mazimum efficiency. Colin's many more years of veteren experience proved valuable in giving Lyzelle the confidence to stand their ground against the vastly superior numbers.

The warband charged at Lyzelle and Colin. Lyzelle fully invoked the holy fury of Lyzelle. Colin knocked down foes and punished them with the guisarme, while Lyzelle skewered hers. In an instant, 6 orcs were slain in the charge before even getting next to the pair and 4 more died with Lyzelle's and Colin's counter attack. In the next rush the last two orcs died in a rush, and then the ogres came, three dying before coming close to the pair. Lyzelle and Colin advanced upon the ogres, Lyzelle unleashed her smite upon an ogre and with one strike laid low a raging ogre, and Colin knocked three ogres off their feet. 6 seconds later the last 3 ogres were dispatched with as they attempted to regain their feet. Bodies laid all around them in a pile of carnage an archmage would be proud of.

The Iuzian priest had stood off at a range, watching the decimation of his troops, throwing spells back and forth with the party's wizard. Colin and Lyzelle raced after the Iuzian who then tried to flee for his life. Lyzelle's rage wound down in her chase after the priest, but she gained upon him swiftly. The party wizard had hit the priest with a few good spells already, as Lyzelle with exhausted limbs, and no available turning attempts left to spontaneously inflict wounds with, then raced upon the fleeing priest and toasted the priest with her favorite spell, _Joramy's hand_, which wizards wrongly call "burning hands".


Regards,
Eric Anondson


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## Zebster (Dec 29, 2004)

*Chuck*

Charlton Vader'ixmusala (homebrew)

In the kingdom of Frizia (settled by Spelljammin' elves thousands of years ago) the latest king of the Vader clan raped one of his human subjects on a whim.  This resulted in the birth of Charlton, known to his friends as Chuck.

Trained by a hedge mage and a local mercenary concurrently, Chuck learned to blend blade & spell and advanced (in 2e) as a Fighter/Mage.  His friends cleaned out trouble spots locally, eventually drawing the attention of an evil theocracy up north.  They got pulled into a Gods War, as the Goodly and Neutral avatars came down to oppose the deity of the evil theocracy (ascending in power).  Under the towering avatars, Chuck & his companions led a small force of loyalists in battle agains their arch-enemies.  The goodly gods won the day, but kept Chuck & co away from the world for five years.  Upon return, he was able to depose his father and assume the kingship of Frizia.  Now as an iconic character in the homebrew world for Frieden, Chuck has continued as a mover & shaker, losing his ancestral (artifact) sword in defense of one of his kingdom's protectorates.  A powerful mage slayer has risen to oppose Chuck and is currently keeping the artifcact hidden.  The companions are mounting an assault as a search & rescue when next we meet...

Chuck is a half-elf, 6' with grey eyes and brown hair.  Via wish he has the ability to change shape at will (as doppleganger/changeling), so this is in a constant state of flux.  He wears royal blue shirts, black boots, trousers & cloak.  He fights with two longswords, or longsword and spell.

Best moments:

Level 1/1:  Upon entering an evil clerics cave hide-out, the party split to face the threats coming at them.  Ther cleric took on the zombie, the druid held his action, while Chuck saw the cleric casting threw his dagger into the evil cleric's shoulder (crit!).  The druid immediately bounced over the table between them and grasped onto the dagger's hilt in order to end the fight in a single round.

Level 10/10:  While the Gods were at war up high, Chuck buffed himself while leading his loyalists against the theocracy's warriors.  Flying, hasted and stoneskin'd (2e goodness)  Chuck encountered one of his arch-enemies, Garrium.  Garrium was like-wise flying and protected, and an epic duel above the heads of the gods' avatars they went back and forth.  Vorpal and Sharpness blades hummed, until finally Garrium's hand was lost and he fled...

Level 13/13:  Facing off against the High Priest of the theocracy, the cleric and the druid companions were at one end of the hall taking their pot-shots as they could.  Meanwhile, Chuck was trapped on one side of an anti-magic zone faced off against an ancient or wyrm Red Dragon.  His back to the anti-magic zone, he was able to perfectly place an Evards Black Tentacles to keep the dragon in place.  A few mighty spells and (2e) hasted full out attack and he single handedly killed the beast.

Level 17 (3.5):  A cleric of Bane set up shop in the capital city, so disguised via change shape as a crazy old priest of Tymora, Chuck is able to locate and disintegrate the (potential) little-BBEG in a single round.


Picture ideas:

Chuck quick-drawing his two longswords - one a dark metal, the other a Githyanki Silver - with his black cloak flapping back and Parthus the pseudodragon wrapped around his neck.


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## Arc (Dec 29, 2004)

*Jadrek Falco*

This guy is my current character in an IRC game being run by Demiurge, but damned if he isn't my favorite character I've played to date. I've had more fun roleplaying this guy than any other character in my history, and while he's not ac ombat machine, the inventiveness I've used in making him effective and entertaing makes me proud. Mechanically, he's a rogue 2/swashbuckler 3 who specializes in dual weilding daggers, and will soon start into Invisible Blade (and later, if he gets there, Master Thrower)

A public life:

	Jadrek Falco stands 5'11" inches in height, a permanent slouch on his shoulders indicating that he carries a heavy weight (in more than the physical sense). Dressed in a old brown leather duster, soft leather knee boots, black trousers and a charcoal vest over a dress shirt, Jadrek's appearance is for all purposes nondescript. His few acceptances of style are a pair of metal studs in his ears, and a Silver Flame arrowhead on a chain he wears on his neck. While only 37, his short, half-kempt hair is already greying, and the permanent appearance of being 2 days behind on his shave does little to help the matter. Frown lines and heavy bags under his grey-green eyes indicate that he doesn't get much sleep, which is often rumored to be the reason for his gruff exterior. It would be hard for any to attribute Jadrek as having a "heart of gold", or any precious metal for that matter, but those who know him as more than a passing acquaintance will attest to his dry sense of humor, and a smile that, when revealed on rare occasions, is warm and open. In the City of Towers, many are inclined to forget their past, and Jadrek is certainly a member of that far from exclusive club. Though a few know that he was once a member of the Holy Army of Thrane, questions directed along that vein, or anything else related to his past, are either quickly deflected, or simply ignored.

	Falco's eccentricities tend to make some doubt his abilities, but time and time again, he supports his convictions with bravery and action. On various occasions, he's jumped 60' off of a soarsled to cushion the landing of a falling child, ran to the aid of his comrades while on the verge of death (and paid the price of doing so), and risked personal dishonour and incarceration to prevent the escalation of violent conflict, and above all else, prevent the outbreak of another war.

	Of particular note is his hatred of the living dead. While he views them as an abomination unto the Flame, his experiances fighting against them during the Last War and his inability (as a rogue) to damage them as they ripped his comrades apart have intensified that hatred a hundred fold. He constantly denounces the Karnnathi usage of undead soldiers and has undertaken a personal crusade against the Blood of Vol and its followers. After tracking down a glass foundry involved in the creation of lenses for the constrcution of an eldritch machine, Falco found himself facing off against a Karrnathi Zombie, with only a warforged artificer to aid him. In a fierce battle along the catwalks overlooking the massive melting vats and grinding gears, Falco and his companion found themselves in dire straits. Neither of them could manage to damage the foul creature, and Falco, faced with the worse luck he had ever encountered in his career (I jest not. *Seven* 1's in the fight, 3 of which were consecutive, and a streak of 12 rolls of less than 10 in a row), weaponless, and on the brink of death, grappled the zombie as his forged compatriot cut the bolts holding the catwalk aloft. Just as the final bolt was cut, Falco's streak of bad luck finally broke, and he scrambled up the falling catwalk as the zombie fell into the mess of gears below.

A private past:

	Legault Ruby, Scout Specialist First Class, Holy Army of Thrane, was born on the 14th of Sypheros, 959 YK, in the Holy Kingdom of Thrane. With his parents dead in battle at the age of 12, Legault took to the streets of Flamekeep, where he learned to survive by any means necessary, even if it meant preying on the wealth of others. After only 4 years of a life of crime, Legault was aprehended by the city guard. His youth, and Thrane's shortage of skilled soldiers led the guard to give him a choice: Turn his life around and join the Holy Army of Thrane, or be put to death for his crimes. Legault chose wisely, and ended up enlisted in the army as a scout. The comradery of battle, and his fervour for religion combined to make Legault an excellent soldier, following orders to the letter, and undertaking the most dangerous of missions without a bat of an eye. While his early missions were mostly concerned with low level reconnaisance and routine counterintelligence, Legault soon found himself embarking into foreign territories with missions of death and destruction. Whether alone or with a team, Legault worked his way deep into enemy territories, assasinating high profile targets, sabotaging military equipment, or all to often, acting as an instrument of terror against an innocent populace.

	After some 17 years of military service, Legault had, directly or indirectly, caused the death of several hundred souls... far too many of whom were mere innocents caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Legault's fervour had lead him to believe that their deaths were for the greater good, but as the killings escalated, he began to doubt the wisdom of his missions. On the eve before a highly secretive mission that would place him deep within the heart of Cyre to inflict as much damage as possible, Legault deserted the military. The next day is one forever known as The Mourning. While Legault never learned the fate of his comrades, nor the details of their mission, he did spend the next year and half fleeing across Thrane to Breland, avoiding both foes and former allies alike.

He arrived in Sharn a few weeks before the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold, and after hearing of the new peace, he chose to remain in the City of Towers. Legault changed his name to Jadrek Falco, took up a job enforcing peace rather making war, and tried his hardest to forget all he had done in the Last War. While still plagued by nightmares of his past, Jadrek was able to mentally block out his actions, even though he still acts nervous when around Cyran refugees and Thrane citizens and soldiers. No one has come after him yet, but he tends to keep one ear to the streets, in case he must flee authority once again.


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## DarkSoldier (Dec 29, 2004)

At first glance, you might not give Kerad Dyilf more thought than any other odd loner, but if you take a closer look...

Standing 5'6", Kerad wears a trenchcoat one size too large so it stretches to mid-calf, and metal pauldrons are bolted to the coat's shoulders.  He wears his dark brown hair long and loose to flow down his back.  A single scar cuts down his face (like Ohara's scar from _Enter the Dragon_, but cleaner).  He wears work boots, black jeans, and two leather straps crossing his chest from shoulders to hips.  He's a decent-looking guy, but his eyes, however, draw your attention: two orbs of a most unnatural green shade, a shade that evokes the most primordial fear you've ever experienced just by looking at them.

Why does he have those eyes, you ask?  Three thousand years ago, demonic forces openly roamed the world, and the gods fought them with their own armies.  For a hundred years they ravaged the land with their conflict, until evil was forced to flee.  However, some of their minions remained, struggling with their own internal conflicts, and convinced the forces of good to give them asylum.  Their blood mingled with the mortal races, but their offspring always expressed traits of their demonic lineage.  While the blood has diluted over three millennia, those traits occasionaly pop up again.  Kerad is a direct descendant of these refugee warriors.

*Personality*
Kerad feels slighted by the world at large.  He believes that he could have been something better than what he is now, if the world had just given him a chance, but it spat in his face and kicked him to the curb, and now he's going to pay it back for mistreating him.

Kerad expresses many traits associated with Avoidant Personality Disorder.  He also has difficulties with long-term planning, changing allegiances whenever he perceives a benefit in doing so, without regard for what long-term benefits previous allegiances may have brought him.

Because his lover Malra Mytil is the only person who has expressed any form of interest in him as a person, Kerad does not want to do anything that would jeopardize that interest.  He will cater to her every whim and do so eagerly.

*Background*
"Ruination follows the Son of the Black Moon."

A new moon heralded the birth of Kerad Dyilf.  Within a year, he had already suffered a vicious attack by his own older brother, jealous of the attention he got.  As he grew older, he suffered more; in school, it seemed that every student wanted to take a swing at him, and every teacher disliked him.  One incident stands out in his mind: an older student was beating him when the school's vice-principal interrupted, demanding to know who started the fight.  Kerad claimed it was unprovoked, while his opposite made up a story about catching Kerad trying to steal something from him.  Unsurprisingly, he sided with Kerad's attacker, and either did not notice or did not care when he sucker punched Kerad right in front of him.

His home life was even worse: his father had become an abusive alcoholic, his older brother still tormented him daily, and his mother, who also possessed his inhuman jade green eyes, gave him precious little support between their mutual beatings.  At the age of seventeen and after numerous failed suicide attempts, Kerad decided that there was only one way to escape; he took a sharp knife and slit his father's throat before escaping into the night, swearing never to return to his homeland.

Kerad barely managed to fend for himself for the next several months, in which he travelled halfway across the continent to the scrub desert town of Albard, where he promptly passed out into the sand.  The next thing he knew, he was receiving care from an old man and a young girl; wizards of the desert.  He barely had time to figure out where he was before word came that desert raiders were attacking.

Kerad followed them out and watched, detached, as the raiders fell onto the city, barely slowed by determined defenders.  They cut down the old wizard when Kerad stopped to pick up a fallen sword, and he used the sword when the raiders went after the girl.  The raiders' leader saw this and challenged Kerad.  When the young man tried to attack, he was cut down, bleeding from a wound to his face.  The raider laughed at his effort and turned his attention to the girl.  Kerad used that mistake to drive the sword through his neck.

the next day, Kerad set out on his own into the desert, intent on crossing it alone, with nothing save the clothes on his back and the sword in his hand.  Many times, he thought he would die from exposure, starvation, or thirst, but miraculously, he always found just enough sustenance to keep going.  During this hellish period, Kerad came to the conclusion that some supernatural force was watching out for him, not to keep him safe, but to prolong his suffering, perhaps for its own twisted amusement.  He called that force "Fate."

Perhaps with Fate guiding him, Kerad ended up on the fabled R'itni Islands.  Shortly after his arrival, he was greeted by an mugger armed with a wicked knife.  Kerad was fully intent on killing the mugger, until one of his strikes removed the mugger's cap, which broke an illusion and revealed that the mugger was actually an attractive half-elven female, a fledgling wizard turned brigand by the name of Malra Mytil.  In her, Kerad saw a kindred spirit, a promising individual heartlessly cast out of her own society for being different.

Kerad's emerging feelings for Malra, coupled with his recklessness in defending her, landed them both in prison, in the same cell as a common street thug named Keane Kominda.  Keane, like them, was different: he had the blood of demons in his veins, manifest as dark red skin, red eyes, short horns, and sharp teeth.  Together, the three managed to escape to one of Keane's local boltholes, where they met Keane's loyal guard, a dark elf named named Do'kem Nupaji.

Some other power must have taken notice of Kerad, connected him with "Ruination follows the Son of the Black Moon," and sent Elizabeth to get him.  Elizabeth, a seductive vampire, offered Kerad pleasures and power beyond human comprehension if he did a few tasks for her "master."  Smelling a rat, Kerad initially refused the offer, but soon decided to see what it would cost him.  One meeting with a titanic demon later, Kerad was infused with the ability to call upon the primal energy of the world of Boram'ith: the Macrocosm.  He spent a week learning how to use the powers he had suddenly gained, and then returned to his companions with a new look and a new, unsettling and secretive, attitude.

The task he had to complete in exchange for the Macrocosm was allegedly a simple one: assassinate a troublesome wanderer identified only as "Falkyn."  Kerad observed this Falkyn for a while, even hiring him to kill another individual his benefactors wonted dead, but he only succeeded in making Falkyn forswear killing.  When he finally decided to confront Falkyn, he overpowered him spectacularly, but during the fight, Kerad discovered the nearly-fatal side effects to his new power: the demonic whisperings that he occasionally heard turned into full-blown demonic possession after prolonged use of the Macrocosm's energy.

His benefactors had made a slight mistake: they could not remove the ability to access the Macrocosm from Kerad, nor could they simply kill him on the spot.  Moreover, he continued to resist Elizabeth's advances, even in the face of veiled threats to his companions.  His incredible power did more than make Kerad potentially the most powerful being on the planet: it almost alienated his companions, something that profoundly disturbed him when Malra bluntly told him, "You scare me."

Kerad started looking for a way out of the deal, but what he was looking for came right to him when Elizabeth grabbed Malra and threatened to kill her if Kerad did not destroy Falkyn immediately.  Kerad responded by declaring that Elizabeth had just nullified the terms of the deal by physically threatening his companions.  The next thing she knew, Kerad appeared right in front of her, wrenched her grip from Malra, and teleported Malra and himself away.

Kerad looked down at Malra and told her he had a few loose ends to tie up, and then he'd be back.  One of those loose ends involved disposing of the swords he received as a bonus: a pair of demon-bound weapons that his benefactors hoped would corrupt him to their service.  Rather than submit, he took them to a volcano and threw them in.  Thinking that was that, he started to leave, but the volcano erupted.  Coming to the realization that he had been running from everything his entire life, Kerad stopped, turned to face the flow, and died with Malra's name on his lips.

He experienced the afterlife, where agents of the god of judgement enlightened him on how his activities affected his world, as well as informing him of Malra's unrequited love for him.  When he felt the call of resurrection, he answered it, and found himself lying on a stone slab.  The cleric who had brought him back, Miah Honzonoto, asked him to help her, and he agreed on the condition that he gather his friends.  First, he found Malra and professed his own love for her, and then he gathered Keane and Do'kem.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth had her own plans for Kerad.  She manipulated Miah into sending Keane and Do'kem to their deaths, and then killed Malra herself, using Kerad's grief to convince him to work directly for her.  As they travelled, a mist separated them, and Kerad was never seen again.


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## demiurge1138 (Dec 29, 2004)

Once, before life got far too complicated, Jack Skellington was the third son of a wealthy merchant, a bit of a slacker, and a part-time criminal. Nothing too noticable, of course, just a little petty fraud and theft here and there. Skellington prided himself on his luck; he was never caught, despite several close calls, and survived an excursion into a grick's den when he was ten that spurred within him a love of adventure.

Then life got complicated.

Jack's father died, and revealed in the will knowledge of Jack's criminal activities. Stripped of his inheritance, Jack stole the Bone Blade, a finely crafted rapier that was _supposed_ to go to his older brother, then used his safe-money to buy passage on an airship to Waterdeep, where he hoped to start a new life.

But the airship was boarded. And Mad Jim the Pirate Lord, who was responsible, decided that he didn't like Skellington, so he had him thrown overboard as a message to the rest of the passengers. And Skellington hit the dirt hard. Then got up.

That day, Jack learned that his family name was really more of a description of their curse than anything else. Any Skellington to die violently was doomed to roam Faerun as an intelligent skeleton until they could avenge their murder or re-died trying. Determined to do just this, Skellington turned to the life of an adventurer, in order to convince others into hunting Mad Jim.

Jack Skellington is a skeleton, of course, but he hasn't let being dead curb his style. A master showman, a bit of a fop, and a skilled swordsman, he continued for some time to make a name for himself. After his untimely demise, Jack took to wearing long-sleeves, gloves, and pants at all times, even though he doesn't seem to fit them well. Skilled with disguise, Jack managed, with a little magical aid, to create the illusion of being a living man, albeit a very skinny one with no hair and a disturbing smile.

Jack's greatest exploit was his theft of the Chaos Diamond from the cargo of the airship he and his gang of seedy and slightly monstrous cohorts managed to book passage on. Knowing that the item was only going to be used to ill ends, Jack stole the Diamond from the ship's hold, smuggled it in his ribcage, managed to escape the ship with his allies when it was grounded during a storm, and even sabotaged the bombards on the ship. When the airship's captain, realizing the theft, flew in pursuit of Skellington, the bombards that would have killed Jack exploded, destroying the ship and allowing the party to escape into the woods safely. 

Sadly, Skellington never managed to avenge his own murder. He was cut down in the prime of unlife by a dark naga, who didn't take to being interuppted in its sleep. One _scorching ray_, and Skellington was a pile of charred bones.

Demiurge out.


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## Tetujin (Dec 29, 2004)

*Bruno*

Quick Note: This character was played in demiurge's Prehistoric Campaign. Primary PC race was kobold, things like that. The following is the offical discription of the race of this character.

"The dinosaurian race known as the monoclones are the result of Ophidian experiments to create the perfect soldier. The experiment failed when the result displayed both free will and a good nature. Most were killed outright, but some were banished to the island of Nublar, a refuge for failed experiments, bizarre mutations and several other senient species. The average monoclon is about 7 feet tall and stout, with scaly hide, frilled head with a beak, and one long scimitar-like horn on the nose. Monoclones are vegetarians, feeding on fruit and stems. They speak Daemonic (the language of their captors), even though they are not evil. As such, they have had to invent several new words for concepts such as charity, kindness and altruism.
Charity, kindness and altruism are the concepts that drive most monoclons, and they disdain powerful rulers in favor of democracy. Monoclones are amoung the friendliest species on Gaea, but they are dangerous when riled.
Monoclons are imcredibly devout; they credity their survival to Kiiriiannai, their god. As such many of them are clerics, and they are sure to try to spread their faith to other species. They live in small cities carved from the massive trees of their tropical island, but they are careful to respect the territory of the other species that respect the island, such as ratkin and crustae. They view themselves as the protectors of the weak and the liberators of the enslaved, and have entered an alliance with the vethha in their plans for the global war for good."

Mechanical Stuff: Bruno, Race 4, (Dragon Magazine) Kensai 11, CG.  Feats: Improved Sunder, Weapon Focus (Greatsword), Combat Brute, Power Attacl, Monkey Grip, Combat Expertise, Medium Armor Prof., Combat Feflexes, Improved Bull Rush, Awesome Blow. Main Equipment: Balanced +3 Gargantuan Adamantine Greatsword, +5 Coral Armor, Ring of Growth. If I would have realized it he would have put that enchantment of that Maul of the Titans (the one that deals x3 to material) on his sword.  After he uses his ring of growth Bruno's sword is up to Colossal, meaning he had 20ft reach and dealt 6d6+22 damage.

Bruno was young with the ophidian experiments were old, the last monoclon born still under the whim of the ohpidians.  He still endured horrible "tests", which any other person would call torture.  Bruno was one of the monoclons marked to die once the experiments were concluded, but with the assistance of his brethern they attempted to fight thier way out.  Bruno, still very young, grabbed the only weapon the monoclons were given to during some of the "tests" with other creatures, a large greatsword.  As he was running out, barely able to lift the heavy sword, he and his brothers fought they're way out to the gates and eventually made it far enough that the ophidians lost interest in hunting them down.  This band continues to fight their way to Nublar to join the other creatures who had been sent there, and hopfully gain some friends.  All the time not quite full-sized Bruno learning to use the much too full-sized sword. 
His sword training contined as he and the other creautures on the island defended thier home from hostile invaders. Bruno also learned some basic weaponcrafting abilities from his friends that allowed his weapon to grow with him, gaining the material from the melted down weapons and armor of hostile enemies.  He also learned the process of growing the coral that surrounded the island to a specific shape for his protection.
On day a messenger came to their island, saying he spoke for a powerful dragon from the north, and was calling for great warriors to work towards ending the control of the Troglodyte Empire.  Bruno had heard of this creatures, evil cowards who were familar to the practice of slavery. Bruno was more the happy to join the cause so that perhapes no one would need to endure what he had to for so many years.

Apperance: Bruno is now fully grown monoclon, a little over 7 ft tall.  Very basicly, his appearance is not unlike a humanoid triceratops. His eyes are narrow and watchful of his surroundings. Since childhood he has kept the cuffs from his shackles on his ankles and wrists as a tribute to those who has escaped imprisonment and to give hope to those who have not yet.  He wears ornate cage of coral as armor, he wields a 15' adamantine greatsword and always target shackles, jail walls, and other structures of imprisionment then any of the imprisoners.  He would also attempt to break any manufactured weapon or shield, so that the foe would simply give up, but this was very rarely the case. If Bruno was not using his sword, then he was making use of one of his several "Bags of Boulders".  He is always very suspecious when taking any order, and tries to avoid any person becoming "party leader".  He will commonly ask people who have no spoken up thier opinion.  If assaulting a group he would make use of his large reach to knock down entire walls of a building at a time and bringing the roof down.

Awesome Moments: 
-Using "Awesome Blow" 4 times in a row in one round, juggled the Shadow Knight up the sides and over the edge of the deck of the Airship they were fighting on, causing him to fall 200+ ft to his death.
-While fighting a black dragon known as "The Blade Wurm", got a Vassel of Bahumut ally to stand on the edge of his sword and lifted him to a powerful magic item on the top of the dragon's lair, all the while dodging the dragon's bites and stings. Then once he had the item lowering the Knight on the back of the dragon's head.
-Bruno was wisdom drained and imprisioned by some Trogs, and so once his allies opened his cell he went on a near-random rampage of Gores and Bull rushes of his former Trog captures.


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## Aeric (Dec 29, 2004)

Miriella Nightbreeze
Half-Elven Cleric of Paladine

Miriella is the daughter of Velanon Sulathiel, a Silvanesti elf, and Duala, a human barbarian from the Plains of Dust.  Her parents met when Velanon was discovered by Duala’s tribe, unconscious and near death, three days from the Silvanesti border.  Velanon was a soldier whose unit was stationed on the western border when the Dragonarmy overran their position.  The elven warriors scattered to find their own ways home, but Velanon had deliriously wandered out onto the Plains.  Although the plainsmen were distrustful of the elves, they had a great respect for life, and so they had taken him in and nursed him back to health.  One barbarian in particular cared for Velanon and tended his wounds: a young woman named Duala, apprentice to the tribe’s wise-woman.  The two came to care for one another greatly during Velanon’s recuperation, eventually becoming lovers.  Despite their love, Velanon returned to Silvanesti and his duty as soon as he was well enough to travel.  Shortly after Velanon’s departure, Duala discovered that she was pregnant with his child, but not before the tribe learned of the tragedy of the Dragon Orb.  Velanon was never heard from again.

	News of the pregnancy was not received well by the tribe, for even though the Plainsmen grudgingly tolerated the elf, the child would be both a bastard and a half-breed, seen by many as an ill omen.  No man would have Duala after her pregnancy had been revealed and, fearing for her unborn child’s life, she fled for civilized lands as soon as possible.  She hitched a ride with some merchants who traded with the tribe on a regular basis.  The caravan took her to Black Harbor, a port town in the north where she eventually found employment assisting an elderly woman in her rug-weaving business.  Miriella was born a year later, just in time for the Red Dragonarmy to conquer the area.  Life continued almost normally in the small port city, despite the strict control of the Dragon Highlords and the ever-present draconians.  Another two years and the city changed hands again, as the Whitestone forces drove the Dragonarmy from the area.

