fc23e2 No.52259 [Last50 Posts]
Long ago, when the universe was young and the gods of creation were just laying the foundations of what would be to come, the small ball of molten rock that would come be to known as Y’rvenia was much like all the other lifeless rocks floating through the void. It would remain so for some time, until by chance, or according to some divine intervention, life began. First came the simple lifeforms, the various types of plants and animals, but eventually a spark of sentience emerged.
The first truly rational beings to emerge on Y’rvenia is a topic of hot contention amongst the races that still remain from that time. Millenia has passed, and none remain that truly know of it, so these Elder Races, as they are known, all contend, out of equal amounts of arrogance and pride, to be the first. There are the oldest civilizations still extant on Y’rvenia, strong and wise, though long past their halcyon days. There is the Dawi, the Dwarves, short and stocky creatures who dwell under the mountains of the world; Strong enough to hew rocks with their bare hands, and as stubborn as the very mountains from which they claim to be born from, these hardy humanoids stand in stark contrast to their erstwhile rivals, the Quendi, the Elves. Tall and lithe creatures of unparalleled beauty and arrogance, who consider themselves the protectors of the natural beauty of this world. Considered to be perfect in all manner of work and warfare, they are outclassed solidly in only one area, much to their chagrin, Magic. The penultimate magic users of this world would be the Wei'lynn, large nomadic lizards of the southern deserts. A shamanistic and peaceful people, few venture beyond their homelands, and usually only do as a result of great calling or peril to their kind and the world. A usually peaceful people, but when roused to war one is reminded of their great power. Lording above all is the Vinod, the Giants, dwelling in mighty citadels on the highest peaks of the world, and rumored to be able to walk on clouds despite their immense bulk and statue. Gentle giants, they are few in number, even for the Elder races, but unlike many of them some of their descendants have prospered, though much to the anger of the Vinod. Degenerate Giants, known as Aslardi, roam the world, as stupid as they are powerful, they plunder and pillage without fear. Young Vinod often depart from their homes on journeys to dispatch of these "cousins" of theirs, as the entire race sees their very existence as an affront to their being. Finally there is the Umli, those who above all else can be attributed to the fall of the elder ones. The origins of the Umli are shrouded in mystery, but what is known is that the first recorded contact with them began in the 2nd age of Exploration of the Wei'lynn, a time when wars were uncommon and all of the Elder races plied the world to discover its wonders, and its horrors. In one such region of the south-eastern jungles was such a wonder found, as a Wei'lynn party of young explorers were making the first forays into the jungles of the Southern Hemisphere. They were shocked to discover a large city of towering white spires, with magic abound and inhabited by a strange, stocky, bone white people with eyes as black as coal. They greeted the Wei'lynn, taking the leader of the expedition to meet their Seers and tell them of the world.
What happened next is unknown, but the leaders of the party were never seen again, and in the tallest spire of the Umli city, a great series of fireballs erupted from its balconies, and suddenly the remaining Wei'lynn were beset upon by the Umli. Few escaped, but those that did told of the great and dark magic used by the Umli, rivaling their own in strength, but wrong in its nature. The Wei'lynn were the first to discover the Umli and notice their strange magics, they would not be the last, for soon after the discovery of the new race came the marching of their armies, and without number the quickly pushed the Elder Races to the brink of destruction.
____________________________
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fc23e2 No.52261
A great war commenced, as the Elder races, once so disparate, now united to stave off the Umli threat. The world, once united into one massive landmass, was shattered by the force of arms and magic that was used in this war. The Umli had reached the shores of all continents, and only the bastions of the Elder races remained free from their rule. Many discoveries were made of the Umli during this war, chiefly that they were not beings born, but created, Homunculi possessing no soul, and for most of them, no empathy. The average Umli had no magical talent at all, being nothing but a ball of muscle and hatred. A unique caste of Umli however were extremely powerful magic users, called "Seers" by the other Umli, and seemed to be the Rulers of their society. By their will the lands of the Free Peoples were burned, their populations enslaved and slaughtered. The world teetered on the brink of utter annihilation. The turning point came in the form of a special invocation of the Wei'lynn, who discovered a way to harm the Homunculi by exploiting their lack of a Soul. Now lost to time, this spell caused the Umli to writhe in great pain, though only for a short while, and once cast took a great amount of time to prepare once again. Soon the armies of the Elder races adapted to utilize these brief moments to unleash their full might upon the weakened foe, or to retreat and reposition if outnumbered. Slowly but surely, even with the growing Umli resistance to the incantation, they were driven back to their jungles, to their first city, now a monolith of imposing white spires and surrounded by a wall tall and thick enough to dwarf giants and let several of them lie abreast on its causeways.
After years of siege, and the complete nullification of the Wei'lynn superweapon, the walls were finally breached by the combined might of the King of the Vinod, Grendol the Tall, and the Quendi Mage-King Vaeril atop his mighty Red Dragon Mennyt. As the last stone fell from the smashed wall and the Dwarven shock troops with Giant support charged through the breech, all combat halted as the ground beneath the city began to roll like water. The Highest Spire of the Umli citadel began to glow an umber violet, and soon from beneath emerged a massive beast, its skin of a deathly pallor and its low roar shaking the air almost as much as its entrance shook the land. It stood upon its 6 legs, seemingly stretching out, before thick arms raised high above its head came slamming down into the ground, throwing great chunks of terrain into the air and having whole armies disappear into the cavernous ravines that remained. It destroyed the city, and both Elder and Umli forces without caution or care. It plucked the Eleven King and his Dragon out of the sky, crushing them as one would crush a displeasing grape. It seemed unstoppable.
The beast was only brought low by the sacrifice of the Dwarven High King Alraic the Mad, cradling the most sacred artifact of his people, a war-hammer whose head was made of a luminescent white stone, and a strange stone provided at great cost by the Wei'lynn High Priestess, was hurled into the mouth of the Beast by Grendol, King of the Vinod. The Dwarf cut and chopped his way to the beast’s core, wherein a Black Stone of similar make the Head of the Hammer was pulsating with a sickening beat. He brought the hammer down upon it, using it to hammer the strange Wei'lynni stone into the black mass. The Black Stone shuddered with each impact, and from the wound wrought a yellow liquid started to bubble and broil. With a final bestial yell, he raised the war hammer one last time, and grasping it with both hands and putting behind his swing all the pain, the loss, the suffering endured for the last 300 years at the hands of the Umli and their now apparent massive master, he brought the hammer down, shattering the black heart. A great rumble came from the beast, and it began to shudder and shake. Finally, its many eyes radiated a yellow light, and the beast exploded in a giant ball of golden magical energy. The entire city, and all within it, were destroyed. The magical energy saturated the land and turned the once verdant jungles into a vast desert, and at its heart a blackened crater with the ash and stone statues of a million dead souls and soulless. The crater is a portal to the vast caverns that lie underneath the world, lands untouched by light, though all who have entered them have not returned. Only one of the Elder races, the Jobi, Ogres, have made the “Underway” as it is known, their home, and they have fallen from great heights to mere savage raiders and beasts.
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fc23e2 No.52262
With the end of the war came the end of the Era of the Elder races, their lands ravaged, their people almost gone, and their will to dominate this new world replaced with a weariness and desire to be alone. Few nations of the Elder races remain, and they often keep to themselves. The Ancient ones retreated to their ancestral ranges, and in their place has come what they refer to as the “Younger Races” no longer wanting to partake in much outside of their domestic lives. In their absences newer races emerged and built their own civilizations. The Teutons, commonly called Humans, who dominate much of the planet, mostly resemble the Quendi and Dawi in form and shape, but lack the Quendi’s grace and aptitude for magic, and the Dawi’s strength and skill in crafts. What they do possess, however, is an aptitude for violence and war, their lands a constant roiling pot of chaos. Much more prone to needless violence and slaughter would be the ever-present and ever-violent race(s) of creatures known collectively as the Uruks, made of the savage Orcs and Goblins, hateful creatures both large and small who seek nothing but to destroy in the name of their Dark God. They roam the lands but can be found in great numbers on the Island of Sharkûgûl, where it is rumored their God lives in his Immense Dark Tower. Far in the south of the world, where ice grips the land in the warmest winters, there live a degeneration of the noble Quendi, not that they would ever admit it. This Falmer, as they are known, are savage creatures, more akin to a Uruk then a Quendi, but unlike the Uruk possess a modicum of intellect, only this intelligence is devoted to gathering one thing and one thing alone. Slaves and their meat. Falmer raid the coasts in their boats adorned with the bones of their enemies, wielding weapons crafted from the same material, and utilizing a strange magic unlike any other used by the races on Y’rvenia, and humans tell their children stories of young ones swept off in the night by Falmer for not obeying their elders. Finally, the last of the major powers of the Younger Races would be the Oglu’oi, the Sand Gnomes, diminutive humanoids who resemble the Dawi in looks, though not at all stocky. They are a friendly people, who spend their days dwelling in cities built upon the backs of the giant worms who dwell in the great desert that has become of the Old Umli homelands, and seldom do they leave these mighty living bastions. Many who seek to explore the ruins of the Umli often enlist the help of these people, and those who seek to conquer them often find out the true power of their giant cities.
Though these are the major powers in the World today, they are by no means all of the races present, many others holding small parcels of land or tiny countries, or the odd enclave in a larger nation.
You, whoever you are, have arrived in Eidolon, the strongest Human Empire in the Northern Realm. Entering by the way of the Capital-Port of Loune, you have arrived in the gleaming city for your own ends, whatever they may be. Securing lodging in a small tavern near the docks, you spend your first night in the city gathering word at the bar, where you hear many a tale. Some say the Uzak are planning to make great war and burn Eidolon to the ground in repayment for the scouring of the the Uzak tribes of the mountains, while others talk of a Wei’lynn diplomat that was spotted entering the Emperor’s Castle just last week. Still further rumors abound of an Upcoming great war, as tensions in the world are high and many nations and their rulers are eager to conquer. Even the great Empire itself is not at peace, as just the other day a raiding party from Ruria sacked villages near Bois. It is a turbulent time, some say the gods are angry and the violence is punishment for their sins, while other claim the true gods of this world are returning to reclaim that which the mortals have stolen from them. It is a turbulent time, one of great change, the only question that remains is whether you will be a part of it, or be swept under the waves of progress.
>>Stat sheet:
Name: What you wish to be called
Fluff: How you came to Eidolon, and why
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52263
Roll Chart
1: We’re going to need more graves (really bad shit)
2-5: You're fucked - 3
6-10: You're kind of fucked - 2
11-19: You fucked up, but not that bad - 1
20-29: You did what you needed to do, but in the worst way possible + 1
30-39: You did what you needed to do, but in a very mediocre way + 2
40-59: Average, plain, boring, safe average + 3
60-79: Damn Good, like eggs on steak + 4
80-95: Damn son, cool down, you're on fire + 5
96-99: Something, somewhere got shrek't, and you got a magical pony (half of progress done, if over halfway done then its finished)
100: "Hey, who left this Dragon egg here?" (really good shit)
Welcome to Eidolon, a game where you can do what you want and be who you want. If you want to be the best baker in the kingdom, then by all means do it. But regardless of what you do, the plot will move on, and you can be as much a part of it as you wish. Something is rotten in the Empire, and the world itself is changing rapidly. Magic is quickly growing in power, and spells long forgotten or too complex to cast are being rediscovered. It is a sword age, an age of heroes, and an age of discovery, so play whatever role you wish, and I will facilitate the fun.
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fc23e2 No.52264
>>52263
Dice are also 3d100
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ee0196 No.52265
>>52262
>Name: In his home tongue it is similar to the sound "TakTicsss" So in Common language he goes by Tacitus
>Fluff: Tacitus is a member of the Gilded Fang Tribe, the believed most powerful and advanced tribe of kobolds in all of the realm. In their underground stronghold within the mountains of _ they have controlled this territory for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and unlike many of their kin they have done so without a larger more "powerful" race to rule over them. They have amassed a massive amount of treasure which has led to their namesake of their important member gilding one of their front fangs, and have advanced far enough with their digging to even have somewhat successful underground agriculture and plumbing. And yet after all these years they are still seen as pests and vermin to the other races. Bands of soldiers and adventures are routinely sent to their stronghold in an attempt to drive them out and monstrous races, lesser dragons and wizard constantly attempt to insert themselves as master of the tribe, all of whom fail. Tacitus was once a scout for the Gilded Fang who's job it was the patrol the land above their subterranean home to watch for attackers, and they were good at it. Once when ambushing and looting a pile of adventurers Tacitus found a book of spells on one of the corpses and began to spend his free time studying it. Soon he learned minor cantrips and evocations and began his own experimentations on magic expanding the found tome into a spellbook of his very own. His chieftain took notice and soon promoted Tacitus from scout to his chief adviser. Tacitus spent many years in this position but soon became dissatisfied. The more he learned of the outside kingdoms the angrier he became over the lack of respect his people receive, and so he came up with an idea. The more he read he began hearing tales of ancient magical artifacts that have begun to be discovered, and thus thought that if he could acquire them for his tribe he could use them to force the other kingdoms to recognize his people as a proper empire. And Tacitus informed the chief of his decision and set out to Eidolon both in hopes of finding magical objects as well to learn how to lead his people as their first and greatest king!
>>>Don’t Fill this in
>Health: 10/10
>Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
>Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
>Bonus: Based on Fluff
>Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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d99362 No.52266
>>52263
Name:
Alice
Fluff:
On a night of a terrible storm 16 years ago from now, there was an orphanage in Loune that heard a loud knock a their door. As it was deep into the night all of the children inside were asleep, as were most of the staff. However whatever was knocking would not be ignored, it grew more and more violent over time, waking up all who were inside by the end of it and assaulting their bodies with a cold sting of fear. However now that whatever was knocking had all of their attention, it suddenly stopped… The head of the orphanage cautioned the staff members to take care of the children as they went to open the front door. But they would find nothing at the front door, at least until they looked down. Here they saw a newborn babe, seemingly human but oddly disfigured. Despite the storm outside the baby was silent, not making even the slightest noise. The orphanage would take in this child, and give her the name Alice.
Alice was mostly a normal child aside from the strange scarring that covered parts of her body and the clump of hair that had grown in white in contrast to the rest of the hair that had grown in black. She was a quiet but cheery girl, perhaps a little bit shy but that was to be expected when people either stared or avoided looking at her. Due to this she got quite skilled at applying bandages to cover the abnormal parts of her body. Alice had little to no contacts with anyone outside of the orphanage and she has never been outside of Louen before, however she is well loved by all of the children and staff that she grew up with and that have been taken in by the orphanage since.
Alice for most of her life was rather aimless, just living day to day with little direction or thoughts of future goals. That was until she turned 16. On this day the owner of the orphanage had made it clear that there was something important that he had to give her. He brought her into his workplace and removed one of the floorboards under his desk. From here he removed a large, sword? It was a huge thing, taller than Alice herself. But from the first time she saw it, she felt drawn to it. It felt like something she was meant to have and the owner of the orphanage thought so too. As this weapon was laid next to Alice when he found her on that night 16 years ago.
With encouragement from the orphanage Alice has chosen to set off to experience more of the world now that she is 16. And more importantly to properly learn how to wield her sword. Although Alice is a girl who has no thirst or love for fighting or conflict, she is still drawn to her weapon and feels as though it is her duty to wield it to its full potential. Almost like it was whispering to her…
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989e0f No.52267
Name:Quill (Literally the sound of a quill writing on parchment)
Fluff: Long ago in the time of the elder races lived a proud and noble race of winged avian creatures known as the Kenku, the kenku appeared as a race of ravens or crows and prided themselves on their culture and peaceful ways. The kenku lived for a time in a golden era of peace complacent and separated from the other races completely content to live out their lives in solidarity away from the prying eyes of all else. Their society flourished as all kenku lived as kings sharing the wealth and love between eachother, that however soon changed when an albino Kenku was born to King of Kings Goldfeather. It was seen as an ill omen, the white devil had made its mark upon their society. King Goldfeather vehemently denied that his family bore evil and accepted the albino as his son and brought him into his flock. Dissent grew larger and larger though, the kenku feared the unknown, they feared change and so in the dark of night, five kenku conspired and collaborated to murder King Goldfeather on the kenkus most holy holiday. The celebration of Yvth'rali the crowfather. During this night those five kenku stole away into the palace and systematically slaughtered everyone inside, the walls ran red with the blood of the innocent during this dark act, the crowfather watched on from his domain in horror at what his subjects had become and as the last drop of blood finally fell that night, the crowfather would enact his holy judgement. For the vile and despicable act of kin-slaying the crowfather stripped the Kenku of their voice and wings reducing them to a hollow shell of what they once where, now they could only mimic the other races, no longer having a voice of their own, no longer would they fly proudly through the blue skies. In his final act of judgement the crowfather destroyed the once proud civiliaztion sentencing them to exile in the foulest region known to the races, until such a time a champion would be born that could redeem the race for their despicable actions. And so it was that the prophecy of the Lightborn was created, telling the tale of a kenku that would be born to bring salvation upon the race.
Quill is that legendary child of prophecy as dictated by the crowfather himself and as such he has trained his entire childhood and teenage years for the trials the crowfather shall dictate to him, with bastard sword in hand and the holy vestaments of the crowfather he will rise up as the champion the kenku need and redeem his entire race and his first stop on this long and perilous journey? Eidolen
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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05f24d No.52268
>>52263
Name: Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe “The Tiger of the South”
Fluff: A Quendi hailing from the shrouded islands of the Eternal Kingdom to the far west. An elf of honour and martial prowess he served under his shogun fighting against the monsters that assailed the Kingdom from blighted ruins in the south of the Kingdom. His skills are honed by years of combat against vicious beasts however it was on a rather routine raid that the current chapter of his life begins. The blighted ruins were found on the furthest southern island among a series of tricky tides and jagged rocks, it was here that his fleet with struck by a great storm tearing apart their sails and casting them far from home. Few of his men survived alongside him, being cast adrift in the open ocean. They drifted for what seemed like weeks before being found by a exploration fleet captained by none other then the second prince of the Eidolon Empire. Knowing that the powerful magics that shrouded his homeland would never allow them to return Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe and his men swore an oath of service to their savoir in hope to find some honour and purpose as exiles from their homeland.
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8581d3 No.52269
>>52263
Name: Ulrak
Fluff: I awaken in a ancient place. It is pitch black and I fumble around in the dark like a newborn. The ground is riddled with debris and holes that cause me to trip over equally devasted objects. There is no memory of anything let alone what this place is, yet I feel a connection all the same. Like it was once of grand importance, now just a husk of its former glory. But more than that I feel hunger. A ravenous need to fulfill that not only grips my stomach but also the very core of my being itself. Or rather, the lack of it. Instead there is a great void where I KNOW should be great power and fulfillment, yet there is none. I will do anything to have it. However I can see nothing, do nothing, utterly lost in this void of being. It is only when I begin to look past the darkness do I see the small motes of light that dance just out of reach. Yes… this will illuminate the path before me.
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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801859 No.52270
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Sean Marakovich
Fluff: The date was March 17th, 2019, and Sean was getting ready for a camping trip. He put on his Strichtarn uniform, put some MREs and some misc. camping gear in his bag, and strapped his AK bayonet onto his belt. He stepped out of his house to get into his car, he found himself in a strange place. 3 hours of panic and existential crisis later, he decided to pull himself together, and find out some shit about his current situation, that being:
1. These people speak fucking gibberish language.
2. He doesn't have anything he can/wants to sell.
3. Non humans are real, and I can say racist things to them without their knowledge.
On his third night, he was the victim of an attempted mugging from some drunken elf, helping none of the self-imposed stereotypes he had placed on to them. Sean promptly kicked the shit out of the drunken elf, and *almost* stabbed him to death, until he realized that if he did, he wouldn't be able to explain to anyone that it was self-defense. Thus, he took the money the elf had, and placed him at the door of what he thought was an inn, or maybe a guard barracks, and promptly fucked off into the night. The next day, he awoke with a bit more to his name then yesterday, and the knowledge that Knife Ears cannot be trusted. Then again, he can't understand a thing they say, but that's just semantics. (The guy with the uniform isn't me.)
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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801859 No.52271
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4c5613 No.52272
>>52263
Name: Gundrik Ironsoul
Fluff: Deep within the carved halls of the Dawi the Ironsoul clan have practiced and refined the art of magic throughout the years. Like many dwarf clans the art of a trade is passed down and refined though the generations, bringing in ideas from other crafts for the sole purpose of progressing their own. For the Ironsoul they are ruled by their ancient, and possibly undead (although those rumors were never confirmed), patriarch the great Venrok Ironsoul. The clan holdings include a great hall where clan members may demonstrate, teach, and brag about their achievements in the art of magic with a gathering every 50 years to spread knowledge throughout the clan and for all apprentices to present their own research and become a true wizard of the clan. Gundrik, like all Ironsouls, is a wizard and a fairly young one. Fresh out of his apprenticeship he has learned from many masters within the clan and all have deemed him both knowledgeable with magic and able to learn within the great hall. Sadly his research on the nature of the sites of power throughout the world was barely accepted, and even that took days of arguing and judgement from records dating back hundreds of years. Annoyed Gundrik set off to find a site of power untapped by another wizard and claim it for his own study and use. He will refine his studies until none can say it is only speculation and legends.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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16656a No.52273
>>52259
Name: What you wish to be called
Background: The forgotten southern Kingdom of Nurdolian. A human kingdom of old, atleast by human reckoning, whose lessons are buried in the sands. It is said that the line of Nurdolian was wise and strong, but ultimately fell. The kingdom stradled a fruitful river, and was protected by bluffs carved out by the river in the distant past. Trade with the sand gnomes were profitable in spring and summer, but the threat of Snow Elves was present in fall and winter. Its circumstances served well to encourage social mobility among families with Merchants, Rangers, and Scholars. Merchants could trade in food, spices, raw goods, weapons, and relics. Rangers were desired to escort the merchants and protect the kingdom against the Snow Elves. Scholars to study the relics of the desert and clerk for the kingdom. It was good. Then great storms began to come out of the desert with force enough to break through the protective bluffs and cover the land in sand, disrupting planting and harvest. Matters became even worse as harsh winters are recorded where the Snow Elves invaded more deeply then ever before. The people desired salvation above all else. Order was needed to counter chaos, and new power to be the pillar of such a movement. An organized Monastic Order that had been growing within the kingdom was given a charter to expand. To begin with, it had merely been a mystery cult centered around those of the desert relic trade routes. They worshipped great primordial beings wreathed in imperishable flame, embodiments of magic, life, and death in continous cycles of renewal and destruction. Magic was the key to enlightenment, and all aspirants and devotees would daily manifest their magic in meditative sessions of prayer. Their practices yielded results. The Order of The Imperishable rose like a phoenix from ash and sand that would soon bury Nurdolian. Convents to house Chapters of this Order sprang up through the Kingdom to combat the increasing hostility that nature and knife-eared demons threw at them. Merchants invested in businesses centered in protected convents or in companies robust enough to travel abroad. Rangers became more heavily armored to man walls of stone in defense of the convents. Scholars searched for answers. All prayed and sought enlightenment, with great and terrible successes. Those gifted in sight beyond sight hoped to accomplish a vision of the future that they might predict storm and raid to better harvest and prepare. What they achieved was a Doom on the Kingdom of Nurdolian, the Capital would be swallowed up by a great sand storm far beyond their abilities to intervene with in the time remaining. All they could do for Nurdolian was depart with its legacies and watch the end. Fortunately the Order was strong in faith and unity, and had spread to other lands.