	Miriella spent the first fifteen years of her life in Black Harbor, where her unmistakable elven features proved to be a strong contrast against the otherwise human population—and a constant source of prejudice and condemnation.  Her mother fared only slightly better; even during peacetime the Plainsmen were suspected by the city-dwellers, but during the war many tribes allied or were forced into alliances with the Dragonarmy, and their raids on civilized lands were still fresh wounds in many peoples’ minds.  As soon as Miri was old enough to handle the journey, her mother packed up all their things and they bid a fond farewell to the few friends they had in town.  A month later, Duala and Miri found themselves in bustling Tarsis, a major headquarters for the Whitestone forces and center of the reconstruction effort.  The unlikely pair quickly found acceptance in the city as two more pairs of hands to work.  Miri’s life achieved some sort of normalcy in Tarsis; she still got the stares and the hushed whispers, but nowhere near as bad as in Black Harbor.  After all, Qualinesti was just over the horizon to the north, and there were a fair number of elves and even a few half-elves who lived and worked in Tarsis.  With her natural beauty and charisma, Miri made several friends there.

	Shortly after moving to Tarsis, Miri found herself drawn to the Holy Order of the Stars, which had built a number of new temples in the city.  She made the acquaintance of several priests, but felt the strongest connection with a cleric of Paladine named Trevin Farseer.  Trevin, like most of the priests, had only been in the Holy Order’s service for a few years, but he was a man of strength and wisdom.  After several interviews with Miri and her mother, Trevin accepted the girl as his apprentice.  A year later she was ordained as a full member of the clergy, and served as an assistant to Trevin during his forays into the Plains of Dust.  Despite her exile from the tribe, Duala taught her daughter everything she could about the ways of the Plainsmen, something that proved valuable during her missionary work.  Miri worked alongside Trevin for several years before finally striking out on her own; she stayed active in the Tarsis area but also made frequent journeys to Qualinesti.  She helped to bridge the gap between the humans and the elves reclaiming their forest home, and she also took the opportunity to learn about her elven heritage, something she never had a chance to do before.  One of her most prized possessions, a pair of Elven Boots, was given to her in gratitude for her hard work.

	As the weather started to change, Miri found herself spending more and more time in Qualinesti, trying to help the elves restore their forest home to its former glory.  She returned to Tarsis after hearing that the Icewall Glacier was somehow moving northward towards her home.  Miri began to work with a group of Solamnic Knights who were investigating the rumors of a dark knighthood based in the south.  The rumors were indeed true, and Miri saw battle for the first time.  It was almost the last time, for the unit she was serving with was defeated.  Many of her comrades were slain, but she and a select few others were captured and taken south to the evil knights’ base of operations.

Description:

	Miriella is an honest, hardworking young woman dedicated to the cause of good.  She is shy and retiring around strangers, as she is all too aware of the effect her mixed heritage has on people.  Once that barrier is breached, however, people find that she is a warm and pleasant person to be around, eager to please and help out whenever possible.  She views her service to Paladine not as a calling or destiny of any kind, but simply the best way to do what she wants to do: protect others from suffering.

      Miri was too young to remember the War of the Lance, but she is certainly familiar with the after-affects of such a war.  She is dedicated to doing everything she can to ensure others do not suffer like that again, but in her heart, she wonders what one person, or even several people working together, can do to stop such an enormous thing as a war.  She was inspired by stories of the Heroes of the Lance growing up, and it is through their example that she hopes to make a difference during the current crisis.  She has no ambitions of becoming a Hero herself, but subconsciously she works as hard as she does so that people will accept and love her, despite her mixed heritage.  It is probably the only selfish desire in her heart.

Appearance:

	While only half-elven, Miri could easily be mistaken for a full-blooded elf.  She is tall and willowy, although a bit more robust than the average elven woman, and has long limbs and angular facial features.  Long, midnight-black hair (the only real obvious hint of human parentage) barely hides her sharply pointed ears, and her crystal blue eyes are almond-shaped.  This strong evidence of her Silvanesti blood caused her quite a bit of trouble in Qualinesti, a place she thought to find acceptance beyond the small-minded prejudices of human lands.  She had to work just as hard for acceptance there as she did at home.  In fact, Miri has had to work hard all of her life, not just to fit in, but to survive.  She had to pick up a lot of the slack left by the absence of a father, leaving her with a strong work ethic as an adult.  The chaos of the post-war years only added to the danger and uncertainty of her existence.
        Miriella commonly wears plate armor covered with a white tabard showing the symbol of the Platinum Dragon.  Her weapon of choice is a light mace, and her large round shield also bears the symbol of Paladine on it.  During these unusually cold times, Miri can usually be found wearing a hooded fur cloak made from the skin of a polar bear.  She wears no helm, and keeps her hair in braids more common to her Plainsmen kin than to the civilized folk of Tarsis.

Killer Gaming Moments:
-There was an awesome roleplaying scene where our party confronted Lord Soth in his castle (we were playing in the War of Chaos campaign), and Miri tried to "turn him away from the dark side."  It didn't work, of course, and we would have had to fight him, but then a chaos demon showed up and did it for us.  We, in turn, fought the chaos demon, and much to everyone's surprise, triumphed.
-Another good scene was when the party had been taken prisoner in a city held by the Knights of Takhisis.  We managed to escape and sneak around the city for a while, trying to figure out where to go next, when the city itself came under attack by the Chaos legion.  We ended up fighting against the demons side by side with the evil knights who imprisoned us in the first place.


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## MrFilthyIke (Dec 29, 2004)

Kai Lord,

What's the deadline?  Shoot me an answer...email's in the sig.


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## Aeric (Dec 29, 2004)

AYDIA RIEVER
FEMALE ELVEN WIZARD
CHAOTIC NEUTRAL

BACKGROUND:
A century and a half ago, an infant elven girl was given to the head of House Riever, a noble human household, by parties unknown.  There were some elven communities fairly close to Riever land, perhaps a week as the crow flies, but for whatever reason Lord Trelaine decided to take it upon himself to raise the baby as his own daughter.  He never divulged the details of how Aydia came into his possession, not even to his wife or children.

Aydia’s sudden and unexplained arrival to the family made it a beehive of controversy and the most popular topic of gossip.  If it had been a human child, the fanfare would have died down after a couple of months, but because it was an elf, there was an added peculiarity to the situation.

As an elf, Aydia matured at a much slower rate than the humans who had adopted her, so she found herself being passed down through the generations like some kind of family heirloom.  Some loved her, others hated and resented her, but all were beholden to care for her by the dictates of Lord Trelane, who made her continuing care a condition in his will.  Her image was even added to the family crest.  As the humans around her grew old and died at an astonishing rate, Aydia herself was profoundly affected.

At best, Aydia was treated as a valuable pet, pampered but allowed no freedom.  At worst, she was a prisoner who had unwanted attention forced upon her by her last foster father until his daughter-in-law intervened and set her free.  After five generations of controlling foster parents and virtually no contact with her own kind, Aydia was at a loss as to what she would do with herself.  She wandered aimlessly for a time, until the money her benefactor had given her ran out.  Then she began to panic.  She briefly considered going back, but immediately put that thought out of her head.  Instead, Aydia decided to seek out the elves she had heard so little about, who dwelt in the woods southwest of her home.  With the last of her money, Aydia hired a guide to take her to the elven lands.  Once she was there, she was shocked at what she saw.

The elves lived as barbarians, in simple temporary shelters built against the trees.  They spoke a language she didn’t understand, and while they were able to communicate to her in Common, she had nothing for them but anger and loathing.  She demanded to know why she had been abandoned and given to the humans; the elves claimed ignorance of the situation, but upon hearing her tale, they were extremely upset and spoke of killing Lord Korbin for his crimes against Aydia.  Aydia stayed with the elves for a while, not wanting any more to do with the Rievers but having nowhere else to go.  Fortunately for Aydia, the elves never got around to doing anything to Korbin.  Aydia left the elves after a couple of years, not being able to adapt to their easy-going lifestyle.  It was simply too alien to her.  The elves let her go, of course, and even provided some supplies for her travels.  She took what they offered and left.

For the next thirty years, Aydia wandered the countryside, farther and farther from her hated and feared human family.  She renewed her interest in magic from her younger days, and sought out another mentor to teach her.  None of the elves she approached could teach her fast enough and no human was willing to take on the lifetime commitment an elven apprentice represented.  So she learned what she could from all of them and filled in the blanks herself.  In time, she put her past behind her as best she could and moved on with her life.  She even made a couple of friends in the form of fellow adventurers, and found a place that she could truly call home: the open road.

PERSONALITY:
A lifetime of neglect and abuse has left Aydia with some very deep emotional scars.  She has a phobia of dark and enclosed spaces, and she doesn’t like people touching her or getting too close to her.  She finds relating to other people a constant challenge, as she is naturally sullen and introverted.  She does her best to keep people at arm’s length, for she is afraid of forming friendships that will end all too soon.  In this regard, she finds herself on common ground with members of other long-lived races choosing to live amongst humanity; those few friends that she does have are usually elven or half-elven adventurers of some sort.  Even among her friends she is withdrawn and distant, and very independent.  Needless to say, she doesn’t like to talk about her past.

During the course of her adventuring career, she was killed and buried by her friends, only to be dug up and resurrected by some drow who used her as a guinea pig in an experiment to drain her of her magical talents.  She was rescued a month later by her friends, who came across her accidentally.  This experience only added to her emotional scars, and she now has an unhealthy fascination with death and necromancy.  The only thing keeping her from becoming a necromancer is the memory of her only true friend in life, a cleric of Pelor who abhorred the undead.

APPEARANCE:
Aydia is a highly intelligent woman, and arrogantly proud of her wizardly talents, and so she dresses to fit the part.  She dresses to intimidate as much as to impress, favoring black robes with silver accents and embroidery.  These robes are cut to enable easy movement, revealing tight breeches and thigh-high leather boots beneath them.  She recently came into possession of a Lesser Tentacle Rod courtesy of her former captors; she’s never used it in combat and likely never will, but she keeps it for show.  She also has a satchel filled with her scrolls and wands, an Amulet of Natural Armor, and a leather headband with a large sapphire set into the middle of it (a Headband of Intellect).  Her shoulder length hair is naturally black, but an encounter with a possessing ghost turned it permanently white.  Her eyes are a piercing, crystalline blue in color.  She is a beautiful but cold young woman, and is rarely if ever seen with a smile on her face.  Her only true joy comes in raining death and destruction down on her enemies with the powerful magics at her disposal.  She loves using area effect spells such as Fireball and Cone of Cold, and will often do so to wipe out weaker opponents when a lesser-powered spell (or the talents of her companions) would have sufficed.

KILLER GAMING MOMENT:
The party had spent a week preparing to confront a red dragon in its lair.  We were so prepared, in fact, that the combat only lasted two rounds.  The group had scattered throughout the room to avoid being hit by the dragon’s breath weapon, and Aydia had found herself in a side corridor.  After the short battle was over, she heard the clanking of armor from around the corner.  Moving to investigate, she found two of the dungeon’s ogre guards coming to check on the commotion.  Aydia immediately hit them with an Iceball (energy-substituted Fireball), which they both managed to survive.  She then floated lazily back to the main room of the dragon’s lair (being under the effect of a Fly spell at the time), allowing the ogres to follow her back.  The two ogres came upon the scene of the red dragon lying dead on its pile of treasure and the rest of the party with barely a scratch on them.  Aydia raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the dragon carcass as if to say, “do you REALLY want some of this?”  Obviously, they didn’t.  They took off running, only to be mowed down by our wonderfully amoral Arcane Archer.


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## Zappo (Dec 29, 2004)

*Lyrael*, half-elf bladesinger.

 ----- *Personal history*

 Lyrael was born in the woodsy domain of Tepest in the terrifying plane of Ravenloft. His mother was one of the very, very rare elves of the domain of dread, and one of the few who was accepted among the small communities of Tepest. She taught him the ways of the elves, the secrets of the music of war; in the twenty years it took for Lyrael to learn the art of mixing battle, magic and dance, he remembers she never seemed to age a single year. As it often happens in Ravenloft, her elven resistance to aging was not of use. Lyrael's mother was killed during an attack on their town, Brigdarrow, by a pack of werecreatures.

 Lyrael took upon himself the role of defender which she had. He was among the best town guards of Brigdarrow, and well known in town for his equal skill in dance, song, magic and death for the horrors lurking in the woods of Tepest. Brigdarrow was flourishing, the pain for the loss of his mother was fading, and he was beginning to feel as happy as you can be in Ravenloft - when the Mists took him.

 Of that journey, Lyrael remembers nothing. He, as well, as several other people which he didn't recognize, simply appeared in the forests of Tepest. None of them recalled what happened, but they all had a distinct feeling of having failed, of impending doom. In Lyrael's pocket, he had a map of a place he didn't recognize - but upon reading the name of Vecna, he was filled of terror, without knowing why. When they reached a town, Lyrael quickly discovered that he had been missing for one full year, during which Brigdarrow was attacked and destroyed by an army of undead monsters.

 Astonishment turned to pain when he witnessed the devastation by himself. Pain turned to a thirst for vengeance when he led the companions to stop a powerful necromancer from turning his old friends and loves into undead monstrosities. But that was only the first step in the long way to making Tepest safe again - a journey which culminated in the defeat of the evil god and his minions. Lyrael was the only one, among those who woke up that day in the woods, to see the end of this conflict.

 ----- *Physical description*

 Lyrael is of average human height and build, with shoulders-length blonde hair, light blue eyes, and the fair complexion so common in Tepest (where the sun is clouded more often than not). In fact, his figure is normal for a human, but rather robust for a half-elf - Lyrael has well-trained muscles and a surprising strength. Even though he does nothing to hide his heritage, most people in Ravenloft mistake him for a common, if a bit exotic-looking, human. Well-travelled people, as well as the rare and unlucky visitors from other planes, recognize him as a half-elf from the shape of his ears, eyes and face.

 The bladesinger wears light mithral chain armor which he keeps mostly under common travel clothes, showing only mithral sleeves and the coif, hanging from his shoulders. When Lyrael wants to keep a low profile, he can easily hide the armor entirely under the clothes. The elven armor is so light that Lyrael often forgets or simply doesn't bother to remove it while sleeping, especially when travelling in dangerous zones. His only other defense is a small buckler, made from mithral as well, giving the impression of an easy target. This couldn't be farther from the truth; the bladesinger can dodge and parry like few other swordsmen and only expert fighters can even hope to touch the silvery mail, let alone his actual body.

 Against serious threats, though, Lyrael dons his real armor - magic. In a matter of seconds, the bladesinger can wrap himself in enough spells to ward off or confuse any but the most powerful attackers. Against serious threats, Lyrael is a blur of fractured images, moving supernaturally fast around his foes like a whole troupe of dancers.

 Lyrael's weapon of choice is the longsword; currently, he uses a lightning-enchanted weapon, claiming that he loves the zapping noise and flashes it makes when he draws it from the sheath at his left side. The half-elf has a pragmatic approach to equipment, and always carries a side weapon, should an enemy manage to disarm him. At his right side, he keeps another sheath with another long sword, not magical but made from pure adamantine.

 ----- *Personality and notes*

 The nonchalant use of magic is actually a prominent feature of the half-elf, who has been trained in the arcane since birth. He uses magic to fight, but also to flavor his food, to provide entertainment, and to keep himself clean (most people wonder for days how the hell he can keep using the same clothes, sleep in armor, and still smell like roses). He has got from his mother the elven habit of becoming fascinated with something and focusing on it for inordinate amounts of time: instead of moving on to the higher levels of magic, he keeps refining his use of the common combat spells; instead of learning to use more weapons, he concentrates on the longsword. Luckily, this dedication is practically a requirement for his bladesinger profession.

 Lyrael is one of the few champions of goodness in Ravenloft. He has placed himself at risk to save the ones he love, again and again, each time coming out on his feet and each time reinforced in his belief that selfless acts deserve success. The only dark side of his soul is the thirst for vengeance. Lyrael has seen all of his friends die one after the other at the hands of Vecna's minions. For revenge, he picked up the Sword of Kas even though he fully knew that he could not control it, risking the lives of everyone around him. The gamble paid off, and revenge is now complete - but what the future holds is uncertain.

 Lyrael used to be pretty tolerant of odd-looking people and creatures, as long as they behaved. This has recently changed, and now the bladesinger is more inclined to kill on sight creatures that are known to be evil, or at least to do what he can to keep them away from him. Whether this will become a problem is yet to see.

 ----- *Memorable scenes*

 The reason for Lyrael's recently-acquired xenophobia is recounted in this tale. His party had allowed a troll to travel with them for a while, and while the creature had a tendancy to vanish during combat, it didn't cause trouble either. This particular troll was very intelligent, and capable of casting spells; it spent most of the time polymorphed.

 The creature betrayed them during an important fight. The good Lyrael insisted that the party spellcasters tried to dispel any mind-affecting enchantment that could be on the troll, but was quickly forced to accept the fact that the creature was doing this of its own will. The monster escaped, but returned just hours later to ambush them in a city.

 Lyrael and two of his companions - a cleric and a wizard - found themselves in the room of an inn together with a three meters tall troll bent on killing all of them and with no easy escape. The troll grappled the wizard and killed him in a matter of seconds while the cleric desperately cast protective spells and the bladesinger tried in vain to free him. Then, the monster attacked the cleric and killed him as well, while the half-elf was hitting it as hard and fast as he could.

 The rest of the battle was fought over the corpses of the two friends, in the rubble of the room (half of the ceiling and walls had collapsed by now). The bladesinger had spent every spell still in his mind. In the eyes of the troll, Lyrael was a multiplied, blurry image, almost as strong as itself, taller, and angrier. His sword rained on the monster like a shower of razor-sharp pieces from a broken stained glass window during a thunderstorm. When the troll fell, Lyrael was still untouched.

 The half-elf commanded the villagers to raise a bonfire, and was about to throw its regenerating body over it, when a hag teleported in front of the flames, before the crowd. "Hand me the troll", the witch said, "or I will kill you and these people".

 Alone and tired, the bladesinger was forced to comply. "But be warned, witch. If I meet this monster again, it will die". More bodies to bury, more vengeance to seek.


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## carpedavid (Dec 29, 2004)

The following is actually my fiancee's recently retired character.

*Laurel Sylvan Oakenblade*


Laurel is the scion of the Oakenblade family, a proud wood elf clan dedicated to the defense of the natural world against the forces of darkness. At 5'4", she's tall for an elf, but she retains the lithe build of her race. Her eyes are amber, her skin the color of golden leaves, and her hair is a dark green with yellow highlights that evokes the sensation of watching light filter through the forest canopy.

As a ranger/rogue, Laurel wears leather armor that's easy to move in. She carries two blades: an ancestral longsword that blazes with fire upon command, and a short sword that has a blade permanently covered in frost.

She put her blades to good use when, one day, she and her adventuring companions were ambushed by a group of winter wolves. She and her friends fought valiantly, but as the snow-covered ground turned crimson, her friends fell one by one. Eventually, all three of her companions were lying crumpled in the snow, while she faced off against the remaining two beasts.

Every nerve in her body screamed as adrenaline coursed through her body. Her legs felt weak, and her arms were heavy, but she knew that she was the last chance that her friends had of surviving this encounter. She wiped the blood from her eyes, and charged the lead wolf. Twisting and turning, she barely managed to avoid its bloody jaws as she landed the telling blow. Then, before the wolf's lifeless body could fall under its own weight, she vaulted over the beast, propelling herself toward the remaining wolf.

With a desperation matched only by a mother protecting her children, Laurel flew through the air, her blood-spattered hair trailing behind her, as she drew back the fiery sword of her ancestors. The beast reared back to meet its opponent, blood and fangs opposing fire and steel. Laurel screamed -- forcing every ounce of remaining energy into what she knew would be her last blow. The wolf howled as it snapped at her, attempting to catch her head in its massive jaws. At the last moment, Laurel ducked her head and swung her sword blindly, eliciting a deafening crack that echoed through the frozen forest as she crushed the beast's ribs.

Both Laurel and the wolf collapsed. Laurel felt the cool kiss of snowflakes hit her face as she lay in the blood-soaked snow, and she smiled when she realized that she was the one still left alive.


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## A'koss (Dec 29, 2004)

*Mejin A'koss
*
CN(G) Rogue of indeterminate level. 
Age: apparent 45, actual 83
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 170 lbs.

*Description:* Mejin is of Baklunish descent possessing their trademark golden skin, a perpetually stubbly 3 day old beard, blue-grey eyes and long, wavy, blue-black hair with increasing amounts of grey as the years go by... It is braided in a few areas and loosely tied in the back. As a celebrity in Greyhawk he is always attired the latest fashions mixing Baklunish elements along with current Greyhawk styles. Currently he favors his long, midnight blue coat with silver embroidery and sleeves that end at the elbow, a casual white shirt, dark, green-grey breeches and near-black boots with an inordinate amount of silver buckles to match his belt. Mejin carries with him two beautifully pattern-welded adamantine/black mithril shortswords which emit a deep violet mist-like radiance.

Mejin's most distinguishing trait however is the incredibly stylized plate armor that adorns his left arm. It appears to be made of black iron with burnished, silver edges and ending in a talon-like guantlet. Mejin will happily tell you the tale of how he simply woke up one morning and it was there, on his arm, and curiously irremovable. If your interest has been piqued, he'll happily direct you to his 3 volume biography, available at all fine bookstores. 

*History:* Mejin's career as the quintessential adventurer has spanned almost five decades. Bumbling from one adventure to the next, a member of no fewer than 17 different adventuring bands, his life would seem by many to be guided by the insane hand of Zagyg himself... This amuses the demigod greatly as it happens to be true.

However, that is not his only patron from on high... 

The strange relationship shared by the Demon Queen Lolth and Mejin A'koss can only be described as... well, it's best not to speculate. The story goes something like this - Many years ago Mejin was a member a renoun adventuring company called Silver... something-or-anothers. Anyway, repelling a seemingly simple giant raid led to the band to uncover nefarious plots that involved the mysterious drow and their dreaded Spider Queen. The band was very successful in following the trail deep into UnderOerth... right up until the Vault of the Drow. AFter a pitched battle with powerful clerics in Lolth's Temple, Mejin once again found himself the sole survivor (*sigh*). With the drow city now on high alert, Mejin weighed his options... 

Yes, killing Lolth seemed the best idea. 

"Word to the wise...", Mejin would say. "Even if you think you can get away with it, don't try and backstab a goddess. Really, just don't." It seems that Mejin tumbled onto the idea of leaping down from a balcony high in the grand temple, blades in hand, onto the oblivious back of Lolth in her enourmous spider form. After bouncing off her impregnable carapace he found himself flat on his a.. butt staring face to face with an, albeit puzzled, Demon Queen of Spiders. 

"You must be the stupidest mortal in existence."

"Well... it was either this or life as purveyor of women's shoes. I think we can both agree I made the right decision."

"..."

"Would it help any if I said I really, really hurt my bottom?"

Apparently, Lolth has a sense of humor after all. Not much more is known of what transpired between the two but several weeks later Mejin was seen riding into Greyhawk City... on the back a giant spider he named "Ick".

*Portrait:* As far as how I'd want Mejin to be portrayed, there are a couple of ways you could go to really capture the true _essence_ of the character. One, Mejin bouncing ignomiously off a rather surprised Lolth or... Two, Mejin chatting up some impressionable young thing on the streets of Greyhawk with Ick in the background rolling all 8 of his eyes in disgust. 


'nuff said.

A'koss.


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## Kai Lord (Dec 29, 2004)

MrFilthyIke said:
			
		

> Kai Lord,
> 
> What's the deadline?



January 31st, as stated in the very first post of this thread.


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## A'koss (Dec 29, 2004)

*Arel of Nareldyr*

"You're all fine... but you're crazy." 
- Bosley, Charlie's Angels 2. 

CN Female Human Fighter/Ranger/Barbarian/Berserker (and a little Rogue)
Age: 39... for the last 6 years.
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 165... _*whack!*_ 110 lbs.

*Description:* I'm fairly certain a comb has never come within 10' of Arel's head. Her once proud red mane of hair is now streaked with grey and tied with a few scraggly braids. She was clearly quite the beauty in her day but the years of war and anger have taken their toll. Arel is probably the most... intense person you are ever likely to meet. She wears this perpetual disapproving scowl that only softens to a smile when she's about to hurt something. Her deeply lined and unforgiving blue eyes are have made kings shift in their seats. Arel firmly believes that her crimson scalemail shirt (fashioned from some nameless abyssal horror) is suitable for all social occasions. Certainly, no one has ever suggested otherwise... She also wears her trademarked wide legged gold embroidered leather breaches which almost looks like a dress when she bothers to stand up straight. Her fur lined boots have a concealed blade in each toe and is bound in Norse-like wrappings. Arel also has a bandana full of nasty implements of pain (small blades, caltrops, garrots, blinding powder, etc...) but her pride and joy is the dwarf-forged spear _Tyrskaar_ she lovingly carries in her oversized guantlets. This heavy bladed weapon has a black iron shaft 8' long and an ornate s-curved spearhead forged of baatoran green steel. A series of small, rounded vents run the length of the spearhead that spews flame and smoke like a furnace on command. Did I mention Arel like fire...?

*History:* Arel the Warmaiden, Arel the Bloody, Arel the Viper, The Fang of Nareldyr revels in combat... a bit too much. Within her heart burns a rage you couldn't put out with a dozen magic decanters. An incredibly skilled warrior, her dwarf-forged spear has found the heart of countless beasts, monsters and demons. Arel demands respect from her few peers and subservience from everyone else... and what Arel wants, Arel gets. She has trained many hunters over the years who have gone on to become great heroes in their own right. Her followers are loyal with an almost... religious ferver. 

Arel has... _attention issues_. Being the scrawny 4th child of 6 and with both of her parents being hunters she essentially grew up the forgotten child. Ignored by her parents, pushed around by her larger siblings slowly stoked the flames within. It didn't help that when a band of Frost Giants from Kaldyr raided their cliffside town and burned it to the ground they had ignored her too. She threw the largest little rocks she could at the giants but alas, couldn't even get their attention. It hardly seemed to matter that her family was dead and her home destroyed - it was the fact that she was, once again, ignored by those bigger than her that finally caused her subtle shift towards mayhem and dismemberment. Plus, those damn giants stepped on her little flower garden - that assured payback was forthcoming.

Arel was eventually found by one of the hunters from the larger city of Nareldyr... clinging by her teeth to his leg. I guess he saw potential there and trained the little feral girl. It wasn't long before Arel became hard to ignore - her weapons were the biggest, the battlecries the loudest. Eventually it was suggested that _hunting_ might not be the best career choice for her. Arel wandered, hooking up with several adventuring bands over the years, but each time was (politely) asked to take her insane berserker heinie elsewhere. And each time, she'd kick the crap out of them and move on with no hard feelings. Next, she spent many years adventuring solo and it wasn't long before her reputation grew to the point where it attracted others of... similar ilk. It was when her newly formed "Fang Company" saved Nareldyr from the colossal Kaic that she was given the mantle of _*Warmaiden of Nareldyr*_.

And she'll be happy to remind you if you forget.

*Portrait:* Arel isn't happy unless she's clinging onto her furnace-spewing spear embedded deeply in the back of some colossal, rampaging Ice Beast.

A'koss.


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## Ghostwind (Dec 30, 2004)

I'll give it a shot...

*Kosh*
*Character Notes:*
Kosh, a giant among the Ramzadi lizardfolk, is spoken in whispers of reverence and awe among members of his own clan. His legendary accomplishments are boasted about and celebrated at Sanu gatherings everywhere. He is a warrior’s warrior. A lizard who lives for the thrill of combat and the carnage of battle. He has served on many armies across a multitude of worlds. He is the ultimate mercenary and perhaps, the ultimate killing machine.
            Kosh made the decision to journey out into the world of adventuring shortly after reaching the age of maturity and passing the rites of manhood. He joined up with an adventuring company and proved his worth by killing an owlbear with his bare hands when the party was caught by surprise. His opponents often mistake him for a savage and dumb brute, but nothing is further from the truth. Kosh is a very intelligent (especially for his race) and calculating individual. His every move in combat is done with precision and an execution that puts him closer to his goal.

            After serving time in an army, Kosh soon found himself exposed to the greater universe beyond his homeworld. Mistaken for a half-dragon, he was given the commission of officer within the Great Red Dragon Emperor’s elite forces where he put down rebellion after rebellion and killed for the glory thus becoming evil. It was during this time that he became proficient with the railgun rifle and became a true Slayer with his greatsword, Icingdeath.

            Years went by and Kosh left the service of the Emperor after fulfilling his term of service three times over. The empire had a firm grip on the galaxy and the call of battle was no longer sounded as frequently. Besides, there were riches to be found and Kosh was a Ramzadi, after all. Besides, his purse was now light since he had sent nearly all of his acquired wealth back home to his clan during his shore leave trips there.

            His adventures brought him to a worn-torn world where chaos reigned and law was almost non-existent in all but the largest of cities. Here a being with a good sword arm could do quite well as bodyguard and mercenary. In no time at all, Kosh found himself in the employ of a rich bloodlord serving as a bodyguard to the noble’s daughter. While serving her, he watched her grow from a small child to regal woman. During this time, her innocence and kind soul had an effect upon him. She showed him that there were other things in life other than blood and killing. He become more of an immovable force in combat and less the bloodthirsty slayer as he refined his combat techniques and learned that leaving your foes alive and trembling in fear was often a greater psychological advantage than simply killing them outright. In many ways, he grew to love the girl he was charged with protecting and when she married another bloodlord to cement a political alliance, he chose to leave her family’s employment and strike out on his own again.

            It was during this time that Kosh discovered the presence of magical portals and gateways through his encounter with the strange human known as Matrix. A human who could travel through doorways and into other realms and worlds with ease. Matrix had a hardness about him that Kosh identified with and soon the two bonded in friendship. Kosh was startled to learn that Matrix was a slave to an evil organization and as such, subject to their whims and directions. He was also surprised at the manner in which Matrix rebelled against them, often in ways akin to vigilantism. In time the two parted ways, but fate would not keep them apart for long.

            Kosh was adventuring alone when he accidentally stepped through a portal and found himself in the ruins of Myth Drannor. Much to his gleeful surprise, he discovered Matrix and a group of adventurers who called themselves The Company of the DragonWing. These individuals possessed skills and desires similar to Kosh’s and he chose to join them. Now many adventures later, he is a trusted member of the group and feels he has found a home among friends.

*Personality:*
Kosh has a love of treasure. Never stand between a ramzadi and his treasure if you want to remain healthy. He has a real fondness for gold but also has developed an equal fondness for women, especially elven and human ones. Try as he might, few women find a battle-scarred lizard nearly 11 ft. tall sexually appealing. Kosh's other love is music. Nothing gets him in the mood for battle faster than hearing elven battle operas or orcish war ballads. He often sings his own Ramzadi ballads while swinging Icingdeath in the throes of combat. Virtually nothing is safe from his ire and he has yet to encounter a monster that truly frightens him. He has slain demons, dragons, and undead alike. He has a special dislike for the other lizard races, regarding lizardfolk as lesser creatures in need of population control. He has a particular dislike for half-dragons and draconians whom he feels are an abomination to dragon kind in general. Kosh takes great pleasure in the destruction of draconians especially because of their sinister purpose behind their creation.

He has even come to regard magic as a necessity although he doesn't entirely trust mages yet. He thinks they are too fragile for the demands of battle. Their heads crush just like melons when he gets his hands on them. At least armor makes it a little more difficult to crush the bones of his opponents. Mages are a strange lot...

Kosh also has a habit of getting into tavern brawls. It seems that no matter what tavern or bar he visits, there is always some sot there that thinks he can take the lizard or else finds offense with Kosh's presence there (usually after Kosh hits on a barmaid or entertaining bard). No matter the cause, Kosh leaps into it with zest and thoroughly enjoys bashing heads together and throwing bodies through walls and windows. Because of this, Kosh has a reputation that usually proceeds him and the Company has gotten used to paying an insurance and damages retainer to the local law authorities whenever they enter a new town.

*Greatest Moment in History:*
Kosh has a phobia regarding water. Putting it simply, he hates it. Open bodies of water are something he will avoid whenever he can. However, there are times when a lizard must reach inside himself and find the courage to face that fear. Such was the case when the Company of the DragonWing found themselves under attack by not one, but two undead dragon turtles. The party mage had been knocked overboard when the first turtle rammed the ship, causing much of it to splinter. The members of the party divided their efforts, the dwarven cleric focusing his efforts on one turtle, the vampire necromancer taking on the other, while Matrix dove into the water to rescue the mage. As luck would have it, both turtles got the jump on their opponents and knocked them both from the fight temporarily. Seeing the events transpire before his eyes, Kosh sparks to life (nat. 20 on a Will save) and launches himself into battle, leaping from the broken bow of the ship with a bloodcurling warcry and dire flail spinning in hands towards the first undead creature. He landed upon the back of the creature and struck true and hard (another nat. 20), causing the creature to disintegrate in a blazing explosion of bone and tissue. The second turtle, enraged by the actions of Kosh and the destruction of its mate, charged the now sinking-like-rock Ramzadi. Knowing his likely fate, Kosh readied his flail as he sank and awaited the turtle. As the turtle approached, Kosh swung everything he had at the mouth of the great creature. Once again, his aim was true (a third nat. 20 in a row) and the flail connected. The explosive force shot him like a cannonball back and down further into the depths where his breath left him and blackness took him. If it were not for the combined actions of the rescued mage and cleric, Kosh would have been lost to the party. But if it were not for Kosh's ability to reach past his fear, the outcome wou have been much more dire. By the way, Kosh's first words when he revived, "I hate water!!"


*Descriptive Notes:*
The Ramzadi are a race of lizardfolk that average 8-9 ft. in height, although 10 ft. tall males are not unheard of in some regions. Their massive frames weigh between 600-700 lbs. with the largest males going as much as 800 lbs. Skin coloration of the species ranges from a light gray to a deep green-brown, depending upon the season and terrain. Ramzadi males have a crest on the back of their neck that tends to become hot and glows faintly when they are enraged. They use their long whip-like tail for both balance and combat purposes. The tail is usually 4-5 ft. in length and may regenerate over time if severed.


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## Mighty Halfling (Dec 30, 2004)

*Laroo Manisaun*

*Laroo Manisaun* 
*Class:* Cleric of Procan/Ranger
*Race:* Human
*Weapons:* Trident, Dagger and Spiked leather armor
*General thrust of the character: * Laroo is a skilled underwater combatant and fiesty cleric to a storm god. Despite this, he's spent most of his "playing time" out of the water.
*Character concept:* Pearl diver turned adventurer.
*Description:* Laroo Manisaun is a short fellow with shoulder-length black hair and dark colored skin. In "Earth" terms, he looks like someone from Samoa or any other Pacific Island.
According to D&D rules, he wears spiked leather armor, but his armor is a lot less substantial than most leather armor is illustrated. In fact, his armor covers his legs, waist, wrist, hands and forearms.  His forearm, hand guards, shins and knee protection are spiked. He doesn't wear boots or foot covering, prefering to walk barefoot. Rather than carrying a standard backpack, he wears a duffle slung over his shoulder. Around his neck is a woven hemp necklace that bares the holy sumbol of his god, Procan the Seastorm Bringer. The symbol looks like a oyster shell with three pearls clamped in its maw.
*Combat:* With a trident in one hand and a dagger in the other (Two-Weapon Fighting feat), Laroo makes for a wiley opponent. When functioning as a healer, he uses his spiked armor as his off-hand weapon. He's been well trained to fight thanks to his years as a pearl diver (Endurance, Skill Focus - Swim feats), where he encountered innumerable sea beasts. There, deep in the dark waters (Blind Fighting feat) he learned to hone his senses and attack by instinct.
*His story:* Laroo Manisaun was born and raised on a tropical island. There, one of the inhabitants' main trade goods was its development of a massive oyster bed in its many lagoons. From an early age, he learned to dive deep below the surface of the water, pry open the oysters and retrieve their valuable cargo.
Like many of his fellow divers, he began to worship Procan, the god of the angry seas. Unlike many, Laroo learned the tales of the Great One, performed the rites and became a full-fledged priest of the sea god.
But one day, life on the island changed forever, the earth tore open and spat out lava and fire, all at the behest of evil fire creatures. Laroo and the other residents fought the creatures as best they could, but it wasn't long until the island was destroyed. 
A massive evacuation was ordered and the island was deserted.
 Laroo and his fellow islanders scattered across the world. Some settled a new island. Others traveled to the mainland where they were absorbed into the populace.
But Laroo did something different, he decided to become an adventurer. 
These dreams lead him to Freeport, where he joined a band of heroes trying to protect the pirate city from a sinister conspiracy.
*Goals:* Laroo hopes to someday buy a ship, return to his home island and root out the evil fire creatures (Favored Enemy - Fire outsiders) who have taken over the island.


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## Chrysalis (Dec 30, 2004)

_The feet shuffled, the axes beat against the shields, defiant did the celestial confront them with his flame-hewn sword, his golden hair swirling in the light spring breeze. "Do you hear me you warmongerer! Do you hear my cry, I have no wish to battle you all, but if I must, I shall smite you until my love is returned to me in safety."

A great hush followed with these words, as the hosts, one fair one foul took stock of each other. A slow drumbeat began from the back of the blood-bound army, growing in tempo until the front-line continued with their stomping and clanging. And as soon as it had started another kind of silence fell across the army.

A dark cloaked figure walked with grace and certainty towards the front of the army, each soldier paying obeisance to such power, alongside came a hunched creature many a sword and spear sticking out of its body, it crawled maggot-like eagerly following along as if it were an eager pet nipping at the heels of his master.

From deep within the rotted and soiled hood came a voice both melodious and mocking, "you come to eve of battle with only, words? I do not think your troop will give me or my men much pleasure." "The pleasure is not for your taking, foul slave of chaos!” the celestial shouted back, "give me my love back, or else you will soon decorate my sword." "Strong words for a strong man, come let us see if you will still have your love-slave, for a sweet man such as yours will go fonder by the very presence it lacks." Pulling on a chain hidden behind, there comes a whimper as a girl, wild skirted and scared, fighting a lost battle against being drug by the chain, finally landing at the feet of the cloaked figure, cut and bruised. A wail of pure dread escaped her lips upon seeing her true love.

Stooping down, harshly fondling her hair and face, "what a pretty thing to fall in love with. I am sure it gave you plenty of sport, did it not. Oh, do not give me such a delightfully hated gaze, she has not been misused. I suppose now you would have me believe in the warrior code, do you think that with your god by your side you shall prevail against me in a duel, in heated battle..." The cloak ripped asunder, revealing a mask both beauteous and cruel, her body armored in blood spattered silver, wings of steel stabbing their way to sky. She lifted the girl to her intricately carved face. The girl's fear mirroring off empty sockets, she continued her sentence ever mocking, "...against your own sister?"

"What foul mind trickery is this, you who are no more worthy to call upon my dear departed sister's name, than that of the camp harlot. This is my last and final call, leave her be, or by all that is pure and true I will smite thee". His sword changed hue and grew more crackling as a bright diadem encircled his bright locks. His men became more confident.

All this time, she had been savouring the ripping of her dress, her gauntleted hands caressing her flesh, each breath of her's stealing that of her victim's "Do not worry, brother, I will save you from your desires. Fulcrum! Knife!" The creature shambled closer and she picked a knife from his body, with a clean strike shearing off the maiden's face, her spirit screaming, her body lacerating into bloody pieces as the soul was sucked down her mouthplate. The face still dripping, she pressed it against her own steel-clad face.

The celestial looked on in horror as the sky seemed to dim, watching his love's life being so horribly drained out by that fiend. Tears had dimmed his eyes for but a moment, and as sight returned, a strange sight did he confront. The figure that wore her face, the air began to swirl ominously, the body began twisting and reshaping, the layers of white metal stripping away, as the face upon its face cried once. 

The armies looked on in awe as the chains dangling and dropped from the girl's hand, hale in face, her dress remade. Not knowing himself, the celestial in a haze of wonder rushed towards her, his troop following, she ran and met him open armed, as both foes joined each other in combat. His lips met hers in a lingering kiss. A sting was the suprise as he found his dagger buried hilt deep in his spurting neck. Her body pressed against his, she whispered in his ear, "come brother let me lead you out of the pain, your blood desires it, your flesh demands it."_


Pulchra, like most battle-taskers was once a Celestial. Reknown for her beauty, she became for a baatezu, envious of her piety, an item to corrupt. She became conceited and haughty as honey sweetened poison was dripped into her ear by untold agents. Eventually her fall throuigh the love to a mortal was complete, and in her passion she gave away it all to be with her true prince. Arrogance was her ultimate downfall as she treated those with hidden power with contempt. Bruising and hurting those with a brash and angry tongue, until finally the castle was laid siege to by the blood-bound. Her body was offered as tribute, for them to do as they would wish.

Her wings were rent, they forced to crawl along the earth with broken limbs, as they slowly fed her prince to her. Until finally her only sustenance was the potion that they forced her to drink. As a final cruel act of torture, her mind long lost, was for her to be encased in the raiment of the blood-bound, she became lost under the weight of what had become of her. There was now no sense of gender or propriety, the last glimmer of the eye forever shut in steel.

For untold millennia as a warrior did 'he' fight in the ranks of the blod-bound army, until lust became dim, and in a moment of realization he remembered who was she. The powers of the Celestial, long thought lost even by her former self reawoke, more terrible than ever before. She hid her self behind the blazon of the soldier, and as soldier did he rise. Listening to the whispers during the long marches, during the ensuring millenia as she rose from a soldier of the second host to that of a Talon did she finally piece together with magic and deceit him who was behind the lies that caused her downfall. By this time he had risen to become the commander of the Talons, the Pulchra of old had died a long time and what were once impossible closes of thought, were wide concords. No longer bound in the mind, it was simple to grasp the power in the finger tips of the commander of the Talon. Those who had once manipulated her into her downfall would now list to her tune, as a blood-bound, he manipulated their desires and wants to kill his lord, the battle-tasker of the army, and for him to ascend to the position of the battle-tasker. His masters were pleased with his treatchery, and as a sign of largesse bade him to enter their city. Enter the army did, but not as allies as they thought, but as the serpent. She holds special the memory of her army laying siege to the undefended city, clawing its feeble defences away until it fell. The army being replenished with new recruits and slaves, those who did not turn coat were eagerly feasted upon, as the city flowed and dripped like an abatoir. No longer necessary was for her to hide behind the mask of subservience, and she supped that night on her former downtrodder.

With her blood tipped, razor sharp wings, she commands the battlefield with a detached, beauteous, blood-spattered face. Her commitatus, filled with flying creatures are former lovers, she has enjoyed into the blood-bound, each trying out do the other for a heart she no longer possesses.


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## Kai Lord (Dec 31, 2004)

Son_of_Thunder said:
			
		

> Extremely convenient recap of all characters



Fantastic work Son_of_Thunder!  You've just ensured one of your characters a spot in the finals for your efforts!


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## A'koss (Dec 31, 2004)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Fantastic work Son_of_Thunder! You've just ensured one of your characters a spot in the finals for your efforts!



Just a thought Kai Lord, but I think it'd be even more convenient if you went and edited your first post in this thread to contain those links... It'll be easier to find for those just jumping in.

Cheers!


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## Berandor (Jan 2, 2005)

It's not Dragonlance, but it's a Dragonslayer paladin, so there's at least a similarity. 

_History_
Hear ye, hear ye, the story of Berandor Marikulis.

Berandor grew up in the small Cormyrian village of Unterbruck ("below bridges" in German). His father died early, being killed by a red dragon, and the young boy remembered more an idealized version of him than what he really was like. At the age of twelve, Berandor set out from Unterbruck to be trained in the arts of war. What he found was more than just a sword - it was a calling. He returned to Unterbruck five years later, just like he had promised, to meet his childhood friends. By that time, he had already taken the first steps on the long and hard road to paladinhood, even if he still was a rash young man.

Together with his friends, he founded the Unterbruck Falcons, of which he was the leader and spokesman. The companions set out into the world to find adventure. Their first brush with danger led young Berandor to severly punish, if not torture, a man they needed answers from. After a sleepless night, he swore never to do such a cruel deed again, and gave away his belongings to the poor as penance. From that day on, Berandor shut his anger away. He only had one outlet: his dislike of dragons - especially red dragons - which intensified to hatred.

After slaying his first red dragon - the Falcons had been pointed to the lair by a kindly wizard that would soon become their "mentor" -, Berandor discovered a pair of red dragon eggs. He destroyed the first and took the second, bringing it to a Dragonslayer chapter that required just such a gift for prospective new members. Berandor partook in the initiation ceremony but spoke out of turn - he was still very much a townboy. The chapter president was furious at Berandor's mistake and threw him out, warning him not to come back unless he had learned manners. It took almost a year before Berandor returned and was finally instigated as a Dragonslayer. As a gift, he received a large shield made of red dragon scales.

Berandor also defeated the giant stone golem that threatened Ashabaford, where the whole party was nearly killed and he and his squire survived without a scratch. Even though he later left the city to an evil lord - there would have been too many civilian deaths -, he still retained the title of "Defender". Berandor also protected a dryad grove from a large tribe of hobgoblins, becoming a "Friend" to the woodland creatures. He rescued the Cormyrian Royal Princess for which he and his companions were gifted with the Golden Medal of Honor. For winning the Royal Tournament at Suzail, he was knighted as Lord of Dragonstone.

After several more adventures that led him to be wed and have a daughter, Berandor went into the Underdark to destroy an evil artefact. The Falcons killed the artefact's guardian, a shadow dragon, in large part to Berandor's brave assault: he _spiderclimbed_ to the ceiling of the cavern, and when the dragon appeared, he dropped onto its back, climbed to the head and attacked the beast's eyes. Sadly, the artifact turned Berander Neutral Evil, but before he could do any harm, Torm appeared before him and offered him release from the curse for becoming one of Torm's emissaries. Berandor accepted, and his soul left his body to become that of a Giant Falcon that even now scours Cormyr and its neighbors for evil to vanquish.

Thus is the story of Berandor Marikulis of Dragonstone, Defender of Ashabaford, Friend of the Grove, Wearer of Cormyr's Golden Medal of Honor, Leader of the Unterbruck Falcons, Paladin of Torm, Dragonslayer.

_Description_
Berandor was a tall man with a somewhat large frame, accounting for his lack of dexterity. He was physically fit, though not impressively strong or enduring, but had an innocent-yet-firm smile. He had long black hair and blue eyes. Berandor's clothing was always immaculately clean; he even used perfume bags to scent his clothing, and make-up to accentuate his features. Berandor wore plate mail engraved with a falcon's claw over a bridge, and he fought with a lance when on horseback, or with his (later Holy) longsword in one and his dragonslayer shield in the other hand (the shield was made of red dragon scales, with serrated edges and a spike in the middle). He did not wear a helmet unless at a tourney.

His paladin's mount was a white, sleek horse (a light warhorse). It had small wings on each ankle that enabled it to make long jumps (later, the horse wore plate barding, and Zephyr's hooves).

_Personality_
Berandor was a kind, gentle man, always ready to spare a life - even of his enemies. He was a staunch follower of the codex, and preferred to be honest even when total honesty might not have been called for. He would never attack a creature simply for being evil; he saw good in everybody (which landed him in marriage with a reformed slaver). On some accounts, he even defended evil creatures from his friends.

Berandor despised torture and everything that might be construed as such, on account of his outburst early in his career. He hated red dragons with a fiery passion, this target being the only thing where he would allow his anger to take control of him.

Berandor always valued the life of others higher than his own. In battle, he would stop fighting, put away his sword, and lay hands on a companion in need, not caring for his own opponents. When faced with almost certain death, he would free his squire from all obligations to him and advise him to flee so that the squire wouldn't die as well.

Berandor was always happy to give but always ashamed to ask for something. He was never very joyful, preferring a quiet smile to that of rumbustious laughter. That intensified when he killed his mentor, to the point where all he would seek was happiness for others, being almost unable to be happy himself. The weight of his (perceived) responsibilities bore down on him.

_Game Moment_
(It was difficult, but I chose not to go with heroics here, but to choose the most important thing in Berandor's career)
Leading up to it:
The party had been imprisoned by the Zhentarim, an evil nation/organization in the Realms. (This is where Berandor met his future wife and was seduced by her... what?) after being interrogated and tortured, they were to fight in the arena with the possibility to earn their freedom. Each of the party members fought an opponent similar to their own, and defeated him more or less barely. Then, without any healing being allowed, the party as a whole was to fight the arena champion, a hulking minotaur warrior.

Side note:
The wizard Abraxas was somewhat of a mentor to the party. He had given them one of their first missions and enabled Berandor to slay his first dragon. The party believed - but could not prove - that Abraxas was a gold dragon in disguise. The wizard had disappeared quite a while ago.

In Game:
The minotaur advances on the party and brandishes its mighty axe. It whispers, "It's me, Abraxas. You have to kill me to get free."
The party is shocked. Berandor announces that he will not kill the mage, no matter the cost. Fighting ensues for a few rounds, during which Berandor's squire is dropped and the minotaur slightly harmed (Berandor did not attack). Again, the minotaur says, "Kill me. It's the only way. I will have to kill you otherwise." And to Berandor especially, "At least make it seem realistic. I will fake my death if possible."
So Berandor decides to attack, but miss on purpose.
[ME (to DM): I will attack, but look away and try not to hit, or hit too hard]
[DM: Alright, take a -5 on your attack]
[ME (rolls): Uhm... natural 20.]
So Berandor takes a wide and mightily-looking swing designed to look impressive but miss, and instead takes off Abraxas' head in one sweep. The crowd falls silent (one woman shrieking in joy), the players stare at me, Berandor drops to his knees and cries.

Result:
That moment really hung over Berandor's later career. He was ever more ambitious to defeat injustice and he felt his responsibilities like never before. He now knew that even if he tried to shy away from them, they would come callling.
Also, a few months later, he saw a painting of that fight in a noble's living room, and broke into tears again. The guilt of having killed the party's mentor, perhaps a gold dragon, of having killed him inadvertently *and* of having tried to shirk from his duty weighed heavily on him, but made him a better paladin and group leader in the end.

That's it. I hope it's not too long, or too much information.


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## LeifVignirsson (Jan 2, 2005)

*Leif Vignirsson*

Description
Leif Vignirsson is a tall man (6'10") and a man that is built like a brick house, with muscles tight on his frame.  He is bald but has a full mountain man/viking beard with a few braide on the right hand side.  When he is on another vessel, he usually wears leathers (containing a leather vest and leather pants, must have the arms free to strike) and weilds the most dangerous weapon on the high seas and what some now see as an artifact, The Shipsplitter, his greataxe.  He is a quite man, someone who takes the orders given to him and will doggedly fight to save a member of his own crew if he can.  Often he was simply known as a "gentl giant" or "denthead" for the fact that he kept hitting his head on everything, due to the nearly two foot difference between himself and the typical Mantean (see History for more detail).

History
After having his ship destryed in a freakish storm as it sailed away from his homeland, Leif found himself in the clutches of a Manetan (think a combo of Greek and Middle Eastern) slave ship, bound to be sold to someone who could use someone as big as him (average Mantean height was 5').  Eventually he was purcahsed by a clan of Manteans known as the Land Sea fleet and was told that he would be a part of their marines.  He took the job without fuss, though he was told that he could get out of his slavery by doing a good job and bringing in ships that were needed for the Manteans to survive in their thousand islands habitiat.

Of course, this was a tall order in more ways than one for the giant Leif.  His greataxe did a lot more damage than good at times, even to the point of splitting decks apart with a well placed strike.  Of course, Leif would tell you to this day that the captain of that vessel they boarded was going for his gun and if he didn't kill him (by slicing THROUGH the captain and into the hull so forcefully that it slpit the hull open), Leif would be a dead man, but his marines know it was something different.  It was actions like this that eventually mad ehim the leader of the marines and also made the captain dread to send him out to wooden ships.  He helped uncover cannon ships that were being tested by the greatest Mantean rivlas, the Kurzim as well as find all sorts of treasure to help him become a great man and a legend among the Manteans.