Fluff: Friar Bob is a member of the Church of the Imperishable in . He was orphaned, but grew up under the protection of the convent, and as caretaker of the other children who were raised there. A bright and cheerful lad, blessed with substantial magic potential to summon and manifest aspects of The Imperishable. Life in the convents is strict and while Bob does almost everything to be a model to his charges, he often wanders outside the Temple district of Loune and gets into all sorts of trouble while seeing the sights. In a pinch he can display the magical training of the Order to skedaddle in a puff of smoke and ash. The Bishop of the Church favors him, and is the only disciplinarian that can get through to him while saying "that if Bob continues to seek 'field experience' then perhaps he may one day get such an opportunity". When he is not busy training in the dead language of Nurdolian, in the study of relics from the sand gnome desert, penmanship, magic, and a host of other cultured disciplines, Bob is tasked with keeping the books on the Church, such as expeditions into the desert to retrieve relics, to make sure everything balances out.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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16656a No.52274
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bc5613 No.52282
>>52262
Name: Balazar
Fluff: Taken from his family at an early age because of his magical talent, placed within the care of wizards and given a new name Balazar spent most of his early life studying the arcane arts. Running away when he was old enough, sparked by the many tales told to him by his caretakers, Balazar sought to pursue life as an adventurer, hiring on with a few bands and enjoying some menial success running errands for locals.
One day however when scouting ancient ruins for valuable trinkets to sell at the local market the young adventurer discovered an odd stone, lodged inbetween the ribs of a long perished hero. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, somehow beautiful and alluring and thus Balazar decided to keep it, wearing it on a string around his neck.
To the lack of his knowledge however this was a fragment of the evil black heart, long ago shattered by the Dwarven High King Alraic the Mad. Soon silent voices would come to the young adventurer at night, whispering pleas and commandments, granting him visions of unrivaled power and wealth. For him to become an adventurer greater than any before him. And as they whispered to him the voices slowly seeped at Balazar's life force and replaced it with something much, much darker.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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08e109 No.52290
Name: Mathis Am'ariaalius
Fluff: The Belle Elves and the Bayou Elves are twisted descendants of the Quendi from Loo’uizi’ænaa. They differences are due to adapting to the swamps and lakes, and generations of both in breeding as well as interracial relationships. They are much more humble than their ancestors.
Belle Elves grow food and fiber crops, while trying to remain prim and proper. Manners are very important to them and they pride themselves on their hospitality.
Bayou Elves tame the swamp and lake animals, and protect the land. They are less judgmental than Belle Elves but also less well mannered. Many consider them slobbish.
Both the Belle Elves and the Bayou elves are essential in the smooth running of Loo’uizi’ænaa.
Mathis Am'ariaalius is a Belle Elf. His father is a preacher and his mother is the leader of the choir. From a young age he was taught to respect others but put the word of their god before all else. His god is a good god, one that balances retribution with forgiveness for those that are truly pentant. He has set out to convert the world to worship his god, for if everyone holds the word of his god true, there will be no evil in the world. He has been granted the gift of song by his ever-loving god for his steadfast devotion; his voice carries the power to punish evil and uplift the downtrodden. To harm and to heal.
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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753195 No.52296
Name: Guan Zhi
Fluff: For all of his childhood, Guan followed his father on his travels as a merchant, selling ink and other goods in the nation of Xuzhou Guo. When he became an adult and his father passed, he took up the same occupation. For many years, this life continued. He never had any great ambitions, and the works of the Emperor were beyond his concern just as far as the workings of the supernatural. Yet both things would impede irrevocably on Guan's life. One day, on a delivery of ink to an imperial library, he was changed. On the order of an imperial sorcerer, he was tied up and brought to a secret underground room to be used for an experiment. The sorcerer used Guan's own ink to draw a magic circle of runes around both him and a giant mass of paper made in the shape of a man. Guan's soul was ripped from his body, and put into the paper man, making him a paper golem. For a time afterwards, he was forced into manual labor for the Emperor, but only as a test of his body's capabilities. He heard much talk of future insidious plans, to make an army of paper men just as they had done to him. After a time, he could not stand the fate ahead of him, and Guan managed to escape when he nest found an opportunity. Unfolding his paper body, then shaping it like a giant floating lantern, he rode the wind to wherever it would take him. He eventually landed in Eidolon, and scrounged up some clothes large enough to obscure his body, allowing him some measure of peace. Making his way to Loune, he questions what he can even do now with this life. He falls back to the only thing he knows, his life as a merchant. Perhaps he can even find use for this strange new body in his work. It is all he can tell himself to try.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
Misc:
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cb8168 No.52392
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Arnim Volz
Fluff: Born the second son of a second son Arnim is a human meant for little fated to inherit a fraction of a fraction and decided to instead take advantage of his strengths and make money with the sword. As a sellsword Arnim has done a bit of everything ranging from protecting caravans to being part of a shield wall in some minor war to targetted banditry and proudly claims that he's killed at least one of every civilized race on the continent and a good number of the uncivilized ones as well. Arnim has a secret though passed down the Volz family line that gives him the edge he needs in any fight for the tattoos adorning his body are alchemical in nature and bless him with capabilities beyond that of a normal man, crafted from the hearts blood of beasts and a mix of rare herbs they provide him with the tiniest edge allowing him to expand his sesnes, strike slightly faster and prevent weak blows from piercing flesh but family legend has it that the great monsters of the land would allow far more.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
Misc:
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cb8168 No.52393
>>52392
Fluff 2.0 because I realized I forgot something.
Fluff: Born the second son of a second son Arnim is a human meant for little fated to inherit a fraction of a fraction and decided to instead take advantage of his strengths and make money with the sword. As a sellsword Arnim has done a bit of everything ranging from protecting caravans to being part of a shield wall in some minor war to targeted banditry and proudly claims that he's killed at least one of every civilized race on the continent and a good number of the uncivilized ones as well. Arnim has a secret though passed down the Volz family line that gives him the edge he needs in any fight for the tattoos adorning his body are alchemical in nature and bless him with capabilities beyond that of a normal man, crafted from the hearts blood of beasts and a mix of rare herbs they provide him with the tiniest edge allowing him to expand his sesnes, strike slightly faster and prevent weak blows from piercing flesh but family legend has it that the great monsters of the land would allow far more. While Arnim will do anything to survive and get his paycheck as a sellsword when hunting beasts to use as potential sources of strength there is ceremony to it, the hunt must be commited to alone and not just any beast can be used as it is as much the strength of the individual as anything else a good example would be the Leopard's spots on his right bicep Arnim waited for months hunting for the perfect beast until news came in of a giant man eater driving an entire village into terrified hiding came in and he followed it's tracks to it's lair and struck the beast down as it dragged back it's latest quarry before immediately beginning the rituals for making his "ink".
Skillwise Arnim considers himself to be proficient with every common weapon under the sun and believes in the right tool for the right job, blunt weapons to crack heavy armour, bows to take down enemies at range, etcetera and will use practically anything that he can find at the time and just get another after it breaks except for his prized and one of his only permanent possessions a heavy Saber he claims to have won in a duel.
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8193ee No.52402
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Lorn the Half-Giant
Fluff: Half-Giants are the offspring of a human father and a giant mother, or of other Half-Giants who chance upon meeting. While considered runts and small compared to their true giant relatives, Half-Giants still tower over men though not nearly to the same extent as giants, and like giants do not die of old age, only in battle or sickness. The notable advantage they do have over their taller kin is that Half-Giants retain the capacity for human intelligence unseen in true giants.
Such it was that Lorn the Half-Giant came into this world, and like most sons, wished to follow in the steps of his father, a blacksmith turned adventurer. Lorn was fascinated by the humans proficiency at crafting weapons, from swords to shields, bows and ballistae, and many others. He took it upon himself to learn the art. He laboured for many years for a nearby mining town, asking in payment for a portion of iron ore and coal. With these he crafted his first pickaxe, his first hammer, and set out to the mountains himself to make his own anvil.
For miles, the hammering of Lorn's forge could be heard. In addition to practicing making his own tools, he became proficient at crafting large metal pieces for the town, from shields, to iron gates, and more.
Soon, Lorn's father died, and his mother had long since abandoned him to return to the land of the giants. Lorn grew tired of his same old town, seeking to improve his craft knowledge, but more importantly, to find more Half-Giants and perhaps start a family. He had heard tales there were others like his kind, and so sets out to Eidolon in search of others.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52412
>>52265
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ Small Bag of Holding - Can store up to 10 items without encumbering you in the slightest
Inventory:
+ 5 [Caltrops] - 1 time use, +15 to disengaging from fights
+ [The Muintir Nemid] - Book of Spells, Contains tomes of Fire and Earth Magic, Level 1 (Up to Level 2 Spells)
Bonus:
+ [Scout] - From your time as a vanguard hiding amongst the crags of the Niðafjöll mountains in the far north of Padsland, you learned how to move unseen and strike in silence. +10 to ambush/sneaking actions
Misc:
>Deciphering the Muintir Nemid 0/15
Arriving in the capital of Loune by boat, you give away a few golden teeth to the innkeeper as payment for your night stay (the teeth themselves being gifts from a friend back at the Caverns of your youth) and absent-mindedly ask the stocky burly man if he had heard tales of any magical artifacts that were loosely guarded and easy to carry. To your surprise the man said he had, in the southern part of Eidolon southeast of Gran, close to the border with the former Umli Empire's heartlands, though according the man "Only fools and those seeking death spend any time at all there."
>>52266
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: + [The Claidheamh Mor] - A massive two handed sword that was left with you on the night you were seemingly abandoned. It is a good foot or so larger then you and weighs about an 1/8 of what you do. Until you learn to properly handle such a beast it will be more of a hamper then a boon to you. 2x Damage and + 10 against large targets, - 15 to Same or smaller targets.
Bonus:
Inventory:
+ [Fire-Kissed] - Your scars are unmistakably burns, but their origin is unknown even to you. However you've always had a affinity for the flames, you swear you could even beckon the candle-fire to dance for you, at least it always seemed that way. + 10 Defense to Fire, magical or otherwise, + 5 to learning/casting fire magic
Misc:
Great-sword handling 0/18
Departing from home was the hardest thing you've ever had to do, but as you walk down the very same steps you were left upon so many years ago, you can't help but feel just as excited as you are sad, for now the world is truly open to you! This exictement is quickly dashed as a man tears past you on a horse, the beast kicking up dirty water from a puddle and drenching you thoroughly. After drying yourself off you make your way to the local tavern you always heard the headmaster talking about, and using what little money he could spare to give you secure yourself a room for the night. Joining the convocation for the evening supper and festivities you ask around about anyone in Loune that could train you in sword use, and though most scoffed at the idea of a women fighting, a few actually entertained you, speaking of an old solider in the market district who was known to train urchins and poor-men's children who sought to join the army or a mercenary crew. He was known as a hard man, going by the name of Lachlan (the old) but any who sought to keep their teeth left the last part out. Retiring to your bed for the night you went to sleep dreaming of the days to come.
>>52267
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Bastard Sword] - A longsword with a longer grip to allow two handed use for more powerful swings, an adaptable and trustworthy type of sword used by many. + 10 to same size and larger targets, - 5 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
+ [Crowfather's Vestments] - A supposedly holy set of black rags, they do seem to impart upon you some manner of luck, though it is a crow's luck. 1 recast per combat encounter or every 5 regular turns for Dark magic
Bonus:
+ [Chosen] - Long have man and being alike claimed to speak for their gods, and while some have been lucky enough to be right, most are wrong in their judgement, the voices they hear either a testament to their own madness or much sinister powers at work. Either way you are one of these men. Critical fails and critical successes have additional effects.
Misc:
Crowfather's Trials: The Eye of Goldfeather - The voices in your head have tasked you with recovering the Eye of Goldfeather, which is rumored to be in the town of Dampouran, a dangerous border town that is constantly beset by Rurian Raiders.
For long have you walked to come to Eidolon, from the far northern realm of Loresia, in its northernmost border on the true wilds of the north. Now you arrive, weary but unbowed, in the Capital of Eidolon. Though parolor tricks you have managed to cajole an innkeeper to granting you a room for the night, and though all conversation with others is hard, you manage to keep several patrons entertained. When someone points out your avian features and inquires as to what you are, you quickly motion to excuse yourself and shy away, for the Crowfather does not desire interlopers to interrupt your noble quest.
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fc23e2 No.52413
>>52268
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 12/12
Gear:
+ [Quendi Tatami] - Intricately-woven metal plates and leather, some of the finest armor available in the world. Though without being home you'll be hard-pressed to repair it properly. - 15 to all attacks against you, + 2 health when worm
+ [Quendi Ōdachi] - A excessively large, curved sword. Master craftsmanship and folded over a million times. Can cut through the densest steel but leaves you open on the back-swing. +20 to large targets, +10 to same size targets, and -20 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Eastern Wisdom] - You have lived for aeons, like most Quendi, and you have learned much in that time. When facing an unknown puzzle/monster/event you can roll (dc 60) to remember some information that will aid you solving/defeating/making use of it.
+ [Elder Race] - As a member of the ancient people of this world, you are more in tune with its magics, but also more prejudiced against the younger races and your ancient rivals. + 10 to all casting and magic learning, - 5/-15 to actions involving other races/elder races
Misc:
Searching for purpose 1/8 - You are devoid of purpose and far from home, you must find something to do soon or else your will will fail and you run danger of committing Seppuku in shame. Critical fails will increase this as you meander about without greater purpose, while critical successes decrease it.
Alone, drifting for so long. You had almost given up hope when the Humans had arrived to save you. You didn't want to admit it at the time but such weakness disgusted you. Recused by mere humans? Is this truly how far the Elder Races had fallen, they who had once lorded over this world, knew its secrets, and controlled the very weather upon it? Honor-bound you swore allegiance to the princeling, one of many in this Empire, but other tasks called him away before you could make the blood-pact and honor the deal. Now you are waiting in a tavern in the heart of the Capital City of Loune, awaiting the word of your new master, and looking for something to do. Your companions are scattered as well, all searching for purpose. You have never felt so low in your life, but at this point you can honestly say you've never felt so alive as well. The world is now your oyster, but you must reach out to seize it.
>>52269
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Elder Race - Umli] - You are unique in this world, a being without a soul and without remorse. You do not remember your origins or much of anything else, but you are naturally inclined to magic even more so then the other elder races, particularly the dark arts. However your very presence can be felt by all, for you are truly unsettling in every manner of the word. You will receive no aid from any creature, and you are an enemy to all but your own kind. +25 to magic casting/learning, +35 to dark magic casting/learning.
Misc:
+ Unlocking the Past 0/15 - the key to remembering the spells and history of not only yourself but your people is to unlock the vault that is your mind. You can feel it there, but something or someone is keeping it obscured from you. You must trigger mental events by retracting your steps, and something in your mind is telling you to first journey to the South
>Note: you do not start with the other players in Eidolon, and I will not tell you where you are, you must find this out for yourself.
The past is an enigma, the future unknown, but you know one thing, who you are, and that is an Umli, the true power in this world. You were lost long ago, and trapped in this place. It is time now to reclaim what is rightfully yours, if only you could remember what that even is…
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fc23e2 No.52414
>>52270
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Strichtarn Camo] - Something that apparently hasn't been invented yet in this medevial fantasy land, your camo allows you to most hide in plain sight provided you cover your pasty white face with some muck. Its also really durable and pretty good for almost all conditions. + 20 to hiding/ambush rolls in the wilderness, reduced penalty for actions in poor weather conditions.
+ [AK bayonet] - A sharp knife that would have been slung under your rifle, if you had it. Now its just a knife, but what a knife it is. +20 to targets smaller then you, +10 to large targets, - 10 to larger targets then you.
Inventory:
+ 5 [MRE RCW] - These easy to make, decent to taste, and hard to pass meals are for sure safe for your delicate digestive system to eat, unlike some of the other harsher food which is foreign to your modern gut flora. Keeps well and contains several amenities of your past life in their accessory bags, including some basic medical supplies. Can be consumed to restore 5 HP.
+ [Camping Bag] - Full of supplies for innawoods adventures, you can justify just about anything in here that fits that description, but if you want to use any of it you gotta run it by me first.
Bonus:
+ [Stranger in a Strange Land] - This is a literal new world for you. You don't speak the language of anyone, but you look like a human, though slightly cleaner and less well-built then most. You can only convey ideas through hand signals and gestures, so you are pretty much fucked if you need to say anything more complex then "I'm sleepy" or "Give food". - 85 to all communication actions until you learn a language. Additionally, some of the strange new food can give you the runs, as modernity has softened your stomach to the bacteria rife in nature, so you must pass a constitution test (dc 50) if you eat or drink anything (the best way to restore health) that isn't an MRE.
Misc:
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fc23e2 No.52415
>>52270
>>52414
Returning to the same inn as the one you left the elf at, you manage to trade a candy bar to the innkeeper for a room for the night, and while everyone stares at your strange outfit, most ignore you and none join you at the small table you sit at. Sipping on your canteen and eating a strip of beef jerky you had in your pocket you wonder what the hell you are going to do, before staring at a lusty lizardwomen walking past and having all of your days spent on /monster/ on 8chan flashing back to you. Walking widely back to the room you grab a rag and rub one out before assuring yourself that since this is a different reality, you haven't technically broken the #nofap streak you had going.
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b29385 No.52416
Name: The Harbinger
Fluff: In the fens and bogs of Eidolon, a great and terrible necromancer began a great and terrible ritual to bring about a darkness that would last a thousand thousand years, dredging the dead from their graves in one fell swoop and drowning the land in a tide of rotting flesh and moldering bones. Before he could enact the ritual, however, he was found and slain by a brave troupe of heroes who battered aside his constructed guards and took his head from his shoulders. With the last iota of his magical might he spoke a dark word of awesome power, leaving his quivering lips just an instant before his severed head fell into the bubbling swamp.
Days later, under a moonless night sky, the swamp shuddered and heaved. It birthed a single undead creature of bone, rotting plant matter and foul blue light. Intelligent and filled with strange purpose, animated by a terrible force from outside reality, it waded out of the swamp and into the world to begin enacting horrible plans to which only it was fully privy. It would bring about the apocalypse its late creator would so desire– but it would do so because it wanted to see Eidolon burn with its own two ethereal eyes.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52422
>>52272
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Dowsing Rod] - A y-shaped rod that can be used to help pinpoint magical sites. Also thick enough to be used as a cudgel. +5 to targets smaller and the same size as you. + 10 to larger targets.
Inventory:
+ [Rune Chisel and Hammer] - A Dawi specialty, allows one to carve magic runes and imbue items with magic. Note: only the chisel is magical, so don't lose it.
Bonus:
+ [Ironsoul] - You are determined and unwilling to accept defeat, even for a Dwarf! Undeterred by failure, you can ignore the negative effects of 1 critfail through sheer Dwarven grit once every 10 turns.
Misc:
Arriving in Eidolon by boat from the Dwarven realm of Felakgund, you depart the boat in the capital of Loune eager to get out in the field and discover some new site of magical energy. Its very late though, and you decide to get a room at and inn and a beer instead. The inn is full of characters, some burned human girl with a large sword, a dwarf-sized crow that keeps repeating people, some kobold scumbag that keeps looking at people's unprotected pockets and is dressed up like some wizard, perhaps mocking you, a proper Runesmith (amateur). You sit at the bar and order the strongest ale, and to no surprise its nothing compared to a true Dwarven pale ale. You down it and then turn into bed, sharing a room with a human lad who is babbling jibberish and dressed in some interesting clothes.
>>52273
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Staff of the Imperishable] - A mainstay of wandering brothers, it allows you to cast bound spells to both impress the naive and to defend yourself.
>>Bound Spells: Illuminate, Life Siphon, Ash Cloud
Inventory:
+ [Quill and parchment] - useful for writing, also you can read.
Bonus:
+ [A Doomed Flock] - Though you and the other brothers always seem to come out fine, all of you constituents not of the cloth seem to always suffer horrible accidents and die terribly. Critfails hurt others around you more then you, and if this happens enough you and your order may face open persecution, that being said their effect on you is lessened considerably.
Misc:
You have been ordered to mingle amongst the yokels of the city after the last congregation of the faithful had been tragically crushed under a falling buttress. You journey to the local inn by the docks to peruse the drifters and desperate people looking for those stupid eager enough to join your cult faith. Scoping out sacrifices recruits for the night, you retire to your room with a scroll full of notes. A dwarf runesmith, a elven warrior, a young burned girl, a kobold, some strangely-dressed human, and crow-man. Desperate people, easy pickings…
>>52282
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 15/15
Gear:
Inventory:
+ [Fragment of the Black Heat of Yadoth] - Is it real, or are you crazy? Who knows, but all that matters is that the voices in your head are real enough, and your speech eloquent enough that people may listen, and in doing so, understand. +15 to NPC charisma based actions.
Bonus:
+ [Hollow Man] - You're half the man you used to be (this feeling as the dawn it fades to gray). Its debatable whether or not you lost your soul, but you feel like you did, and the few instances of you suffering Holy magic attacks hurt more then they should. Still, you feel more resilient, and heal faster, then you thought was possible for a human, maybe even cheat death, for a price of course.
Misc:
The stone speaks, you hear it in the night. It promises you so much, if only you obey. It came to you. Your own, your love, your own. Your precious. What has come to you but the black heart, it shall be a heirloom of your coming kingdom. All those that follow in your great bloodline shall be bound to its fate for all eternity, for you shall risk no hurt to the heart. It is… precious to you, though you buy it with a great pain. You sit in the capital of the greatest empire of men, Eidolon, in a dusky inn near the docks. It is a lively place, and you drink and cheer with the people and make merry, though deep inside of you a darkness dwells, gnawing and gnashing. You retire to your room for the night, and lucky thing that you are end up sharing it with a lovely girl, younger but quite pretty. She is kissed by fire, and carries a sword almost as big as you. You awake the next day to the chatter of the Temple's bells, and a whisper on the windswept plains of your mind; "Patriarchate…"
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f7e017 No.52423
Name: Mark
Fluff: Mark wanders the world. He seeks only to master the blade in every way possible. With pale skin and black eyes Mark proudly boasts his half elf heritage looking down on other humans. Mark has surprising natural talent for magic but isn't really interested in the magic towers of the wizards. Mark is an oddity slightly self obsessed and seeming to be rather cold to everyone else. Even when helping others it always seems oddly insincere. No one has ever seen Mark without his cloak on and when the rather fancy and dark looking cloak billows just right in the wind people around him seem to feel a dark chill in their heart. Mark doesn't know much about his own past or at least doesn't like to talk of it beyond his great sword accomplishments. The only thing certain is that he loves to eat and he loves to fight he almost never seems to tire of either one.
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327af3 No.52424
Name: Nabadd ibn Shulaa Sa'in al-Seeni
Fluff: The 1980s were a wild time. At the height of new-age superstitions, technological development, and financial fuckery, it was a time in which the ruthless and unscrupulous thrived like never before. One such man was John Cohen, a known con artist who swindled people from as deep in as the Rust Belt, all the way to the great cities. Everywhere he went, there was a gullible fool who'd fall for who-knows-what wonder medicine or electronic thingymajig, regardless of the actual product. Widely known in the con sphere for inspiring several pyramid schemes with his useless wares, nobody could read a person as quicky and accurately as John, and, for some, it seemed every item he presented was exactly what the recipient wanted all their lives. Naturally, the sensation only lasted until it was put to use, by which point John would be long out of town, with half his stock gone already.
One day, when riding through the Nevada desert in order to sell UFO memorabilia to tinfoil enthusiasts, he pulled his car to the side for a minute in order to relieve his bladder into the cool, evening desert. Perhaps it was due to the pleasant breeze, or the euphoric feeling of burning through a full fuel tank, but John never noticed the rattlesnake which happened to be at the end of his stream, and the panicking reptile did quick work of John. His body was found later that morning by a group of hitchhikers, his most prized tool still out in the wind.
His soul, though, was in another place entirely. In a village of Nurdolian settled nomads in the Gnomish continent, a mother was giving birth, aided by two midwives, in a rather large and solid desert mansion, at which point, John could see a ray of light, as his newborn head emerged healthy and unscathed. He could not understand the language his mother spoke, but one thing he could make out: his new name was Nabadd ibd Shulaa Sa'in al-Seeni.