Sadly, years later, he died while trying to fight off a giant squid but still managed to give the people something to cheer about as he nearly destryoed the squid on his own.  To this day, Manteans raid the homeland of Normark to find men of stature that will be the same as Leif.  His axe is a treasured artifact of the Land Sea fleet and is given to the admiral of the fleet as they feel this axe will give the admiral the inner strength that Leif possessed while lending the outer strength to punish their rivals.

Greatest Moment
Has to be when the Manteans found out that there was a Kurzim cannon ship, something that was unheard of and thought of as more of a legend than anything else.  Leif and his captain thought otherwise and set out to find this cannon ship.  First, they needed to take a Kurzim ship and use it as the bait to lure the cannon ship to it, then the Mantean ship would come to the side and allow the other marines to board from the other side.

You would think that this would be a peice of cake but it turned out to be quite an adventure.  Leif and a select few of his trusted marines went aboard the Kurzim ship they selected and took it without much fuss, but with a lot of damage to the ship in itself.  They limped along and played possum in the last area the gunship was spotted and sure enough, the gunship appeared.  They sailed towards the ship and offered assistance, got close enough for Leif and his marines to board and all higgldy-piggldy broke out.

Unknown to them, each member of the ship carried his own gun (either a pistol or a rifle) and as the marines boarded from each vessel, they were being picked off by the crew of the gunship.  All except Leif.  Leif took out a few of the riflemen to allow the rest of his mariens to board, then decided that without orders from the captain, the crew would surely be lost.  In a Terminator-esque march to the captains deck, he took out five more people with clean shots, cleaving through half of them with his greataxe and even splitting apart the stairs that were meant to give him passage up to the deck.  He managed to climb up to the deck and with blood pouring out of every hole that was shot into him, he stalked after the captain (of course, after killing the two bodyguards who were terrible shots... some bodyguards, eh?) with grim conviction.

The captain said something that would be echoed by every other Kurzim that Leif would escort to death, "Why don't you just die?!"  The captian shot Leif two more times, bringing Leif to death's door.  But, with Leif last breath he invoked the name of Kor, one of the gods of his people and gathered enough stregth to... go on, guess... Cleave right through the captain and almost take out the steering column in the process.  He passed out and was battling death.

In what makes this the greatest moment, he awoke after being tended to only to find out that there were two marinesleft out of a compliemt of fifteen.  Not only had he taken out so many by himself but they were all amazed that he made it at all after all of that carnage.  Those that survived would follow him but those who joined would be weary to be a part of his marines for the stories of his greatness and their casualties would be things of legends.


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## Sir Elton (Jan 3, 2005)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> T
> 
> Oh yeah, Wayne reserves all publishing rights for the winning drawing.  Otherwise, good luck and have fun!




 That's not fair.  OH well.


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## A'koss (Jan 3, 2005)

Sir Elton said:
			
		

> That's not fair. OH well.



Well, I assume that's not entirely correct... As Kai Lord is essentially having this work comissioned there must be some usage rights for the owner (posting on your website, etc). Wayne would well be within his rights to balk at the image being published on the cover of some magazine - you would normally have to pay an artist or a photographer more for such use. 

At the time Wayne can't just turn around and publish a comissioned piece using the likeness of any of these characters without the express _written_ permission from the winner though. 

A'koss.


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## Berandor (Jan 3, 2005)

Yeah, I think I would be allowed to post the pic on my website, or crop it as avatar pic here (hehe ), too.


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## Kai Lord (Jan 3, 2005)

Posting the pic on your private website or here on ENWorld will be fine.  Just not on a commercial product.  If you're looking for the cover of your new self published d20 product this isn't going to be it.


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## MrFilthyIke (Jan 3, 2005)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> January 31st, as stated in the very first post of this thread.




 

I have to read this stuff at work, so I often miss details.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jan 4, 2005)

*Talun Swiftbrook*

Back up to page one you go.

Looking at your Kagonesti Kai reminded me of Talun.

Talun was a Kagonesti Barbarian. One of the Kagonesti's favorite weapons was the warhammer. With the 1e barbarian's dex mod to armor Talun was nigh untouchable in his normal leather armor.

Talun was 5'6" tall and muscular. Dark skin (with tattoo's of course), black hair and emerald green eyes. He wore leather armor and fought with warhammer and round wooden shield. I also had a longbow slung on his back for when ranged death was needed.

The DM came up with this awesome warhammer for Talun. It was called the Hammer of Kagyar. The shaft was dull black steel, while the head was shaped like a dragon head breathing fire. The metal of the head was obsidian black with veins of red running throughout. As I gained in level's I learned that the weapon had greater and greater powers.

Talun's personality was one of quiet stoicism, like Riverwind. Talun got very passionate about combat though, he loved it.

One of my favorite moments with Talun was when the party was fighting some ogres on Southern Ergoth. It was a natural 20 and the head of my hammer burst into flame, killing the ogre I was fighting (that hammer was kind of like a precurser to the flaming burst weapons). The DM rolled a morale check and the surviving ogres failed miserably.

Son of Thunder


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jan 4, 2005)

*Knight of the Sword*

Tynian Lorcan was my Knight of the Sword who eventually became the High Clerist.

Tynian was born on Northern Ergoth. Dark skin, brown eyes, black curly hair, bulging muscles, and 5'10" tall. He wore Solamnic Plate which consisted of +1 field plate and +1 shield, both bearing symbols of all the orders. He fought with a longsword and lance on his coal black warhorse.

Tynian was fun loving and a bit of a prankster. He often sang in battle, bawdy tavern songs to boot.

My most memorable moment with Tynian was when the party was in the badlands south of Estwilde. A cleric of Takhisis mounted on a black dragon was chasing us. The only reason we were alive is because we were fleeing with all our might through some deep dry riverbeds, like those Indy went through in the Canyon of the Cresent Moon. There came a time when we were out in the open though.

Now, one of my favorite things about playing a Knight was that I could go to one of the more established knight cells and borrow equipment. Tynian had a footman's Dragonlance that I had borrowed from Vingaard Keep. So I charged out from cover to engage the dragon, barely ignoring the dragonfear. It breathed on us and we both survived. The dragon landed, confident both it and the cleric could take us in melee. Even wounded as I was (those who know the stats of 1e dragonlances know what I mean here) I managed to drop the dragon to somewhere in the teens in hit points.

That's when the rest of the party struck, finishing off the dragon and letting us capture the cleric.

Son of Thunder


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jan 4, 2005)

*Thank You!*



			
				Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Fantastic work Son_of_Thunder!  You've just ensured one of your characters a spot in the finals for your efforts!




I appreciate it Kai Lord. I thought it would be nice to have one post that lead to the characters. I'll attempt to keep updating it as the thread goes along.

I really got the idea from the Character Optimization board over on the Wizards site. They have a monthly contest that has similar coding.

Anyway, Thanks.

Son of Thunder


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## Felix (Jan 5, 2005)

*Full Title:* 
Signoré Derril Maddon of the Line of Levistus, Avowed of Akkadurai, Brother of the Eight-fold Tower, Peer of the Royal Gardens

*Appearance: *
The tiefling before you stands 6 feet tall and thin. His albino skin is so thin and pale that the veins and arteries below the surface can be easily seen. Pink albino eyes gaze languidly under short and curly white hair. Two small horns white as ivory protrude from his high forehead; between the horns a silver chain suspends two lusterless white pearls. Sickly rose-red lips frame a mouth so wide it seems to split his face. His bony hands end in blackened and manicured fingernails. The emotional coldness he emits bears witness to the physical that his ancestor endures.

He wears a spotless hooded white robe, belted at his waist and covered by a similarly spotless grey traveling cloak. Around his neck on a twisted gold necklace hangs a tiny black hand, seemingly carved from obsidian. He holds casually in his right hand a short blue-black rod, tipped at each end with the image of the snake devouring its tail while the left caresses the wand tucked in his belt.  His right earlobe is adorned with two small gold earrings; one dangling two white pearls, the other hanging farther up the ear set with a black pearl. Both hands are festooned with rings: jeweled and plain, gold and silver, simple and ornate. Tan leather boots, seared with arcane symbols show underneath the ankle-length white robe. A small green lizard lies perched upon the leather satchel slung over his shoulder he uses to hold his spellbooks and other possessions.

*Baddest moment:*
Coming up soon...


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## Parys Dayl (Jan 5, 2005)

Parys Dayl is a Silvanesti dark elf, he's about 5'7" and has stark white hair with cool pale skin due to his test of high sorcery.  He was born with naturally violet eyes and wears the Black Robes, he is always wearing his 'reading' glasses, which are platnium frames with ruby lenses.  The only jewelry he wears is a single steel ring, his robes are trimmed with gold and have a slight blue tint.  He appears to carry a heavy burden even though he only has a single pouch that carrys his belongings, and his face is still flawless aside from the side effects of his test.


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## Kai Lord (Jan 5, 2005)

*UPDATE!  New option for the winner!*

Half of this contest is just winning the opportunity to even have Wayne look at your character, then draw it.  He simply does not do this.  Private character portraits are not his thing, and he isn't readily accessible to anyone who wants to contact him.  It took me about a year of off and on checking for contact info, speaking with other artists, agents, etc., before finally getting a hold of him through his agent, and even then the only reason he took on my original commission was because I had a sizable portfolio of private work commissioned by other well known artists.

Since then we've actually enjoyed working together and have fun discussing new projects.  He's an incredibly likable guy, and I'm enormously impressed with his work.

Having said all that, I'm going to go one step further for the winner of this contest and offer, since this is such a rare opportunity for fans, to have your character rendered in a full on *OIL PAINTING!*

Yep, a full color _painting_ of your favorite character by WAR.  Just like the ones you see in the Monster Manuals and splatbooks.  But there's a slight catch.  This will be an upgradeable *option* for the winner, for the sum of $180.  I'll take care of the rest.  $180 for an _original Wayne Reynolds oil painting_ capturing your character in a moment of glory.

The pencil drawing would still be free, but the upgrade is something to think about for that lucky, lucky winner.  

Good luck.


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## LeifVignirsson (Jan 5, 2005)

Wow... swarthy OILY goodness on my wall?  Nice!  I am sure it will be WELL worth the $180


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## A'koss (Jan 6, 2005)

LeifVignirsson said:
			
		

> Wow... swarthy OILY goodness on my wall? Nice! I am sure it will be WELL worth the $180



What do you mean... _your wall_. 

Hey Kai Lord, any idea how large an oil painting we're talking about here - there's framing to consider... 

Cheers!

A'koss.


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## Kai Lord (Jan 6, 2005)

A'koss said:
			
		

> Hey Kai Lord, any idea how large an oil painting we're talking about here - there's framing to consider...



Yep, it'd be on an 8x10 piece of illustration board, with the character smack dab in the middle, which is how he did all the painted pieces of his you see in the Monster Manuals.  I've already got one and its absolutely spectacular.  If you opted instead for the free pencil drawing, it'd be on an 8x10 piece of paper.  Both are awesome but his paintings just blow me away.  I've got another one in his queue as we speak.


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## Berandor (Jan 6, 2005)

Wow. Berandor as an oil painting. 

Wow.

I almost dread winning and making that choice. Almost.


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## Ghostwind (Jan 6, 2005)

Damn, if I do win there is no way my wife will justify $180 that we don't have. Oh well, guess I'll settle for the pencil sketch...


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## reveal (Jan 6, 2005)

Ghostwind said:
			
		

> Damn, if I do win there is no way my wife will justify $180 that we don't have. Oh well, guess I'll settle for the pencil sketch...




$180 for an original art piece by a well-known, well-respected and extremely popular artist? It's a steal! Our local artists rarely sell anything for less than $150 (art supplies are outrageously expensive, if you weren't aware). Tell her it's an investment.


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## Estlor (Jan 6, 2005)

Okay, I'll bite.  It's not about winning, I just love talking about old PCs!

*Milo Yurinov (AKA "Healinov" AKA "Dimitrious Healinov")
*
A quick note before I go into the character - this was for a modification of Mystara my group played in for a while. It was set in a semi-post apocalyptic future of the setting. Our original characters were part of the setting's history. If any of them were still alive, they'd be in their nineties. Dimitrious Healinov was the character of another player that did not continue on. I built this character off of his, taking it in a slightly different direction.

The Traladaran people of Karameikos knew the name Healinov. In his youth, he was an adventurer, a man that walked out of his simple life on a wooded farm and into the vast world. He was a man that journeyed from one end of the continent to the other, fought alongside dragons, and helped stop a war between rival empires. But, more impressive to the people was the fact that, after all this was finished and his glory and fortune was set, he came back to those woods, settled among his people, and defended them from monster, beast, and prejudiced Thyatian. Long into the twilight of his life, he remained active in the region. You could always tell it was him by the pair of twin short swords he fought with, his family name and the name of his dead sister - taken by a vampire lord years ago - carved in the blade.

What people didn't know about Healinov, was that he had a ward. One day in the woods he found a small boy alone and scared. The boy told him his parents were dead. Healinov took pity on the child, who said his name was Milo, and cared for him like a father would. He taught him to track animals through the woods like one of their own kind would. He taught him which berries were safe and which were dangerous. He taught him to fight with short swords in the same manner that Healinov did.

Over the years, Milo grew strong and handsome into a youth seventeen years of age. Healinov would send him into the local towns to trade for goods the land could not give them. After one such trip, Milo returned to their hollow tree and cottage to find things oddly quiet. He called out for Healinov, but heard no response. Venturing in, Milo saw his mentor dead. Investigating, Milo found that age had not taken the old ranger. The corpse was withered, drained of its energy. It had been a vampire.

Milo knew the stories Healinov told about the vampire lord that took his sister. He suspected it was this same lord. He grieved openly for his mentor, the only father he could now remember. He burnt the body, knowing Healinov would want it done to prevent him from rising as one of the loathsome undead. Through the flames of that funeral pyre, Milo swore one day he would make the vampire lord pay.

No one knew about Milo Yurinov. But the name of Dimitrious Healinov was both respected and feared. Milo took up the studded leather and short swords of his mentor, fashioning himself gloves of tanned leather to cover his hands and a leather mask to obscure his face. He had Healinov's weapons, armor, and fighting style, and now he would claim Healinov's name.

Milo, calling himself 'Healinov,' went out into the woods. He became a specter, protecting the villages and taking the law into his own hands. With each act, the legend of his mentor grew, and people began to recognize Healinov as much by his sword as by his mask. The Queen of Karameikos sent her agents to find him, hoping a legendary hero such as himself would help her fight the civil war that was sweeping over Karameikos. Her brother, allied with a mysterious death knight, fought her for possession of the throne and was winning. In her service he went head-to-head with her brother on more than one occasion until he was forced to flee with the young princess and her bodyguards into exile when the capital fell. 

Through it all, he continued to search for the whereabouts of the vampire lord, finally tracking him into the heart of Glantri. The Principalities had fallen to the undead nearly a decade before, but Milo traveled through the dark mists that covered it, searching for the vampire lord's estate. But finding it was only half the mission; he fought his way past the undead that guarded the estate, but the winding staircase to the tower home of the vampire, and to the door of its very resting place. There, he learned the horrible truth.

Dimitrious Healinov had slain the vampire lord when it took his sister. But he was foolish. He knew only folk lore about vampires. He never destroyed his sister's body. She rose as a creature of the night, and Healinov could not bring himself to kill her. She had come back to him that day in the woods, years later, to visit him before he died. She offered him the gift of undeath, but he refused. She never meant to kill him. It was an accident. She hadn't known about Milo. When the stories of Healinov's exploits continued to reach her ears, she thought he had risen as one of her kind.

Milo ripped the mask from his face, revealing the truth about 'Healinov.' He fought the vampire on her terms in her place of rest, finally winning when, without an escape left, she immolated in the rising sun.

No one ever saw 'Healinov' again. As to Milo's end, some say they heard tales of a youth that fought the undead in Glantri. Some say he helped the few pockets of the living there escape. It was dismissed as a myth, but the refugees in Darokin claim it is true. They carry a charm they swear wards off the dead. It is a tiny little mask of leather, tanned brown, with green lines across it at an angle like the claw marks of a beast.

*Description*
Milo stands five feet, nine inches tall. Like all Traladarans, he is of fair complexion with dark brown hair, almost black in appearance. He has a soft face with high cheekbones that almost has a feminine appearance to it, were it not for the constant growth of stubble on his chin. He wears his hair long - shoulder length - but leaves it untamed. He has an athletic build, one made not for feats of strength, but endurance.

When dressed for his role as 'Healinov,' Milo wears brown studded-leather armor that is covered in dark bit of metal that do not gleam in the day's light. The mask that protects his identity is made from the tanned hide of a cow, stretched over a wooden frame and boiled until it retained its shape. It has holes for the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, but otherwise obscures everything up to the top of his forehead. He has used pigments from the forest to paint a green design at an angle across the front of it, a design witnesses have likened to the claw marks of an untamed animal. In truth it is just camouflage, but Milo's strength is in nature, not art. Healinov's matching short swords are very old but well maintained, always cleaned and oiled before a fight. The hilt is wrapped in suede for comfort, and large Traladaran letters spell out 'Healinov' and 'Ikatarina' on opposite faces of each blade. He wears a reversible cloak - one side tan for the warm months, the other gray for the cold months - and a light green tunic and breeches with knee-high leather boots. His swords are worn on his belt, one on each hip, and Milo reaches across his body with both arms when drawing them. He wears the holy symbol of Halav loose around his neck even though he is not a cleric or particularly religious. His vendetta against vampires has caused him to embrace things they are weak against, regardless of his personal beliefs.

In combat, Milo fight's defensively, relying on tactics such as disarming or tripping a foe to gain the upper hand. He is fond of hit-and-run movements, using his speed to offset the smaller, piercing weapons he uses.

*Key Event
*During the first raid on the keep of the Baron that opposed the Queen, we made our way into the inner sanctum relying on stealth and a healthy does of psionics from the party psionicist. Since I was the closest thing to a thief we had, I (luckily) snuck into the room to eavesdrop on the Baron and his death knight ally. Now, none of us were the proper level to be fighting these people, which naturally means I failed my move silently attempt to sneak back out of the room. The rest of the party came to my aid, distracting the Baron and death knight long enough for me to get behind the wheeled desk in the room and run right at them with it. Next thing you know, I was riding a desk down the stairway with a very vexed death knight pressed against the front of it. It was a good thing I jumped off at the top of the stairs before its momentum carried it down and through the front door. It kept the death knight away long enough for us to escape and avoid that 10d6 fireball that would have reduced us all to ashes! After that, I took to lots of cinematic tactics; the DM enjoyed the change of pace and usually let me do anything that I had a reasonable chance of pulling off based on my non-weapon proficiency choices.


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## Dragonhelm (Jan 6, 2005)

*Moonhawk*

Moonhawk is a sylvan mage - a Kagonesti elf White Robe wizard (with silver hair, yellow eyes, and white robes decoarted in fringe) who has an affinity towards nature.  He is covered in Kagonesti tattoos and body art with a white moon in the center of his forehead.  A hawk serves as his familiar.

From the journal of Moonhawk...

--------------------
My name, for any who deem it worthy, is Moonhawk. Scribes of the Fallen may know my father, Nighthawk, a beastmaster of the Kagonesti, who was once said to have been possessed by a Black Robe. I can attest that the story is true, for the magical heritage that Mahulderon had left with my father when his spirit left (a heritage my father denied) has passed down to me. He also passed down his affinity towards the natural world. I strive to combine the two in the tradition of a sylvan mage.

Some may find it strange that a "barbarian" such as myself would be a wizard. Few of the Kagonesti have been. My ways are different from the more "civilized" peoples out there, yet I have an affinity towards High Sorcery just the same as any other wizard. 

My father and I never saw eye-to-eye on the magic. He hated it, called it an abomination. Yet I could not deny that which I am. To deny the magic would be akin to denying the sky above and the earth below. 

My mother? I have few memories of her, save that she had a natural beauty like few others, and she carried with her a sense of sadness. While she eased the burden on my father's soul, she knew she couldn't erase it. What he has seen in his lifetime has been horrendous. My mother's life journey would end prematurely at the hands of ancient enemies of my father's – the Blood Riders. My father never forgave himself for her death, even though he could not have prevented it. 

My father raised me the best he could. I have come to appreciate his love of nature, although we do not see eye-to-eye on magic.

During the War of the Lance, my father once again traveled with those that history knows as the Fallen. For a short time, I traveled with them, and befriended Nirkana, a Silvanesti White Robe they had known since the Cataclysm. Nirkana saw the potential for magic within me, and began teaching me in secret, even though my father would never approve.

Indeed he didn't. He discovered my secret power during the war. It proved to be a rift that could not be bridged between us, and so I left, heading for home on the isle of Southern Ergoth.

I never saw my father again. I suspect that he still lives, perhaps in an area of the forest once inhabited by his former mentor, Winter Willow. I have not journeyed to see whether this is true or not.

The years leading up to the Chaos War were peaceful ones for me, living in harmony with nature. I didn't pursue my magical art as much as I should have. The memory of my father's words proved too painful.

After the Chaos War, life changed. My magic was gone. I could feel it, and I cursed myself for squandering my gift. I never managed to learn the magic of Wild Sorcery. It wasn't something I had a knack for, and it didn't feel entirely right. The magic of High Sorcery was a gift from the gods, and part of the natural world. Wild Sorcery was tainted by Chaos.

Through the years of the dragon overlords, much changed on Ansalon. The dragon overlords began to destroy the natural world. I felt another loss – the harmony one feels when in tune with nature. My village would feel the changes too, as the dragon Gellidus would cover most of Southern Ergoth with snow, frost, and glaciers. His cold was unnatural, and felt like death.

I had joined the resistance against Gellidus until the War of Souls and the return of the gods. When they returned, I felt my magical power return. I knew that I could not deny it. 

I had heard much about the death of three of the overlords – Beryl, Skie, and Malys. Finally, there was hope against Gellidus. Perhaps, with the right training, I could grow in my power so that I could destroy Gellidus. Yet I knew I could not do it alone.

I traveled to the mainland of Ansalon, looking for those who would teach me, and those who might join in my battle against Gellidus. I could not find the fabled Tower of Wayreth, although I sensed its presence. I then journeyed to the Lake of Death, and saw the grave of Beryl, as well as many of my Qualinesti cousins. It is said that the Golden General, Laurana, lies at the bottom of the lake as well.

I don't frighten easily, but there was something wholly unnatural about the lake. I made my visit there a short one, and found myself traveling across Ansalon, looking for ancient wizards to help instruct me in my craft. I have found none. For now, I wear robes of green, although I hope that some day I will wear the White Robes, and pursue magic in my own way.


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## LeifVignirsson (Jan 6, 2005)

A'koss said:
			
		

> What do you mean... _your wall_.




Oh come on, you know if I didn't say it you would have... And then we would be having this discussion, only in reverse.


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## Rawwedge (Jan 6, 2005)

*Krellick Chergoba*

Greetings all; I enjoyed this contest last year.  Close but no cigar so here I go again.

KRELLICK CHERGOBA; FORGOTTEN REALMS BERSERKER & FANG SCOUT
INTRODUCTION
Pure Rashemi blood flows through Krellick’s veins; he has the dusky skin, dark eyes, and thick black hair of his people.  His features are that of a young man but they are somewhat masked by a closely cropped beard. His face is framed by a pair of thick, beaded braids running down either temple.  His slightly weathered complexion already shows the effects of much time spent ranging across the northern steppes on his war mount.  He is stocky, and muscular by human standards but not very tall. 

Krellick is a human (Rashemen) male Barbarian/Ranger.  He is trained as a scout for the Fangs (berserker military units).  His strengths are as a mounted archer and a wielder of two handed weapons while dismounted.  Through campaign play, his favored enemies have become evil outsiders and undead.  He is extremely loyal to the customs and traditions of his family, the Ice Troll berserker lodge and the realm of Rashemen.  He currently adventures outside of Rashemen only in answer to a fiendish threat to his homeland that takes him abroad.

CHARACTER SKETCH
Krellick adventures in a livery handed down from generation to generation and using gear and weaponry hard won on the field of battle.  His adventuring garb consists of an Ice Troll Skull helm, a chain shirt, ranger’s cloak, Dastanas, elk-hide vest, chain gauntlets, leather girdle, riding chaps, and a pair of calfskin boots.  His mundane gear and provisions are kept in a small haversack.

The helm is fashioned from the top portion of a petrified Ice Troll skull.  This skull is fitted to a cured brown leather cap and trimmed with the mottled grey/black fur of a timber wolf.  It is designed to cover the top of the head with the brain pan while the upper jaw extends over the temples.  The cheekbones are trimmed away to the bottom of the large eye sockets so as to create a fixed half visor protecting the face above the cheekbones.  The fur extends around the rim to the temples and the bone itself is painted with glyphs that invoke the favor of several Telthors (nature spirits).

A 2½ inch diameter disk of beaten steel hangs around his neck depicting the head of a grizzly bear.  The disk is flanked by three bear claws on either side.
The mithral chain shirt is elaborately woven to create the likeness of the chest, shoulders and torso of an Ice Troll so that the wearer gains the semblance of a bare chested beast. The artful illusion does not extend to any coloration of the snowy mithral links.  Krellick’s forearms are covered by a pair of Dastanas hewn from two pieces of massive Ice Troll femur.  Each piece is fashioned into a half shell bound together by underlying leather.  The curved surfaces are carved and painted with scenes honoring great battles from the founding years of the Ice Troll Lodge.  Both ends of these Dastanas are trimmed in the familiar timber wolf fur.

The ranger’s cloak is mottled gray and black and trimmed with fur.  The sleeveless elk-hide vest is soft, earthy brown in color and covers the upper body and rib cage; it is also trimmed and lined with fur.  The front of the vest is decorated with small bone carvings of enraged Ice Trolls fixed to the hide.  The brown leather girdle is six inches wide and fastened by three buckles and straps.  Krellick also wears a potion belt slung across his right shoulder, under his vest, like a bandolier.

The chaps are fashioned from animal hide on the inner leg and through the crotch.  The outer leg is fashioned from soft brown leather and covered with bone chips arranged in a flowing river pattern up and down each leg.  These chaps are also lined but not trimmed with fur.  His chain gauntlets are not made of mithral but crafted by the same artisan who made the chain shirt.  They too support the illusion of Ice Troll anatomy created with the shirt and have adamantine studs on the knuckles.  The final items in Krellick’s inherited livery are a pair of finely crafted boots.  These calfskin boots are fur lined and trimmed for the harsh Rashemi steppe and come halfway up the calf.  They are of double closure design and the buckles are on the outer ankle.