As the years went on, Nabadd learned the tongue of his people, showing naturally unnatural development for his age. Greatly helping his father, Shulaa, in the governance of his village, their house was granted a family name, Al Thaimi, yet, already at the age of 20, Nabadd rejected it, departing his home and siblings with a small amount of money from his father, in order to do what he knew best: swindle some idiots and skip town. Hopping from town to town, Nabadd learned enough alchemy to only create some useless, coloured liquids, yet this was enough. With the guise of an alchemist, and his sharp tongue from another world, Nabadd departed to Eidolon, having specifically learned the language of its people, in order to swindle the locals with exotic medicines from another continent.
On this day, he arrives in Loune.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52431
>>52290
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Golden Lyre] - And what would and angelic voice be without lovely accompaniment? Shit, that's what. + 5 to charisma actions when signing. Can also be used to lull large beasts to sleep (dc 70)
Inventory:
>Spells:
+ [Voice of Angels] - Your voice can be magically enhanced to improve both its tone and pitch, and also subtly bring others around to your way of thinking. Can use once every 5 turns, + 25 to Charisma actions.
Bonus:
+ [Degenerates] - Any true elf would look at you as they look at a any of the younger races, only with slightly more disgust. While it isn't unheard of for the elder races to have degenerate offshoots as time and distance separate them from their roots both in appearance and mannerisms, the elves never fathomed it had happened to them, and until the recent discovery of your backwater people, it hadn't. You also lack the same affinity for magic as your ancestors. + 15/- 10/- 25 to charisma actions with younger/elder/elf races. No magic bonus
Misc:
Proseltysing is hard work, especially amongst the downtrodden, who are just as likely to stab you as they are to listen to your lovely hymms. How you exactly came to the Human Empire of Eidolon is lost to you, perhaps you were enticed by its large population and inviting cities, but regardless of that you are now in its capital of Loune, in a dusky tavern near the docks, hoping to spread your evangelical cheer to all who would listen. A wild night follows, wherein singing and dancing abount, and you retire for the night much happier then when you arrived.
>>52296
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
>Spells
+ [Autoorigami] - You can change your form to any myriad of shapes that you know, within reason (you can't become massive or incredibly small without changing your actual structure, which being tantamount to your body would be incredibly painful) You can do this once every 3 turns.
Inventory:
+ [Medium bag of holding] - A magical bag that allows you to store 10 items that can fit in the lip of the bag without encumbering you in the slightest
Bonus:
+ [Merchant's Guile] - Your life has prepared you for the battle of tongues that is bartering. And while your form is off-putting (along with your mouth-less vocalizations) none can doubt your well-spoken syntax and masterful discourse. +15 to negotiating with NPC's, increased profit/decreased loss by trading
Misc:
Loune, the capital of the largest Human Empire in the world; Eidolon. You heard tales of it in Xuzhou Guo, and despite their claims to the contrary, the lands pales in comparison to Eidolon. You have come here to ply your wares (which you have none of) and to make a fortune (also lacking). You manage to use your guile and your unique talents to secure a room in a dry inn near the docks, as it is particularly rainy tonight and that is not good even for your thick paper. You don't really "sleep" as your body does not tire, but once everyone has gone to sleep you do have some peace and quiet to get as close to sleep as you usually manage; a complete and utter dearth of thoughts. You greet the morning sun and begin to wonder what the new day will bring…
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fc23e2 No.52432
>>52392
>>Don't fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Eastern Sabre] - From the lands of the eastern nations comes a prized possession of yours, a heavy curved blade with one sharp edge. A pale imitation when compared to the works of the elves, but for a sell-swordsmen like yourself it works more then well enough for all of your hacking, chopping needs. +5/+10/+5 to small/medium/large targets.
Inventory:
+ [Needle and Ink] - Tattooing supplies
>Spells:
+ [Ink imbuement] - A family secret that you don't really understand, all you know is to say the words and imbue the ink with the blood or liquid of the animal slaughtered and some measure of its skills. Can only be done at the completion of hunts, and you must wait 5 turns for the tattoo to rest and form after each hunt before attempting a new one. The blood or liquid must also be fresh (killed a maximum of 1 turn prior).
+ [Leopard Spots] - Allows you to increase your stealth for 1 ambush action(+ 5), 3 turn cooldown between uses.
Bonus:
+ [Skilled Warrior] - A lifetime of war does not leave one bereft of the skill of arms, and you are no exception. As a lifelong warrior you are in possession of numerous skills when it comes to dealing and avoiding damage, and as such have a flat +15 to all combat rolls and those attacking you suffer a - 5 penalty.
Misc:
You had been brought to Loune by a caravan contract taking a shipment of rare jade from the jungles of Tabasco. Collecting your pay you did what you usually do at the end of a job, take up in a nice tavern for a week, buy the time of a pretty girl willing to listen to you talk about your tattoos, and buy the favor of most people in the place with round after round of drinks. At this night you fund a particularly rowdy party with some real interesting characters, and by the time you wake up the next day (on the tavern floor) some of those very same people where sitting around eating breakfast, probably wondering the same thing as you; "What am I gonna hic do now?" You gurgle out with a little bit of last night's mead.
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288f81 No.52435
>>52263
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Skjorun, Dwarven Seeker
Fluff: Amongst the Dawi there is a tradition. An oddity to the humans to know them, but to the dour Dwarves it makes sense. For the History of the Dawi belongs to all Dawi, not any single person, family, Clan or even King. Thus when a Dwarf swears to be a seeker, a hunter of the lost bits of the Dawi golden age, The foreswear their clan and family names to go on the longest, hardest, most perilous journeys the dwarves have had since the fall of the fell Homunculi.
Skjorun once a member of Clan Aurumhold, always had a love for the Old Glories, the tales of Alraic the mad, and other Dawi heroes of antiquity. This came to a head when during a mining foray his party uncovered a lost hold that had been buried under the rock in the Underway. Unfortunately the Hold had new occupants, Jobi, or Ogres. They slaughtered most of the party, Skjorun only survived due to an old Dawi Axe falling from it's position over the door of the hall onto the Ogre chasing him, killing it and scaring the others off. The half mad Dawi made his way up from the tunnels with weapon in hand, passing out once he had reached the gates of his clan's hold.
When he awoke he was celebrated, for the venerable weapon he carried home was the Clan weapon of one of the lost clans, a clan that had died out to the predations of the foul Umli. It's recovery means the remnants of the Clan could be reforged, and the spirits of it's ancestors were restored to the Dawi people. A great boon to the waning but hard headedly stubborn race. Following this Skjorun knew what his new path in life should be, one of a seeker. To go into the depths and darkness and finds what bits of light the Dawi left behind in them.
Over many years Skjorun lost his untempered youth, necessity turning him into a adept warrior as well as a librarian, for the smallest bits of lore could mean the difference between finding the lost history he sought, or returning to his people empty handed. That he could not abide. So upon hearing a rumor, of a fragment of luminescent white stone in the human Kingdom of Eidolon, he left the Clan archive of the royal family, where he had been looking for more leads, and left the Dawi lands seeking perhaps the most valuable relic that was or could be, a piece of the Hammer of the Kings.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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713261 No.52443
Name: Vivian the Red
Fluff: Long ago a wandering Witch Beatrice took an interest in good-hearted Knight Fitzgerald and used trickery and sorcery to mislead him but in the end the two would fall in love and have a child. However Witch's pregnancy was a difficult one and in the end she left her husband to raise their son Vivian on his own
Fitzgerald was devasted but resolved to fulfil his wife's last will, he raised his son well with two people's worth of affection. But he wasn't the only one in Vivian's life, the great Wei'lynn sage Linguln Beatrice's old mentor and a good friend settled down with Fitzgerald and became the boy's mentor like he was once to his mother
From his father he got his idealism and from the Old Sage education and magical knowledge. Vivian wasn't strong physically however and was frail ever since being born. As such he such took interest in all arts concerning life: alchemy, herbalism, surgery and healing magic both too help those in need and too one day strengthen his body, an interest which has griwn to mania once his father fell ill and which took him to dark arts and necromancy…
In the end, after a desperate plea to the heavens, he would discover a singular perfect element a medium connecting all of his knowledge like pieces of a puzzle into a single concise picture - blood. He touched the secret code of life left by the gods themselves deep in his own blood and this awakening rejuvenated his body and mind with primal power of life. But not before he could share its wonders with his father…
Having sold off little that his father had and saying farewell to master Linguln the two part ways and go on their final journey…
Having lost everything and changed by scarlet awakening only time will tell how Vivian will turn out
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fc23e2 No.52467
>>52402
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Greatbow] - A bow as tall as a very large man, capable of draw strength's greater then the tension used to pull most small ballista back. Can also put what would grossly misrepresent as an "arrow" through a tree at 150 paces. -20/-5/+20 to smaller/similar/larger targets
+ [15 Great Arrows] - The human-length ammunition for your massive bow
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Degenerates] - You are seen by your elder cousins as an abomination, and will find no kinship in them. -45/-10/+5 to charisma actions involving giants/elder races/younger races.
+ [A Smith's Son] - Though your father is unfamiliar to you, his craft is not, and though hard, long hours in the forge you have gain a great understanding of the craft of metalworking. +10 to smithing actions.
Misc:
Having left the village that you had for so long called a home, you returned to retrieve your smithing supplies only to find that an errant fire from the forge had burned everything to the ground. Bidding the last part of your old life behind you left in search of purpose, and after many days and nights found yourself in the city of Loune, capital of the Human Empire of Eidolon. Finding a dusky inn near the docks, happening to be the only one that could accommodate your size, you use what meager coin you have to purchase a room in the barn that was large enough for you to be comfortable in, and after eating a literal half a cow and downing a barrel of mead as payment for aiding the innkeeper by lifting several pallets of ale and barley to his storehouse, you retire to your straw bed to rest. Your mind is filled with many things, chief among them being fear at the rapid change in your life, and excitement for the times to come.
>>52416
>>Don’t Fill this in
Mana: 15/15
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Anathema] - You are the antithesis, unlife, you will find no common cause with anything truly living, for to them you are a unfathomable monster with a existence so foul they cannot bear to picture it. Your ilk will be the madmen of the world, and those like yourself. -100/+40 to charisma actions with living/deranged & undead NPC's.
+ [Souless] - You lack a true soul, and from it the will to utilize true magic to its fullest extant. Rather you are a being of magic, and as such cannot truly be killed by mortal means, though as a sort of "balance" perhaps, you must use your very being to cast spells. Casting a spells costs a comparative amount of health, killing other magical creatures and absorbing their essence will increase your health, and to heal you must either travel to a magical confluence or ingest magical items. On the flip side any magical item can be used to harm you and spells cast against you do 1.5X normal damage. Health is also replaced with mana
Misc:
The fetid waters stir with your motion, bubbling slightly with blue magical energy. Creatures avoid you, and planets wilt and bend in your wake, and even the trees on the shore seem to droop as you emerge from the swamp. A curious small furry animal approaches you cautiously, coming within arm's length of your skeletal form. With a quick motion you lunge forward and snatch it up from the ground. It yelps and whimpers in-between gnawing on your bony fingers that wrap ever tighter around its throat. With a snap you break its feeble neck, and with one fell swoop beat the creature against a nearby tree until only a bloody pulp remains. Placing your digits in your mouth you glide the gore-soaked phalanges across your teeth, coating the inside of your glowing skull in blood in a rage-fueled ecstasy. Its not much, but its a start. More will suffer the same fate, for you are on the edge of greatness (a very sharp edge)
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c81d81 No.52478
Name: Jewel Minree
Fluff: Jewel Minree is a professional potion and trinket maker, who has come to Eidolon from the large southern city of Xandria. Xandria is home to the Dijin, or "Catfolk" as they are called by humans, who are renown for their skill as craftsmen of trinkets and potions. Continuing the family tradition, Jewel is a maker of all kinds of potions and trinkets, from oils that strengthen doors to rings that let the wearer cast a single simple spell multiple times. Specifically he is what is called a Moribus, a craftsman who makes any item regardless of who asks for it or why they want it, and as such is something of a pariah to the Dijin of home, who have countless rules and limitations on what should be made and how it should be made. An adventurous spirit, he left Xandria due to wishing to see new lands and learn new things, and to escape the inherit stress of a place where everyone shifts away from you.
As a Moribus, Jewel is used to dealing with everything from scum to nobles, and is good at hiding his thoughts behind a mischevious smile. He isnt the best fighter, but trinkets and simple spells can go a long way when you're smart. His journey to Eidolon was not easy, and he lost half his best stock in a freak incident involving some bandits, some of his spells, and a good few dead bodies. Nevertheless he has managed to make it to the city with enough to set up a shop, and short of Eidolon going up in flames he is here to stay.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52479
>>52421
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Strange Sword] - As long as a teenage human and with an undulating blade, this sword is unknown to many, but a few will recognize its makes almost immediately. -5/+15/+20 to small/similar/large targets
Inventory:
+ [Sentimental cloak] - The one thing that never truly leaves your side, your person really. It does what its supposed to so long as its on you.
Bonus:
+ [A Spellsword of Some Renown] - Amateurs buttocks are your hunting ground. You can, with a demonstration of your skill with the blade, convince most NPC's to leave you the hell alone (dc 30) and in addition to this, you have an easier time learning spells (progress is doubled)
Misc:
The roads are dangerous in the empire of Eidolon nowadays, what with the Imperial army mostly being occupied in various border squabbles and internal struggles. The gap is mostly filled with spellswords like yourself, and after working a contract with another spellsword covered in hideous tattoos you join the man in a tavern in your caravan's destination; the capital of Eidolon, Loune. The tavern is nothing much to speak off, but the customer base is lively and the room seems to have about 17 corners, all occupied by a shadowy figure or another. This city is strange, and the people too, but doubtlessly you'll have plenty of stuff to fight.
>>52424
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
+ [Snake Oil Kit] - Mortar, pestle, some funnels and beakers, various herbs and coloring ingredients. Allows crafting of health "cures" and if you so wish, actual medicine, if you learn how to make it. + 15 to potion crafting (not counting fake potions, which take basic skills (dc 20) to make.
+ 10 [Empty Glass Jars]
>Spells:
+ [Swindler's Transmutation] - You can change a metal in apparence only from 1 form to another for a few short hours, given that you possess an item made of the source metal to impart its characteristics upon. Can be used on 1 item every 5 turns.
Bonus:
+ [ Rubs Hands ] - A gnome with a penchant for greed, with nappy thick black hair and smelling faintly of matzo and olive oil. For some reason people like you, despite your constant backstabbing ways. Some would even refer to you as their true friend; praising you with a slap on the back and exclaiming "Merchant, you are my greatest ally!" + 20/+10 to bartering/charisma actions
Misc:
Loune, never have you seen such a wretched hive of scum and villainy. It'd be a perfect place to set up shop no doubt. "Negotiating" a night in a room in a crappy inn from the local innkeeper with the exchange for your patente Erectus Perfectus penile enhancer. Unfortunately its a window above a half-giant monstrosity sleeping in the barn, ==WHO SNORES== and you get no sleep. The sun rises and you decide to finally get out of bed and move on with your life, the only question being what will you do?
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fc23e2 No.52480
>>52423
>>52479
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Strange Sword] - As long as a teenage human and with an undulating blade, this sword is unknown to many, but a few will recognize its makes almost immediately. -5/+15/+20 to small/similar/large targets
Inventory:
+ [Sentimental cloak] - The one thing that never truly leaves your side, your person really. It does what its supposed to so long as its on you.
Bonus:
+ [A Spellsword of Some Renown] - Amateurs buttocks are your hunting ground. You can, with a demonstration of your skill with the blade, convince most NPC's to leave you the hell alone (dc 30) and in addition to this, you have an easier time learning spells (progress is doubled)
Misc:
The roads are dangerous in the empire of Eidolon nowadays, what with the Imperial army mostly being occupied in various border squabbles and internal struggles. The gap is mostly filled with spellswords like yourself, and after working a contract with another spellsword covered in hideous tattoos you join the man in a tavern in your caravan's destination; the capital of Eidolon, Loune. The tavern is nothing much to speak off, but the customer base is lively and the room seems to have about 17 corners, all occupied by a shadowy figure or another. This city is strange, and the people too, but doubtlessly you'll have plenty of stuff to fight.
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fc23e2 No.52481
>>52435
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Pickax] - Its not much but it cleaves stone and caves in skulls in equal measure. Harder to hit small targets with it though. -15/+10/+30 to small/similar/large targets.
Inventory:
+ [Lore of the Dawi] - A book that is mostly complete with the total history of the Dawi people from the first recorded event of dwarven history; the War with the Giants, to the most recent event, being your finding of Rune Axe of Clan Heldenlarr. Allows one to pass a dawi lore check automatically.
Bonus:
+ [Seeker] - Somehow you are drawn to the artifacts of the world that was, despite having no appreciable magical talents (yet). When looking for a clue or lead for your next hunt, or any treasure in general, you must simply pass a dc 30 roll to be granted a clue, with greater detail given the higher the roll. In addition to this you receive a + 15 to searching for treasure or locating an artifact once in its general vicinity.
Misc:
Arriving at the Human city of Loune, capital of the Empire of Eidolon, you are immediately disgusted by the shameful craftsmanship of these Teutons. What horrors they have wrought upon stone! A true dawi would take up his hammer and chisel, his dowel and mortar, and his pickax and right this grievous wrong, but you are here on a much more important mission. Heading in for the night in a inn you've heard had great booze (turns out it was strong but tasted like Uzak piss) you meet another dwarf, which is slightly surprising. He is a amateur runesmith, playing the world for inspiration for his craft and trying to find the greatest confluence of magic in the world. You two talk like old friends deep into the night, and awake the next morning refreshed and ready to begin hunting for the rumored Shard of the Hammer of Kings, or as it is known to non-dawi, God-Splitter.
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fc23e2 No.52485
>>52443
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 8/8
Gear:
Inventory:
>Spells
+ [Blood Bolt] - You can form your blood into a ball, hardening it and using it as a projectile to damage others or things, roughly the same as shooting rock from a slingshot but… messier. A single attack can be made with this that does 3 Health damage on a dc of 40
+ [Blood Blade] - A solid blade formed from your blood, that you can loosen and reform at while so long as it is active. Larger blades require more blood obviously. Solid +10 to all targets because it can change to adapt to the size and armor of the target.
Bonus:
+ [Effeminate] - You look and talk like a women, and while frail and non-intimidating in physical stature or good ol' fisticuffs, you can use this to your advantage as you see fit. +5/+20 to male/fag NPC charisma actions
+ [Squishy Wizard] - Did I mention your constitution is lacking? Constant bloodloss can do that, but as a unintended side effect your magic has grown stronger as you draw magical energy inside of you and infuse it with your very blood. Because of this the damage done by your spells can be boosted by spending Health, the spells effect being boosted by +10 for each health point spent.
Misc:
How you came to Loune is known only to you, what you will do here is unknown to all including you. The inn you are staying in a strange one, filled with freaks and outcasts just like yourself. Some look mean, others kind, a few crazy, but mostly ambivalent to your presence. You sleep restless that night, dreaming of a mother you never knew, wondering what she'd think of you now, and of a father who you lost too soon, imaging how to make him proud. The sunrise greets you like an old friend, and before the roosters first call you are already downstairs for breakfast, gathering a plate of meat to keep your blood rich and strong. What now?
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42d319 No.52486
>>52485
>that's the equivalent of Yoda teaching you magic
>LMAO what a Mary Sue hahaha
Go kill yourself, I can't believe that's what I get for trying to make something to fit in your shitty setting and most of all that I wasted time reading that drivel
Sorry for misunderstanding your lore I guess but hey at least I wasted your time too so it's not so bad :)
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fc23e2 No.52494
I guess its not my fault you can't write an interesting character then :^)
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801859 No.52495
>>52486
Jesus fucking christ, calm the fuck down faggot.
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fc23e2 No.52517
>>52478
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
+ [Crafting Supplies] - All that remains after your freak run in with a gang of Aslardi Children, who kept you as a pet for 3 weeks and took most of your remaining supplies. Allows you to craft small trinkets and baubles from base materials
+ [4 Iron Ingots] - 3 trinkets per ingot
+ [1 Copper Ingot] - 3 trinkets per ingot
Bonus:
+ [Catspaw] - Though some would call it stereotypical, your nature benefits you greatly when it comes to manipulation, be it from your sly smile and quick (if rough) tongue. Needless to say you can strike a bargain, but that is not the only measure of your skill in the verbal craft. +20 to charisma actions involving transactions or business propositions.
Misc:
You managed to loose the rest of your stock as well, only securing your tools and what you could carry with you. You arrive in a large inn near the docks at the southern entrance to Loune, trading away one of your last trinkets for a room for the night from the innkeeper. You sleep firmly on top of all your possessions, and awake the next day happy that you still have what you do, and imaging how much bigger your little pile will become.
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fc23e2 No.52518
And so begins the first day of the rest of your life, whether you are currently one of the residents in Loune or someplace entirely else, the road lies open to you to explore this world as you see fit and to make it yours. A strange wind blows on the horizon, and wondrous things are coming, or horrible, the cards are out on that one. Either way, you better get going and make something of yourself, whatever that may be!
>And thus the game starts, actions are as usual 3d100 and if you have any questions @me in discord
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753195 No.52519
 | Rolled 66, 11, 15 = 92 (3d100) |
>>52518
Name: Guan Zhi
Fluff: For all of his childhood, Guan followed his father on his travels as a merchant, selling ink and other goods in the nation of Xuzhou Guo. When he became an adult and his father passed, he took up the same occupation. For many years, this life continued. He never had any great ambitions, and the works of the Emperor were beyond his concern just as far as the workings of the supernatural. Yet both things would impede irrevocably on Guan's life. One day, on a delivery of ink to an imperial library, he was changed. On the order of an imperial sorcerer, he was tied up and brought to a secret underground room to be used for an experiment. The sorcerer used Guan's own ink to draw a magic circle of runes around both him and a giant mass of paper made in the shape of a man. Guan's soul was ripped from his body, and put into the paper man, making him a paper golem. For a time afterwards, he was forced into manual labor for the Emperor, but only as a test of his body's capabilities. He heard much talk of future insidious plans, to make an army of paper men just as they had done to him. After a time, he could not stand the fate ahead of him, and Guan managed to escape when he nest found an opportunity. Unfolding his paper body, then shaping it like a giant floating lantern, he rode the wind to wherever it would take him. He eventually landed in Eidolon, and scrounged up some clothes large enough to obscure his body, allowing him some measure of peace. Making his way to Loune, he questions what he can even do now with this life. He falls back to the only thing he knows, his life as a merchant. Perhaps he can even find use for this strange new body in his work. It is all he can tell himself to try.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
>Spells
+ [Autoorigami] - You can change your form to any myriad of shapes that you know, within reason (you can't become massive or incredibly small without changing your actual structure, which being tantamount to your body would be incredibly painful) You can do this once every 3 turns.
Inventory:
+ [Medium bag of holding] - A magical bag that allows you to store 10 items that can fit in the lip of the bag without encumbering you in the slightest
Bonus:
+ [Merchant's Guile] - Your life has prepared you for the battle of tongues that is bartering. And while your form is off-putting (along with your mouth-less vocalizations) none can doubt your well-spoken syntax and masterful discourse. +15 to negotiating with NPC's, increased profit/decreased loss by trading
Misc:
1-3. A merchant is nothing without goods, so Guan must first procure wares to peddle before any business can be done. He falls back to his family's specialty, ink, and thinks over the many sources of it he knows. Various plant based methods, carbon, bones. Pine tree resin would be particularly nice. There were many ways, but it really all depended on what materials he could get his papery hands on. He decided he would spend the day chatting about with any citizens of Loune that seemed like they would be knowledgeable on the subject of nearby resources. He of course intends to do this while carefully avoiding those that seem like they may not have his best intentions in mind. +15
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8581d3 No.52520
| Rolled 20, 33, 42 = 95 (3d100) |
>>52518
Name: Ulrak
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Elder Race - Umli] - You are unique in this world, a being without a soul and without remorse. You do not remember your origins or much of anything else, but you are naturally inclined to magic even more so then the other elder races, particularly the dark arts. However your very presence can be felt by all, for you are truly unsettling in every manner of the word. You will receive no aid from any creature, and you are an enemy to all but your own kind. +25 to magic casting/learning, +35 to dark magic casting/learning.
Misc:
+ Unlocking the Past 0/15 - the key to remembering the spells and history of not only yourself but your people is to unlock the vault that is your mind. You can feel it there, but something or someone is keeping it obscured from you. You must trigger mental events by retracting your steps, and something in your mind is telling you to first journey to the South
1/3. This place is choking me in its perpetual darkness. I begin feeling everything around me in the dearth of all other sensation. Trying to map out this ruin and find a way out. Perhaps I may even find something to carry with me or gain some hint of the nature of this place. I MUST HAVE THE LIGHT!
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801859 No.52521
| Rolled 3, 76, 78 = 157 (3d100) |
>>52518
Name: Sean Marakovich
Fluff: The date was March 17th, 2019, and Sean was getting ready for a camping trip. He put on his Strichtarn uniform, put some MREs and some misc. camping gear in his bag, and strapped his AK bayonet onto his belt. He stepped out of his house to get into his car, he found himself in a strange place. 3 hours of panic and existential crisis later, he decided to pull himself together, and find out some shit about his current situation, that being:
1. These people speak fucking gibberish language.
2. He doesn't have anything he can/wants to sell.
3. Non humans are real, and I can say racist things to them without their knowledge.
On his third night, he was the victim of an attempted mugging from some drunken elf, helping none of the self-imposed stereotypes he had placed on to them. Sean promptly kicked the shit out of the drunken elf, and *almost* stabbed him to death, until he realized that if he did, he wouldn't be able to explain to anyone that it was self-defense. Thus, he took the money the elf had, and placed him at the door of what he thought was an inn, or maybe a guard barracks, and promptly fucked off into the night. The next day, he awoke with a bit more to his name then yesterday, and the knowledge that Knife Ears cannot be trusted. Then again, he can't understand a thing they say, but that's just semantics. (The guy with the uniform isn't me.)
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Strichtarn Camo] - Something that apparently hasn't been invented yet in this medevial fantasy land, your camo allows you to most hide in plain sight provided you cover your pasty white face with some muck. Its also really durable and pretty good for almost all conditions. + 20 to hiding/ambush rolls in the wilderness, reduced penalty for actions in poor weather conditions.
+ [AK bayonet] - A sharp knife that would have been slung under your rifle, if you had it. Now its just a knife, but what a knife it is. +20 to targets smaller then you, +10 to large targets, - 10 to larger targets then you.
Inventory:
+ 5 [MRE RCW] - These easy to make, decent to taste, and hard to pass meals are for sure safe for your delicate digestive system to eat, unlike some of the other harsher food which is foreign to your modern gut flora. Keeps well and contains several amenities of your past life in their accessory bags, including some basic medical supplies. Can be consumed to restore 5 HP.
+ [Camping Bag] - Full of supplies for innawoods adventures, you can justify just about anything in here that fits that description, but if you want to use any of it you gotta run it by me first.
Bonus:
+ [Stranger in a Strange Land] - This is a literal new world for you. You don't speak the language of anyone, but you look like a human, though slightly cleaner and less well-built then most. You can only convey ideas through hand signals and gestures, so you are pretty much fucked if you need to say anything more complex then "I'm sleepy" or "Give food". - 85 to all communication actions until you learn a language. Additionally, some of the strange new food can give you the runs, as modernity has softened your stomach to the bacteria rife in nature, so you must pass a constitution test (dc 50) if you eat or drink anything (the best way to restore health) that isn't an MRE.
Misc:
Actions:
1-3. I'll never get anywhere if I can't understand a fucking thing anyone is saying. I'll hang around the Tavern, and out to the market, and hope to God, the /k/ube, or whatever that I can at least pick up some of the language…
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29400a No.52522
| Rolled 60, 22, 64 = 146 (3d100) |
Name:Quill (Literally the sound of a quill writing on parchment)
Fluff: Long ago in the time of the elder races lived a proud and noble race of winged avian creatures known as the Kenku, the kenku appeared as a race of ravens or crows and prided themselves on their culture and peaceful ways. The kenku lived for a time in a golden era of peace complacent and separated from the other races completely content to live out their lives in solidarity away from the prying eyes of all else. Their society flourished as all kenku lived as kings sharing the wealth and love between eachother, that however soon changed when an albino Kenku was born to King of Kings Goldfeather. It was seen as an ill omen, the white devil had made its mark upon their society. King Goldfeather vehemently denied that his family bore evil and accepted the albino as his son and brought him into his flock. Dissent grew larger and larger though, the kenku feared the unknown, they feared change and so in the dark of night, five kenku conspired and collaborated to murder King Goldfeather on the kenkus most holy holiday. The celebration of Yvth'rali the crowfather. During this night those five kenku stole away into the palace and systematically slaughtered everyone inside, the walls ran red with the blood of the innocent during this dark act, the crowfather watched on from his domain in horror at what his subjects had become and as the last drop of blood finally fell that night, the crowfather would enact his holy judgement. For the vile and despicable act of kin-slaying the crowfather stripped the Kenku of their voice and wings reducing them to a hollow shell of what they once where, now they could only mimic the other races, no longer having a voice of their own, no longer would they fly proudly through the blue skies. In his final act of judgement the crowfather destroyed the once proud civiliaztion sentencing them to exile in the foulest region known to the races, until such a time a champion would be born that could redeem the race for their despicable actions. And so it was that the prophecy of the Lightborn was created, telling the tale of a kenku that would be born to bring salvation upon the race.
Quill is that legendary child of prophecy as dictated by the crowfather himself and as such he has trained his entire childhood and teenage years for the trials the crowfather shall dictate to him, with bastard sword in hand and the holy vestaments of the crowfather he will rise up as the champion the kenku need and redeem his entire race and his first stop on this long and perilous journey? Eidolen
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Bastard Sword] - A longsword with a longer grip to allow two handed use for more powerful swings, an adaptable and trustworthy type of sword used by many. + 10 to same size and larger targets, - 5 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
+ [Crowfather's Vestments] - A supposedly holy set of black rags, they do seem to impart upon you some manner of luck, though it is a crow's luck. 1 recast per combat encounter or every 5 regular turns for Dark magic
Bonus:
+ [Chosen] - Long have man and being alike claimed to speak for their gods, and while some have been lucky enough to be right, most are wrong in their judgement, the voices they hear either a testament to their own madness or much sinister powers at work. Either way you are one of these men. Critical fails and critical successes have additional effects.
Misc:
Crowfather's Trials: The Eye of Goldfeather - The voices in your head have tasked you with recovering the Eye of Goldfeather, which is rumored to be in the town of Dampouran, a dangerous border town that is constantly beset by Rurian Raiders.
1.attempt to procure supplies for my journey
2-3. Start the trek to dampouran
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05f24d No.52523
| Rolled 79, 54, 63 = 196 (3d100) |
>>52518
Name: Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe “The Tiger of the South”
Fluff: A Quendi hailing from the shrouded islands of the Eternal Kingdom to the far west. An elf of honour and martial prowess he served under his shogun fighting against the monsters that assailed the Kingdom from blighted ruins in the south of the Kingdom. His skills are honed by years of combat against vicious beasts however it was on a rather routine raid that the current chapter of his life begins. The blighted ruins were found on the furthest southern island among a series of tricky tides and jagged rocks, it was here that his fleet with struck by a great storm tearing apart their sails and casting them far from home. Few of his men survived alongside him, being cast adrift in the open ocean. They drifted for what seemed like weeks before being found by a exploration fleet captained by none other then the second prince of the Eidolon Empire. Knowing that the powerful magics that shrouded his homeland would never allow them to return Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe and his men swore an oath of service to their savoir in hope to find some honour and purpose as exiles from their homeland.
Health: 12/12
Gear:
+ [Quendi Tatami] - Intricately-woven metal plates and leather, some of the finest armor available in the world. Though without being home you'll be hard-pressed to repair it properly. - 15 to all attacks against you, + 2 health when worm
+ [Quendi Ōdachi] - A excessively large, curved sword. Master craftsmanship and folded over a million times. Can cut through the densest steel but leaves you open on the back-swing. +20 to large targets, +10 to same size targets, and -20 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Eastern Wisdom] - You have lived for aeons, like most Quendi, and you have learned much in that time. When facing an unknown puzzle/monster/event you can roll (dc 60) to remember some information that will aid you solving/defeating/making use of it.
+ [Elder Race] - As a member of the ancient people of this world, you are more in tune with its magics, but also more prejudiced against the younger races and your ancient rivals. + 10 to all casting and magic learning, - 5/-15 to actions involving other races/elder races
Misc:
Searching for purpose 1/8 - You are devoid of purpose and far from home, you must find something to do soon or else your will will fail and you run danger of committing Seppuku in shame. Critical fails will increase this as you meander about without greater purpose, while critical successes decrease it.
—–
1-3. Wallowing in drink was not fitting of a great Daimyo! My blade has not tasted the blood of a beast and my soul had not felt the thrill of battle! I must find a great beast to hunt! Creatures of darkness and misery often gathered in cities like this!
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ceb97b No.52526
>>52263
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Grenrey
Fluff: Grenrey was born in Eidolon and raised on the slums of Eidolon in a poorly ran orphanage home, the place she got her name, until she was old enough to survive on her own. Well, after getting kicked out she got convince to stick with her ex roommates that unfortunately came across the fate, the crew were just a bunch of petty criminals so they could live another day. During her late teens, Grenrey learned different thievery after trial and errors while being in the crew, some life threatening, but she manage to survive through luck, the same luck others in her gang didn't have.
As she became a young adult she was experienced enough to make something out of herself, which she did when she began to offer her service to adventuring parties in exchange for payment. She had an exciting and fulfilling life during her adventuring career, but time is an enemy for everyone. Now somewhat near the age of becoming too old to adventure anytime soon she decided to go back to her old home after hearing rumors about some kinds of lost magic or artifact that can restore someones youth became Grenrey isn't going to wait for death to come without a fight.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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b29385 No.52535
| Rolled 14, 60, 67 = 141 (3d100) |
>>52467
Name: The Harbinger
Fluff: In the fens and bogs of Eidolon, a great and terrible necromancer began a great and terrible ritual to bring about a darkness that would last a thousand thousand years, dredging the dead from their graves in one fell swoop and drowning the land in a tide of rotting flesh and moldering bones. Before he could enact the ritual, however, he was found and slain by a brave troupe of heroes who battered aside his constructed guards and took his head from his shoulders. With the last iota of his magical might he spoke a dark word of awesome power, leaving his quivering lips just an instant before his severed head fell into the bubbling swamp.
Days later, under a moonless night sky, the swamp shuddered and heaved. It birthed a single undead creature of bone, rotting plant matter and foul blue light. Intelligent and filled with strange purpose, animated by a terrible force from outside reality, it waded out of the swamp and into the world to begin enacting horrible plans to which only it was fully privy. It would bring about the apocalypse its late creator would so desire– but it would do so because it wanted to see Eidolon burn with its own two ethereal eyes.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Mana: 15/15
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus: + [Anathema] - You are the antithesis, unlife, you will find no common cause with anything truly living, for to them you are a unfathomable monster with a existence so foul they cannot bear to picture it. Your ilk will be the madmen of the world, and those like yourself. -100/+40 to charisma actions with living/deranged & undead NPC's.
+ [Souless] - You lack a true soul, and from it the will to utilize true magic to its fullest extant. Rather you are a being of magic, and as such cannot truly be killed by mortal means, though as a sort of "balance" perhaps, you must use your very being to cast spells. Casting a spells costs a comparative amount of health, killing other magical creatures and absorbing their essence will increase your health, and to heal you must either travel to a magical confluence or ingest magical items. On the flip side any magical item can be used to harm you and spells cast against you do 1.5X normal damage. Health is also replaced with mana.
Misc:
1. Pain. Need. Desire. The limits of the material, the sensation of existence more concrete than thought and concept. New experiences. A lull in the endless loop of infinity. As the serpent bites its tail, We shall bite at this world and its foul bonds of matter. Seek out the nearest source of magic in this wet place and devour it.
2. New, too, is the concept of action. A thought made, an effect affected. What can be done with this wretched shell? We will soon find out. Test this body's physical strength upon the trees and roots of the swamp.
3. We are not whole. We remain, in majority, beyond, unmade. Imagine Our strength were We joined but with flesh and magic. With the new sense of sight, We look to the stars in the sky, long-dead and twinkling, and try to discern some purpose from them. In examining the stars We may yet gain some insight.
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08e109 No.52536
Name: Mathis Am'ariaalius
Fluff: The Belle Elves and the Bayou Elves are twisted descendants of the Quendi from Loo’uizi’ænaa. They differences are due to adapting to the swamps and lakes, and generations of both in breeding as well as interracial relationships. They are much more humble than their ancestors.
Belle Elves grow food and fiber crops, while trying to remain prim and proper. Manners are very important to them and they pride themselves on their hospitality.
Bayou Elves tame the swamp and lake animals, and protect the land. They are less judgmental than Belle Elves but also less well mannered. Many consider them slobbish.
Both the Belle Elves and the Bayou elves are essential in the smooth running of Loo’uizi’ænaa.
Mathis Am'ariaalius is a Belle Elf. His father is a preacher and his mother is the leader of the choir. From a young age he was taught to respect others but put the word of their god before all else. His god is a good god, one that balances retribution with forgiveness for those that are truly pentant. He has set out to convert the world to worship his god, for if everyone holds the word of his god true, there will be no evil in the world. He has been granted the gift of song by his ever-loving god for his steadfast devotion; his voice carries the power to punish evil and uplift the downtrodden. To harm and to heal.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Golden Lyre] - And what would and angelic voice be without lovely accompaniment? Shit, that's what. + 5 to charisma actions when signing. Can also be used to lull large beasts to sleep (dc 70)
Inventory:
>Spells:
+ [Voice of Angels] - Your voice can be magically enhanced to improve both its tone and pitch, and also subtly bring others around to your way of thinking. Can use once every 5 turns, + 25 to Charisma actions.
Bonus:
+ [Degenerates] - Any true elf would look at you as they look at a any of the younger races, only with slightly more disgust. While it isn't unheard of for the elder races to have degenerate offshoots as time and distance separate them from their roots both in appearance and mannerisms, the elves never fathomed it had happened to them, and until the recent discovery of your backwater people, it hadn't. You also lack the same affinity for magic as your ancestors. + 15/- 10/- 25 to charisma actions with younger/elder/elf races. No magic bonus
Misc:
1. I head to the docks and begin singing praise of my god. I thank him for his blessings in my lyrics and strum my lyre
2. In between every song, I begin proselytising. Asking passersby of their faith and whether they’ve heard of my god
3. I should find somewhere, maybe a small warehouse, that I can hire out and begin preaching like father
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08e109 No.52537
| Rolled 89, 19, 1 = 109 (3d100) |
>>52536
fuck, with dice
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c1f6fa No.52538
| Rolled 37, 47, 60 = 144 (3d100) |
>>52412
Name:
Alice
Health: 10/10
Gear: + [The Claidheamh Mor] - A massive two handed sword that was left with you on the night you were seemingly abandoned. It is a good foot or so larger then you and weighs about an 1/8 of what you do. Until you learn to properly handle such a beast it will be more of a hamper then a boon to you. 2x Damage and + 10 against large targets, - 15 to Same or smaller targets.
Bonus:
+ [Fire-Kissed] - Your scars are unmistakably burns, but their origin is unknown even to you. However you've always had a affinity for the flames, you swear you could even beckon the candle-fire to dance for you, at least it always seemed that way. + 10 Defense to Fire, magical or otherwise, + 5 to learning/casting fire magic
Inventory:
Misc:
Great-sword handling 0/18
———————-
1-2:) My sword seems to be speaking to me ever since I took hold of it from the head master at the orphanage. I feel the need to swing it around a little on my own to get used to it. Despite it being so big and heavy it feels natural to use and while swinging it around there is some deep sense of joy swelling up from within.
3:) I must find this Lachlan, he could help me learn how to wield my sword with more confidence. I am not really interested much in joining the army or mercenary group but if it means I get more experience then I will go along with it.
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16656a No.52539
| Rolled 39, 64, 36 = 139 (3d100) |
>>52422
Name: Brother Bob
Fluff: Friar Bob is a member of the Church of the Imperishable in . He was orphaned, but grew up under the protection of the convent, and as caretaker of the other children who were raised there. A bright and cheerful lad, blessed with substantial magic potential to summon and manifest aspects of The Imperishable. Life in the convents is strict and while Bob does almost everything to be a model to his charges, he often wanders outside the Temple district of Loune and gets into all sorts of trouble while seeing the sights. In a pinch he can display the magical training of the Order to skedaddle in a puff of smoke and ash. The Bishop of the Church favors him, and is the only disciplinarian that can get through to him while saying "that if Bob continues to seek 'field experience' then perhaps he may one day get such an opportunity". When he is not busy training in the dead language of Nurdolian, in the study of relics from the sand gnome desert, penmanship, magic, and a host of other cultured disciplines, Bob is tasked with keeping the books on the Church, such as expeditions into the desert to retrieve relics, to make sure everything balances out.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Staff of the Imperishable] - A mainstay of wandering brothers, it allows you to cast bound spells to both impress the naive and to defend yourself.
>>Bound Spells: Illuminate, Life Siphon, Ash Cloud
Inventory:
+ [Quill and parchment] - useful for writing, also you can read.
Bonus:
+ [A Doomed Flock] - Though you and the other brothers always seem to come out fine, all of you constituents not of the cloth seem to always suffer horrible accidents and die terribly. Critfails hurt others around you more then you, and if this happens enough you and your order may face open persecution, that being said their effect on you is lessened considerably.
Misc:
Brother Bob is an early riser, and is eager to break his fast but first….
>>52538
A young man in his mid twenties wearing the robes of a monastic order, with a shaved patch on the top of his head, and some jam
"Young miss, an inn is not the safest of places even for one who is armed. Especially one with so many dark brooding corners. My Brothers at the Temple of the Imperishable offer sanctuary, and knowledge of this world and the next. It is just across the river from the market district, in the temple district. I have taken the liberty of drawing some directions on this napkin from here to there, as the city be can quite labyrinth to anyone new to it. Fair travels young miss, unless you care to join me for breakfast?"
>>52272
"Master Dawi, would you be interested in taking at look at the Temple of the Imperishable? We had a most unfortunate buttress succumb to its own weight, and would be willing to repay your efforts with coin or knowledge."
1 Having spent a bit of time writing down a few simple maps with arrow directions, symbols, and familiar shapes it will hopefully be a good aid in Cityneering.
2 The day starts with a good breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausage, biscuits and jam, milk, and some watered down watered-down-mead. Until he sees one who could most benefit from sanctuary. Extra portions for those that join me.
3 Pray to The Imperishable. May His will manifest, and shape the inner power. May the spirits borne from His ash and fire commune to me their desire. Should I be one who can listen, let me do this favor and receive boon in kind. Amen.
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288f81 No.52546
| Rolled 43, 9, 72 = 124 (3d100) |
>>52481
Name: Skjorun, Dwarven Seeker
Fluff: Amongst the Dawi there is a tradition. An oddity to the humans to know them, but to the dour Dwarves it makes sense. For the History of the Dawi belongs to all Dawi, not any single person, family, Clan or even King. Thus when a Dwarf swears to be a seeker, a hunter of the lost bits of the Dawi golden age, The foreswear their clan and family names to go on the longest, hardest, most perilous journeys the dwarves have had since the fall of the fell Homunculi.
Skjorun once a member of Clan Aurumhold, always had a love for the Old Glories, the tales of Alraic the mad, and other Dawi heroes of antiquity. This came to a head when during a mining foray his party uncovered a lost hold that had been buried under the rock in the Underway. Unfortunately the Hold had new occupants, Jobi, or Ogres. They slaughtered most of the party, Skjorun only survived due to an old Dawi Axe falling from it's position over the door of the hall onto the Ogre chasing him, killing it and scaring the others off. The half mad Dawi made his way up from the tunnels with weapon in hand, passing out once he had reached the gates of his clan's hold.
When he awoke he was celebrated, for the venerable weapon he carried home was the Clan weapon of one of the lost clans, a clan that had died out to the predations of the foul Umli. It's recovery means the remnants of the Clan could be reforged, and the spirits of it's ancestors were restored to the Dawi people. A great boon to the waning but hard headedly stubborn race. Following this Skjorun knew what his new path in life should be, one of a seeker. To go into the depths and darkness and finds what bits of light the Dawi left behind in them.
Over many years Skjorun lost his untempered youth, necessity turning him into a adept warrior as well as a librarian, for the smallest bits of lore could mean the difference between finding the lost history he sought, or returning to his people empty handed. That he could not abide. So upon hearing a rumor, of a fragment of luminescent white stone in the human Kingdom of Eidolon, he left the Clan archive of the royal family, where he had been looking for more leads, and left the Dawi lands seeking perhaps the most valuable relic that was or could be, a piece of the Hammer of the Kings.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Pickaxe] - Its not much but it cleaves stone and caves in skulls in equal measure. Harder to hit small targets with it though. -15/+10/+30 to small/similar/large targets.
Inventory:
+ [Lore of the Dawi] - A book that is mostly complete with the total history of the Dawi people from the first recorded event of dwarven history; the War with the Giants, to the most recent event, being your finding of Rune Axe of Clan Heldenlarr. Allows one to pass a dawi lore check automatically.
Bonus:
+ [Seeker] - Somehow you are drawn to the artifacts of the world that was, despite having no appreciable magical talents (yet). When looking for a clue or lead for your next hunt, or any treasure in general, you must simply pass a dc 30 roll to be granted a clue, with greater detail given the higher the roll. In addition to this you receive a + 15 to searching for treasure or locating an artifact once in its general vicinity.
Misc:
1. Explore this… Teuton excuse for a city. The stonework here is an insult to masons, and the drink is basically more or less some variation of piss. Still I will need to where I am going here, and any dawi knows that the surface of the stone can hide the Riches within.
2. In addition to finding my bearings, I need to seek out the local rumor mill. See what they have concerning the possible fragment of godsplitter.
+Seeker
3.Finally find where the other dawi frequent in this place. Mayhaps I can find somewhere to stay, or at least a REAL drink.
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4c5613 No.52551
>>52539
"I'm a Runesmith lad, not a mason. If ya want some nice magic work done I'm ya Dawi. Gonna cost ya a good chunk 'a gold. Otherwise best ya go find a proper stone mason for ya repairs."
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16656a No.52556
>>52551
"Ahhh a runesmith, how fascinating. Are you perhaps looking for work in our good city then? The Imperishable Temple's Bishop or myself could perhaps patron the good Runesmith…but where are my manners, you may call be Brother Bob."
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4c5613 No.52558
>>52556
"Quick work'll do. If ya got work needs done and gold up front I can get ya something."
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16656a No.52561
>>52558
"I shall see what funds can be found, otherwise I will go about gathering the funds myself. Would you care to join me for breakfast mister…?"
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4c5613 No.52562
>>52561
"Gundrick Ironsoul, and aye I'll join ya for breakfast."