For battle Krellick carries a broad bladed Bastard Sword across his back, the hilt resting above his right shoulder.  This weapon is very similar in appearance to the ‘Conan’ sword except for the hilt crafted from smooth, bleached bone.  The curved shaft of the Shortbow slung across his back rises above the opposite shoulder.  A quiver of arrows rests over top of his sword sheath.  He carries a pair of short Darts fastened to the underside of his Dastanas with the pointed ends at the elbow.  The wickedly curved blade of a Kukri is sheathed in a scabbard that rests over his belt buckle.  Just behind his right hip there is a leather pouch hanging from his belt fitted with a loose draw string.  This pouch holds the ball from a heavy flail.  The 2 ½ foot long haft folds into the long and flexible leather sheath along with the chain of equal length.  The mouth of this sheath is fitted with a nicely sized bronze funnel to allow the haft & chain to be easily drawn and replaced.  The sheath runs along Krellick’s right thigh next to the ball pouch.  This arrangement keeps the great weapon readily accessible but out of the way while he wields sword or bow.

KRELLICK’S MOUNT (Animal Companion): a Nars heavy warhorse (Thunderhoof)
	This breed is powerful but manages to combine strength and speed.  It stands 16 hands at the withers and has a chestnut coat with a white patch along the forehead and snout.  It also has white socks above the hoof.  Thunderhoof is protected by simple studded leather barding and bears a military saddle and saddle bags.

ACTION SNAPSHOTS
	In one adventure, Krellick and his party were barricaded into a run down old building that once housed an Inn and Fest Hall for a small human mining community.  The community was overrun by ghouls, who trapped the party, before they realized the danger.  An incredible number of ghouls were scrambling around the building looking for a way in.  The party had no choice but to make a break for it.  Since Krellick was the only member of the party skilled in mounted combat and one of only two party members with a war horse, he elected himself to lead the charge.

KRELLICK’S BREAKOUT
	In a barbarian rage, Krellick directed his mount to break down the double doors, thus crushing a couple of undead, and then he ploughed through the ring of ghouls screaming wildly and lashing out at the nearest ones with his (one-handed) flail.  Then he was forced to turn around and charge back the way he came to rescue a paralyzed party member (Stone Child Shou Disciple Monk) who fell from the saddle just outside the shattered doors.
=============================================
	A few hours later, after being pursued into the foothills, the party found themselves dismounted and surrounded by the horde of ghouls on a tiny plateau in the shadow of the mountains.  A copper dragon appeared on the scene to start plucking the party members from the sea of undead.  In the meantime, a fiendish necromancer controlling the horde of ghouls engaged the circling dragon with bolts of eldritch might.  Amidst all of this chaos, Krellick was the last member of the party remaining on the plateau to face the ghouls alone.

KRELLICK’S LAST STAND
	As the dragon circled yet again the party strained to find their friend in the sea of howling ghouls.  Jastarael (Moon Elf Battle-mage), with her elven sight, was the only one to see Krellick’s last stand.  The berserker lashed out madly with sword and fist as the irresistible mass of flailing claws and snapping jaws pressed in on him.  With one last great sweep of his bastard sword and a battle cry lost to the night, Krellick disappeared beneath the snarling horde.

Here's my kick at the cat Kai-Lord.  If it catches your fancy I have offered a couple of action snapshots but if I had my druthers I would love to see him in the mounted 'Breakout' scene.

Good luck to all.


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## Menexenus (Jan 6, 2005)

First, Kai Lord, you are AWESOME!  What a cool idea to have a contest like this!

Second, I'm *such* a big Wayne Reynolds fan.  I couldn't believe it when I actually got the chance to shake his hand at GenCon last year.  I was the very model of a pathetic, geeked-out, drooling fanboy.  (But if you can't be a fanboy at GenCon, where can you?)

Third, when this contest first started, I thought to myself, "I really love my character, but he really hasn't achieved that signature moment that the rest of the players will be talking about for years to come."  Then, just before New Years, it finally happened!  Thus, the following entry...

The character's name is Hazmi, the Mighty, a.k.a. Hazmi, the Dragon.  He is a tribesman from the Elos desert in the Kalamar setting.  (I wish it was Dragonlance, but it isn't.)  For most of his career, he and his companions have been fighting the minions of Shedra, a female lich bent on world domination.  She and her undead armies have already ravaged the Empire of Kalamar and its armies.  Hazmi's party of characters was primarily responsible for stopping the undead army by bringing an artifact of undead-slaying to the Kalamaran army's last stand.  In gratitude, the Empress of Kalamar granted Hazmi the title of King of Basir, a vassal nation that had been ravaged by the undead and whose royal family had been slain.

That's the background.  A couple days before New Years, I was playing this character for the last time.  We had started the campaign as first level characters.  After 2 years, we were all around 17th level, and our DM was ready to start something new.  So this was to be our final battle.  We were finally going after our longtime nemesis - Shedra herself!

So here is Hazmi's moment.  The party was facing Shedra's second-in-command, a powerful vampire whose task was to guard Shedra's phylactery.  Hazmi's party was pinned down by the vampire's thralls.  Negative levels were being dealt out left and right.  Hazmi knew that he needed to end the fight quickly, or all would be lost.  So he flew up above the battle (with his winged boots).  He dropped his signature weapon, his +3 scimitar.  He also dropped his signature shield, a +2 large steel shield with the emblem of a red dragon on it.  He pulled out a weapon that he had recently taken from an ancient mummy his party had defeated in a previous encounter: a +1 vorpal greatsword.  With this weapon firmly clutched in both hands, Hazmi initiated his barbarian rage and flew directly at the lead vampire (praying for a critical hit).  Low and behold, he got it!  The lead vampire's head tumbled to the floor with one clean stroke!  It was dead!  The vampire's thralls became confused, giving the rest of Hazmi's party an opportunity to take the upper-hand.  The party was victorious, thanks to Hazmi's heroic action!

That was definitely my character's most thrilling moment.  Watching the number I needed to crit the vampire come up on the die was the cause of much rejoicing around the gaming table (to put it mildly).    

If Wayne picks my character, here's a bit more description of him.  Hazmi is a very large and muscular man (6 foot 4 inches, 235 pounds) with black hair, dark eyes, and a full (but well-manicured) black beard.  He is now a king in civilized lands, so he doesn't quite look the part of a desert barbarian any more.  But some aspects of that past are certainly still evident in his overall appearance.  Although I haven't kept careful track of time, I assume that he's approximately 25 years old.  He has a prominent scar running down his left cheek.  Hazmi killed the vampire while it was sitting on its throne on a dais.  In a corner of the room, Hazmi's 7 companions were surrounded by 12 vampire thralls.  After beheading the lead vampire, Hazmi used the great sword to impale its body on the throne (a pointless but cinematic gesture).

As I described earlier, normally Hazmi carries a magical scimitar and a large steel shield with the emblem of a red dragon.  But in the scene I described, he had been forced to drop these old friends and risk attacking with a lower AC and an unfamiliar weapon (a great sword).  He wears +5 studded leather of the deep, winged boots, gloves of Dex +6, and a belt of giant strength +4, a ring on each hand (evasion and protection), and a cloak of resistance +4.  He also has 3 ioun stones above his head: one is a pink rhomboid (+2 Con), one is a pink and green sphere (+2 Cha), and one is a pale green prism (+1 to all saves, skills, and attack rolls).  At his side (as a back-up weapon), he wears a fabulous dagger whose hilt is encrusted with green jewels and whose scabbard carries a design resembling a green dragon.  Being an adventurer, he also carries lots of other mundane items on his back.  (But I'll leave these to Wayne's imagination.)

I'm so stoked about this contest!  Even if I don't win, it has been fun reminiscing about my retired character's glory moment.  BTW, I would *gladly* pay Wayne $180 for an oil painting of this character.  Please, please, please pick me!


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## ivocaliban (Jan 7, 2005)

*TAURIAN THE BLACK (KILLIAN ADERRE)*

*Character Concept:*
Taurian the Black (The Black Bull) is a tragic figure who lost everything fighting the forces of Iuz in the northern Vesve. A cunning ranger and warrior, he has lost his humanity in the dark well of grief and anger that followed the death of his wife and child. Taurian now survives more as a force of nature, fighting Iuz on his own land and at any cost. He considers orcs and fiends to be his greatest enemies and hunts them tirelessly.

*Appearance:*
Taurian is a large man, standing at 6’4” and weighing about 240 lbs. Despite his great strength and size, he is astoundingly agile. His skin is dusky and often dirt-smeared when visible at all. His hair is dark, shaggy and unkempt. What little of his body that does show (around his arms and neck or face if he’s not wearing the helm) is badly scarred. His face is strong, square-jawed and somewhat malformed due to his frequent battles. His left eye bears three deep, vertical scratch marks and he is missing the top part of his right ear.

He wears black studded leather armor that has seen better days. The small studs are sharpened to a point and the entire suit is dusted with dried earth to give it a dull, matte finish. He wears sturdy, black leather boots and a pair of heavy gloves. They appear to be made of the same material and crafted by the same leatherworker as the armor. He often wears a dark, viscious looking pot-helm, taken from an orc captain he killed in battle long ago. Taurian wields a longword and shortsword, but kept sharp, but obviously battle-marked. The blades of both are black and they are unmatched. The hilt of the longsword shows signs of an elven smith, while the shorsword is far more utilitarian in appearance. He carries a composite longbow, mostly for hunting or to disorient enemies by attacking from afar. All of his belongings show the signs of age and wear. Most are magical and still remain in tact, but dents and scratches cover both his belongings and his own body. 

*Backstory:*
Taurian the Black began his life as Killian Aderre, a huntsman of Highfolk Town. Little is known of his formative years, but by the time of the Greyhawk Wars he was recognized by many as being a protector of the Vesve, often serving as a scout for Philidor the Blue in his battle against the Empire of Iuz. Though often brash and reckless with his own life, Killian would do anything within his power to make certain Iuz’s forces were kept from encroaching deeper into the forest he called home. 

During a particularly dangerous endeavor in which he sabotaged an orc encampment, Killian found himself badly wounded and on the brink of death. When he awakened he found himself in a golden-green glade, his wounds being treated by a lovely elven priestess of Hanali Celanil. She explained that he was just outside of her temple and thanked him, for the orcs he had defeated were no doubt set on destroying the holy site. Love blossomed between the two, though it remained unspoken for several years. They traveled together, along with other allies, and fought united against the invaders from the north. After many struggles against the forces of Iuz and a second near-death for Killian, the two were wed in a small ceremony amidst their friends and soon his new bride (Seliana) was with child.

Trouble came again to the Vesve and Killian was called north to fight against Panshazek the Vile. Seliana, too full with child to accompany him, remained behind near the temple of Hanali Celanil. The fight against Iuz’s priest was a fierce one and in the end Panshazek held firm in Izlen, playing the defensive. When Killian returned home, however, he found that the true battle had been here: The temple razed, the forest burned and broken for miles around, Killian had been played for a fool and lost all in the gamble. Seliana and their child murdered with one devastating blow, he fell upon them and wept. But this was not all Killian had lost…unable to deal with his failure to protect those closest to him, Killian’s mind abandoned him. He took up his blade and went north; north beyond the Vesve and west into the land claimed by Iuz. 

All believed Killian Aderre to have died there of grief, perhaps in battle against the orcs and fiends that served the Undying One. Indeed, Killian did die the moment he found his elven bride and his unborn child slain, but only in spirit. His flesh remained and longed for vengance. Legends began to drift south into Furyondy of a great warrior who fought the forces of Iuz from within the very empire’s borders. A massive man, dressed in studded black leather that cut through orcs as if they were fields of sickly wheat. One who carried on a personal battle against Iuz, attacking his forces and then vanishing into the dark mists of the demon-prince’s own lands. And there he remains to this day, this Taurian the Black, somehow surviving against all odds. Every thought and impulse bent on laying Iuz low regardless of the cost.

*Killer Gaming Moment:*
Taurian brought down the demon knight Rauxios, general of Iuz’s forces, during a fiendish assult on the Furyondian city of Grabford. It was a turning point in the battle that saved the rest of the nation from the onslaught. The demon forces scattered without their leader and Taurian vanished shortly after the fighting had ended.


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## Quickleaf (Jan 7, 2005)

*Thanks Kai!   Here's my namesake character...*

 * Quickleaf*  
*Also known as Eolis, Son of Soratair and "The Ghost of Amn"*

_A whisper of pine needles. The shadow of a bird in two places at once. A penetrating sense of being watched. These are the only signs a traveler on the woodland trail to Amn receives of Quickleaf’s presence. Occasionally, a child reports seeing a wild ghost with hair burning like autumn leaves and hypnotic eyes the color of the sky. The rumors would be discounted were it not for the similarity in the childrens’ descriptions: A savage snarl on the ghost’s face, a hint of fallen nobility in his bearing, a red-winged hawk perched on his arm. When the ghost moves, they say only wind can be heard. Contrary to popular belief, “the ghost of Amn” is an elf of flesh and blood._

*Concept: * Quickleaf was once a noble high elven knight in service to Queen Amearthiel as a scout of the high elven lands. However, years spent as an oathbound slave of the sylvan elves and war prisoner of the orcs have left their mark on him. He is savage, even by sylvan elf standards, and is but a shadow of who he once was. His one true love, Loriel, was married to the son of the very sylvan elf King who enslaved him - as an insurance of peace between the two elven communities. The name “Quickleaf” comes from a conversation he had with Loriel. She compared his life to a twirling leaf falling from a tree, one side of the leaf revealing shadow and the other light.

*Killer Gaming Moment:* Quickleaf and his party were captured by the corrupted high elven guards, and taken before the puppet queen who sentenced them to die.  As they walked out to the bonfire where they would be burned as traitors, white roses were thrown down on the path before them. Quickleaf only regreted that he had never revealed to his true love Loriel his feelings toward her. All the knights of Queen Amearthiel placed their very own swords upon the bonfire, and kneeled before Quickleaf, with the rest of the townsfolk following suit. The finale was when the noble Loriel herself lay upon the bonfire and revealed she was the Queen’s daughter! When the wicked puppet queen ordered the fire to be set anyhow, it became clear to everyone who she truly was – a shadowborn enchantress sent to sow strife amongst the elves. She was quickly deposed and the Queen restored, all without raising a single weapon. It’s good to have a reputation!!

* Appearance: * Quickleaf's most memorable feature are his haunting eyes, into which one can see twin wells of endless grief. Yet his eyes have a sharp light in them, the kind of light born from a savage hope, the kind of hope of a man armed with a stick has against a pack of wolves. A hope born from surviving. Even his lips bear a constant savage expression bordering on a snarl. He wears a faded tunic that splits above the waist and hangs about his sides. His wrists and forearms are wrapped in the manner of an archer.  While he wears a curved sword slung across his back, he rarely needs to use it. A fur-lined cloak is thrown over one shoulder. Several scars can be made out along his neck, disappearing beneath the tunic. Quickleaf has rust red hair. His skin is very dark for an elf, and his frame is lean and wiry. A red-winged hawk with a curling crest perches nearby him.

*Background:* 

* All For Love...  *
    Quickleaf was raised by his father Soratair to become one of the ranger knights of Queen Amearthiel. Even in his youth, Quickleaf was consumed with love for Loriel, an ambassador to the sylvan elves. He competed intensely with his cousin Arechas for her favor. Learning of the magical jewel of the Khejai said to reflect true beauty in its every facet, both Quickleaf and Arechas set off on a journey to find the hag guardian of the stone who dwelt in the mountains and convince her to give it to him as a gift for his lady. When at last they found the hag, the two rival suitors were shocked that she had been taken captive by an orcish warlord and his underlings were ransacking the mountain tombs in search of the jewel. Quickleaf pretended to be the disturbed “ghost of Amn” while Arechas stole the jewel from underneath the orc’s noses. Fleeing, the pair escaped into the woods, congratulating themselves. Though it pained him to admit it, Quickleaf acquiesced that it was Arechas who had taken the jewel and should be the one to seek Loriel’s hand in marriage. 

    However, upon returning to their home city, they learned that Loriel had been captured during her first negotiations with the sylvan elves. Quickleaf and Arechas were assigned to scout duty, and cautioned not to let their personal feeling get in the way of their duty to their Queen Amearthiel. Quickleaf grudgingly obeyed, but Arechas set off on his own. As Quickleaf became aware of the corruption that was spreading like poison in the Queen’s cabinet, he received word that his cousin had been slain. When the body was recovered, Quickleaf found two sylvan elf arrows in Arechas’ back; scouts reported he had been ambushed in sylvan elf lands. Cursing himself for not going with his cousin, Quickleaf wrapped the two arrows in silk, kissed his cousin on the forehead and swore to rescue his love. 

    Penetrating sylvan elf lands, Quickleaf made it all the way to the military headquarters where Loriel was held before being taken captive. Incredulous that a high elf could have made it so far alone, the sylvan elf King Hertheam demanded he reveal the locations of his allies. Quickleaf, claiming to be a noble suitor of great importance, made a counter offer: Not only would he reveal the location of his allies, but he himself would take Loriel’s place. The sylvan elf King agreed, and Loriel was returned to her people. Quickleaf then showed the king the shadows on the forest floor, the rustling of leaves, and the many hiding spots in the forest – these were his allies. Impressed, the king revealed to Quickleaf that Loriel had gone to meet an elvish suitor, and that a scrap of Quickleaf’s clothing was given to the scouts to take back to the high elven kingdom. He would be assumed dead, and forever doomed to serve the sylvan elves as a slave.

* A Wild Heart  *

The first months were the hardest, but soon Quickleaf had befriended the Vait Asheras, one of the noble nature-seers of the sylvan elves. However, King Hertheam's son, prince Itholaras, watched Quickleaf grow into the community with scorn - he swore the enemy of his people would pay for his arrogance. While Quickleaf helped the Vait carry water to her home, she saw the far away looked and asked if he had lost one dear to him. "If she has lost me, I have not lost her." This was always his reply. When not serving the Vait or enduring abuses from the King's sons, Quickleaf taught himself to use the difficult bows of the sylvan elves. He even watched their masterful swordsmen perform the "deres met henethun", a sacred warrior's dance performed only by the sylvan elves. One day Quickleaf was caught practicing the dance by prince Itholaras, who demanded Quickleaf give up his sword. It was an outrage to see such a foreigner attempting this sacred rite! Quickleaf stared into Itholaras' eyes and refused. A fight ensued, and quickly ended with Quickleaf on the ground. Rising slowly, he picked up the sword again. This time Itholaras picked up a stick to teach the whelp. Again, Quickleaf stood up and held on to his blade. Those elves who watched said Quickleaf rose nine times, bruised and bloody, until Itholaras drew his sword and plunged it through Quickleaf's shoulder. The sword fell from his hands.

Though the Vait was a skilled healer, Quickleaf's wound kept him in a fever for days. During this time he learned that his father had been slain defending the Queen from an orcish ambush. Realizing how much he had lost, Quickleaf turned to the bottle to drink away his misery. After a month in bed, Quickleaf emerged healed, but addicted to the bottle His wound never healed completely, and to this day Quickleaf tires quickly when fighting with his off-hand due to the shoulder wound; it would always be a reminder to him of his moment of weakness, what he called "the dark night of my soul." He grew to become the laughing stock of the sylvan elves over the year, and when his manners became to coarse, the Vait was forced to refuse him housing.

Turning to the forest for nourishment, Quickleaf began to dream of escape. And he tried many tacts - hiding among outbound caravans, disguising himself as a scout, jumping into raging rapids. But everytime the King's magic lured him back, sometimes gently, sometimes by force, to fulfill his eternal oath to the sylvan elves. When the wood elven horns sounded the oncoming orcish raiders, Quickleaf was clutching a bottle muttering to himself outside the tannery. Soon word spread that several of the scouts had been captured, among them the King's own son Itholaras. The orcs wished to negotiate, and invited the King to come unarmed to an open field to barter for his son's life. Clearly it was a trap. Quickleaf, no longer watched by his guards, crept out to the clearing without a weapon, and undid the bonds of the captives before leading them in an escape. The fight was bloody, but they succeeded in reaching the King's entourage. 

*  The Warrior's Warrior  *

With the orcs repelled, King Hertheam was perplexed at this captive who had saved his son for no apparent reason other than to garner favor with the king. When he demanded an explanation from Quickleaf, he said: "A scout is my brother, even if he serves a poor master. Your scouts took my fair cousin from me, and for that they deserve a swift death. But that is for no elf, no man, no orc to decide." Though impressed by Quickleaf's answer, the King was concerned his views against the sylvan elf throne would spread, and so he offered Quickleaf a chance to hunt the orcs. Quickleaf accepted, thinking his death was near.

Quickleaf, haggard and drunk, appeared the next morning at the forward camp where plans for a daring counteraid were being drawn up. It requires a small group of elves to track the orcs back into their territory in the crags and assassinate their commanders. The other elves were loathe to accept Quickleaf into their ranks, and he had nothing but contempt for them. That some planned to "accidentally" hit him with friendly fire in the upcoming conflict was no secret. Traveling into orc lands, the group of elves was ambushed. Black barbed arrows rained down upon them and the unit was broken. Quickleaf managed to scale the cliff walls, a knife he had taken from a slain "comrade" in between his teeth. An unnatural wind poured down the cliffs, speeding the orcish arrows to deliver swift death upon their enemies.
Quickleaf managed to get within 10 paces of Kathguara, the orcish commander, before he was spotted. Two, three, four guards fell under his knife, before Quickleaf was tackled and beaten into submission. He would be taken captive again, this time by the orcs.

The elves had been massacred. Quickleaf was chained to a rock awaiting death. And not a drop of wine in sight. Surely his world was ending. Days passed, with only a small pool of water serving to keep him alive. After two weeks of wasting away, Quickleaf looked up to see Kathguara standing above him. Would he be killed quickly, or would he be interrogated first? Kathguara presented Quickleaf with an elven bow. It was the most stunning bow Quickleaf had ever seen. "Fell me a bird for dinner, and I shall spare your life." Sweat forming on his brow, Quickleaf took the bow in his weak hands. Aiming at a hawk in the nearby tree, he squinted and let the arrow fly. But Kathguara had kicked his leg, knocking Quickleaf to the ground sobbing. The arrow flew over the cliffside into the forest. "You shall die tonight, elf, but my own hand."

*  Free as a Hawk  *

That night, Quickleaf was thrown into a pit with Kathguara, who held three snarling dogs by a leash in one hand and a ball-and-chain in the other. The orcs cheered on their leader, who paraded around. Quickleaf could barely stand, looking desperately for a weapon. Drawing near the crowd, Kathguara listened to one of his captains whisper in his ear, and picked up the arrow the captain offered. It was without a doubt the one Quickleaf had fired. Kathguara gave his dogs and weapon over to his captain, bringing the arrow over to Quickleaf, "Your arrow slew a great beast that will provide food for us till the next winter. I will most likely kill you in the morning."

And Quickleaf lived. Though life in the orcish village was hard, and he had to constantly protect himself even to get a scrap of food, Quickleaf thrived on their barbarism. The pain in his animal soul called for being free of the shackles of civilization. After a time, even Kathguara was impressed at his morning ritual of combat training, and slowly he began to take Quickleaf under his wing. The other orcs watched with displeasure as Kathguara taught Quickleaf the secrets of orcish fighting and Quickleaf shared the secrets of the elven bow. The orcish general hoped to learn a weapon that he could use against the elves, and Quickleaf hoped to learn the general's weakness and exploit it. Theirs was a strange relationship, and orcish assassins plotted both their deaths.

When the army of the high elves arrived outside the orcish realm calling for a battle, Kathguara rode out with Quickleaf. The terms of the fight were thus: 100 of the greatest warriors of either side were to fight. The victor would gain dominion over the other's territory. Kathguara had choosen Quickleaf as one of his 100 warriors. Dressed in orcish war paints, with a quiver of black barbed arrows, Quickleaf watched the elves readying for battle. To his horror, the frontlines were his countrymen and distant relatives.

*  The Witch-Queen  *

The terrible battle ended with elven victory, and the orcs were forced to flee. Quickleaf had done battle with and slain over a dozen of his former elven allies before he was bested and left for dead on the battlefield. However, one of the surviving elves recognized him and declared his body should be bought back to be buried in the elven tradition. When they reached the high elven halls, the party found Quickleaf was alive! Again, he was nursed back to health. He spoke with several of his old friends, who were shocked at the barbarism of their old ally. Slowly, Quickleaf returned to civilization, but as he did so, he learned that he faced charges of treason against the Queen. He also learned that the Queen was not herself recently, and there were many who feared she had become a puppet of the orcs. Gathering a band of rebels, Quickleaf fled into the forest to wage a guerilla war against the Queen's evil ways. He would become widely known as the "ghost of Amn", disappearing into the woods after each attack. Tales of his daring brought hope and courage to the high elven people that they would escape the thrall of their witch-queen. 

*D&D Terms:* High Elf (feral) Ranger 4, Amearthiel's Knight 3, Barbarian 2, Druid 3


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## Eosin the Red (Jan 7, 2005)

Let me be the thousandth person to say - "Way cool" to you Kai Lord and to WAR.

*Jaran Enverness*

It all changed the day the gods took my father away. I was with him in the great hall when they entered. In truth, I don’t remember much of the actual fight nor the death of my father. I do remember holding his hand and the look on his face as the light faded from his eyes; it was one of sadness and surprise. He tried to tell me something; I cannot help but believe it must have been important since it was so hard for him to breathe. Lord, how he struggled to tell me. I am shamed for I could not pick my own fathers voice out from the clanging of swords. In one final surge of life, he pressed a medallion into my hand. I swear that the unicorn on the medallion was glowing when I first saw it but as his light faded so did the light of the medallion. 

Glorin, my guardian and companion, said I took my fathers sword and joined the battle. The men were trying to get to me out and away from the danger but I was lost in some kind of a fugue or battle trance. He said I had never fought like that; indeed, he seems to think that few have ever fought as I did that day. He carried me out after a horned dagger took the wind and nearly the life from me.