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4c5613 No.52565
| Rolled 41, 14, 100 = 155 (3d100) |
>>52518
Name: Gundrik Ironsoul
Fluff: Deep within the carved halls of the Dawi the Ironsoul clan have practiced and refined the art of magic throughout the years. Like many dwarf clans the art of a trade is passed down and refined though the generations, bringing in ideas from other crafts for the sole purpose of progressing their own. For the Ironsoul they are ruled by their ancient, and possibly undead (although those rumors were never confirmed), patriarch the great Venrok Ironsoul. The clan holdings include a great hall where clan members may demonstrate, teach, and brag about their achievements in the art of magic with a gathering every 50 years to spread knowledge throughout the clan and for all apprentices to present their own research and become a true runesmith of the clan. Gundrik, like all Ironsouls, is a runesmith and a fairly young one. Fresh out of his apprenticeship he has learned from many masters within the clan and all have deemed him both knowledgeable with magic and able to learn within the great hall. Sadly his research on the nature of the sites of power throughout the world was barely accepted, and even that took days of arguing and judgement from records dating back hundreds of years. Annoyed Gundrik set off to find a site of power untapped by another wizard and claim it for his own study and use. He will refine his studies until none can say it is only speculation and legends.
Health: 10/10
Gear: + [Dowsing Rod] - A y-shaped rod that can be used to help pinpoint magical sites. Also thick enough to be used as a cudgel. +5 to targets smaller and the same size as you. + 10 to larger targets.
Inventory:
+ [Rune Chisel and Hammer] - A Dawi specialty, allows one to carve magic runes and imbue items with magic. Note: only the chisel is magical, so don't lose it.
Inventory:
Bonus: + [Ironsoul] - You are determined and unwilling to accept defeat, even for a Dwarf! Undeterred by failure, you can ignore the negative effects of 1 critfail through sheer Dwarven grit once every 10 turns.
Misc:
Artificing - Runesmithing Lvl 4 (lvl 4 spells)
1. I need something to work on for my own projects. Talk to a local blacksmith to trade my skills as a runesmith to get some iron rods and some coins. +Runesmithing lvl 4
2. Being in such uncivilized lands is no reason to give up my studies. See if I can learn a bit about mechanics.
3. Get a reading from the dowsing rod. It is a long shot but let's see.
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8193ee No.52571
| Rolled 88, 96, 55 = 239 (3d100) |
>>52565
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Greatbow] - A bow as tall as a very large man, capable of draw strength's greater then the tension used to pull most small ballista back. Can also put what would grossly misrepresent as an "arrow" through a tree at 150 paces. -20/-5/+20 to smaller/similar/larger targets
+ [15 Great Arrows] - The human-length ammunition for your massive bow
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Degenerates] - You are seen by your elder cousins as an abomination, and will find no kinship in them. -45/-10/+5 to charisma actions involving giants/elder races/younger races.
+ [A Smith's Son] - Though your father is unfamiliar to you, his craft is not, and though hard, long hours in the forge you have gain a great understanding of the craft of metalworking. +10 to smithing actions.
Misc:
>>52565
"Greetings, sir Dawi. I am a traveler from afar. I've heard tales of the Dawi and their skill at the art of craft and smithing, I myself am a blacksmith seeking to improve my own abilities. Might I offer my labour and assistance if you would permit me to follow you around and learn alongside you?"
1. Offer my own services to the local blacksmith. I'd be happy to lend my strength into any task, be it expanding his forge by hewing wood and stone, pumping a bellow, and I am able to work with human sized hammer and anvil. 'Tis not so different from the use of the small jeweler's anvil that gemcrafters and ringmakers do.
2. I have always aspired to read, but I have had to have others read for me. Human books are. . .small. But I have heard in the large cities there are those who can craft reading glasses for persons of poor eyesight. Perhaps someone might craft me a pair of glasses so I can read human print.
3. I am going to need a source of iron for things I want to craft, as well I can aid the blacksmith who allows me to work for them at once. Look for a local mining guild to work for part time, asking in payment not gold but a cut of ore and coal. I can then share some of this to the blacksmith, and use the rest for myself.
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8193ee No.52572
>>52539
A very tall man approaches Friar Bob.
"Greetings, I see you are a man of the cloth. I have always respected those who practice a lifetime of devotion and studies. I have found many temple men to be of learned mind and knowledgeable.
I am Lorn, a half-giant. I come here hoping to learn. As well as to find work."
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16656a No.52573
>>52572
"Greetings Lorn Half-Giant, you may call me Brother Bob. I a am indeed of the cloth, a friar of the Imperishable Church. Let us then begin your jouney to enlightenment. Your first lesson in Loune….is simple but one of the most important lessons, never skip breakfast. You as well are welcome to break your fast at this table".
Once he is seated Brother Bob continues
"You will find the city to be a cosmopolitan one, as the great harbor cities tend to be. Many sailors, merchants, and other traveling folk find their way here. Many wish to absolve themselves and seek enlightenment from their religions. Such is how my Order, The Church of the Imperishable, came to this city on the backs of traveling merchants, monks, and armored warriors. So there is much work to be done for the able, willing, and skilled."
After another helping of biscuits, one with bacon gravy and one with jam, he goes on to say
"It is a fine church for learning and you would be welcome to pursue enlightenment within as any is welcome to pursue enlightenment. I feel you may have need of several monks and their associates to further your learning; a translator, teacher, runner, bookmakers, woodcraft, etc, and accommodations in one of the meditation halls as opposed to quarters. Expensive, but certainly doable for a man with means."
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4c5613 No.52575
>>52571
"Ai, the tales are all true. I am, however, a Runesmith and ain't ya normal smith. I also ain't very keen on trading ma clan's secrets. If you want somethin' enchanted I'm lookin' for some iron rods and coin."
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ee0196 No.52576
| Rolled 24, 13, 52 = 89 (3d100) |
>>52412
Name: In his home tongue it is similar to the sound "TakTicsss" So in Common language he goes by Tacitus
Fluff: Tacitus is a member of the Gilded Fang Tribe, the believed most powerful and advanced tribe of kobolds in all of the realm. In their underground stronghold within the mountains of _ they have controlled this territory for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and unlike many of their kin they have done so without a larger more "powerful" race to rule over them. They have amassed a massive amount of treasure which has led to their namesake of their important member gilding one of their front fangs, and have advanced far enough with their digging to even have somewhat successful underground agriculture and plumbing. And yet after all these years they are still seen as pests and vermin to the other races. Bands of soldiers and adventures are routinely sent to their stronghold in an attempt to drive them out and monstrous races, lesser dragons and wizard constantly attempt to insert themselves as master of the tribe, all of whom fail. Tacitus was once a scout for the Gilded Fang who's job it was the patrol the land above their subterranean home to watch for attackers, and they were good at it. Once when ambushing and looting a pile of adventurers Tacitus found a book of spells on one of the corpses and began to spend his free time studying it. Soon he learned minor cantrips and evocations and began his own experimentations on magic expanding the found tome into a spellbook of his very own. His chieftain took notice and soon promoted Tacitus from scout to his chief adviser. Tacitus spent many years in this position but soon became dissatisfied. The more he learned of the outside kingdoms the angrier he became over the lack of respect his people receive, and so he came up with an idea. The more he read he began hearing tales of ancient magical artifacts that have begun to be discovered, and thus thought that if he could acquire them for his tribe he could use them to force the other kingdoms to recognize his people as a proper empire. And Tacitus informed the chief of his decision and set out to Eidolon both in hopes of finding magical objects as well to learn how to lead his people as their first and greatest king!
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ Small Bag of Holding - Can store up to 10 items without encumbering you in the slightest
Inventory:
+ 5 [Caltrops] - 1 time use, +15 to disengaging from fights
+ [The Muintir Nemid] - Book of Spells, Contains tomes of Fire and Earth Magic, Level 1 (Up to Level 2 Spells)
Bonus:
+ [Scout] - From your time as a vanguard hiding amongst the crags of the Niðafjöll mountains in the far north of Padsland, you learned how to move unseen and strike in silence. +10 to ambush/sneaking actions
Misc:
>Deciphering the Muintir Nemid 0/15
1:Well if these lands of Gran are so dangerous then it would be best to head there among other travelers. Tacitus searches throughout the capital for any word of caravans that would be making there way towards the southern ruins.
2: Meanwhile, while looking for potential passage Tacitus spends his free time continuing to study the secrets hidden amid the Muintir Nemid.
3: Lastly he knows that his teeth shall not likely last him forever in this city, and so he begins to look around town for a bounty board or similar type of job listing in order to add some coins to his pouch.
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8193ee No.52578
>>52575
"I think I might be able to make you some iron rods, and some coin.
I see you head t'ward the library. Perhaps you might help me read along side you. Tis' not so easy for these eyes o' mine to read you know."
>>52573
Lorn bit into the head of the roasted whole pig, crunching skull bone and all. It was quite juicy and delicious, as most humanoids tend to enjoy meat even more so with the trappings of roast vegetables and stuffing.
"I'm quite interested in this Church of Imperishable, I should make myself a visit to your temple sometime. I might lend my aid, however I can, and pray you offer some of that knowledge.
I am hoping that in my journeys I might find other Half-Giants like myself."
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4c5613 No.52586
>>52578
"Consider'n it's a human library I ain't too much better."
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e9fc67 No.52587
| Rolled 17, 54, 39 = 110 (3d100) |
>>52422
Name: Balazar
Fluff: Wannabe hero turned soon to be villain.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 15/15
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory:
+ [Fragment of the Black Heat of Yadoth] - Is it real, or are you crazy? Who knows, but all that matters is that the voices in your head are real enough, and your speech eloquent enough that people may listen, and in doing so, understand. +15 to NPC charisma based actions.
Bonus:
+ [Hollow Man] - You're half the man you used to be (this feeling as the dawn it fades to gray). Its debatable whether or not you lost your soul, but you feel like you did, and the few instances of you suffering Holy magic attacks hurt more then they should. Still, you feel more resilient, and heal faster, then you thought was possible for a human, maybe even cheat death, for a price of course.
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
1. Patriarchate? That could mean a lot of things but in a city of commerce it surely referred to the head of a trading family or something of the sort, men of great wealth and sometimes power. But what were the voices telling him? That he should strike an alliance? Or perhaps one of the patriarchs had come in possession of a good that Balazar should make his own? He would ask around about the patriarchs
+ Fragment (+15)
2. While being somewhat of an upcoming adventurer Balazar had no sword or spell book on him. He would do his best to find either or both and help out its previous owner however much he had to in order to keep it. Of course he would use his charms to keep this effort as little as possible.
+ Fragment (+15)
3. Finally he would need people to spread the word and support him when the time had come, Balazar would make friends with the lowest of the low. Slowly seeping his right to rule and corruption into their minds through casual unsuspecting conversation and a few pieces of bread here and there.
+ Fragment (+15)
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a1d629 No.52649
>>52259
-Name: Darius Kaesar
-Fluff: In his youth, Darius had long suspected himself born beneath a poor astrological sign. After his mother passed during childbirth, the infant was taken in by his Uncle Elton. While Elton was a relatively kindhearted man, he was a false priest and con-artist who traveled the southern regions of Eidolon selling faux holy trinkets and other snake oils to amass a fortune. While Elton treated Darius quite well, the youth resented his uncle for all that he had done. In every village, Darius was forced to look upon the faces of those his uncle had instilled with a false sense of hope. Many times, Darius would ask himself whether those who had been granted false happiness were truly happy. At the age of fourteen, Darius watched as Elton was finally discovered and arrested for his crimes in the small village of Petrescus. Despite his uncle's pleas for Darius to pay his bail, the youth absconded with Elton's fortune and left in pursuit of his own wants: to seek out and set right wrongs in the world. To give true hope to the people where so much false hope was given. Darius used his uncle's funds to purchase a small shack amidst the Lyrewoods of southern Eidolon along with a fine blade and armor. Each morning, Darius would rise to pay his respects to and polish his blade and armor beneath dim candlelight. When the sun finally rose, he would begin to train his body and swordsmanship, seeking to achieve the peak of his physical capabilities. This process was repeated day in and day out, broken up only by a weekly visit to a nearby settlement for supplies and to give prayer at a small temple. By the age of twenty-two, Darius had plateaued in strength and skill. Still, he did not cease his training. With each day and repetition of his processes, diminutive improvements were made. With each sliver of improvement, Darius came closer to exceeding his limits. It was the greater half of a decade before Darius once again saw true improvement, but with that improvement he was reaffirmed in his goals. At the age of thirty-seven, Darius's funds had finally depleted and he determined it finally time to set out from his home. He began his march north towards Loune, prepared to walk the path he had worked so hard to carve for himself.
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a1d629 No.52654
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fc23e2 No.52660
>>52649
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Plate Armor] - The pinnacle of person protection, it gives a whopping - 40 to attack rolls made against you, but it also has several drawbacks. It gets hot in that armor and helmet, so prolonged fighting will put a impetus on you as well (-5 to all rolls every 2 rounds fighting in armor) In addition to this you also lack a full range of vision due to your helmet, and must spot enemies not directly infront of you to properly engage them (dc 35)
+ [Longsword and Shield] - Further deterrence from messing with your personage. Grants a +10/+25/+10 to small/similar/large sized targets. Shield Grants an additional -15 to rolls against you, but requires an action to use and prevents you from attacking effectively (-20 to attacks made the same turn)
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Mit Gott für König und Vaterland] - There is a rot in Eidolon, you can feel it in the air. The world is changed. Much that once was is now lost, for none now live that remember it. Still there are those who guard against the coming of the darkness, who stand as bastions of light and hope in these every darkening times. You are one of them, and will find kinship in those like yourself. In addition to this you can detect the evil in others, though if you fall to it yourself the last bit of goodness in you will cause you to destroy yourself.
Misc:
Leaving the shack behind, you depart your home for the last few decades and impart upon your journey, arriving to the edge of the woods that have been your shelter for many a year. You arrive at the edge of the woods, and the start of the road that will carry you most of the way to Loune. The sun is setting, and you decide to make camp. Holding fast to your ways you remove and polish all off your armor and equipment, and retire for the night to your quickly pitched tent. You don't dream that night, and when you awake you are eager to get back on your way. You figure you are about a days travel from Tevilles.
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cf29e3 No.52661
| Rolled 41, 56, 100 = 197 (3d100) |
>>52660
-Name: Darius Kaesar
-Fluff: https://pastebin.com/eeZ5FaBv
-Health: 10/10
-Gear:
+[Plate Armor] - The pinnacle of person protection, it gives a whopping - 40 to attack rolls made against you, but it also has several drawbacks. It gets hot in that armor and helmet, so prolonged fighting will put a impetus on you as well (-5 to all rolls every 2 rounds fighting in armor) In addition to this you also lack a full range of vision due to your helmet, and must spot enemies not directly infront of you to properly engage them (dc 35)
+[Longsword and Shield] - Further deterrence from messing with your personage. Grants a +10/+25/+10 to small/similar/large sized targets. Shield Grants an additional -15 to rolls against you, but requires an action to use and prevents you from attacking effectively (-20 to attacks made the same turn)
-Inventory:
-Bonus:
+[Mit Gott für König und Vaterland] - There is a rot in Eidolon, you can feel it in the air. The world is changed. Much that once was is now lost, for none now live that remember it. Still there are those who guard against the coming of the darkness, who stand as bastions of light and hope in these every darkening times. You are one of them, and will find kinship in those like yourself. In addition to this you can detect the evil in others, though if you fall to it yourself the last bit of goodness in you will cause you to destroy yourself.
-Misc:
1,2,3. I shall continue on my path until I reach Tevilles. While my destination is Loune, it would be imprudent to ignore the potential plights of a people in need. Assuming I reach the settlement in good time, I shall inquire about the settlement's troubles and offer my aid. In return, all I request is sustenance and shelter.
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19a072 No.52662
>>52263
Name: Aidritch the Strange
Fluff: Aidritch has been described variably as "some kind of wiseman" or "some kind of madman". His robes seem to have been constructed by someone who didn't realize the value of their materials, it was silk at some point, but is now mostly composed of patches, many of which are fine furs or even cloth of gold. His form is weighted down by three tombs of power, whose contents would not condone being contained in a single volume, bound in heavy chains to his cuirass. Stepping off a boat he likely didn't realize was full of terrified pirates, he looks around the city. "Eidolon, at last. Time to expand the library."
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b70a35 No.52667
>>52662
more like homo the sexual
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19a072 No.52669
>>52667
Very sexual, thank you very much.
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19a072 No.52671
>>52662
To clarify, he has three opposing forces to choose from. Those tomes are not necessarily filled.
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fc23e2 No.52672
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19a072 No.52673
>>52672
You could just say "no"
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713261 No.52805
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713261 No.52819
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fc23e2 No.52899
>>52519
1/2/3. For a "man" with little to his name you have no means of buying anything that would allow you to make the finer inks that you know of, but there are plenty of fires in the city with plenty of ash and burnt wood in them, and though many are disturbed by what appears to be the giant poster talking to them, they do not object to you taking their former kindling. After almost igniting yourself on a still-smoldering piece of burnt wood, you more carefully select pieces and store them in your bag. After collecting what amounts to the most basest of materials, you chat up some local tradesmen in their printshops and the local librarian about local methods of ink production. The capital elite is very found of purple, and this is reflected in their preference for ink as well. The pigment itself is obtained from crushing the seashells of a mussel that grows in the waters off the western coast, and its use is restricted strictly to the nobility, all others found using it facing the death penalty. Men make their fortunes off of making this ink, and its distinctive and radiant color can be seen on all imperial documents. The common man uses a variety of ink shades composed of differing materials, really whatever is on hand and cheapest, though for certain works certain shades and materials are used. For the slave market and to mark serfs and peasants, lords and traders use several types of indelible inks, with varying shades use to denotate different statuses and other miscellaneous statuses. Trading documents and governmental decrees are usually written in either a green or deep blue ink for instance, while religious texts are usually a orangish color (for the Solarian Church, which is the Imperial Faith). As you are aware, inks can have several different recipes depending upon the desired color, consistency, and persistability of the product, along with other off-aspects such as disappearing ink, or ink that can be quickly erased with the application of a substance, but all hold the standard recipe of a pigmented substance, a solvent (usually water) that allows the pigment to be suspended and flow, and typically some other stabilizing substance that holds the entire mixture together over a long period of time, which is usually either some thick substance like resin or in some case egg whites or emulsified fat. You learn much about the local method of ink production, and along with the charcoal and ash you've collected, are not far off from producing your first batch.
+ 1 [Charcoal & Ash] - can be used for any myriad of purposes, but in your case can be used to make 1 Batch (approximately 1 Liter) of ink
>>52520
1/2/3. You stumble in the darkness at first, grasping ahead of you, searching for some hand or foot hold of a wall, something from which you can begin to make real progress on escaping this abyss. The dark is comforting to you, but now it smothers more then anything. You have been asleep for eons, you can feel in in your bones, smell it in the stale air. Nothing has moved through this space in ages, and with every footstep you can both feel and smell the dust rising in the room as the accumulated detritus of centuries is cast with each ponderous step forward. After several minutes you finally feel the cool sensation of stone on your hand, you have found a wall, and from there you move along its length trying to find a gap, a hall, and from there, hopefully freedom.
The sensation of hope is a strange one, to you it almost feels like a poison, but you feel it all the same, and its effect doubles when your hand finally leaves the wall and emerges once more in the empty air of a hallway. Freedom is close, so very close…
> Emerging from the Abyss 3/10
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fc23e2 No.52900
>>52521
1/2/3. You keep to your table, listening in on the conversations that occur. Oddly enough you recognize some cognates in the words being used, some sound oddly like the sparse bit of Russian you know, and every once in a while you swear you hear a word that sounds remarkably like "fuck" and its various conjugations and alterations. Sitting for a few hours and observing you do manage to learn a few local words and phrases which your pretty sure you have pinned down, such as; "Give me a Beer/Mead.", "Whore", and "I'll have some Ham." Alongside are what you think are several swear words, but you don't quite know for sure if they are that. Leaving the tavern you head towards the market, which you find by following carts laden with goods. A venerable canvas tent city, you walk around the humongous area and listen to the transactions taking place and the calls of merchants plying their wares. After several more hours of this you feel that you have some common trade goods down pat, such as "Cloth" and "Water", "Spices" and "Fermented Bull Testicles". Along with this comes something of an understanding of the currency used, or rather of some of some of the currencies used; You saw no less then 15 distinct types of coins or other items used as what you thought to be money, and different words used where one would describe the name and quantity of the bills as well. At the end of day you develop quite the headache, but you do manage to find several small coins that all look similar on your way back to the tavern. Using several of the coins you practice your first sentence, "I Beer need give us ass fish" being the rough translation (not that you would know). The Barman looks insulted at first, before one of the patrons besides you turns and quickly says a sentence that seems to soothe the barman, who takes your money (which happened to be 3 times what a beer costs, not that you would know that either) and gives you what is actually the cheapest booze he's got behind the counter (again, unknown to you). You take a quick gulp and almost heave. This is worse then the stuff you used to make after browsing all those /sig/ threads of /pol/ and /k/ and /out/. The patron who saved your skin laughs, and then turns to and speaks in fluent english "You must be new here then, I take it? Your Eidolish needs work, and you somehow worked some Elvish in a small amount of Uyygur into that insult you just hurled at the Barman."
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fc23e2 No.52902
>>52522
1. A crow is watchful, and in its watchfulness it both spots items it can use, while also keeping an eye out for the owner of those items. Luckily for you you are infact a walking, if not talking, crow, and make use of your skills to tactically acquire enough supplies to make it to Dampouran comfortably. Fortunately for you plenty of people in the capital are willing to leave their imperishable and provisionable goods within claw's reach, along with a Kenku-sized child's cloak for the road and a small dagger found in the back of a man in a small alley.
+ [Tattered Cloak] - Can be used to keep the rain and mud off, and to hide your identity (Aside from your large beak)
+ [Rusty Dagger] - Brittle, old, but will work in a pinch. +15 to smaller targets, +10 to similar targets, and -5 to larger targets.
+ 3 [Travel Rations] - Good for 5 turns, must be eaten on the road to maintain health, 1 used per day of travel (1 turn being a day, etc.)
2/3. You gather what things you have and set off for the border town of Dampouran, departing from the tavern and taking the south-easterly road past the main market-square, through the city and past one of the worst slums in the Capital, and heading out the Lion's Gate and crossing the Kunibald River, which flows from the south and out to the Bay of Beäulou. You arrive on the other side, leaving the last parts of Loune in the form of a small town of craftsmen and simple folk, and after helping yourself to a slice of pie that someone had so willingly left on their windowsill to cool, you turn and head down the Klingsfeldst Road to Dampouran, and soon enough the tilled fields and occasional cottage turns into dense woods with trees as tall as castle towers and just as thick. You are about 3 days (3 turns) from Dampouran, Your route taking you through Cenay, down to the Border Fortress-city of Bois, and Finally across the Raffzigt hills to your destination of Dampouran. You can reach Cenay in half a day (you're able to spend 1 action as if you were in the city itself, if you want details of it pm me) and make it half the way to Bois, the other 2 days will be reaching Bois and then arriving at Dampouran.
+ [On the Road] - You are out of the relative safety of civilization, and any low roll will be worse as you are both alone and away from the defending shield of law and order. You must also consume a item of food a day (done automatically) or spend an action to forage for food, otherwise you will lose health.
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fc23e2 No.52906
1/2/3. You hunger for battle, and battle you shall have! It just so happens that a particularly bad batch of Uruks have taken up residence in the sewers underneath the Merchantile quarter directly outside of the city walls (the 5 on the map in the bend of the river) and the city guard that has been dispatched to deal with them have not returned. Ergo the city guard has put out a call for any qualified person of ample martial skill to rid the remarkably large sewers of the city of their Uruk infestation. As an Elf you have a particular hatred for the Uruks, their origin said to come from the tortured and twisted Elvish prisoners taken by the Umli in the Old wars, and the gnomish ancestors that now dwell in the old Umli heartlands. You tear the bounty poster off the post it was nailed too and head to the nearest guard station and demand more details. The guard is intimidated by not only your anger, but your armor and form as well. Most elves are not as muscled as you, know more for their lithe and elegant forms. Your knife-ears are the only distinguishing feature that sets you apart from a well-defined man. The guard stammers out the details of the contract. 5 Gold pieces per Orcish head, and 1 per Goblin Head. There is also rewards for finding the missing guardsmen, alive or dead, and the several dozen citizens that have gone missing as well. Furthermore if you can map out the locations of Uruk pits in the Sewers (breeding sites) and/or destroy them, your reward will also be increased and you will be granted 1 favor from the Prince.
You depart immediately and head towards the Merchant district , the same guard you had explain the nature of the bounty to you escorting you to the same entrance that the city guard had entered. As you make your way towards it you see the change in the demeanor of the people as you step into the part of the city that has been ravaged by the Uruk's midnight raids. Doors are barred shut, and windows boarded over with wood and steel rods. Piles of food and goods are set out in an effort to deter the Uruks from breaking down the meager barriers to people's homes and doing unspeakable things to people inside. Occasionally you see a dark brown stain on the pavement, and occasionally a few scraps of flesh or the occasional finger or bone. This only hardens your resolve, these simpletons are vulnerable, afraid. It is up the Elder races to guide the Lesser races, despite their own dwindling numbers. You would be a shining example to these people and harden their hearts of the horrors of this world, to its monsters and its pain. As you muse on this your thoughts are interrupted by the Guardsmen, who informs you that "This is tha place Mr. Elf-sir, please don't hurt me, I've a family waiting for me back home."
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fc23e2 No.52908
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fc23e2 No.52912
>>52535
1. Your emergence into this world has disoriented you greater then you had first realized, and when trying to orient yourself to the magic of this sphere you are overwhelmed. Stumbling around in the muck as your vision goes hazy, your "senses" overwhelmed. You finally fall into the muck, and in your anger at this indolent new form, you idle-mindedly cast a force spell and throw the water and mud around you about and away from your form.
> Mana: 14/15
2. Cursing your rashness, you instead see what this body can do aside from stumble about. You leave the tepid waters that you had apparated into. Arriving at a tree at the edge of the waters you squarely face it, forming your black, hawkish digits into a fist and striking the tree. Its bark peels away from your touch, and the wood you strike turns black with rot. The actual physical force of your strike is not too impressive, not much stronger then that of what amounts to the average being on this plane, but the additive effect of your touch decaying and destroying organic matter is most impressive, most impressive indeed. You turn and grab a fistful of reeds as well, and they too slowly rot and fall from your hand. Finally, a creature that is ponderously walking by, its movement constricted by its heavy shell, is snatched up in your claws. It is alarmed at first, before a slight scream escapes its beaked mouth. It goes limp, and your fingers make its shell peel and crack, until you are only holding the bones that lie underneath its decorative outer coating, the rest of the beast a slurry beneath you.
3. You look up into the night sky. It is a cloudless night, and the hot air… what is hot? Irregardless, the stale, warm air gives you a uninterrupted view of the night sky. Stars twinkle above, and behind them in radiant glory shines the vast expanse of existence. Worlds were born and died in the dark, and by the slight flicker of distant suns did some of them have their myriad of surfaces, no two alike, illuminated, if only for the briefest of moments. There was a calm in it, the flow of energy in existence, a brevity exchanged between the void and the small sparks of creation the existed as tiny islands in the abyss. There was a balance, a order. Light and Dark, presence and absence, something and nothing. Energy flowed and returned, worlds burned into existence and disintegrated into nothing as time marched forwards on its inexorable quest to end all things. Only in certain spots did you sense a disturbance to this order, an aberration to the natural beauty of the cosmos. Life, it poisoned all that it touched, used the force of magic for its own purpose, and corrupted the magnificence of creation with its own paltry attempts at the game of beings far beyond their understanding. This is your purpose, as it has always been and always will be. This "life", this cosmic mistake, must be eradicated, before it can spread and infest all that is with its sickness…
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fc23e2 No.52921
>>52536
1. Awakening at the crack of dawn, you get a small but earnest breakfast of ham and grits, as you are accustomed too. Downing a small cup of mead (non-alcholic) and heading out you wander on down to the docks, a short walk from the tavern, with a pep in your step and a tune on your tongue. You find a nice little soapbox and stand upon it, straightening your cloak and coif, and open your mouth and allow the word of the Lord to come forth. People come to you and gather around as your lyre as you fill the air with the sounds of wonderment, and soon others are joining in, after only 1 verse no less! A large crowd forms , and the raucous chorus soon becomes a heavenly choir. This continues on for several minutes, before you begin to wrap up your song. People are sad at first, as if something beautiful was stripped from them. They are even more bewildered when you descend from on high to mingle among them, telling them of the glory of the Lord and how the song they just enjoyed and joined in was only possible due to his will. Many are interested, and ask to hear more of this Lord of which you speak. Though others seem to be watching you from a distance, cloaked figures in white robes, whispering to each other and pointing at you…
2. You continue your song and musical routine for the rest of the day, and to your surprise the crowd seems to be getting larger and larger each time, though the people do seem to be changing as well. A lot more bald people show up as the day goes on, and their smiles seem forced, but still you persist. They seem more intent on you preaching somewhere else, somewhere quiet. This works out for you because you were looking for a place to preach from, a solitary place where you can guide a new flock in the to light. A nice man instructs you to follow him, he is very interested in your lord and has a vacant warehouse from which you can preach your sermons to the growing congregation you have here. You follow the man to a shady part of town, but you do not judge, for the lord's will is at work here…
3. Oh God, Oh God, what is happening. You were following the man down a alleyway near the Slums near the craftsmen's district in the center of the city when everything went dark. Where are you? Why is it so… so hot? You can't see, your face feels wet. Oh Lord, oh God, please… please not like this…
>Health: 5/10
+ [Blinded and Bound] - Your hands and feet are tied. You can't see from the blood covering and caked over your eyes. The room is getting hotter and hotter around you…
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31f0fd No.52933
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Grimmwald the Monster Slayer
Fluff:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3Ha8GCv788
Grimmwald was born as the son of a mighty Vinod warrior, a stalwart protector of the peaks and clouds the Vinod call home. For much of his childhood Grimmwald lived in his father's shadow, with expectations upon him to achieve greatness as well and to fill his father's very large shoes. With this in mind, when his coming-of-age rolled around Grimmwald elected to take on perhaps the highest calling of the Vinod - the slaying of their corrupted and evil Aslardi cousins. To this end he was trained in a variety of weapons, from sword to spear and from hammer to greatbow. The Aslardi were perhaps the greatest enemy of the Vinod, an insult to their very being, and as such no amount of training or trials was too much to ensure their extermination. Grimmwald proved to be a capable learner, showing this by his first victory over a roving band of Aslardi raiders, holding the distinction of getting the most kills from among the other young giants who accompanied him. However, this distinction was not enough for young Grimmwald. As he spent time in the lowlands he realized that the Aslardi weren't the only dangers this world faced. Great and fell beasts roamed the world, just waiting to bring destruction to anything that lies in their path. Thus Grimmwald decided to take on the life of a monster slayer, using his formidable size combined with the huge weapons he wields (most notable his trusty greatsword, whose sheer weight and sharpness is designed to pierce through thick hide and tough scales alike) make him a valuable asset indeed in this field, and no job is too big for Grimmwald, be it Aslardi, dragon, ogre or whatever else the wild may throw at him! By the time he is done down here he will surely have proven that he is worthy of his father's blood or he will die a warrior's death trying!
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52942
>>52538
1/2. Arising in the morning and after a quick breakfast, you pick up your slab of metal and go out to the wide, open courtyard and decide to train with it. Setting up several targets from empty ale barrels filled with sand and several grain sacks suspended from poles, you get to work practicing your swordsmanship. The first few swings are lackluster, as to be expected. You treat the sword more like a blunt stick, tossing it about without care for the striking edge. Eventually after getting sore enough hands and almost taking your own head off you begin to get the hang of it, not swinging the sword as if it were something you were holding, but rather as an extension of yourself, as another, longer, part of your arms. You cleave clean through a barrel when the tavern owner comes out and yells at you to… "Stop making such a fookin' mess!" Apologizing, you put everything back to where you found it, shirking the ire of the barman, who in return for you cleaning up after yourself "Won't charge ya double for tha cleanin' fee!"
> Large Weapon Handling 3/10
3. Packing up your items and leaving the tavern, you depart for the place where multiple people have directed you as the whereabouts of Lachlan the Old, deep within the market district. It takes the better part of a day to find the old shack, and when you do you almost miss it due to its sorry state.
"Truly no one could live here UgU " You say, grabbing ahold of the small doorknob, which is more a rusted flask lid then a knob, and turning a door with more holes in it then Heimish cheese. Turning it, it turns to dust in your hands, but the door opens all the same, or rather it falls from its rusted hinges. A knife flies past your face, scratching it underneath your eye and embedding itself to the hilt in the soft wood of the doorframe near your head. "Who are you, and why did you BREAK MY DOOR?!" a mountain of a man (and just as grey as stone) emerges from the shadows, in worn leather and sporting one blazing eye. He's easily 2 heads taller then you and 3 times as wide, and your sword in his hands would go from being massive to just "large". Breaking you from your observations with a pointed reminder of his previous question; "I said what the fuck da ye want? Are ya deaf, or did the flames that made you inta a half-jerky lass spares yer ears but rot ya mind?"
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f328c3 No.52956
>>Stat sheet:
Name: Wolf-Breaker
Fluff: Wolf-Breaker is the Common name of Kop'r-Mur, a warrior from the savage tribes of the North, beyond civilization, where reindeer, seals, and sometimes small whales make up the majority of the average person's diet. There, the Ra'akal people thrive. Barely human by some scholars' standards, the Ra'akal are short and stout, though not to the extent of the Dawi, and are universally hairy with heavy brows, powerful leg muscles, and keen eyes. Ra'akal society is based on the migratory extended family, or the Ra'ak, which is typically comprised of a patriarch, 3-8 other elders, as many as 30 adult males, their wives from other Ra'ak, and their children. Warriors are the highest class among the Ra'ak, after the patriarch and elders, and have lived as laborers, craftsmen, and hunters. The duty of the warrior is twofold: to protect the Ra'ak and its beasts from vicious animals and monsters like bears, wolves, lynxes, trolls, frost giants, and wyrms, and to make war with other Ra'ak, should the elders deem it necessary. Wolf-Breaker did not earn his adult name until his second year as a hunter, when he, his brother, and his father, Great Caribou Herd, were set upon by wolves out on the lake ice while they were hunting for seals. The wolves savaged his brother, tearing him to shreds before Wolf-Breaker's eyes. As the wolves turned on the remaining two men, a fight ensued. Wolf-Breaker's father killed two wolves with a spear, and Wolf-Breaker clubbed in a wolf's head with his seal-club. The fight took a turn for the worse when Great Caribou Herd was bitten on the arm, and cold no longer hold his spear, and Wolf-Breaker was knocked over, and his club knocked away, by a fifth wolf. Wolf-Breaker then fearlessly plunged his arm down his wolf's gullet, so that it could not close its mouth or breathe, and tore out its insides with his clutched fist. He then lunged for the wolf attacking his father, gripped it by the upper and lower jaws, and with tremendous effort, snapped the beast's maw. The wolf fled, and Wolf-Breaker and Great Caribou Herd returned to the Ra'ak, carrying four dead wolves and a dead hunter. Wolf-Breaker was given honor, a name, and status as a warrior for his deeds. In the seven years after that, Wolf-Breaker defended his Ra'ak against the worst that the Forever Winter had to throw at them, including two she-bears at once, two packs of wolves, five enemy raids, and a troll attack. He ]also participated in ten raids on other Ra'ak, some of which earned him spoils and slaves. On one cold night, he laid by the fire in his tent, his wife and children huddled close to him, and the sound of the slaves quietly tending the camp, and he felt a great urge to explore the world. The Ra'ak was doing very well, and many other warriors had been promoted since he earned his name, so they could afford to lose one warrior.The next day, he packed his essentials, met with patriarch Elk-Sledge and the seven elders, obtained their blessing to go, as long as he brought glory to the tribe, left his family in the care of his slaves and his brothers, and journeyed until he found a road. From there, he went out to find his destiny. It has been two years since then, and in that time, he has mastered the common tongue, earned a reputation as a brutally efficient sellsword (the term being used loosely, as he usually carries a spear), and even learned how to read from some monks in exchange for protection from bandits. Now, he arrives in Eidolon, determined to find his fortune, and bring honor to his people.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 10/10
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying
Bonus: Based on Fluff
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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fc23e2 No.52969
>>52539
1. All of that map drawing does bring to you a basic understanding of city planning in the Eidolish style. Square plots that seemed to be based on proximity to certain industries and marketplaces, and care taken to clearly demarcate the borders between economically disparse populations in the city. The city was clearly planned with regions for both the poor and the rich in mind, and a wide margin of middleclass craftsmen between them. Its all quite dull, but you learn and notice it all the same.
>City Planing 2/5
2. You order an extra portion of all the staple foods and sit at the largest table in the tavern, cajoling with the awakened patrons and inviting them to join a brother of the Imperishable like yourself. Some take you up on this offer, and soon 4 individuals aside from yourself are seated at your table, eating and intently listening to your lessons on the Imperishable. Another brother enters the tavern, and offers to take your new converts to the Temple the Church has in the Patriarchate district. He also puts his hands on your shoulder as he leaves and directs your attention towards a strangely dressed elf who is whistling a happy tune to himself. "Watch out for that one, damn knife-ears and their poisonous religion. We'll try to take care of him, but if he persists then you may be called to a higher purpose brother."
+ 1 [Favor with the Temple of the Imperishable] - Grants a +15 to rolls interacting with your peers and superiors in the Church. 1 favor per dice, and per action
3. You depart from the tavern and head to the Temple of the Imperishable to pray. The sun is setting in the sky, and the whole world takes a amber hue as you pass between the umber obsidian doors to the Church, one of the larger Temples in the district, but still dwarfed by the massive Imperial Solarian Church, dedicated to the Supreme being of the Eidolish Pantheon, Solus, who created the heavens and the earth and the others gods to shepard his creation. You pass into the church, taking the handful of ceremonial dust and sand composed of a mixture of burned bodies of the dead of the church, and sand from the holy land that is the old Umli heartlands. With the handful you place it into your mouth, swallowing it while exclaiming the holy prayer of entrance; "That which is Deathless may never Die, but in Eternal Slumber may the Imperishable rise." You are one of many doing such rite, and you take your place among fellow brothers and initiates. All of you in the characteristic white robes, all men in the room bearing the shaven heads characteristic of the order as well. Raising your hoods to your heads in unison as the choir starts up in language of Old Nurdolian, your chants filling the temple as you praise the aspects of the Imperishable. The Chants begins:
" Gy'thoh gthun, Seroset w'yght
Yrggr yyrmit hyygath Hyuhun.
F'uthut Fyth't, yqit'h w'yghh
Yyth'y yth'n, Ethwygh Quyon! "
And with that all the light in the room dies. A single dull orb appears in the middle of the room, its color ever changing but always muted tone of black, brown, red or orange. A deep throbbing seems to originate from the Orb, a resonance that shakes the very walls of the room and reverberates deeply inside you and everyone else. This was it, your favorite part of the prayer sessions, and only occurring once every season. THE SELECTION! A acolyte starts to glow and slowly rises aobve the congregation, the women; terrified at first and begging to stop the ceremony, but the chanting continues on and her screams are drowned out by chorus of you and your fellow brothers. Her eyes start to glow, before bright rays of light shoot out of them. Her mouth opens as well, and tendrils of the same light pour out and fill the room, wandering around until they reach the orb, which once smooth surface is now a jagged and undulating mass. The orb suddenly shines bright, as if enriched by the light flowing out of the women, who begins to disappear and fade to a luminant gold dust that swirls around the room. The resonance of the orb reaches a crescendo, drowning out the chants of your brothers and shaking dust from the roof of the temple. Suddenly the Orb shrinks to the size of a pinhead, then illuminates the whole room as it expands rapidly, bathing all of you in yellow light.
As quickly as it began it ends. It would appear that you are not the blessed one today, but maybe next time champ!
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fc23e2 No.52988
>>52546
1. The city is immense, almost as large as the middling holds of your homeland, but still dwarfed (pun intended) by the oldest Karaks of your homeland of Felakgund in the North. It was filled with all manner of beings, mostly Teutons but the occasional Quendi, Dawi and the vary rare sight of a Vinod. While it was true that the Teutons lacked a certain sense for stoneworking that Dawi possessed (their stone buildings often composed of rough cut stone, with no care for the shaping of the rock or its contents into a more aesthetically pleasing form) they did have a knack for colors. Almost too much of a penchant for them, as some Teuton buildings were quite gaudy in the eyes of a Dwarf such as yourself. Procuring a map is easy enough, as once you leave the tavern the local cartographer's shop was a mere 200 (dwarven) paces down the alley. The foppish Teuton was elated to see a Dawi, as he was keen to explain at length that he was in progress of mapping out the remaining Dwarven realms of Gabilgathol, Buzundush, Felakgund, and Udushinbar. and have hands-on expertise would be most beneficial. He offered to pay you, not with cash, as being a map-maker did not pay very well, but with knowledge, for in his research he did discover many old dwarven holds, or at least rumored holds… "Useless to me, as I am making a map for tradesmen, not treasure hunters, but I understand you Dwarves are very keen on recovering lost artifacts. Maybe we could negotiate a mutually beneficial arrangement?"
In a sign of good faith, the man hands you his most detailed map of Loune, free of charge.
+ [Map of Loune] - Labeled and very detailed, you'd be hard pressed to get lost with this. Also contains notes for some of the more unsavory aspects of the city.
2. As you leave the Cartographers shop, you roll the complimentary map up and stuff it carefully in your satchelbag alongside all the other various scrolls, notes and tomes you possess. Considering your options, you wonder aloud what your next step should be in finding legendary dwarven treasure. This was perhaps not the smartest idea, even more so in the rundown area that you are currently in, as several individuals overhear you talk of "treasures" and "gold" as you mumble and fiddle with the collection of maps and tomes you possess. Soon a crowd gathers around you, but you are still lost in thought. A man approaches, one of his eyes cut out of his head long ago, his face covered in more scars then he has teeth, and with breath that would make a Uruk gag, he asks you a question that you do not notice; "Little man, what's that you be saying about treasure? Are ya carrying around any gold in that pack of your's dwarf. Don't be holding out on us lesser races." And with that he raises a rough club and brings it down upon your ignorant head. The blow would kill most Men, and Elves for that matter too, but Dwarves are hardy folk, and the resounding blow merely concusses you. Shaken roughly from your trance-like stupor, you quickly notice that you are surrounded by Teutons and other unsavory lesser races, all of whom present look like the most desperate dregs of their respective races, and most brandishing weapons in the form of rusty-but-deadly kitchen utensils, clubs or even the occasional maul or mallet. Quickly deciding the best course of action is to leave, you draw your pickaxe, and swinging in a wide arc, clear a way through the crowd. Without a second to waste you unleash the mighty dwarven calves that give the stout beings their reputation for "being very dangerous over short distances" and quickly escape into a back alleyway as the mob passes by.
https://getyarn.io/yarn-clip/929218cd-2da2-474b-9296-ed3a981a83fa#HyXhDG3NTV.copy
https://getyarn.io/yarn-clip/0a436417-7d7e-4eae-98df-8aec272a309b
>Health:
+ [Concussed] -
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fc23e2 No.52989
>>52988
3. Huffing and puffing and regaining your senses, you decide that what you really need is a drink, a right and proper drink, not any of that hog-swill that the Teutons called "Ale". What you needed was a real pint of Dwarven Mead, something to take the edge off and help with this concussion you seem to have gotten. Luckily for you you had just come into possession of a map of everything that a very well informed locale knew about Loune, and perhaps there was a note somewhere on this map of a Dwarven Ale house or some sort of Dwarven Guild hall or even an embassy from one of the Dwarven realms. Luckily for you there was all three, and you got your pick of them. Deciding first on a good pint you head towards "Deepbrew's Bakraz Gorog" Which according to these notes has the strongest Ale in the city.
A short time later you arrive at the distinctly dwarven building, the familiar site of the polished rock, hewn with care and set with bronze and marble warms your heart, and the heat from the roaring fires inside as you enter warms your soul. A familiar guttural call from the dwarf working behind the bar greets you as you sit down. " 'Ello cousin, what cannae do fer ye? Perhaps a pint of me special Deepbrew Kol-Grizdal will steel your soul in these trying times?" Gladly accepting the delicious ale, you began chatting with the barman and the other Dawi in the room. It turned out this tavern was run by a member of Clan Varaggorm, a sister clan to Clan Aurumhold. The owner himself comes to talk to you, and hearing your tale nods his head solemnly. "Aye, the Elder races are losing not only their people, but their history as well. If no one writes down 'oll the great deeds that we've accomplished, then when tha last Dawi dies, how can we be sure that any will remember us?" The Dwarf becomes slightly misty-eyed, before looking at you and speaking once more; "I tell you what cousin, so long as I see ya making progress on that there book o'yours, yer welcome to stay 'ere… if ye dunnae mind runnin' tha occasional errand fer me that is."
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fc23e2 No.52997
>>52565
1. You depart from the tavern in the early morning with your tools and everything you own, looking for a local smith who would even have the customer base to support enchanted items (themselves being extremely expensive ) This takes up most of your morning, and far away from the tavern in the port district. You are halfway across town before you find a smith that seems well-off enough to be selling to high-class customers. You wander inside and see immediately that the shop is packed with adventurers, some sensibly dressed in practical armor with practical weapons, and others wearing little to no armor, or armor that is just as likely to kill them as it is to protect them, with weapons either to unwieldy, flashy, or just plain stupid to be used effectively. You move past the gaggle of various races, all looking over the myriad armor and weapons set about the shop and head to the counter, asking to speak to the smith that runs this shop. The man at the counter replies that he is the smith and is very busy, and would like to know what it is that you want. You inform him that you are a runesmith, and are interested in exchanging your skill in enchanting for some of his excess supplies. The man seems unimpressed, and leaves the counter to go to his back room through some fabric that makes a makeshift door. Saddened and slightly offended, you are prepared to leave before a sword comes flying out from the same way the Blacksmith left and almost stabs you in the face if not in a sheath. Picking up the sword, you turn to the Blacksmith, who has reemerged from the back of the shop; "Jus' what tha hell do ye think yer doing Teuton!?!" You yell at the man, infuriated and insulted. "I've been tricked before, I won't be again. A customer of mine wants this sword enchanted with Lighting magic, a level 3 spell. Should be easy for you. Do that and we'll continue to work together, steal the sword and I'll break all the bones in your tiny body. You have 2 days (turns)."
+ [Iron Sword w/Sheath] - A basic sword, you aren't supposed to use it as a weapon.
> Gustav's Enchantment Quest - You've been tasked to enchant a sword with a lighting effect to prove your worth to a blacksmith of some renown. You have 2 turns to complete the enchantment.
2. You leave the blacksmith shop and decide to cool off by venturing to a nearby library and seeing if they have any books on the Teutons newly made machines of war and agriculture. They are nowhere near as advanced as Dawi designs, but there may be some novel ideas that haven't been considered by the stubborn and close-minded dwarves. You've also (though you won't admit it) read into the study of engineering as much as your other kin has, and definitely have some catch-up to do as well. Asking around for a local library open to the public, you are guided towards the more wealthy part of the city near the Military part of the city, specifically a large stone tower called the Monolith. It is imposing, easily the tallest building in the city, and also doubling as a light house. You are almost at the monolith when suddenly a building in the distance, near the slums infront of the citadel, explodes violently. It is nearing the night, but suddenly the streets are alive as the black sky is lit up bright orange, and small patches of fiery fabric comes raining down and setting smaller fires in places. The streets suddenly are filled, and you cannot help but be carried along with the crowd. For and hour you go along with them, until you finally end up outside of the city at the gate closest to the citadel on the north side of the city. By the Gods old and new, this is a disaster!