It was days before anyone was able to tend to my wounds and by then I had lapsed into a fevered world of laughing demons and fire breathing dragons. I felt the Night Lords hands reaching for me in the darkness, seeking to snuff me out to the last. Once I think I smiled at a toothless crone who was packing my wounds in mud of some sort. 

Unable to bear the torments of demons and fire breathing gods of darkness, the angel Avalloc and his kin opened the stars to me. A bright light from beyond the stars called me home to be with my father. It was my father; he stood waiting for me among the angels. He was young and full of vigor, not as he had been the last few years when the blood cough had him. 

The Lord of the Angels, the Shining Wrath of Ro, Avalloc waited while his companions came to me. First was the Silver Warrior, Brynn. His voice was contemptuous and scornful, _“Lo though you are welcome in my father’s house it is with shame, for you have failed to bring wrath and war upon those who would take what we have given you to defend all of the people of Middea from the depredations of the Ennwrathi. You are as a mewling kitten lost and afraid of the world without a  in your mouth. I will not aide you to journey with the Lord of Storms when you were but a zephyr in life.”_ So speaking, the Silver Warrior turned his back on me and my father. 

Aislin known to scholars as the mistress of logic and light came next. She spoke to me and laid a hand upon my breast. _“Oh, young Jaran. I do pity thee for you are lost and blinded by shadows. Unable to shed light and reason on your condition. As one who dwells in the shadows, you are lost to me.”_ I felt a cool wetness on my forehead and the heat of a goddess’s breath. Then she also turned away from me and moved to stand with the Silver Warrior.

Finally, Avalloc himself came to me. I could hear the rasping of his sword as it cleared its sheath and came to rest on my shoulder. _“Little one, you come to us unfulfilled and your father has asked us to sit in judgment of you. You are yet unworthy to travel beyond time where the righteous dwell. There are unsung songs and in the great harmony of the universe, your voice must find its place. My kin have laid the way for you, if you listen to their words. Unsheathe your sword and right the wrongs done to your family, remove the shadows that cloud your vision and dwell again in the light. I also have use for you, as Ro has use for me, but you are yet too young for this.”_ His blade lifted from my shoulder and touched my brow _“Return to where you came from Jaran Envernes and know that death is no release from your duty. You are my liegeman and I have need of you.”_

All three angels began to speak as the form of my father hurtled toward the great light in the distant stars. 

*“All memories of light and dark return

We command this rising soul to forsake the sleeping. 
He is an ember that has leapt from the hearth 
For he has come alone, from a place of fire
He has come from the altar of the west where once we fell.
The sanctuary where the shadow wakes and fires fail.

Now awaken in this ritual, as a spark upon tinder
A Light returns to battle with the Dark.”  * 

Soon after, I woke in Ormond. Glorin was all that was left of my guard and he was sorely wounded during the escape. We traveled north when I could again walk, which was not for some time. There in Highwall I became a man, I also became a warrior. All too soon, rumors began to circulate in the capitol and my identity was uncovered. Once again, I found myself running from assassins but not before one of the strangest events in my life.

I had taken to riding with scouts into the mountains, occasionally taking missions to monitor trollkin movements. On this occasion, we spotted a large band of trollkin moving at a good clip with several captives. 

An Athan Re scouting party had been caught in the open and taken by the vicious brutes. Later we discovered how dear a price the Trollkin paid to get these three nature walkers. I followed along with one other scout, our companions returning to Ormond to inform the Duchess. On the fifth day, our prey entered a cavern complex. My companion and I were exhausted and needed to rest but were fearful of being so far north. I took first watch, which was uneventful and then woke up Marston for his watch. During my sleep, Marston was set on by Trollkin and was slain for I awoke to find his body several dozen yards away. It still puzzles me how they could have missed me?

Shortly after waking, the trollkin began to move with their captives once more. Unable to return to Ormond without aid, I did the only thing I could do; follow the Trollkin. We traveled north for days deep into the heart of the Avalkhmar [the Dire Wastes]; despairing to never survive the journey, I began to plot a way to free the captives.

I eventually decided to attack the Trollkin while they camped and had gone about getting ready for my final stand when I stumbled on a human ranger sitting near a bog. He had been watching me and told me I was about to kill myself. Together we made some plans and before they broke up camp, we slew the trollkin. The ranger said he knew the nature walkers but they did not appear any bit friendly towards the grizzled warrior.

We all worked our way back south where companies parted and I was given some directions and a map that assisted me in my return through the mountains. A day after returning to Ormond one of the Athan Re appeared in my chambers and bid me to follow her into the garden. My head swam with the delicate aroma. 

_“Your blood sings to me. Blood calls to blood.” _ 

I was puzzled over her words, she must have sensed it. _“You have the mark of the angels on you. Your blood is the blood of my kin. It is the blood of angels. Tonight you must flee this place. A great darkness looms here twisting a web of the finest spiders silk. If you stay, you will be snared.”_

The delicate voice stilled the song of the night birds. _“Take your sword and the medallion of your father but leave your other possessions.”_ Her hand took mine and pressed a warm ring of gold into it. _“This ring will guard you and protect you.” _ 

With assassins and who knows what else about, it was time to depart Ormond. I drifted south to the lands of Wingate where I apprenticed myself to some of the finest swordsmen in all of Middea. I worked hard those final two years learning tricks and skill with the sword that few can challenge. I also learned about leadership and subterfuge fighting deep within the Ravenswood where a war of illusion and stealth has raged for more than a decade.

Girded with skill and courage, I returned to the lands of my father to seek out those who had taken everything from me. The year has been hard, I have lost many friends but found many more. The White Knights of Enverness took my spiritual guide, Father Kalan; I pray nightly that he was quickly delivered to Ro. It was he who convinced me that I had indeed passed into Aion [Heaven]. Kalan believed that I had a special destiny, believing me to be the man referred to in the Book of Prophecies as the Second Champion in one verse and Ro’s Anointed in another. At first, I had difficulty believing such words had been spoken centuries before my time but Kalan was able to point out references in several texts. In time, he made me see the truth of his words. I struggle nightly knowing that I am a pawn in some greater battle and unaware of my place in it. I continue to have faith and pray that Ro will fortify me for the duty he has set. I continue to struggle against the forces that have already sent me to the grave once, not even death will make me relent from my chosen task. 

*Shining Moment*
Jaran Enverness is a haunted man tormented by dreams of his father’s death and of his own. Each night he dreams of that battle but each night the nightmare comes closer to being defeated. Jaran’s dream always take place in the great hall but instead of the child who fell to a horned blade that day Jaran sees himself as he is today. As his skill increases, the battle becomes closer and closer. He is sure that someday soon he will triumph in the dream battle. The dream always starts with the shadowy forces of men and demons pulling his father to the ground delivering their savage cuts while Jaran leaps from the stair among them.

*Description*
Jaran is a big man with wide shoulders. His white hair flows like a lion’s mane when he enters battle or does not keep it bound. Though he is young, his shockingly blue eyes hold an intensity and a sadness that is unfathomable. Jaran is human but few who have seen him in battle would describe him that way, they would say that he was a great cat locked in the body of a man. He is a predator born to kill - not from malice or depravity but simply because that is what predators do. 

*Side notes: * Jaran really does have the blood of the angels flowing in his veins and though he can pass for human, there is something to him that is not of this world. The setting has a Celtic flavor to it.

*Equipment:* Jaran carries the gilded bastard sword of his father. It is the finest Kaladian Steel [Damascian] that can be bought with coin. The steel of the blade has smokey patterns to it while the cross hilt and quillions are engraved with knotwork.

The Ring given to him by the sorceress is more than a simple loop. It is more of a bracelet that terminates with a silvered ring. The band starts as a bracelet with numerous threads running across the top of his hand in pattern. Where the threads or chains meet there is a small gem in a flat setting. Each of these connects to each other and then into the ring.

The medallion of his father is the house emblem. It is made of silver with amber patterned into a unicorn.


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## talinthas (Jan 7, 2005)

wow, Kai!  that addition is awesome!  Makes me want to submit another character =)


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## Ogre Mage (Jan 9, 2005)

*Thieving Magpie*

TOMI SUZUME, HENGEYOKAI (SPARROW) ROGUE/NINJA SPY

CHARACTER CONCEPT
A second generation immigrant from Kara-Tur, Tomi Suzume has the appearance of a sparrow but the mind of a thief.  Like many shape-changers she is skilled in the art of deception, honed from years of living in Waterdeep.  Moving around unnoticed and slipping past barriers is her usual M.O.  

IMPORTANT SKILLS:  Appraise +5, Bluff +10, Disable Device +19, Disguise +9, Hide +27/+33, Knowledge (Waterdeep) +5, Listen +12, Move Silently +22, Open Lock +19, Search +14, Spot +17, Tumble +15, Use Magic Device +11.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
In human form, Tomi is a small Shou woman standing 5’0” and 90 lbs.  She has slender, delicate fingers and limbs capable of unparalleled swiftness and accuracy.  Her usual adventuring wear is simple black pants with a dark green shirt and vest embroidered with Shou designs.  She also owns an elaborate scarlet silk kimono for formal wear or disguise purposes.  Masterwork thieves’ tools are kept in her vest’s inner pocket and a silver dagger strapped to her lower leg is concealed by her boot.  Her most prized possession is improved shadow leather armor which bears an unearthly black color and blends the wearer into nearby shadows.  She has almond shaped black eyes, shoulder length black hair and a slightly pointed nose, the only visible hint of her avian nature. Her rapier +1, mighty composite shortbow +1 and boots of elvenkind appear unremarkable.  She is capable of surprisingly foul language and when amused is known to flash a smile so brief you could blink and miss it.

In hybrid from, Tomi is a human-sized, bipedal sparrow with brown to black feathers, round bird eyes, a small beak and wings.  Her hands and feet are human-shaped but resemble bird claws.  Her equipment remains the same.

In sparrow form, Tomi appears as a typical sparrow.    

KILLER GAMING MOMENT
The group was attempting to enter a mountain stronghold.  Scouting ahead in sparrow form, Tomi spotted a back entrance guarded by a single orc.  She landed behind a large rock and shifted to hybrid form, easily making her hide and move silently checks.  From her hiding spot she cocked an arrow and fired, slaying the orc with a sneak attack before he could raise an alarm.  In the city or wilderness, she is in her element skulking around.

BACKGROUND
The journey was long and arduous.  The two sparrows crossed The Golden Way, through the mysterious lands of Thay, over The Sea of Fallen Stars and past the mighty kingdoms of Sembia and Cormyr.  

Mitsue and Masa settled in Ardeep Forest near Waterdeep.  It seemed like a good place for a new home:  a reasonably peaceful forest not far from an urbane city.  Shortly thereafter, two baby birds were born.  The boy was named Takeshi and the girl was named Tomi.

Tomi’s memories of that time are fond.  Her parents showed the children how they could assume human form and move among humans as one of their own.  The family eventually took up residence in The City of Splendors, leaving the forest behind.

The cosmopolitan bustle of Waterdeep fascinated Tomi.  Her parents seemed tied up in their own affairs and she became a “latchkey kid.” Soon, she fell in with a group of shady individuals and began dabbling in “activities.”  Developing an immense talent for stealth and burglary, her ability to transform into a sparrow was an incredible edge which got her out of more than one jam.  The yakuza crime lords of Waterdeep’s Shou Town quietly noted her as a potential recruit.

One significant incident occurred during her time with street gangs.  She and three friends decided to do some grave robbing in The City of the Dead, Waterdeep’s cemetery.  After “casing the joint,” they broke into the tomb of an upper middle class family.  As they searched for valuables, the spectre of an old woman floated through the wall.  She touched one of Tomi’s companions and his body fell to the ground, a desiccated husk.  The spectre laughed and the coffins began to shake, as though the corpses inside were attempting to escape.  Tomi and the others fled as unearthly moans and the rattle of coffins echoed down the crypt hallway.  Since then, she has grown skittish of grave robbing and developed a phobia of incorporeal undead.

The year the children turned 40 (which is about 15 in human years) Mitsue and Masa announced that they were leaving for good and it was time for the kids to survive own their own.  They turned to sparrow form, headed north toward The High Forest and have not been seen since.

Takeshi had long been enchanted with the legends of Kara-Tur.  He said he wanted to fulfill his dream of traveling to their ancestral homeland and flew east.

Left alone, Tomi wondered what to do with her life.  Unlike her brother, she had no desire to venture to Kara-Tur.  The Waterdavian branch of _The Nine Golden Swords_ chose this moment to offer her membership.  She agreed to join their ranks.  _The Nine Golden Swords_ had been consolidating control over the criminal activities of Waterdeep’s Shou Town and beyond, avoiding detection by masquerading as a “Shou cultural society.”  Tomi was also intrigued by their knowledge of the ninja arts. _ It’s time to see how the pros do business_, she thought.

Thereafter, Tomi continued to work in Waterdeep, occasionally retreating to the forest to live as a bird for a time.  During one of these retreats, she encountered a band of adventurers who helped her kill a harpy that plagued the woods.  For the first time, she felt the urge to stretch her wings and see the world.  Promising the _Golden Swords_ that she would stay in touch, she hit the trail, hoping for the potential power and profit an adventuring life could bring.


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## Ar'Salan (Jan 9, 2005)

*Ar'Salan*

NAME

Farzin Ad-ar'Sham Abu Al-Ja'Veed Ar'salan Ibn Sha'heen Al-Sepehr An-Shaha'ab, Learned Powerful Undying Lion of the Sky; Honored Son of the Falcon and the Flaming Star.

or, just Ar'Salan.

BACKGROUND

A Noble Djinni Fighter/Rogue. Basic personality type: a$$hole. This character was played in a short, experimental Savage Species/Planescape campaign based on the "Nameless Legion" scenario from Dungeon Magazine a few years back. He woke up one day with no memory in a prison camp / army boot camp and was told he was now an inter-planar mercenary. Whether he wanted to be or not. Needless to say, he was not happy. Teaming up with a bunch of other assorted weirdos (a female pixie thief, a psychotic ghaele warrior, an eccentric crystal-studded psionicist, a multi-legged feral reptilian ogre mutant, and a greatsword-weilding centaur) he was sent on a series of missions on various planes and worlds, including (I think) Scarn, Faerun, and Greyhawk. The only memories he possessed were more in the forms of desires: firstly, for fine foods and wines, but secondly and most overwhelmingly, for GEMS. This was one jewel-obsessed genie.

APPEARANCE

Big (ie. Large Size) - about 9 feet tall, with rippling muscled sky-blue skin and a bald pate, piercing ice-blue eyes and an overbearingly arrogant gaze. His feet never touch the ground, he considers it unclean and 'beneath him.' Instead, he appears to just 'walk on air,' constantly striding to and fro in impatience. He is often followed by dust devils and trails of mist, the air is never still around this being. His fingers are loaded with jewelled rings, taken from defeated foes, his neck encircled with glittering chains and amulets, his ears studded with gold. He wears loose-fitting balloon-like pants, and wrapped around his waist is a (Large-Sized!) spiked chain - his weapon of choice. When he's annoyed he likes to spin it slowly and marvel at the beautiful sound it makes, swishing through the air.

DRAMATIC MOMENT

The final session of the campaign - after battling through the steaming jungles of eastern Faerun, the party had finally reached its destination: the underground treasury room of an ancient temple to a death God. Having cut a swathe through giant crabs, living trees, white dragon wyrmlings and crazed temple fanatics, the biggest problem the party was facing was its own internal politics.The Legion had sent them to recover the famed artifact known as "The Raintiger." No one knew quite what it did, but they knew it was in the form of a huge emerald. In the final chamber, deep in the bowels of the crumbling ziggurat, the tomb guardian lich lying defeated in a pile of dust, the party debated how to open the obviously-trapped treasure casket holding the fabled jewel. While the rest of the party bickered, Ar'Salan ripped the box open, grabbed the jewel, and with a wave and a smile on his face, promptly _planeshifted_ to the elemental plane of air, just as the walls of the tomb began to close around the group, and water began to rise up the walls...

A nasty way to the end the session, but satisfyingly in character, and a fitting finale to a wild and brutal campaign.


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## Oryan77 (Jan 9, 2005)

Geez, lots of good entries and I'm sure lots more to come. I don't know how my favorite PC can compete, but here he is:

*Cyriss -of the Fated*

*Campaign:* Planescape converted to 3.5

*Profession:* Master Locksmith & Tax Collector (Rogue)

*Description:*

*Race:* Tiefling

*Age: * Unknown. Looks to be about as old as a 28 y/o human, but he's many years older.

*Height:* 5'11"

*Weight:* 145lbs

*Skin color:* dull midnight black

*Hair:* Instead of a normal head of hair he has 8" tall tan/brownish quill-like strands that spike above his scalp. These strands are straight and stiff like a porcupines quill, only they don't cover his scalp as thick as a porcupine's body is covered. They are more spaced apart so where you can see his scalp between strands. You could actually count the strands easily if you took the time to do so (about 100-150 strands total). He has no facial hair or body hair. The quills don't brush back like a porcupines quills, they stick straight out almost like nails (but more flimsly).

*Eyes:* Milky black with a tint of gray. He has no pupils.

*Ears:* Looks like the Nymphs ears in the 3.5 Monster Manual pg 198 except that they're not as wide at the bottom and the upper thin tip protrudes another inch higher above the head. He has various exotic earring loops pierced around his ears.

*Teeth:* All of his white teeth are canine looking. He grins a lot just to show them off.

*Physique:* Fairly skinny with a muscular cut. His body looks humanoid in shape. He could be mistaken for a tall Drow if his head looked anything Drow-like. His face is thin with a thin nose and a strong jaw line which comes down to a pointed chin. He might be a handsome man if his eyes, teeth, ears, and hair weren't so odd.

*Gear:* He wears black leather armor with maroon, gray, and dark tanish colored pieces (it's mostly black but has lots of these colors mixed into the design to give him more color so the character isn't just a boring black figure...these colors can be changed to look better). He prefers dark colors because it enhances his talent of hiding in shadows. He loves decoration and details; so his armor consists of lots of buckles, straps, pouches, and exotic accessories all fitting tightly around his frame. He wears no cloaks, capes, or robes because "flowing" articles of clothing get in his way while he's working. He prefers to fight 2-handed with 2 exotic looking sickles or throw one of his many half-sized dirks that are sheathed in rows along his legs, body, and arms. His lockpicks are stored in a row of slots on one of his thighs. He wears boots and gloves. He prefers to travel with a light load so he can sneak around easier at a whim. This also allows him to return home with more "loot".

Personality: Chaotic Neutral. Cyriss belongs to a faction called "The Fated" (aka The Takers, The Heartless, The Crued, or Coldbloods) in the city called Sigil. Their main goal in life is to obtain power in every form, and as long as they "earn" it, it doesn't matter how they obtained it. This causes him to be very proud, confident, and a bit cocky. He conciders himself to be a good man. He will help out a companion and risk his life to do so if needed, but he will always expect compensation in some form afterwards. This might be a little extra portion of the loot to come, or first pick of the loot at hand. If he doesn't get it when he asks for it, he will obtain it his own way sooner or later. This doesn't always mean material payment either (knowledge is power too), and he might not always require payment because he knows his friends will return the favor in due time. Some might call Cyriss greedy if they don't know him, but his actions are no different than a wizard trying to fill his spellbook with more powerful spells...he just doesn't feel guilty if his actions anger a person. He believes that if he can obtain it & get away with it, he has earned it, and the better man deserves the prize. 

He gives off a standoff-ish presence at first (due to his appearance), but is overall friendly to the people he likes. He can even be humorous at times. He likes to end his sentences in a sly grin to show off his odd teeth. He's VERY cunning and articulate. Even a fiend has a hard time pulling a fast one over on Cyriss. 

*Combat/Career:* 

He hates to fight toe-to-toe, but if he needs to, his opponents are very surprised at how skilled he is with his sickles. Graceful and precise, some might think Cyriss has been trained as a fighter...this isn't true. Growing up on the streets of Sigil has honed his fighting skills in a method that allows him to fight unpredictably and cunningly. If his opponent is a more skilled fighter & more armored, Cyriss doesn't hesitate to vanish in the shadows and wait for the enemy to be unprepared & unaware so he can strike hard while the opponent doesn't see it coming. He has a different unique variety of special abilities than the standard Tiefling has: Invisibility twice per week, Mirror Image once per day, and Detect Magic 3 times per week. The first two he uses to help him have an advantage in battle. Invisibility also helps him while he seeks great wealth in dungeons/palaces/manions, but he is so skilled at hiding in shadows and moving silently that he doesn't need this ability to get the job done. Detect Magic is his most appreciated ability. This helps him determine whether or not an item is worth "taking". There's been several situations where time was a factor and he had to choose which pieces of the horde he would take before fleeing...Detect Magic always helped him make this decision.

He is known for being a Master Locksmith who is also skilled in finding & disabling traps that could stop you from obtaining great treasure. He doesn't mind hiring himself out to adventurers as long as he gets the percentage of the loot he asks for (which is always high). Just don't call him a Rogue and definately don't call him a Thief...he's a Locksmith; his rates will raise if you do so, and you might find your belongings missing throughout the trip. His dark skin and black eyes help hide him in the dark while he sneaks around. Most of the time people only spot him while he's hiding in shadows right before his blade sinks into a vital area of their body. This is only because Cyriss has a bad habit of grinning before a sneak attack, so they notice the white of his teeth thru the darkness of night.

*History:* 

Raised in the Tiefling community known as the Sandstone District near the Hive Ward of Sigil. Like most Tieflings, he doesn't know his heritage or a family name. He goes only by the name Cyriss. When Cyriss completed his courses at the Rowan Academy of Training to become a full member of the Fated, he immediately got a job as a "tax collector". He worked in a sub-branch of the official Taxers in the city. It was his responsibility to "legally" enter into a persons home without their consent or knowledge and collect the payments owed to the city for unpaid taxes. The residents were never victims, they were citizens of Sigil who haven't paid taxes on time and have yet to deliver the funds (and late fees) to the Fated. The method Cyriss would use to complete these jobs was to sneak into the home when the residents were either alseep or away because he doesn't like confrontation when it isn't personal. This makes his job easier because people usually don't cooperate when they are forced to hand over valuables as payment, plus they get angry when they find out how much the late fees are for not paying taxes on time. He also prefers this method because he gets to work alone and he pockets an item or two for himself, which he calls "a tip".

After years of working as a tax collector, Cyriss desired more power and definately more wealth. He began hiring himself out to adventurers to help them open locks that they wouldn't normally be able to bypass, and he would also help them avoid traps that would hinder their way. Currently he has found comfort with a certain group of adventurers that he can call "friends".

*Shining Moment: *

He's had his typical moments of saving the party from disaster at the last moment, but his companions have done the same for him plenty of times also...actions like these are expected among heroes and adventurers. So why sing about something everyone in the tavern has already heard? Instead, I'll tell a quick tale that he is proud about, but might make others question his character...

Cyriss was once hired by a petty group of adventurers (which, after time, he now calls them his friends). It was the same old job...disable that, unlock this, help kill them, save us from it. During the beginning of this job, the group was in an unfamiliar town. They had just killed some bandits and Cyriss was haggling with a merchant interested in buying the gems he pulled off a bandits body. When the merchant found out Cyriss's profession, he asked if him & his party would find and retreive a stolen heirloom from a bandits lair somewhere nearby. The merchant agreed to pay "1000gp" for the task. Cyriss agreed and just needed to convince the rest of the party. When he met up with the group later in town, he told them about this job that sounds like easy money....it paid an entire "800gp". This was a lot of money for this group at the time so of course they agreed to do this task. 

Realizing that these adventurers were a bit simple-minded and unwary, Cyriss decided to see how far he could take advantage of these people. After the task was completed and Cyriss (privately) collected their reward, he announced to the group that it's time to divy up their "700gp" reward. Excited, everyone approached Cyriss to recieve their share of the prize. Out of a group of 4 (including Cyriss), the reward was split evenly and each was given "150gp" (totals only 600gp split 4 ways). Everyone was happy by the end of the day, 3 of them made an easy 150gp plus random loot, and Cyriss made a much easier 550gp plus random loot. It took awhile, but Cyriss finally trained his new friends in the art of awareness.


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## Stormrunner (Jan 10, 2005)

*Stormrunner*

*She Who Loves To Gallop Through The Wind And Rain * (short form "Stormrunner" or "Stormy")

*female centaur*

*height:* 5'10" at withers, 10'2" forehooves to top of head
*weight:* about 1600-1700 lbs

Stormrunner is of the Hardsruthor, or "Northern Centaurs", a larger and heavier sub-race.  While standard centaurs have the lower body of a light warhorse, Hardsruthor have the horsebody of a heavy warhorse, with the humanoid torso larger and more muscular to match.  (Higher Str, lower Dex.)  They also have shaggy tufts of fur on their lower legs (like a Clydesdale) and forearms.  Their hair grows in a Mohawk-style strip over the top of the skull and down the spine of the upper torso all the way to the withers, like a horse's mane, and they have horse ears rather than human ones, though their faces are otherwise humanoid.  They have a set of humanoid "naughty bits" between the forelegs in addition to the equine ones between the hindlegs; for illustration purposes, assume Stormy's frontal pubic hair is thick and shaggy enough to keep things PG-13.

Stormy's hide is a dark chocolate brown, and this coloration extends to her upper body as well.  Her mane, tail, shagtufts, pubes, eyebrows, lips, nipples, fingernails, and hooves are all a pale cream color.  She tends to favor green, gold, and white in her jewelry and bodypaint.  She wears her mane long and flowing, with many thin rat-tail braids scattered through it, each ending in a tiny carved fetish (see below).  Her tail is trimmed a little shorter, so it doesn't drag or get too many burrs in it, but is also mostly loose, with the exception of two braids tipped with three large blue-painted wooden beads apiece - these indicate her clan.  Her eyes are hazel-green.  While not flat-chested, she does lead an active lifestyle and her breasts are not the "cantalope-globes" depicted by some artists - the Players Handbook illo for Ember the monk is probably a good reference.  Not being human, her facial features don't really match any real-world ethnic group, but she has a prominent ("Roman"/Native American) nose and cheekbones, and full ("African") lips.

Stormy's people are gymnophiles - that is, while not strictly nudist, they prefer to wear as little as possible.  Thus Stormrunner is normally clad only in harness and jewelry, plus any items listed below, with a little bodypaint for extra decoration.  Much of her gear is decorated with intricate spiral patterns reminiscent of Celtic knotwork.

*How she got her name:*
_(Note: her name changes several times in her lifetime; this is standard practice in her culture.  Just keep in mind that Ouzel, Red Legs, and Stormrunner are all the same person.)_
Born to a small herd on the edge of the great northern plains, she was given the child-name of Ouzel, for like the small water-bird she was inquisitive, energetic, and easily distracted.  Ouzel grew up strong and healthy, and something of a tomboy, insisting on tagging along with the colts as they hunted small game - a habit the colts grudgingly accepted after finding that she could outrun and outfight most of them.  It was generally felt that upon reaching adulthood she would probably declare herself _berdasha_ ("transvestite" - a mare who wears masculine jewelry and paint, and engages in traditionally male activities such as hunting and warfare.  Male equivalent is _berdasho_, generic/plural form _berdachi_.  Note that _berdachi_-hood is completely independent of sexual preference - while Stormy happens to be bi, just because someone is _berdachi _ doesn't mean they're necessarily gay/bi/lesbian).  This, plus her exceptional intelligence and inquisitiveness, attracted the attention of the Herd Shaman (_berdachi _ often display either unusual talent for, or strong resistance to, magic), and Ouzel became the old mare's apprentice.

Ouzel proved adept at her studies, but also continued to hunt and explore whenever she had free time.  Still, her restlessness grew.  She didn't want to lead the life of a traditional mare, but the role of _berdasha_-stallion was almost as circumscribed, and the mantle of shaman would carry more responsibilities than freedoms.  She hungered for something more, but was unable to express just what it was she wanted.

The autumn she was grown, the old Shaman called Ouzel to her side.  "You have studied well, and learned all that I have to teach you.  Only one final test remains, the most difficult and dangerous of all.  You will die."
"If I fail, you mean?"
"No, you will die, and go to the Land of the Dead.  There you will be judged, and if you are found worthy, you will return to life with the sacred knowledge, that which cannot be taught but must be retrieved anew by each initiate."
"And if I am not worthy?"
"Then I will sing the funeral songs for you, and find a new apprentice.  But we will speak more of this later, for the test will not come until the Long Night of winter.  Now it is the autumn festival, when trees change their leaves, animals change their coats, and a certain young filly must change her name, be mounted by the Herd Stallion, and become a full-grown mare.  The best hunters are going on a far hunt, to bring back much meat for the feasts, and your colt friends will follow them, to learn and to help with the skinning and carrying.  Go and join them - it is your last chance to experience the freedom of childhood before you take on the responsibilities of an adult."

So Ouzel joined the hunters, and as befitted the Shaman's apprentice, led them in the chants to appease the animal spirits.  The spirits were pleased, and after several days they returned laden with meat.  However, they were delayed several hours by the need to hide from a flight of griffons, and it was well past sunset by the time they approached the camp.  In the darkness they stumbled over the gnawed corpse of a young stallion.  Stashing their loads in a gully they approached the main camp stealthily with bows drawn, and surprised a pair of gnolls, filling them with arrows before they could cry out.  Peering over the final ridge, a scene of horror met their eyes.  The camp was a shambles, the bodies of the entire herd spread among the wreckage, along with a score of dead gnolls.  Several dozen live gnolls moved through the wreckage, stripping, skinning, and butchering the corpses of centaur and gnoll alike.  The bonfires that had been prepared for the celebratory dances now roasted the flesh of their families.

Something snapped inside Ouzel, and with a shrill scream of rage she charged over the hill, the startled stallions and colts following her half-instinctively.  The gnolls, caught completely flat-footed, gaped in surprise at the screaming charge - gapes that became shrieks of agony as they were speared, shot, and trampled.  The centaurs had thundered almost all the way through the camp by the time the hyena-folk rallied enough to send a shower of arrows and javelins after them, managing only to kill the hindmost colt and wound several stallions before the galloping centaurs disappeared into the darkness.  Behind them, twenty-some-odd gnolls lay writhing in their death throes.

A half-dozen gnolls gave pursuit, but the fleeing centaurs doubled back and ambushed them, wiping them out as well.  The group then paused to bind their wounds and discuss their options.  Ouzel's legs were crimson to the knee with mud and blood, both centaur and gnoll.  With the Herd Stallion and Herd Shaman both dead, she declared herself adult, and took the name Red Legs, vowing that she would never wash the blood from her legs until every gnoll in the pack was dead.  A split quickly developed; Red Legs and several of the younger stallions wanted to continue to punish the gnolls, while the older stallions, realizing that with only one surviving mare the herd was no longer viable, were in favor of fleeing to a friendly herd and joining them, perhaps returning later with reinforcements to reclaim the lost territory.  In the end, the older stallions took the colts and left: they never returned, and she later found that they never reached the neighboring herd either - whether they fell prey to more gnolls, adventurers, or some other monster is unknown.

Meanwhile Red Legs led the half-dozen younger stallions in a series of lightning raids over the next few months, steadily whittling down the numbers of the gnoll pack, who came to greatly fear her.  For their part, the gnolls were not helpless and started laying traps and ambushes of their own.  One by one Red Legs' companions fell, until only she was left.  In one final desperate assault, she galloped out of the sunset into the last pitiful remnants of the gnoll pack, and slew all but one, a female who, wounded, fled the early stages of the fight.  Herself wounded, Red Legs tracked the gnoll-bitch's blood trail through the deep snows, grimly pursuing her through the longest night of winter, and at last bringing her to bay atop a steep bluff.  There the she-gnoll railed at Red Legs, calling her a monster and a murderer.  In the course of her rantings, much became clear.  The gnolls were not so much invaders as refugees: the reason they had been so disorganized at first was that they were not a single pack, but the tattered remnants of many packs, driven from their homeland by an invasion - of centaurs.  The thought that her own kind might be even partially responsible for the past few month's horrors was too much - screaming at her to shut up, Red Legs speared and trampled the gnoll bitch into a red ruin in the snow.

Her oath was fufilled; the last gnoll of the pack was dead.  Now what?  She had expected to feel some sort of joyful triumph, but instead she felt hollow and empty.  Mechanically she began to skin the dead gnoll for a final trophy - and discovered that the bitch had been pregnant, the pups crushed to death by Red Legs' pounding hooves.  As hardened a killer as she had become, the sight of the pitiful little bodies still tugged at Red Legs' maternal instincts.  What had she become?  When had she stopped thinking of justice, or even revenge, and become filled only with hatred and the blind desire to kill?  The she-gnoll was right - she had made herself into a murdering monster, even more so than the ones she sought to slay.  And for what?  Her herd was destroyed, her friends and family all dead.  She had nothing left to live for.

With a cry of grief and despair, Red Legs leaped over the precipice.  She bounced several times on the way down, and hit bottom with a bone-shattering crunch.  After her legs had stopped kicking, there was a long silence, until the first small scavengers cautiously ventured from their hiding places to sniff at the cooling corpse.

Red Legs journeyed to the Land of the Dead, and was judged.  Of that judgement she does not speak.

Wind stirred the grasses - and something more than wind.  Gnawed and shattered bones drew together, slithering and rolling back into their proper places.  When the skeleton was complete, it began to clothe itself in flesh.

She awoke to the touch of rain on her face.  For a long time she did not move, becoming once again used to the feeling of lungs breathing, heart beating.  Slowly, gingerly, she began to move.  There was no pain.  She was whole.  She was alive.

She rolled over and struggled to her feet.  The snows were gone - around her the long grasses whipped in the wind of a gathering spring storm.  Thunder boomed, and she felt its vibration deep in her bones.  She was alive.

The rain began to fall in earnest.  Casting off the tattered remnants of her gear, she gave a great whoop of exultation and broke into a wild gallop across the plain, arms flung wide and face upturned to the lightning-stitched clouds, as the rain ran down her naked body, washing away the blood and horror of the past, washing her clean.  She was alive!

She fashioned new gear, and journeyed south, to the lands of the two-leggers.  There she found many adventures (including a riddle-contest with a dragon) and many new lovers (including a mermaid and a celestial unicorn).  But she never forgot that moment of rebirth.  From then on, she was Heyan-tekolli-heh-menitskaaya, Mare Who Loves To Gallop Through The Thunderstorm.  

*Visible gear:*
*Fetishes* - similar to Quall's Feather Tokens, but in much more variety, ranging from tiny figurines to miniature masks to abstract symbolic shapes.  Stormy creates and uses these in place of potions, and keeps several dozen dangling from her mane and portions of her harness.
*Lance * - A Native American-style heavy spear rather than the flared-grip jousting-style lance pictured in the PHB, may have a string of gnoll tails/ears dangling from it.
*Two scimitars* - a matched pair of enchanted blades.
*Hipposandals* - like the Romans used, basically lace-on horseshoes.  References:
http://www.romansinsussex.co.uk/level3/search/detail.asp?sitenumber=1&objectnumber=17
http://www.hippotherapy.be/index-fr-fr.html?url=/chevaux/physio/hipposandal.htm
*Several soft leather pouches.*

*Optional extras:*
A pair of small parfleche-style *saddlebags* decorated with bead/quillwork (but no saddle)
*Leggings* - fringed and tooled leather, covering the front of the leg and laced in back, sorta like a cowboy's chaps.  On all four legs, from just above the hoof to below the "knee" joint.
*Bracers of armor* - interlaced straps of studded leather entwining both arms from wrists to shoulders.  The left forearm also has a leather archery pad to prevent her bowstring from catching in her arm-shag.
*Composite longbow* - asymmetric, like the Japanese daikyu, with a short lower limb and long upper limb, allowing her to shoot Parthian-style back over her own rump without whacking her flanks with the bow.  Large box-style quiver slung from the waist and angled back along the right flank, holding about 50 arrows.

*suggested poses:*
-beheading a gnoll with a criss-cross double slash of her scimitars, while simultaneously mule-kicking another one into the air with her hind hooves
-looking innocent as she casually plants a dinner-plate-size hoof on the toe of an obnoxious bureaucrat-type human, causing him to shriek and flail and drop his paperwork
-galloping through the storm, as per her name
-emerging from the forest onto the plains, with the faces (both humanoid and animal) of spirits manifesting in the branches, grass, rocks, and clouds (very challenging to draw!) (for an example of what I mean, see Bev Dolittle's art )


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## Krail Stromquism (Jan 12, 2005)

*Hey, wait! Wait for me!*

Hey Guys! Hi Kai Lord!

Wow I love WAR.

I guess Im not elligible. Well so be it. 

BUt I have so many other great characters!

Efrim MacGregor 36th Level Mage.
HE is an OE character from my friend Justins Campaign.

For those of you familiar with the Mystara setting or old Glantri, you will recognize the name MacGregor. Prince Branart MAcGregor, the head cheese up in Glantri, Klantyre country! 

He was long cury dark brown hair, brown eyes and wears the traditional garb of the MacGregor Clan, kilt and all. Hes actually looks-wise based off a character from Rob Roy, I think his name was Alister, he the young highlander that falls asleep watching Rob Roys house.

GEAR: He is always seen his two daggers, his Blitz Blades: Blitz Blade, +5 Dagger, +18dam 2/day also his only Artifact: the Head of Shanara, a shruken head kept on his belt, has a Confusion Effect, is slightly animate. Ring of Regeneration, Gauntlets of Ogre Strength, Cloak of Protection +4 
Notes: Immune to Beholder Eyestalk Rays, Lost 1 HP permenantly, -1 str/+1 chr Watcher Colossi, +1 HP Honoring Jamadarru

As a 36th level mage fortunes have shifted considerably during his time. Once a privaleged cousin of the Prince, he fell out of favor as dead all mages when the Wrath of the Immortals came into play. Now in this version of the wrath, mages and magic are made the scape goat for all the worlds problems and two Immortals come to the fore front. Namely Mahree and Old Nyx, which for those of us not up on our Mystaran Pantheon are Immortals of Werecreatures and Undead. Not only do they kill Rad, they kill 80% of the planes Mages. In the aftermath the mages form 2 asylums. One named Catalon, is a floating Island. It becomes one of two Mages Guilds and after passing many rounds of intense testing the home of Efrim MacGregor. He fights his way up the ranks and soon joins the Lakshami the leader of Catalon.

ALso with the killing of mages rose a 2nd moon, which set off a scourge of Werebeasts at the same time Old Nyx was unleashing a plague of Undead. The world was in trouble. It went to the brink and it held on.

Mages and humanity in general came scraping back. Efrim sought to reclaim his families ancestral land. The only thing standing in the way was the most powerful Lich on the Plane. The Wrath brought about a total admonishment of the use of Radiance and hence proof of being a Radinace weilder was a death sentence carried out by an Immortal. So an opportunity presented itself to place an object capable of spying on the Lich Raevyn. We broke into his tower, alarms blazing,  made our way to his library, time is short before Raevyn returns so we split up and begin the search. As I make my way in the circular tower, room to room, I come across a huge woven rug, into which was cast a SYMBOL. I roll my save a 1, HOORAY! The effect: FEAR. I scream in terror and I start running! Room to Room! the next room is an oppulent book lined room with the finest riches amassed in one place and also a Giant Cyclops Skeleton, its eye socket filled with javelins. So it starts chasing me, hurling javelins. Running and getting impaled on javelins and screaming in TERROR. 3 rounds of running I come upon a very special room, the rest of the party is also here, hesitantly standing at the threshhold of the room. They all turn simulataneously to my oncoming screams of terror! I bust past them Cyclops in tow, straight toward the Liches Radiance Sphere, set on a beautiful golden stand. I get close to the Globe and the Stand Emits five black rays. This was bad. Justin turns to me and says make a save vs Death...-4. NOw in Justins world a -4 to a save ment one thing, it the standard penalty when facing Immortal magic aka Artifacts. NOw I didnt now if this was an artifact Globe Stand or what. I just knew, if I failed I was dead. As in dead dead. tear up the character sheet. I nervously roll my save, a 12, made it no problem. OK, I can handle 4 more saves at -4. Only Justin turns to me and says There a -6 to your next one. NOw all the players eyes get as big as saucers as we extrapolate the meaning: -4, -6, -8, -10 and -12. -12! You gotta be kidding me! SO I roll again. I make it. -8, made it, barely. -10, now Im getting nervous, I roll but make it barely again. now the big one -12, we all lean in to the table to see it the result. Yeah baby a 20!
We all start screaming! an awesome gaming moment. Our characters plant the Watcher Clasp near the globe and teleport out. a round or two later Raevyn comes in, enraged that Catalonians had breached his tower, goes to his Radiance Globe to power up to extoll his vengence upon them, and unwittingly sealed his own doom. Mahree manifests and slays raevyn. The world changes once again, this time for the better. Eventually Efrim reclaims Klantyre. Cool.

This is a great metaphor for Efrim as a character and style. Gets pushed in the mud, dragged around but ends up all Aces with a million dollar smile. Mostly thru shear luck, as seen above.

Anyhow

Good Luck everyone!


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## Kai Lord (Jan 12, 2005)

Krail Stromquism said:
			
		

> Hey Guys! Hi Kai Lord!



Hi Krail!  Long time no see.  Hey I was actually wanting to talk to you about something we discussed before but I've misplaced your email address.  Could you drop me a line at kailord74 @ yahoo.com?  Thanks!

Great avatar, btw.  

Everyone else:  Less than three weeks to submit your characters!  Good luck!


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## Micah (Jan 12, 2005)

*Character concept:* An aging information rogue maxed out in gather information and diplomacy. Gertie uses disguises and a sliver tongue to get the edge on her opponents.

*Description:* Gertie is an aging female human (early 50’s) slightly overweight. She wears her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a bun with her knitting needles stuck out of it. Her “cap of colors” is a floppy, psychedelic toned beret with feathers sticking out of it. Gertie wears a tabard that looks like a cross between leather armor and a crazy quilt, covered by a woolen cloak that she knitted. She carries a large many pocketed haversack with lots of bottles and vials connected to it. Sturdy trousers and leather boots from the farm complete her appearance. When Gertie is smiling you get the impression that she is a nice grandmotherly sort of person. Other times one wouldn’t recognize her at all due to disguises and the much more subdued side of her reversible cap and cloak

*Backstory:* Gertrude Emily Wainwright was the only child of a farmer in one of the more peaceful vales in the country. Growing up in a somewhat idyllic and pastoral setting her adventurous spirit got her in trouble as a child, with an uncanny ability to talk others into mischief to keep her company. Her tongue grew sharp during her courting years and kept suitors at bay. She eased into her older years a spinster with a childhood girlfriend by her side to help her run the farmstead. 

When her companion fell in love, Gertie hit a post-midlife crisis. Her desire to do something worthwhile and adventurous surfaced in full force. She left the farm to the happy couple and went to live with her Uncle Max, the enigmatic black sheep of the family. Max tried his best to train his niece in the way of magic, but she was rather undisciplined, and seemed to enjoy the verbal sparring about his lessons more than the lessons themselves. She was also quite intrigued with the fact that she could never win an argument against his parrot familiar Twerp. 

Max understood the quest for meaning in life that Gertrude was facing and was unsurprised when she decided to leave. He’d done his best to equip her though – in her haversack was an intricately carved wand of healing. He sighed watching her leave through the wooded path. It was going to be much quieter around. He’d enjoyed having someone around that he could win an argument against.

Gertie traveled cross country. Running short of funds she talked her way into a position aboard a barge as a mercenary for hire. It had been a great combination of disguise, bluff, and diplomacy. Turned out she talked her way into a great deal of trouble. But for the moment she concentrated on getting to know the other very interesting characters hired to guard the merchant’s wares. . . 

*Killer gaming moment:* Gertie’s killer game moments are different from the average character. (Last game session our party wizard lost his will save against the madness effect on the plane of nightmares. A military commander that we were dealing with wanted the wizard to join-up to help him fight in a war we wanted no part of. The wizard agreed and was gung-ho to go. Gertie managed to get the commander to believe that our wizard was prone to cast area spells and mistakenly target his companions in the heat of battle. She said it was best to keep him with folks that knew when to dodge him than in the ranks of the unsuspecting. Natural 20 on the diplomacy roll.)

But as far as action shots – well Gertie’s are rather unique. She spends most combats either trying to concentrate hard enough to get Uncle Max’s wand to work, or digging frantically through her haversack for something to throw at the bad guys. She’s lobbed in everything from alchemist’s fire to ink wells. 

Gertie can be resourceful at times. Given a few moments lead against a raiding party she soaped the stairs, dusted them with dehydrated water and then emptied the contents of her water skin as the raiders came up the stairs.

Once when failing a sneak attack, the ruffian opposing her laughed at her – an old grandma with knitting needles! A round later the sharpened knitting needles were causing him great discomfort as they jutted out from under his ribs.

And a lot of the action that Gertie does relates to falling. Old knees and heavy haversacks mean that getting out of the way of a spire wyvern on a cliff constitutes a long tumble. 

I would love to have a picture of Gertie rummaging through her haversack, tossing things right and left to get a hold of a flask or wand. Or even a picture of her falling. . . . Any picture with any pose would be greatly appreciated if this unusual character wins the contest. Especially since I’ll never find a mini to match the concept. . . .


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## winnmich (Jan 14, 2005)

*Wayne Reynolds*

Wayne Reynolds has quickly risen to the top of my long list of artists that inspire me and push me to try and better myself and my own work. But one thing that has frustrated me to no end is the fact that, despite other artists of his calibur doing so, there is /no/ website or any official gathering of his artwork anywhere. Wizards has seen fit to obscure most of his incredible Eberron artwork with their 'jazzy' cover designs and yet they won't post his stunning full color pieces. Does /anybody/ know of good collections of this mans art or even a homepage?


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## Kai Lord (Jan 17, 2005)

Hey everyone, guess what!  Not content to rest on his laurels, the grand prize winner of the Todd Lockwood contest, *Krail Stromquism*, is joining in on the fun!

We're actually throwing in a surprise twist to the contest that you won't want to miss!  Not only that, but Krail will actually be contributing a full 2/3 of the cost for the grand prize!  How's that for graciousness and generosity!  Let's hear it for Krail, who will be choosing half of the finalists along with me.  

Two more weeks until the finalists are announced, so get those characters in before the deadline!


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## Eosin the Red (Jan 18, 2005)

Kai & Krail,

Inspired work gentlemen (or ladies). Do you mind if I steal your idea and run something like this myself at somepoihnt in the future? 

Eosin


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## Kai Lord (Jan 24, 2005)

Just one more week to go until the finalists are chosen by Krail and I and are sent off to Wayne!  This one will end quickly so if you have a character you've been considering toss him or her into the ring, what have you got to lose.... 

And Eosin sorry for the Liefield joke in the other thread but you're more than welcome to steal our ideas and run one of these in the future.

Once again, good luck!


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## KingOfChaos (Jan 24, 2005)

Well, I almost won with my *Zanatose* description last time, but I think this time I will do another massive description for one of my iconic characters.  Perhaps *Hannible* this time. 

Can we have more than one character in the portrait?  I was actually thinking of doing a description for my sister's character with one of my own since they travel together.


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## Kai Lord (Jan 24, 2005)

Welcome back, King of Chaos.  Ultimately the contest is for one character, but its going to be up to Wayne as far as how much he wants to draw around the character.  I'd recommend submitting your "main" character, then describing something he did with his sister as part of the "killer gaming moment".  If WAR has the time and inclination to do the full scene then she'd get to be included that way.  But that isn't how the contest is officially set up.  If you decided to upgrade to the painting then I can pretty much guarantee that it would just be of the one character.


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## valeren (Jan 25, 2005)

*Cash*

*Miguel Enrico Gonzales a.k.a. Cash
16th level Shade Warlock*



*Background:  * First and foremost, it should be noted that Cash is not a native of Faerun.  He was born Miguel Enrico Gonzales in another plane, very much unlike that of Faerun.  This birth planet of his was considered to be a world of darkness by many who knew about it’s existence, a place where little magic was left, so one could just imagine that being born into service of a warlock family automatically counted Miguel to be pretty special.  Life hasn’t been easy though for him. The warlock family, whose Miguel’s parents were servants of, was known as the Magisters and was at war with the other warlock families.  So, even as a child Miguel was trained in many skills in order to serve his masters in this war.  

By the time Miguel was in his teens, it was obvious that he was talented in many fields but excelled in the use of magic – specifically shadow magic that the Magistrates were known for.  It was this magical aptitude that led the Magisters to believe that he would make an excellent spy to one of the opposing families.  This particular family were known as the Usurpers and were known to be much more capable in the study of the arcane.  They readily took in people in their schools in order to find those proficient in the school of magic and thereafter recruited into their ranks.  A cover story was made for Miguel and he was then sent to study in one of these Academies.  Almost at once, Miguel showed promise and rose quickly in the ranks of the school.  

What everyone didn’t expect was that Miguel favored the academic life of the Usurpers over that of the political intrigue of the Magisters.  But still, he served two masters.  That was until the Magisters decided to strike a crippling blow to the Usurpers.  One such part of this plan was to eliminate key figures of the opposing house – one of which was Miguel’s own mentor.  During the act of assassination, Miguel picked his mentor’s side and was treated as a traitor by the Magisters.  He and his mentor were mortally wounded in the clash.  His mentor used up the last of his life force to cast a final spell that both healed and transformed Miguel – he never grew old again since then.

Since then Miguel, from thereon called Cash (don't ask why, it just stuck) continued to serve the Usurper’s family.  His transformation (to an immortal creature yet dependent on the lifeforce of others) caused him to question himself but eventually he learned to cope.  For the next couple hundred of years, he kept doing researches and managing the properties of the family eventually becoming a teacher, a regent and as well as a well-known master of the art of shadow magic – rivaling that of the Magisters themselves.  Again, he rose pretty high in the ranks of his new family but as time he would tend to seclude himself especially during his solo projects.  He did find a kindred soul in the personality of another, his best friend Timothy O’ Rourke, who was in turn a master of the art of fire. Both would go on adventures brought about by their mutual curiosity of the arcane.  It was during one of these explorations that they found out the plane they lived in was approaching a catastrophe meant to wipe out all mystical beings.  

In the next couple of years, both Cash and Timothy tried to find ways to stop the approaching cataclysm.  When it was obvious that it couldn’t be stopped, they looked into ways of simply avoiding it.  It was Cash’s proficiency with shadow magic that led them to the shadow plane and the planes beyond that.  Both him and Tim were able to cast the spell to transport them to Faerun just days before the disaster hit.

The two of them ended up on Faerun and after much conflict and adjustment were able to adapt to the life there.

*Personality:  * A gypsy who once encountered Cash described his personality as that of a subdued bubbly person.  Another way that could be placed is that he is a somewhat ironic combination of a shy person (when encountering something new or a puzzle) and that of an outgoing one when doing something he’s used to (fighting monsters and interacting with people he knows).  He is likewise considered to be one of having a sarcastic streak (usually accompanied by a raised eyebrow) but these are usually is said with no ill intent (usually) and is part of taunting and bluff to keep his opponents off guard.

*Appearance:  * Miguel is of mixed descent.  His part Caucasian and part Malay heritage blended nicely and gave him handsome features.  This is only enhanced by the transformation done into him giving him an almost masculine yet androgynous look.  Since the transformation, he used to have a pale complexion but exposure to Faerun's magic rich environment has given him a healthy tan complexion.  His long black hair normally flows freely up to his shoulder; unless he’s expecting conflict then he normally ties the sides of his hair into some sort of ponytail.  He has almond shaped dark brown eyes that slightly shows his Asian heritage.  These however flash green when he’s angry, which combined with the small fangs (which likewise appear when stressed – which in Faerun occurs frequently) gives him an intimidating appearance.  Though standing at 6’1”, he has a slim built similar to that of an athlete.  (I think I have a photo manipulation of him stored somewhere cash's pic )

Cash normally wears simple clothes of similar cut from the world he came from. He does this as part of a habit.  Generally donning only a simple plain white shirt (which at time looks a size smaller that should be comfortable) that is cut low with a v-neck to show off part of his chest (and thus allowing him easy access to the necklace he wears), indigo blue denim jeans and black (mid shin height) leather boots.  His accessories include an assortment of silver jewelry (2 rings and a necklace) and a leather wristband – all of which are magical (mostly protection as well as alteration magic to boost his physical and spell capabilities).  When adventuring, he travels light and only brings along stuff that can be accommodated inside a small bag of holding.