3. As the moon starts to rise in the sky, and with you far from a bed and anything else you wanted to do, you pull out your dowsing rod and pray. Walking around the edge of the city for the entire night, you start to wonder into some ruins on the Eastern plains of the city. Suddenly the dowsing rod points straight down, and as it does you begin to fall. The ground gives way beneath your feet and you tumble into darkness…
You come to some time later, not understanding where you are or how much time had been out. The Rod is beside you, perfect balanced, or rather perfectly positioned, on the bottom of its Y shaped form. You are either directly over a magical site, or your craft is terrible and you've just killed yourself. Rising and dusting yourself off, you bring out a small stick that you have "Illuminate" bound to, and shine a bright if small light in the room you are currently in. Its a tunnel, and at the end of it a cool breeze blows. You head into the wind, hoping to find a way out, but unfortunately only find yourself deeper in whatever underground complex that you seemed to have stumbled into. The Dowsing rod still points down, and as is your luck, you happen to find a stairwell…
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fc23e2 No.53051
>>52571
1. As this is a city and in fact the capital of the largest Teuton (human) empire in the the world, there are plenty of blacksmiths in the city, plenty of shitty ones and a few great ones, but your statue draws you towards the men of skill, who no doubt will be more of use to you then the local chump making nails and horseshoes. There is one in particular that you see one of your fellow compatriots from the tavern heading towards. While his experience is… interesting at best, your is much more smooth and involves less throwing of weapons and cursing. The smith is intrigued by you, "A half-breed Vinod you say? I always wondered how that would work out… Never mind, don't explain it. I would have a use for you, but before I let you anywhere near my forge, I'll need you to do a favor for me first. There's a very good customer of mine, ordered a massive greatsword all specially enchanted for whatever giant monster or person he wants to kill or whatnot. I forged the blade here, almost as tall as you are, but I had to send it off to Buzundush for the Dwarves to enchant it. Its due for pickup in their Capital of Agrum, but they don't allow any old human in their cities, let alone Elves or any other races. Giants they can stand, see them almost as a "Big Brother" if you will, and while you aren't a giant, you can pass for a really young one easily enough if you shave that gangly beard o' yours. Go and pick up my sword, bring it back here, and you can work here, I'll pay you handsomely and I'll sweeten the deal by giving you a weapon, unenchanted, from my shop on the house. What do you say, Giant ?"
2. Contemplating the Blacksmith's offer, you feign impairment when he hands you a contract that you cannot read, citing that you had "…lost my glasses when I arrived here…" as opposed to the truth of the matter being that you never were taught to read. The Blacksmith simply states that "There's a glass-maker just across the way that can make you a pair of those spectacles that yer talking about, but as many knocks as your likely to take maybe a single monocle or a reading stone is more your speed. Tell ya what, you take this here bag of coin and go get some, maybe it'll make ye look smarter to the Dwarves."
+ [Insert preferred Reading Utensil here] - Allows you to read fine print.
3. Departing from the blacksmith's abode, you head out and return to the tavern to ask around about any local mining guild that is hiring. The land around Loune is mostly flat unfortunately, but there is a small set of hills less then a day's travel away that is host to a series of iron and ore mines. There's a local rep for them in the market area, and he takes one look at you and quickly determines that while you'd be much much too big for the mines, you'd be invaluable as muscle in pulling ore loads and loading carriages, maybe even pulling them! He begins to offer you a contract for payment, but you cut him off and ask instead for raw ore and fuel for a smithy. The man looks confused for a second, before quickly doing some work on his scroll and rolling it shut, shaking your hand…
"Sounds like a deal Big Man , We'll 'ave ya by the Pit sometime this week I imagine."
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957d64 No.53135
>>52576
1. As luck would have, or rather not have it, there is one caravan heading to the southern wastes. Its easy to find, the only caravan heading south from the Iron Gate and towards Ryarquh. It is filled with burly and swarthy men, and the occasional women who looks rougher then most. Along with them is a strange beast of burden uncommon to the northern lands of Eidolon, but entirely at home in the desert. Walking upon eight spindly legs and having a body made of a solid black organic material, hard as rock and slick as an oiled elf's ass. Most noticeable is its giant claws, large as a horse each, and the massive tail ending with a sickly sharp point. It is known as a Sikorifori, and upon its back is the bulk of the caravan, and accompanying it is several other giant insectoids, upon which the rest of caravan is packing onto. Asking one of the people who seem to be tending to the beast, feeding them bits of Uruk, when the caravan is leaving, he turns sharply, accidentally splashing you with with a small bit of discharge from the Uruk intestines he was holding. As you are so short, he does not notice you at first, and when he finally does he turns and begins tending to his charge again before answering you.
"The Caravan is leaving at midnight, the we can only travel the desert at night and leaving in the daytime will put us in the dunes right at midday. We don't wait up for anyone, so if you're not back you'll have to wait another 2 weeks before we return."
2. After buying passage to the south with the last few teeth you have (now being broke) you return to your room in the tavern to provision yourself for your voyage (stealing some extra food that people seemed to be not looking at) and studying your book of spells. A cursory glance in the chapters concerning earth magic reveals a spell that would allow you to form small mounds of earth into little obedient servants. Intrigued, you kick some of the dirt off of your feet and form them into several little mounds, then turning to the page you begin the incantation, and suddenly they begin to grow, and harden, until 4 little golems are standing before you. Amazed you read on, before dropping the book in horror as you realize that you hadn't read the entire spell, and the lines you forgot to speak where the ones that anchored the golems to your will. Instead now they're roughish monstrosities unbound and only serving a will that is utterly unknown and unknowable. They will seek to grow and increase their strength, or so the book says. They must be wiped out, it further declares, before something utterly horrible happens. You look up from the book and your creations are gone.
Shutting the book and leaving the tavern, you seek to put as much distance between yourself and it.
+ 4 [Travel Rations] - Good for 5 turns, must be eaten on the road to maintain health, 1 used per day of travel (1 turn being a day, etc.)
3. Your predictions were right, and you are now broke. As you leave the tavern you try to find some local bounty board or job list, but quickly realizing that you only have a few hours to do anything you take a simple extermination job for some giant rats in the city sewers. Its dirty, disgusting work, but with spell book in hand you descend into the depths. A minor issue is that its took dark to read the book, and you have yet to memorize any spells, so tucking it away into your bag of holding you resort to more… innate tools. With talon, fang and claw you tear into the rats you can find, and eventually reach their warren, killing a bloated queen and her brood. All in all you collect 25 rat tails, worth a hefty 5 Gold coins, and whats more you find a small golden ring in the nest as well.
+ 5 [Gold Coins]
+ [Golden Ring]
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957d64 No.53136
>>52587
1. Heading to the Patriarchate district, you soon find yourself surrounded by massive temples to the various gods of the world. The largest and by far most numerous ones being the God of the Eidolish People, that of Sol Invictus, God of the Sun, War and Victory, who is said to have once been a man, and in fact the first king of the Ancient Kingdom of Eidolon in the dark ages of man. He lead his people from unknown lands to the very ground you now stand upon, forming the city of Loune. In time he came to conqueror and expand his kingdom to roughly a 1/8 of the size it is today, and it is said he ascended to the heavens after killing the Father of Dragons and the Keeper of Shadows in the far northern reaches of the world. There are no less then 15 temples here to the Eidolish Gods, and another 35 major temples to various others. Numerous smaller temples and buildings dot the Patriarchate as well, but you feel oddly drawn to one in particular. While many of the buildings here are made from polished marble or at the very least a pleasant carved stone, the building before you is black as coal and slick, in a manner similar to the heart, but you can tell just by looking at it that this is a pale imitation. Several men stand outside of it, in dusty cream white robes and with heads as bare as a babe's ass. They are talking amongst themselves as you unconsciously approach the entrance, before each of them turn in turn and greet you as one…
"Hello Brother, what brings you to the Temple of the Imperishable?"
The in-concert question would throw off most men, but you already know what to say before you can think about it.
"I come to see what this temple is, an umber shade against a gleaming white facade of Gods and men."
Strange in that you didn't think of saying that, rather something said it for you. The conversation continues, and you talk, though more of a passenger then a participant. The men invite you inside, but you decline, and insist that you would return in several days time when the discussed ritual known as the "Harrowing" would occur. Walking out of the Patriarchate district you finally regain your will as you step onto the first cobblestone outside of the holy site. Kneeling over you vomit profusely, as it would seem the loss of control of your body and sudden regaining of said control was extremely disorientating. What's more you have several sores that weren't there before, and some of them are even weeping blood.
>Health: 13/15
2. Walking down the street and away from the Patriarchate district, you take several scraps of cloth hanging around and bind or cover your sores, and once that is out of the way and after washing the blood from your shirt and drying it, you aim to find either a sword (not so hard) or a spell book (much harder) lying around just waiting to be claimed. You walk past a tavern, where two loud and burly warriors who have had to much to drink are screaming at each other in their guttural tongue, primitive and barbaric as it is loud and obnoxious.
"Du Hurensohn! Ich werde dich für diese Beleidigung töten!" Barks one as he draws a large axe from his hip. "Probier es du fettes Schwein! Ich werde deine Augen früh genug essen." replies the other, drawing his own sword. The fight is brief, and the axeman returns to his drink inside the bar as the swordsman grabs at a gaping wound in his chest, the axeman keeping his promise as he is short one eye. He sees you as he struggles to plug the wound. Muttering in the Eidolish tongue, he pleads to you…
"P-pl-please hilf mir" he says, slipping into his old tongue. You approach the man, intent on helping him, grabbing the back of his head and reaching with your other hand. "I will…" You say, you fingers wrapping around the sword's hilt "…I'll help you." Lifting the blade, the man tries to speak, but before he can you bury the sword into his chest, and he goes limp. The sword is yours, and the man has been helped, with a minimal amount of effort on your part.
+ [Longsword] - The basic blade.Grants a +10/+25/+10 to small/similar/large sized targets.
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957d64 No.53137
>>53136
3. Securing the sword to your belt, you then head to the slums, stopping along the way at a baker in order to procure 3 loaves of bread using the last bit of coin you had. Tucking the three loaves into your cloak, you head into the nearest slums and begin to search for your quarries. Several individuals catch your eye, and your ears, as they all appear to be talking not only to each other, but to themselves as well. Perfect, you think. Stumbling on over so as to not alarm them, you blend into the small crowd and pass around pieces of bread which are generously accepted by the stuttering and muttering madmen. The conversation takes the usual route of the poor and desperate, grumbling about the Emperor, about the Rich, about the Church and about the Gods' seeming abandonment of the collective masses that make up about 3/4th's of the population of Loune. Interspersed throughout are demented ramblings of giants beneath the earth plotting the doom of all life, a great void above the sky where strange beings play at the fate of beings on this world as if it were a mere game, and one strange fellow who persistently bemoans the number one, calling it a "natural enemy of man" and blaming it for all troubles in his life as of late, while a man who looks seemingly similar arguing that it was merely comeuppance for his compatriots chance stumbling upon one-hundred gold pieces. You follow the conversation and slip in small notions of a rebellion against the light of Sol Invictus, and the Emperor and the rule of Sun, praising the dark and challenging that the Age of Fire has ended, and the Age of Darkness is upon us.
> Support: Demented Poorfolk 2/10
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957d64 No.53139
>>Don’t Fill this in
Health: 20/20
Gear:
+ [Vinod Half-Plate] - While most of your armor was lost at Sea, you still possess your cuirass, a steel spaulder, and your greaves. Any single piece is large enough to be forged into a suit of armor for a human, and provide substantial protection. - 35 to attacks made against you
+ [Ultra Greatsword] - A massive slab of steel the has been honed with a edge. It won't finely slice cheese, but it will cleave clean through a entire rank of armored humans and wedge itself in a nearby hillside. - 35/+35 to targets smaller/similar/larger then you.
Inventory:
+ [The Chains of Élivágar] - Enchanted set of chains of ancient Vinod craftsmenship. Can either bind a target they are wrapped around in ice or can lash a target for ice damage.
Bonus:
+ [The Giant Giantslayer] - There are few Vinod who leave the homelands in search of adventure, and of those who do even fewer are Giantslayers. Your reputation proceeds you, and while you will hunt some of your prey, some will hunt you as well. Luckily for you you realize how to fight such beasts, having learned from your ancestors before you, but also learning of some prophecy of ill-portent as well. Gain a Bonus of +1/round of a fight against giant monsters, with every crit adding an additional +5 to the stacking bonus. Be wary however, as every roll ≤20 imparts the same bonus to the enemy, and every subcrit ( ≤5) grants them a +5 against you.
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
Arriving from the Vinod land of Solundia by means of one of the few ships able to transports Giants, you arrive after hearing tales of the wonderful beasts that have begun to emerge in the lands of the Teutons, the Humans, in recent years. You had planned on traveling the to Capital city of the Human nation you had arrived in, Loune, the capital of the Empire of Eidolon, but upon leaving the port city of Chambonnes, you discovered the telltale signs of the most hated foes of the Vinod, your close but degenerate cousins, the Aslardi. No less then 8 of the beasts were close by and heading south at a fast pace, and you as a Vinod Giantslayer were honor-bound to slay them. Finally catching up to the at the Imperial city of Tevilles, you arrived to late to stop the assault on the city, but just in time to stop what would be a full-scale massacre…
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957d64 No.53140
>>52661
1/2/3. It is a pleasant walk through the woods, like many of the ones you've taken before in your seclusion. The woods are quiet here in the south, abutting up against the southern wastes in the East and the Mikilaz Ægir in the West. You can smell the sea salt on the air, and the wind is cool with the mist from the ocean, which isn't far. The time spent traveling gives you much time to think, to consider what drove you from your seclusion in the woods and into the wider world. There was a peace in those woods, in your small shack with your daily routine. It was pleasant, it was serene and blissful. Sure you had ran out of money, but it wasn't like you need more of it then what you could earn being a local adventurer, slaying brigands and monsters that troubled the locals. There was something that drew you, a man of thirty-seven years, out from those woods that you had come to call home and out into the wider world. It was the same thing that now drew you within sight of the modest town of Tevilles, and your trance-like introspective musings were cut short by the sounds of screams and howls, and a great roar followed by crashing sounds. Something was wrong, and you began sprinting towards the town.
Your worst suspicions were confirmed when you crested the hill and saw the city. Flames leap from the rooftops at the edge of the town, and the Southern Gate has been smashed to pieces. The bodies of soldiers and citizens alike are strewn about, some smashed into the ground in a red paste, others half eaten, and some still smeared onto the walls. A man is propped up against a shack outside of the walls a mere 10 feet from you, a women tending to a large gash across his chest. She is pleading with the man, a militiaman from the look of his simple armor and the colored band around his arm, the same shade of teal as the primary color of the Tevilles Banner. You walk towards the two of them, but as you get closer you see the man is pale and unresponsive, and you notice two small heads poking of from the door to the shack. The women shakes the man, and stops, soft cries now emanating from her person. Just the true meaning of the scene dawns upon you the ground begins to shake in the rhythmic footsteps of a Giant. The Widow now runs inside, her late husband finally slumping over without his wife to support him in death as she did in life. The culprit of this attack shows his terrible visage, it is one of the lesser cousins of the Vinod, a Thurs, or as they are referred to by the Giants, an Aslardi. He is just as tall as most giants, but while they resemble massive humans in peak form, this specimen is fat, his portly stomach scarred along with the rest of his body. From his mouth jut massive fangs, rotten and yellowed, and around tattered loincloth hang the bones and "snacks" (carcasses and prisoners) of many a man and animal. With each step of his wart-covered, hairy feet the ground tremors, and he is indeed heading right for the shack sheltering the recently-reduced family…
"This shall not stand!" You exclaim, raising your sword to the beast in challenge. It fails to notice you, continuing on on its path to destruction, crushing several fleeing people underfoot. Taking his insolence as further insult, you charge the giant, grabbing onto his club that is swinging idly from his belt, and climbing up his massive form. Reaching the belt you pull out two small rib bones from a freshly cleaned ribcage changing from a small hold on his loincloth, and as a climber would scale a rockface, you bury the two sharp stakes into him and prepare to climb. The beast notices this, and begins to grab at you, slapping his big meaty hands in anger against the side of his ribcage you are currently scaling, but you duck and jump, dodging his slow and easy-to-read attacks…
(cont.)
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31f0fd No.53142
| Rolled 78, 70, 86 = 234 (3d100) |
Name: Grimmwald the Monster Slayer
Fluff: >>52933
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Vinod Half-Plate] - While most of your armor was lost at Sea, you still possess your cuirass, a steel spaulder, and your greaves. Any single piece is large enough to be forged into a suit of armor for a human, and provide substantial protection. - 35 to attacks made against you
+ [Ultra Greatsword] - A massive slab of steel the has been honed with a edge. It won't finely slice cheese, but it will cleave clean through a entire rank of armored humans and wedge itself in a nearby hillside. - 35/+35 to targets smaller/similar/larger then you.
Inventory:
+ [The Chains of Élivágar] - Enchanted set of chains of ancient Vinod craftsmenship. Can either bind a target they are wrapped around in ice or can lash a target for ice damage.
Bonus:
+ [The Giant Giantslayer] - There are few Vinod who leave the homelands in search of adventure, and of those who do even fewer are Giantslayers. Your reputation proceeds you, and while you will hunt some of your prey, some will hunt you as well. Luckily for you you realize how to fight such beasts, having learned from your ancestors before you, but also learning of some prophecy of ill-portent as well. Gain a Bonus of +1/round of a fight against giant monsters, with every crit adding an additional +5 to the stacking bonus. Be wary however, as every roll ≤20 imparts the same bonus to the enemy, and every subcrit ( ≤5) grants them a +5 against you.
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
1-3: An Aslardi attack! I will perform my sacred duty and slay the accursed ones, they will regret being born this day! While it's true they outnumber me I know well how unbearably stupid they are, and as such I'll pick any lone giants and stragglers off and try to separate them as much as possible before they get it through their thick skulls to gang up on me.
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fc23e2 No.53143
>>53140
(cont.)
You're on the beast's back now, and even its long and gangly arms are having trouble reaching you, slapping ineffectively at its shoulders as it screams in the twisted tongue of the Aslardi, itself a deviation of the already gluttural and rumbling Vinish tongue. Its screams almost deafen you, but do not deter you ad you reach the back of its neck. The giant is suddenly distracted, as it could now easily reach you, but militiamen archers now harry it with arrows, some of which whiz past your helmet, alerting you of their presence. Taking this opportunity to deliver a decisive blow, you raise your sword in a piercing maneuver, the guard level with your shoulder, as you aimed to send the 3 & 1/2 foot blade clean through the behemoth's neck.
Striking down with all of your might you send your blade through the giant's neck and clean through the other side, eliciting a mighty roar from the beast, who momentarily turning his attention away from the militiamen archers, is met with a hail of arrows to his face. Your blow does not carry the intended effect however, as while the Giant is bleeding, it is no more a stream of blood then what would normally be incurred by any other stabbing wound. Surmising that you had missed a critical point in the beast's neck, you try to grab the blade, your other handhold on a patch of the Giant's matted hair tenuous as best, and what's more his attention is solidly transfixed upon you now. A giant hand soon reaches for you at alarming speed, and only by thrusting your pointed shield and wedging it under the monster's finernail, almost shearing it clean off, are you able to buy more time to fell the Giant.
Thinking quickly, and with both hands free, you grab the hilt, slick with blood, and try to push it so as you cut more of the flesh the sword is already immersed in. This solicits another howl from the Giant, who once again reaches for you. Cutting a wider and wider swath, the blade moving close to the creature's spine. Just as you are about to tear the blade out, the unexpected happens as the Giants far arm grabs you and starts to pull. The pain is immense as the creature squeezes you, but your armor holds for now. You realize if you hadn't been wearing it you'd be nothing more then a pulply mess in the Aslardi's hands, but even though you can hear the joints stressing under the pressure, the steel holds. The beats pulls harder and harder, squeezing you all the while, but you still hold onto the blade, which is now caught on the Giant's spine. With one final pull he tugs on you, and you feel as though you might be torn in two, but the giant's spine gives first, and it is sheer muscle inertia that pulls on you still as the blade slices clean through the rest of the giants neck on the other side of his spine, his head now dangling for a moment from the loose tatters of flesh, but the weight of his massive cranium compounded with the chains he had around his neck soon pull it free from the last vestments of his torso. The Body stands aloft for just a moment longer, before collapsing to its knees, you still in the vice-like grip of the now dead beast, who's arms fall limp, and soon along with the rest of its body lies on the ground.
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fc23e2 No.53144
>>53143
(cont.)
Using your sword to free yourself, you see it is soon ruined with the blood and fat of the giant, dulled beyond use and chipped on the Aslardi's dense bones. Paying your respects to the blade you leave it buried in the body of the monster it slew, and quickly search for your shield, still stuck under the nail you forced it under and mercifully undamaged, if but a little dirty. You search around for anything you can use as a weapon. Spotting an odd looking corpse on the giant's loincloth, you quickly surmise that this was probably the town's Wizard, a staple in all major Eidolish cities to consult the provincial governor on manners of Arcane and mysterious encounters that are abound in this world. What's more, he has a sword in his rigor-mortis stricken hands. Its blade is black, with glowing orangish runes carved into its blade. Freeing the blade from its prison and thanking the deceased man, you hold the blade infront of you and study it. The Runes are some sort of Dwarish, you can't read them to see what they say, but their glow tells you that this sword is enchanted, but with what you don't know. The blade is more valuable then most villages, and their occupants. As you study the blade more, entranced by its beauty, several of the militiamen who aided you come forth, one slapping you on the back…
"Coooooor Blimey, you killed that big fucker right proper!" He whistles before kicking the downed Giant. "Still about 7 of them I reckon, and we've recieved reports that another one is heading this way, though he's wearing actual armor, must be their leader." The surly militiamen reports, idly stabbing the corpse of the giant. "The man up against that shack over there, will he live?" You ask, the thought of the probable widow and her children still fresh on your mind. "Old Arthur, he's taken a nasty wound, but our 'ealer will do her best to ensure he's till around to take care of his missus and their little blighters!" He chortles, now using his spear to support himself as he wipes sweat from his brow. "Where are the rest of them, the Giants?" You ask. "There's about 4 of them in the city, and the other 3 are about destroying homes and eatin' people they catch, we're scattered thin, tryin' to distract them as best as we're able, but with the Captain of the guard dead…" He gestures to the Wizard's corpse "…along with ol' Master Amon, and the Governer doin' what he does best, hidin' in his Castle, we're a bit disorganized. The new one is coming close by way of Northgate, and coming fast. No idea what we'll do 'bout him."
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fc23e2 No.53145
>>53144
>>53143
>>52661
>>53140
>Gear
- [Longsword & Shield]
+ [Shield] - Shield Grants an additional -15 to rolls against you, but requires an action to use and prevents you from attacking effectively (-20 to attacks made the same turn)
+ [Runic Bastard Sword] - You don't know what it does, but its enchanted, that's for sure. What's more, since its a bastard sword you can use it with one or two hands, which confers a +5/+25/+15 or a -10/+25/+30 to Targets smaller/similar/larger then you.
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fc23e2 No.53146
| Rolled 99, 8, 89 + 40 = 236 (3d100) |
>>53142
Spotting a lone Vinod who is currently more preoccupied with crushing cattle and the herdsmen who guard them, you announce your challenge to your cousin while he violates some animals with his engorged member. "You disgrace, I'll tear your rancid head from your jaws and feed you your own shit!" You say, greatsword held out in resolute defiance…
1/2/3. The Alsardi drops his current distraction and instead picks up his weapon, a giant tree trunk with large stone shards throughly wedged into it as a crudge mace of sorts, and charges you!
+ [Aslardi Strength] - A giant's strength is his best attribute, and in the Degenerate descendants of them, said strength is only amplified. + 15 To all combat rolls
+ [Tree-trunk Mace] - Crude, but effective against giant foes all the same. -35/+25 to Smaller/similar sized foes.