He usually fights using his arcane abilities (eldritch blasts and other invocations).  Being a known practitioner of shadow magic, he favors using darkness spells (darkening areas and summoning tentacles and creatures of shadow).  In his adventuring and research, Cash has likewise developed some spells that allow him to manipulate magic itself and even unconsciously controls coincidence at times.  He does carry small items (trinkets) he has enchanted and these work similar to scrolls.  If forced to melee, Cash is trained in various forms unarmed combat and is considered to be a practiced on his home plane.   In necessary, he does own a nasty looking magical wooden (possibly ironwood) dagger capable of animating itself and causing grievous wounds.

*Action scene:  * Here’s the situation – Cash and Timothy first arrived in Faerun from the Plane of Shadow and ended up in the City of Shade.  Their first meeting with the Shade natives did not go well (part of which was that they didn’t know the language and misunderstandings do happen) and the two were forced to make their way to escape the city.  On one of the scenes, Cash crashes through a window of a tall tower - risking the fall (which is not really good since the tower was at the edge of the flying City of Shade), in order escape the barrage of shadow tentacles summoned by the Shades.  Uncaring for the hundred pieces of glass falling with him (he is cut but his fast healing normally kicks in fast), he continues to shoot quickened eldritch blasts from his hands (which are poised in the way that the forefingers and little fingers are the only ones pointing at the target - the top portion of the tower so that it will collapse on the Shades within) while summoning his shadows (appearing in wisp like smoke) to either take his body into the Shadow plane or transform it into a swarm of small dark creatures and aid his fall.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots (Jan 25, 2005)

Wikanby is a smallish kobold, and not held in particularly high esteem by his tribe.

Wikanby has committed two sins with the Tumble Down Kobolds: First, he's a dragon-worshipper, a devotee of Io, and he wears a multicolored metal disc around his neck as a holy symbol. Secondly, Wikanby is a wizard.

His scholarly nature led him to recover spellbooks from captured prisoners and to force a captured wizard to teach him the basics, but when his tribe decided he was obviously some sort of revolutionary, he had to flee with his life, dodging dire weasels and kobold rangers stalking him.

Eventually, with a lot of luck and some fast-talking, he found himself adopted as the mascot for a group of adventurers, and learned enough Common, and earned enough gold, to be able to enroll himself in a wizard's college. Partially the wizards wanted to see if he could succeed, and partially they brought him in for his perceived entertainment value. He surprised everyone by succeeding wonderfully.

Curious about the world, and convinced that the true path to draconic transcendence lies in studying dragons and learning more magic than any of his tribe has ever imagined, Wikanby isn't so much evil as he is amoral. He does have a bad habit of hungering for human babies, a delicacy only the chief and his harem enjoyed, and only that on special occasions. As of yet, Wikanby has never been able to purchase a human baby for the purposes of eating it, partially because he knows what would happen to him if word got around that he was in the market. Still, he's very curious, because it was _the_ tribal delicacy since he was a hatchling.

Wikanby normally wears a short black hooded cloak that just covers the tip of his tail, with the left breast emblazoned with his college's crest, a golden ram's head on a red shield. He wears small reading glasses (a magic item that lets him read magic and comprehend written languages at will) perched on the end of his snout, which are attached to a chain around his neck. He carries a cold iron gnomebane short sword at his waist, but normally carries a wooden club carved with dragons as a walking stick. His clothes are modest but normal for an adventurer of middle levels, although he goes barefoot. He is fond of jewelry, and wears impressive rings and gold toe rings. His weasel familiar, Serpent, normally peeps out of Wikanby's hood.

Although he's a scholar, dragon's blood still sings in his veins, and when in doubt, Wikanby deals with any problem with fire, lightning or acid. He favors destructive, dramatic spells, and he fights dirty. A dead opponent can't hurt him, no matter how much bigger than him they might have been.

The following spell is typical of Wikanby's magics, in more than one way:

_*Wikanby's Dragon Bolt*
Evocation [Acid, Cold, Electricity, Fire]
Level: Sor/Wiz 1
Components: V, S, F
Casting Time: 1 Standard Action
Range: Medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Targets: Up to five creatures, no two of which can be more than 15 yards apart
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes

A bolt of magical energy is spit from the caster's mouth, and strikes its target, dealing 1d4+1 points of a energy damage.

The bolt is shaped like a miniature chromatic dragon of a random type, and the type determines the form of energy damage inflicted. The bolt strikes unerringly, even if the target is in melee combat or has less than total cover or total concealment. Specific parts of a creature cannot be singled out. Inanimate objects are not damaged by the spell.

The type of dragon bolt fired is determined randomly for each bolt released:

D4		Color		Energy
1		Black		Acid
2		White		Cold
3		Blue		Electricity
4		Red		Fire

For every two caster levels beyond 1st, you gain an additional bolt -- two at 3rd level, three at 4th, four at 7th, and the maximum of five bolts at 9th level or higher. The color and type of each bolt is randomly determined. If you shoot multiple bolts, you can have them strike a single creature or several creatures. A single bolt can strike only one creature. You must designate targets before you determine the type of bolt, check for spell resistance or roll damage.

Focus: A small statuette of a chromatic dragon (any type)._


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## Kai Lord (Jan 28, 2005)

Just three more days of eligible entries....Krail and I will be going through and picking our favorites to have ready to be announced next week.  My first post on Monday the 31st will be the cut off point so post 'em if you got 'em.  

Getting close....


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## Raloc (Jan 28, 2005)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Just three more days of eligible entries....Krail and I will be going through and picking our favorites to have ready to be announced next week. My first post on Monday the 31st will be the cut off point so post 'em if you got 'em.
> 
> Getting close....




Wow, great contest.  I'm glad I found this slightly before the deadline!

Here goes.

*Raloc Ambrenor, Human Fighter*

*Description
*Raloc is a tall (6'1") human male, with heavily toned but lean muscles (180lbs.). He wears his dark brown hair short cropped, and his eyes are emerald green. He wears a suit of full plate armor and carries a flaming greatsword. He holds his helm at his side when not in battle.

*Background*
Raloc's earliest memory of his parents are of their trip to Waterdeep from the country side. At the time, he did not know where they were going or why, though later he came to understand the grim truth. He remembers wondering why his parents faces were blank and set, and why they avoided looking at him or saying his name. They arrived in Waterdeep, the greatest city Raloc had ever seen. His parents guided their wagon down through the various districts, and the buildings become poorer and poorer. He was frightened, he remembers. His father met with some men clothed in black that carried blades. They taunted and pushed his father around, mocking him. The men exchanged gold coins with is father, and then cursed him and sent him away. They took Raloc, now crying, away from the wagon, and his parents would not look at him.

Raloc grew strong from the hard labor he was put to. His masters thought him broken of spirit, but he deceived them. He secreted his dignity away, and was wary. Eventually the time came where his masters underestimated him. Calmly going through the motions of the labor he endured, Raloc struck unexpectedly and swiftly, knocking out his captor. In a single swift motion he unsheathed the man's dagger and slit his throat. His careful deceit had payed with his freedom. Without ties to land or lord, Raloc went back to the only place he fully remembered: Waterdeep.

He was formidable among the toughs and bouncers of the street. Though still young, he played their game better than most, and he managed to earn enough coin to feed and shelter himself. Although ruthless, he did not step outside the law, and eventually he came to work with the city guard. He trained in those weapons common to the guard, and after much forswearing of ale, he bought himself a greatsword. He trained when we was not on duty, and he vowed to become a great warrior, unmatched in single combat. He rose to the rank of corporal in the guard and eventually joined an elite branch of the army. He was slower going in the ranks there, though he saw his share of bloodshed. He found Kelemvor as his patron while in the army, deciding that he would have his soul guided should he die in battle. He eventually gained the rank of corporal in the army, though men less skilled than he were promoted to sergeant. The slight was not unnoticed, and Raloc decided to strike out on his own.

He was mercenry, traveling with caravans and bands of sellswords, and was eventually given a proposition. Sitting at a small inn, eating his dinner, a dark robed man had taken a chair beside him. He kept his back to the wall and eyed the rest of the patrons appraisingly. He spoke to Raloc of forming a raiding party, bound for Myth Drannor. Raloc knew little of the place, and rashly decided to accept. The rewards were high, so the man said. Something about this hooded figure struck him oddly, but he thought nothing of it at the time.

Bound for Myth Drannor, Raloc's band was set upon by a drow raiding party. The band took heavy casualties, and was spared only by the help of a wandering druid. Raloc swore vengeance on the robed man, and decided to travel with the druid to Sembia, where he intended to meet some companions of his. 

Raloc's next months were spent in dull Sembia, involved in the political intrigues that his newly found companions were embroiled in. He learned that while he was away from his home city, a war had started in the North. A mad black dragon was marching an army against the outlying properties of Waterdeep. His companions had championed the campaign that now saw a Helmite army besieging their enemy's towers. They were given word from another companion with the Helmites that their supply lines had been cut, and the army was going to starve without aid.

The party teleported North to Waterdeep, and prepared to depart with supplies for the entrenched army. During the night before their departure, Raloc had a visitor. He came calling with lock pick and awoke Raloc from his slumber. The intruder held him by magical means, and told him he would betray his companions. That is when Raloc noticed, this was the man that had sent him to his death in Myth Drannor. Raloc struggled like a mad bull, managing only to inch closer to the mage. The mage told of how he would raise Raloc's slain companions and use them as his pawns, with the blessing of Velsharoon. The necromancer cast further spells and then departed. The companions later found Raloc was under the influence of a compulsion.

*Personality*
Raloc holds his own values and makes no apologies about them. He is quiet unless it suits him to speak, and when he does so, he does so boldly. He holds a high standard of honor, and those who cross him or his companions will meet the end of his blade. When action is called for, he is not hesitant to put forth what is needed.

* Action Scene*
Small hills surround a pass further into the mountains. Forty wagons are arrayed in a circle, and a wizard in black robes holds a great semi-circle wall of flame at the rear flank of the encampment. A sea of orcs swarms around the encampment, many falling into spike pits or dying to the flames of tar pits, while great balls of fire roll from the hills in to the orcish ranks. Slightly North-East of the wagons a circle of orcs ring around a much larger orc adorned with tattoos and symbols that show his rank among the lesser orcs. He wields a greateaxe and many humans lay slain before him. A large human fighter wields a flaming greatsword, and the orcs scream for his blood to be spilled. The battle rages around its leaders. The orc general moves to attack the human, Raloc. He fails to budge the great fighter, and Raloc cries out for all the surrounding orcs to hear, "And now you die by my blade!" He sweeps the orc's feet from under him, and plunges his flaming sword through the orc's chest into the frozen ground, blood spraying his armor. Ripping the sword from the orc's chest, he hacks the general's head off, and holds it high above him. He bellows to the remaining orcs that their fate is sealed, and visciously lays into the remaining orcs. The orcish ranks break and their army is routed. The black robed wizard moves the great wall in front of the fleeing orcs, and all are slain.


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## MrFilthyIke (Jan 31, 2005)

*Ta'Vanka*

*Ta’Vanka – Battle Maiden of Nol Dappa*

Female Dwarf, 4’9” tall, 160 lbs.  Compact and sturdy as members of her race are in general.  Her skin has a reddish cast, hair is black and her eyes have golden irises.

The armor she wears is masterwork full plate armor engraved and chased with a flame motif, and has flame shaped additions in the form of raised barbs and spikes.  The back plate has a raised collar and her winged great helm is designed to fit within the rim of the collar.

While she does carry two throwing axes there is only one true weapon that she carries and is never parted from it.  A masterwork double headed great axe, echoing the flame motif, crafted as a gift for her, enchanted and soul-bound to her alone.  She has named the axe “Elabac’s Lesson” in honor of the master artisan who created it, and as a reminder of the lesson learned in questing for his safe return.

She wears a collar of Otyugh teeth, strung several rows deep, a trophy of striking down in one blow a beast that had already injured several party members.  She also has strung at her waist two shrunken heads of foes she had slain in pursuit of striking down the evil conquerors of another dwarven enclave.

Ta’Vanka is of the Nol Dappan enclave of dwarves, residing and working within a semi-active volcano which gives the people and their artifacts a reddish sheen.  She worships the god Nier – god of destruction, war, flames and purification.  He is also the judge of all souls of the dead.  Cast out by her master artisan family for choosing the warrior’s path she is considered an orphan with no familial ties.  The first female warrior in the enclave for many generations she has dedicated herself to either becoming the perfect warrior, or achieving the perfect death in service to the greater good or defense of the weak.

Single minded, silent and completely focused in battle, she is often a fearsome sight, covered in blood and gore while leaving a trail of destruction behind her.  She is the first to step forward to save a friend or party member and gives selflessly of any resources she has.  Over years of adventuring she has one friend that she travels with, a human male of Kio descent, that she trusts implicitly; she considers him a more familial bond than her own family.  She also travels with an awakened animal, a rat named Skizz that is scholarly and also a linguist.  The rat usually travels nestled within the collar of the back plate and oft times accompanies her into battle.  

Rarely seen without her armor, her hair is generally gathered back into a tight lacing at the nape of her neck for ease of wearing her helm and is then allowed to lie around the neck and down the front of her armor to her waist.  In the warrior tradition the first 8 inches from the lacing is intricately braided and intertwined with metal rings and trinkets with the remainder of the length left loose.  This enables the warrior, when entering battle, to twine the hair length around the front of the neck with the braiding and metal providing additional neck protection.

---------------------------------

_Our party was charged with going into Ventaka, the city of the dead, to rescue a hostage taken there to be held indefinitely.  The only way in was through a portal in a ruined and corrupted temple, an arch of stones on an otherwise blank wall.  When the correct sequence of stones was activated the arch glowed and the portal sprang into being.  A limpid pool of water, vertical along the wall surface, it was lit from within by an eerie blue fey light.

Unfortunately that summoned the portals guardians, the Reavers!  Once they worshipped Nier but became zealots and they chose to be bolted into their armor or have it fused to their skin. The party was surrounded by seven dwarven Reavers and the portal was not yet fixed to allow passage.  I stepped forward between the party and the Reavers, bringing my axe forward to hold the haft across my body.

The leader of the Reavers spoke, “Come sister, join us in worship of Nier”

I responded with a somber “I see no brothers, only souls to be judged by Nier” raising my voice so that the party behind me could hear “hold the line and fix that portal so we can come back”.  I heard two party members move in behind me as the portal incantation restarted.  I rose up on the balls of my feet, hefted my axe and charged the knot of Reavers on the other side of the portal chamber.

It became a ballet of steel, anticipating the next blow, parrying, swinging my axe and watching the Reavers eyes.  I landed the first blow and severed an arm at the shoulder.  The leader exhorted the rest to charge me and they hesitated. In that moment I stepped forward and swung with all my might, taking off a head and cleaving open the breastplate of a third Reaver.  One of them brought their axe down upon my shoulder, unable to bring my own axe up to parry effectively I leaned forward and my shoulder guard and spike made it a glancing but jarring blow. The moment, though costly for now I had limited feeling in my right arm, allowed me to respond with full upward force and take my opponent out at the knees.  He lay screeching on the floor as his stumps sprayed blood over my armor.

I looked to the Reaver’s leader and growled, “It seems that Nier has chosen”.  Panting with exertion I again brought the battle to them.  The two Reaver servitors stood a pace apart and started to attack in unison.  I paused and gauged the distance and pacing of their swings then leapt in to the air to swing down at the one on the right, while continuing the blow to parry the attack of the servitor on the left. 

That moment seemed to be frozen in time, as I felt myself floating and my arms moving as though through mud.  One part of me worried that I was moving too slow while the trained and battle seasoned warrior in me knew that this was one of those blessed, rare moments where it is THE perfect blend of skill and timing.  The servitor to the right saw the blow coming, his pupils widened so that his eyes were black holes into his soul, and it was as if he welcomed the end to this world for he smiled serenely and nodded.  

I cleaved through his neck and chest, the force of my blow carrying the axe foreword to sever the remaining servitor’s gauntleted hands and splintering the haft of his axe.  My battle leap had landed my squarely in front of the leader but with my axe at its fullest extension behind me.  I was vulnerable and he knew it, but did not push his advantage.  The leader scowled and took a step back, nodded once to me and simply said “For Nier”.

I stood upright and accepted his challenge, echoing his words.  Armor clanged with glancing blows and axes whistled with the speed of combat, caught in a deadly dance it seemed that neither of us would win.  I focused myself in to one massive attack that would leave me open to a killing blow if it did not at least connect.  I stepped in and swung down at his hip, and felt my axe separate the armor and bite into flesh and bone.  

He collapsed, maimed, his life ebbing out in a pool of red gore.  As he lay gasping I knelt at his head and whispered “May you find Nier’s mercy”.  As he died, I stood and faced the horrified faces of my party members and as I strode towards them, all but my Kio friend pulled back.  

He bowed and smiled as he said “Efficient as always”

“Well one of has to be.  Is the portal secure?”

The portal was, in fact, ready for safe passage and return so we stepped through to continue our quest._


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## MrFilthyIke (Jan 31, 2005)

*Ve'sadriphe Mahkeyl*

*Ve’sadriphe Mahkeyl*
(veh-SAH-dre-fay MAH-kail)

A human male in his twenties, Ve’sadriphe is a fine example of a Kio male born into a family of wealth and prominence in his home town of Whon, the capital of the nation of Capharra.  Fair white skin, platinum blonde shoulder-length hair, and unnerving lavender eyes contrast with his dark clothing.  

A mithril coat hidden under a high-collared blood red shirt embroidered with golden phoenixes, paired with black breaches and black leather boots.  Over this is worn a high-collared cloak, black as the new moon night and held with a silver pin given to him my an enchanting elven bard, and black leather gloves enchanted with golden images of clouds and hawks which allows him to summon birds of prey from the very heavens themselves.  About his neck hangs a silver holy symbol of his chosen deity…Cadic, god of stealth, murder, and music.

At his waist hangs a sword and punching dagger, both finely wrought.  Ve’sadriphe has forsaken the Kio tradition of dueling with the traditional Kio blade, and uses a two-weapon technique taught to borders scouts and huntsmen on the move.  The sword is a long blade, bejeweled and keen, taken from the dead hands of Invapis, a despicable slaver and flesh-peddler.  The punching dagger is a wicked and cruelly sharp knife named Cadic’s Mercy, for it has often put people out of their misery, as is the will of Cadic.
Strapped across his back is a bow of darkwood, short but taught.

Ve’sadriphe is a former Vyhre’ki (translated to Talonman) of the Phoenix Ve’ki (translated to Flight).  Being born into money, Ve’sadriphe was guaranteed an easy life and most likely a commission to a powerful position.  But something was always different about the young boy, and his eternal love for the night and dark places came to the forefront early in his childhood.  He did join the nations military, but in the service of the branch that focused on scouting, espionage, and surveillance.

Here he excelled his knack for ambushing, sneaking, and getting the drop on others panned out well.  But things took a turn for the worse, when on a simple mission, the Ve’ki was surprised by bugbears!  The goblinoids got the advantage, and quickly slew the men under Ve’sadriphe’s command.  Only one man made it out with him, and he soon passed into Beltine’s Cauldron while still in the wild.  That day, he swore his hatred upon any goblin he ever faced again, and darkness settled upon his heart.

The scandal shook the family, as pride was important.  Ve’sadriphe, to save face, left quietly a few nights later and never returned to Capharra in the League of Princes.

Ve'sadriphe is a dark, brooding man of few words and swift action.  He is quick to take up the good fight, and never asks for compensation.  He holds his honor and integrity above everything, and speaks only the plain truth.  When justice can be brought down upon the wicked, Ve'sadriphe is the first to introduce a wrong-doer to Cadic's embrace, even if justice requires going above and beyond the law.  He has decided to bring justice to the wicked lands beyond the League, and now travels the world on horseback.

And that’s when, while traveling through Milandir, he met a Dwarven warrior woman named Vanka, and his real adventures began…

------------------------------------------

_Freeport, city of pirates…I loath this place.  Give me the outdoors and wide open spaces, not the crowded streets and filthy run-off of the hive of humanity.  We are here because we found a young boy child ship-wrecked upon a small island, nay…a rock in the ocean.  We gave him shelter and succor on our ship, only to be attacked by pirates!  They captured him and we managed to follow their ship here, but now the search is on to find this child, obviously of noble blood, and save him before the worst happens.

Glib words, handshakes, and lots of coin have lead us to an inn that’s right up the road from here.  Maybe the contact there knows…AMBUSH!  Quickly I duck as the scimitar whistles above my head.  My blades are out, Invapis’ blade in the right, Cadic’s Mercy in the left.  Parrying the second assailant’s swing, I plunged Cadic’s Mercy into the chest of my first attacker and am rewarded with the knowledge of his death, as his heart’s blood pumps out and down my forearm.

Standing back up, and a more suitable fighting stance, I quickly spin and twist to the side to dodge my third opponent’s stab with a short blade.  Quick counting before parrying the second man’s swing reveals four more men lunging at me, I’m surrounded!  Cut off from my group (who are also swarmed with attackers), I go on the defensive, my sword parrying swings and my knife deflecting thrusts that tear into my cloak.

I see an opening, and as one thug lunges with his blade I lean back and hook it in Cadic’s Mercy, using his momentum to lead the blade into the chest of his ally.  Horror washes across his face as he slays his accomplice, and is then run through himself upon my sword.

My other foes hesitated as the two men dropped to the ground, and I pressed the advantage and went on the attack.  A deft slash and one thug dropped his scimitar, blood spurting from the artery cut in wrist of his fighting hand, while another gave a shout, raised his sword above his head and came to an abrupt stop, finished only by a gurgle, as my punch dagger was pulled from where I embedded it in his throat.

I turned as another tried to flank me, and parried his swing as I was hit in the side by the remaining attacker, his blade biting deep.  As I pulled away from the man who wounded me, I span around and brought my sword down upon his forearm and cracked the bone, while turning some more and shoving Cadic’s Mercy into the belly on the last standing opponent.

As the two slumped to the ground, I panted and winced at the pain in my side.  I could see my party, and my friend Vanka had felled their foes.  As I approached, I chuckled slightly, and helped Vanka pull her great axe from the head of her victim.  

“Hit them any harder, and we’ll need a team of horses to get the axe out next time”

The party laughed, and then began searching the bodies for clues as to who had sent these thugs after them._


edit: email same as above - mrfilthyike (AT) gmail (DOT) com


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## Kai Lord (Jan 31, 2005)

The time for entries is over!  No more characters will be considered after this post.  Krail and I will be posting our finalists in the next few days so stay tuned!


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## MrFilthyIke (Jan 31, 2005)

Awww, but I wanted to post 100 more characters!   Can't wait to see who won!


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## DeadlyUematsu (Jan 31, 2005)

Aww...


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## Oryan77 (Jan 31, 2005)

Do you guys take bribes? I heard Krail washed your car everyday for a month to win the last contest. I was wondering if you like 2 coats of wax or 3?


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## Kae'Yoss (Jan 31, 2005)

Don't bribe. Sheesh, be a real man. 


@Kai Lord: You're not afraid of certain people (like me) paying you a visit in the dead of night, all agitated because they didn't win, bringing duct tape and sharp implements? Well, maybe you should


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## talinthas (Jan 31, 2005)

heh.  i guess i should have submitted my second guy sooner, then =)

No worries.  I stand by my character, though competition is going to be tough with so many wonderful characters submitted.  I can only hope that people still like me =)


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## Oryan77 (Jan 31, 2005)

KaeYoss said:
			
		

> Don't bribe. Sheesh, be a real man.
> 
> 
> @Kai Lord: You're not afraid of certain people (like me) paying you a visit in the dead of night, all agitated because they didn't win, bringing duct tape and sharp implements? Well, maybe you should





Our luck, bribes and death threats will probably make us disqualified now  
We didn't mean it, we were just roleplaying our favorite PC's.


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## Kae'Yoss (Jan 31, 2005)

Oryan77 said:
			
		

> Our luck, bribes and death threats will probably make us disqualified now
> We didn't mean it, we were just roleplaying our favorite PC's.




Hm... No, then I'd have killed him in his sleep and left a letter for his successor


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## Estlor (Jan 31, 2005)

I don't envy the judges.  With as many entries as this contest received, it should be hard to narrow the field down, then finally pick just one winner.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Feb 1, 2005)

*Fixed Links*

Kai,

I fixed the links in my post on page one.

Son of Thunder


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## Stormrunner (Feb 6, 2005)

(BUMP)
SO ... it's been five days.  Do we know who the finalists are yet?
(I don't expect that I'll be one, but I am curious...)


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## Kai Lord (Feb 7, 2005)

Hey guys, sorry for the delay, I've been really busy lately and for some reason my computer at home gives me a "Page Cannot be Displayed" error whenever I've tried to log on in the last few days.  I'll have to see what the deal is with that.  But its really just me, Krail has all his finalists picked and as soon as I have mine we'll post 'em all!  Might be a few more days though, bear with me....


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## Kae'Yoss (Feb 7, 2005)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Might be a few more days though, bear with me....




Can do. Just tell us what kind of bear. Is dire bear OK? If that's not enough, we can also fox, badger and hound you


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## MrFilthyIke (Feb 7, 2005)

KaeYoss said:
			
		

> Can do. Just tell us what kind of bear. Is dire bear OK? If that's not enough, we can also fox, badger and hound you




For KaeYoss' bad humour, they are disqualified!


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## Mokona (Feb 10, 2005)

Kai Lord it is very cool of you to have this promotion.  Thanks for all your hard work and generosity.


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## A'koss (Feb 12, 2005)

Kai Lord said:
			
		

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay, I've been really busy lately and for some reason my computer at home gives me a "Page Cannot be Displayed" error whenever I've tried to log on in the last few days. I'll have to see what the deal is with that. But its really just me, Krail has all his finalists picked and as soon as I have mine we'll post 'em all! Might be a few more days though, bear with me....



Cool, I haven't missed it! 

I've finally gotten my new rig up and running (my last computer came down with a rather unfortunate case of _death_) so now I need to win me some new art to help adorn the new office! 


Cheers!

A'koss.


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## Kai Lord (Feb 14, 2005)

The finalists have been announced here: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=120778

Thank you to all who entered!  So many great characters!  I can't wait to see who Wayne chooses to draw....


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