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fc23e2 No.53147
Note
I've decided to have combat actions take the turn of minirounds, in that each dice is a round itself of combat, and the overall result of the 3 dice, or whoever wins the most rounds, winning that turn of combat, with damage dealt and received according to the actual result of the dice, i.e. with TBR here, who lost the first round, won the second with a large difference between his roll and the enemies, and tied the last roll, and thus some bonus damage is imparted to his foe.
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fc23e2 No.53148
>>53142
>>53146
114, 106, 122 vs 139, 48, 129 = Slight Victory
1/2/3. Though they are a decent bit taller then you, and most likely stronger just by nature of their brutish life and changes in physiology (something that most Vinod are hesitant to admit) You are honor-bound to kill every Aslardi you see, though honor itself does not compel you so much as pure hatred. To see an Aslardi in person for the first time, you begin to truly understand why such creatures as this, though your distant cousins, must be eradicated root and stem. You charge at the brute, sword raised in anticipation for the first strike. He is, after all, merely using a tree trunk as a weapon. The distance closes, and you leap in the air with your sword raised high, eager to kill this fool and move onto the next Aslardi scum. Your the price of your hubris is the resulting blow you receive when the Aslardi brings his mace from from the ground in a flowing motion, slamming it into your gut and throwing you back onto your backside. He then follows up on your downed form with another hammer blow to the chest, a small cough of blood escaping your lips. Luckily enough His mace then caught on a piece of your curiuss, giving you the chance to bring your sword up and cut off his hand griping the mace. The Aslardi fell back, screaming and grabbing the stump of his former hand as you fell upon him, cutting a large swath from his gut, the beast knelling over and clutching at the wound. Standing over the foe, you readied the killing blow, preparing to cleanly cut off the head of the fallen giant. In your moment of hesitation however, the giant lunges at your legs, taking them from underneath you and tackling the both of you into a house. A brawl then commences, with you struggling to beat the Aslardi off of you and he as well struggling to land any decisive blows while only possessing one fist. Eventually you break away, your sword a mere 50 feet away on the ground, and the Aslardi seeing it as well, lunges for it!
>TBR
>Fix your health
Health: 18/20
>Aslardi Raider
Health: 12/25
+ [Crippled] - You have by some means reduced this foe greatly from their fighting strength, and as such they suffer a - 15 to all rolls while in this state
+ [Bleeding out] - Great wounds have caused this foe to bleed greatly, and unless they fix this will surely perish. Lose 2 health per turn, and an additional -1 per turn (stacking)
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fc23e2 No.53149
| Rolled 98 (1d100) |
1. Turn Roll
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fc23e2 No.53150
>>53149
It is the 25th Day of September, the Year is 1055 IY (Imperial Year, that is it has been 1055 years since the Imperium has been founded.)
Eidolon is imperiled! Beset on all sides by foes both foreign and domestic, torn apart by the Craven and the Greedy. Rurian Raiders trouble the borders every day, and the Imperial Army is stretched thin dealing with them! Urukish raiders harry the coastlines, and even now word reaches the capital that the city of Tevilles is currently under siege from a large warband of Giants! Still, there is hope in these dark times, for Harvest is upon us, and the great bounty that has been growing the Summer long is being brought in by farmers the land over. Feasts are held and pockets surge with coin as the bumper-crops are sold at market, and smiles return to the people's faces as fresh recruits sign up for Imperial service and Winter that will be endured with ample foodstocks fast approaches.
>Consequences
+ [Fresh Recruits] - Cities and villages will have larger then usual militias, and the Imperial Army will be awash with new soldiers. The forces of darkness will be hampered by this, and anyone trying to open and evil things will find themselves harried by a happy, and intending to stay happy, populace. 2 turns
+ [Flush Merchants] - All the trade has made the merchants awash with coin, if ever there was a time to trade, now is it! Lowest prices of the season, and most pleasant time to deal with the money-hungry miscreants. Purchases will have a reduced price and sales will find a greater profit. Additionally, contractors will pay higher for the time being for jobs and services. 3 turns
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957d64 No.53151
>>52956
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Short Spear] - Of the kind used by the individual warrior, quick and deadly while lacking the truly hampering nature of the longer spears, but still a hamper if the enemy gets in close. -10/+5/+20 to enemies smaller/similar/larger then you. Doubled against mounted troops, and the bonus entirely negated if an enemy passes your guard (which they'll have to roll to do, so you'll know when its in effect)
Inventory:
+ [Whale Ivory Pendant] - A symbol of your foreign gods, who have no temple here. Due to the rarity of easy-to-hunt whales on the south seas, its also quite valuable.
Bonus:
+[Northern Wildman] - You are from the harsh north, so wild and unknown that even the best maps of the world (such as the one in the top of the thread) don't have its reaches pictured. You are well suited to life in the wild, and require 1/4 of the travel rations needed by other adventurers (representative of your foraging and hunting) and additionally have critfails in the wilderness reduced by 1 range (excluding nat 1's).
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
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7bff1a No.53152
| Rolled 94, 10, 85 = 189 (3d100) |
>>52997
Name: Gundrik Ironsoul
Fluff: Deep within the carved halls of the Dawi the Ironsoul clan have practiced and refined the art of magic throughout the years. Like many dwarf clans the art of a trade is passed down and refined though the generations, bringing in ideas from other crafts for the sole purpose of progressing their own. For the Ironsoul they are ruled by their ancient, and possibly undead (although those rumors were never confirmed), patriarch the great Venrok Ironsoul. The clan holdings include a great hall where clan members may demonstrate, teach, and brag about their achievements in the art of magic with a gathering every 50 years to spread knowledge throughout the clan and for all apprentices to present their own research and become a true runesmith of the clan. Gundrik, like all Ironsouls, is a runesmith and a fairly young one. Fresh out of his apprenticeship he has learned from many masters within the clan and all have deemed him both knowledgeable with magic and able to learn within the great hall. Sadly his research on the nature of the sites of power throughout the world was barely accepted, and even that took days of arguing and judgement from records dating back hundreds of years. Annoyed Gundrik set off to find a site of power untapped by another wizard and claim it for his own study and use. He will refine his studies until none can say it is only speculation and legends.
Health: 10/10
Gear: + [Dowsing Rod] - A y-shaped rod that can be used to help pinpoint magical sites. Also thick enough to be used as a cudgel. +5 to targets smaller and the same size as you. + 10 to larger targets.
Inventory:
+ [Rune Chisel and Hammer] - A Dawi specialty, allows one to carve magic runes and imbue items with magic. Note: only the chisel is magical, so don't lose it.
+[Iron Sword w/Sheath]
Bonus: + [Ironsoul] - You are determined and unwilling to accept defeat, even for a Dwarf! Undeterred by failure, you can ignore the negative effects of 1 critfail through sheer Dwarven grit once every 10 turns.
Misc:
Gustav's Enchantment Quest - You've been tasked to enchant a sword with a lighting effect to prove your worth to a blacksmith of some renown. You have 2 turns to complete the enchantment.
Artificing - Runesmithing Lvl 4 (lvl 4 spells)
1. While I'm not supposed to use this as a weapon and just enchant it I am going to need something practical to defend myself with if it comes to actual combat. Add the lightning runes to the blade. Who knows maybe being this close to a center of power will make this much easier. +Chisel, +LVL 4 Runesmithing.
2&3. With that done and hopefully working head down the stairs. Whatever this place is it holds great power. Looks like it may be an old Dawi home. We shall have to see.
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fe52f0 No.53153
| Rolled 17, 9, 69 = 95 (3d100) |
>>53136
Name: Balazar
Fluff: Wannabe hero turned soon to be villain.
Health: 13/15
Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits
Inventory:
+ [Fragment of the Black Heat of Yadoth] - Is it real, or are you crazy? Who knows, but all that matters is that the voices in your head are real enough, and your speech eloquent enough that people may listen, and in doing so, understand. +15 to NPC charisma based actions.
Bonus:
+ [Hollow Man] - You're half the man you used to be (this feeling as the dawn it fades to gray). Its debatable whether or not you lost your soul, but you feel like you did, and the few instances of you suffering Holy magic attacks hurt more then they should. Still, you feel more resilient, and heal faster, than you thought was possible for a human, maybe even cheat death, for a price of course.
Misc:
+ [Longsword] - The basic blade.Grants a +10/+25/+10 to small/similar/large sized targets.
> Support: Demented Poorfolk 2/10
1. Balazar had promised to return to the temple at a certain date, though perhaps the promise had not been his own he did intend to keep it. Though his body had been repulsed by it his mind was drawn to the slick black stone and the men of creamy robes. Surely they could be a key to obtaining even more power.
2. He had shown mercy to a man and taken his sword but now it was time for Balazar to actually make some money. He would need some form of employment.
3. His talks with the demented had begun to bear fruit. They would certainly become a useful asset in the future. They would see the light soon enough.
> Support: Demented Poorfolk 2/10
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16656a No.53154
| Rolled 32, 37, 14 = 83 (3d100) |
>>52969
Name: Brother Bob
Fluff: Friar Bob is a member of the Church of the Imperishable in . He was orphaned, but grew up under the protection of the convent, and as caretaker of the other children who were raised there. A bright and cheerful lad, blessed with substantial magic potential to summon and manifest aspects of The Imperishable. Life in the convents is strict and while Bob does almost everything to be a model to his charges, he often wanders outside the Temple district of Loune and gets into all sorts of trouble while seeing the sights. In a pinch he can display the magical training of the Order to skedaddle in a puff of smoke and ash. The Bishop of the Church favors him, and is the only disciplinarian that can get through to him while saying "that if Bob continues to seek 'field experience' then perhaps he may one day get such an opportunity". When he is not busy training in the dead language of Nurdolian, in the study of relics from the sand gnome desert, penmanship, magic, and a host of other cultured disciplines, Bob is tasked with keeping the books on the Church, such as expeditions into the desert to retrieve relics, to make sure everything balances out.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Staff of the Imperishable] - A mainstay of wandering brothers, it allows you to cast bound spells to both impress the naive and to defend yourself.
>>Bound Spells: Illuminate, Life Siphon, Ash Cloud
Inventory:
+ [Quill and parchment] - useful for writing, also you can read.
Bonus:
+ [A Doomed Flock] - Though you and the other brothers always seem to come out fine, all of you constituents not of the cloth seem to always suffer horrible accidents and die terribly. Critfails hurt others around you more then you, and if this happens enough you and your order may face open persecution, that being said their effect on you is lessened considerably.
Misc:
>City Planing 2/5
+ 1 [Favor with the Temple of the Imperishable] - Grants a +15 to rolls interacting with your peers and superiors in the Church. 1 favor per dice, and per action
1 The lay of the city would reveal the path of destiny. All is connected in more ways then one and the trained eye can find these ways, or lead others astray. City Planning 2/5
Brother Bob heads towards a square plot that speaks to him, looking to find his pulpit of soap boxes before a worthy crowd.
2 Where best to plant the seed of faith? The man of our time are ever hungering and thirsting, and in troubled times even the wise find doubts. Let us fill their cup with faith, fire, and ash. The Church will have its due that our search into the Great Mystery continues. Bob was gathering a decent crowd today and will try to read their mood and speak the right words that will reach them. If his word ring true then his fortunes in the Chruch would rise, and if the crowd soured, Bob had a few tricks up his sleeve.
3 In the back of the crowd is a shady sort of character, going unnoticed by most, they move through the crowd with deftness and with purpose. The Church does not discriminate against prowess but stealing from our faithful is wrong. I would have a word with them after this passage is complete. This meeting might be an opportunity sent by the powers that be. Unworthy men prosper in the city and unwise men lead people astray, this person should learn what is good and valuable. I should take on a capable follower from the rabble and lead them into the light. I will start with offering them redemption, a path to salvation, and the wisdom that sometimes letters are at times more valuable then coins.
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091867 No.53155
| Rolled 67, 2, 75 = 144 (3d100) |
>>53151
Name: Kop'r-Mur (Wolf-Breaker)
Fluff:
tl;dr: Viking eskimo warrior
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Short Spear] - Of the kind used by the individual warrior, quick and deadly while lacking the truly hampering nature of the longer spears, but still a hamper if the enemy gets in close. -10/+5/+20 to enemies smaller/similar/larger then you. Doubled against mounted troops, and the bonus entirely negated if an enemy passes your guard (which they'll have to roll to do, so you'll know when its in effect)
Inventory:
+ [Whale Ivory Pendant] - A symbol of your foreign gods, who have no temple here. Due to the rarity of easy-to-hunt whales on the south seas, its also quite valuable.
Bonus:
+[Northern Wildman] - You are from the harsh north, so wild and unknown that even the best maps of the world (such as the one in the top of the thread) don't have its reaches pictured. You are well suited to life in the wild, and require 1/4 of the travel rations needed by other adventurers (representative of your foraging and hunting) and additionally have critfails in the wilderness reduced by 1 range (excluding nat 1's).
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
1+2. The time has come again for me to find work. I'll ask around at taverns to see if anyone in these parts has a job for a man like me. If nobody does, then I'll have to move on. [Find mercenary work]
3. This land is unfamiliar to me. Trees and wildlife abound, and the weather is much more mild, but there is still danger, especially when you don't know the area. I should spend time to familiarize myself with my immediate environment, Loune, specifically the streets, the landmarks, and the outlying villages. [Explore]
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8581d3 No.53156
| Rolled 99, 57, 93 = 249 (3d100) |
>>53150
Name: Ulrak
Health: 10/10
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Elder Race - Umli] - You are unique in this world, a being without a soul and without remorse. You do not remember your origins or much of anything else, but you are naturally inclined to magic even more so then the other elder races, particularly the dark arts. However your very presence can be felt by all, for you are truly unsettling in every manner of the word. You will receive no aid from any creature, and you are an enemy to all but your own kind. +25 to magic casting/learning, +35 to dark magic casting/learning.
Misc:
+ Unlocking the Past 0/15 - the key to remembering the spells and history of not only yourself but your people is to unlock the vault that is your mind. You can feel it there, but something or someone is keeping it obscured from you. You must trigger mental events by retracting your steps, and something in your mind is telling you to first journey to the South
> Emerging from the Abyss 3/10
1/2. This place only begets more mysteries. Is there only one way forward or is there some branching path that leads to secrets waiting to be unearthed? I should see about trying to map out all sides of the hallway/room, perhaps in this search I may uncover something that will bring insight.
3. Regardless of how fruitful my search was I still need to escape from this place. Hopefully my understanding of this place's layout will let me do so with greater speed. Strange, why do I feel so concerned with something as time?
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b29385 No.53165
| Rolled 57, 2, 89 = 148 (3d100) |
>>52912
Name: The Harbinger
Fluff: In the fens and bogs of Eidolon, a great and terrible necromancer began a great and terrible ritual to bring about a darkness that would last a thousand thousand years, dredging the dead from their graves in one fell swoop and drowning the land in a tide of rotting flesh and moldering bones. Before he could enact the ritual, however, he was found and slain by a brave troupe of heroes who battered aside his constructed guards and took his head from his shoulders. With the last iota of his magical might he spoke a dark word of awesome power, leaving his quivering lips just an instant before his severed head fell into the bubbling swamp.
Days later, under a moonless night sky, the swamp shuddered and heaved. It birthed a single undead creature of bone, rotting plant matter and foul blue light. Intelligent and filled with strange purpose, animated by a terrible force from outside reality, it waded out of the swamp and into the world to begin enacting horrible plans to which only it was fully privy. It would bring about the apocalypse its late creator would so desire– but it would do so because it wanted to see Eidolon burn with its own two ethereal eyes.
>>Don’t Fill this in
Mana: 14/15
Gear:
Inventory:
Bonus: + [Anathema] - You are the antithesis, unlife, you will find no common cause with anything truly living, for to them you are a unfathomable monster with a existence so foul they cannot bear to picture it. Your ilk will be the madmen of the world, and those like yourself. -100/+40 to charisma actions with living/deranged & undead NPC's.
+ [Souless] - You lack a true soul, and from it the will to utilize true magic to its fullest extant. Rather you are a being of magic, and as such cannot truly be killed by mortal means, though as a sort of "balance" perhaps, you must use your very being to cast spells. Casting a spells costs a comparative amount of health, killing other magical creatures and absorbing their essence will increase your health, and to heal you must either travel to a magical confluence or ingest magical items. On the flip side any magical item can be used to harm you and spells cast against you do 1.5X normal damage. Health is also replaced with mana.
Misc:
1. Our form's luminosity wavers, if only by a mote, but a mote lost is a mote that must be reclaimed. Seek out a source of energy! One free of this life-infested sludge!
2. Continue to seek out creatures and things with which to hone our current shell's physical dexterity and battle prowess.
3. The water here teems with life– its scalding putrescence clings to everything. We shall begin testing our powers, trying to find a way to extract the minutinae of life energy within the swampwater so that it might be drained of life, bit by bit.
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753195 No.53166
| Rolled 67, 3, 42 = 112 (3d100) |
>>52899
Name: Guan Zhi
Fluff: For all of his childhood, Guan followed his father on his travels as a merchant, selling ink and other goods in the nation of Xuzhou Guo. When he became an adult and his father passed, he took up the same occupation. For many years, this life continued. He never had any great ambitions, and the works of the Emperor were beyond his concern just as far as the workings of the supernatural. Yet both things would impede irrevocably on Guan's life. One day, on a delivery of ink to an imperial library, he was changed. On the order of an imperial sorcerer, he was tied up and brought to a secret underground room to be used for an experiment. The sorcerer used Guan's own ink to draw a magic circle of runes around both him and a giant mass of paper made in the shape of a man. Guan's soul was ripped from his body, and put into the paper man, making him a paper golem. For a time afterwards, he was forced into manual labor for the Emperor, but only as a test of his body's capabilities. He heard much talk of future insidious plans, to make an army of paper men just as they had done to him. After a time, he could not stand the fate ahead of him, and Guan managed to escape when he nest found an opportunity. Unfolding his paper body, then shaping it like a giant floating lantern, he rode the wind to wherever it would take him. He eventually landed in Eidolon, and scrounged up some clothes large enough to obscure his body, allowing him some measure of peace. Making his way to Loune, he questions what he can even do now with this life. He falls back to the only thing he knows, his life as a merchant. Perhaps he can even find use for this strange new body in his work. It is all he can tell himself to try.
Health: 10/10
Gear:
>Spells
+ [Autoorigami] - You can change your form to any myriad of shapes that you know, within reason (you can't become massive or incredibly small without changing your actual structure, which being tantamount to your body would be incredibly painful) You can do this once every 3 turns.
Inventory:
+ [Medium bag of holding] - A magical bag that allows you to store 10 items that can fit in the lip of the bag without encumbering you in the slightest
+1 [Charcoal & Ash]
Bonus:
+ [Merchant's Guile] - Your life has prepared you for the battle of tongues that is bartering. And while your form is off-putting (along with your mouth-less vocalizations) none can doubt your well-spoken syntax and masterful discourse. +15 to negotiating with NPC's, increased profit/decreased loss by trading
Misc:
1. Guan has one piece of the puzzle, but as he's about to head to the coast, he realizes that he's missing a vital component. He has no containers to hold and sell the ink in. He goes around town seeing if he can convince anyone to part with any spare empty bottles. If not, he intends to make note of a place he can buy some bottles once he gets some money together.
2-3. Afterwards, he makes his way to the oceanside, in search of those mussels for the purple ink. Selling such an exclusive product could hopefully be lucrative. He also decided to keep his eye out for any other materials that might be useful for other inks, since he does want to offer a wide variety if possible.
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6861ea No.53171
| Rolled 16, 5, 4 = 25 (3d100) |
Name: Grimmwald the Monster Slayer
Fluff: >>52933
Health: 18/20
Gear:
+ [Vinod Half-Plate] - While most of your armor was lost at Sea, you still possess your cuirass, a steel spaulder, and your greaves. Any single piece is large enough to be forged into a suit of armor for a human, and provide substantial protection. - 35 to attacks made against you
+ [Ultra Greatsword] - A massive slab of steel the has been honed with a edge. It won't finely slice cheese, but it will cleave clean through a entire rank of armored humans and wedge itself in a nearby hillside. - 35/+35 to targets smaller/similar/larger then you.
Inventory:
+ [The Chains of Élivágar] - Enchanted set of chains of ancient Vinod craftsmenship. Can either bind a target they are wrapped around in ice or can lash a target for ice damage.
Bonus:
+ [The Giant Giantslayer] - There are few Vinod who leave the homelands in search of adventure, and of those who do even fewer are Giantslayers. Your reputation proceeds you, and while you will hunt some of your prey, some will hunt you as well. Luckily for you you realize how to fight such beasts, having learned from your ancestors before you, but also learning of some prophecy of ill-portent as well. Gain a Bonus of +1/round of a fight against giant monsters, with every crit adding an additional +5 to the stacking bonus. Be wary however, as every roll ≤20 imparts the same bonus to the enemy, and every subcrit ( ≤5) grants them a +5 against you.
Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items
1-3: The foolish degenerate has made its last mistake. As it lunges in vain for my blade I'll use the Chains of Élivágar to bind the foul creature, after which I'll be free to finish the cretin off with either its weapon or mine assuming it doesn't die of its wounds before then.
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6861ea No.53172
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fc23e2 No.53173
| Rolled 2, 65, 88 + 40 = 195 (3d100) |
1/2/3. Sensing a trick, the giant at the last moment grabs ahold of the chain you had sent reeling for its face, stamping upon the back of your sword with its bulk and pinning it to the ground! Though its hand even now begins to freeze in the places where your chain is wrapped tightly around it, it pulls you closer using its immense strength and headbutts you wit ha savage blow!
+ [Aslardi Strength] - A giant's strength is his best attribute, and in the Degenerate descendants of them, said strength is only amplified. + 15 To all combat rolls
+ [Tree-trunk Mace] - Crude, but effective against giant foes all the same. -35/+25 to Smaller/similar sized foes.
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fc23e2 No.53174
>>53173
>>53171
1. Good for me, Bad for you. Heads I win, Tails you loose
1 - More giants notice the fray and start to move closer
2 - Nearby militiamen aid you
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fc23e2 No.53175
| Rolled 2 (1d2) |
>>53174
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994a53 No.53176
| Rolled 61, 75, 7 = 143 (3d100) |
>>52906
Name: Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe “The Tiger of the South”
Fluff: A Quendi hailing from the shrouded islands of the Eternal Kingdom to the far west. An elf of honour and martial prowess he served under his shogun fighting against the monsters that assailed the Kingdom from blighted ruins in the south of the Kingdom. His skills are honed by years of combat against vicious beasts however it was on a rather routine raid that the current chapter of his life begins. The blighted ruins were found on the furthest southern island among a series of tricky tides and jagged rocks, it was here that his fleet with struck by a great storm tearing apart their sails and casting them far from home. Few of his men survived alongside him, being cast adrift in the open ocean. They drifted for what seemed like weeks before being found by a exploration fleet captained by none other then the second prince of the Eidolon Empire. Knowing that the powerful magics that shrouded his homeland would never allow them to return Daimyo Nishimoto Ryobe and his men swore an oath of service to their savoir in hope to find some honour and purpose as exiles from their homeland.
Health: 12/12
Gear:
+ [Quendi Tatami] - Intricately-woven metal plates and leather, some of the finest armor available in the world. Though without being home you'll be hard-pressed to repair it properly. - 15 to all attacks against you, + 2 health when worm
+ [Quendi Ōdachi] - A excessively large, curved sword. Master craftsmanship and folded over a million times. Can cut through the densest steel but leaves you open on the back-swing. +20 to large targets, +10 to same size targets, and -20 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
Bonus:
+ [Eastern Wisdom] - You have lived for aeons, like most Quendi, and you have learned much in that time. When facing an unknown puzzle/monster/event you can roll (dc 60) to remember some information that will aid you solving/defeating/making use of it.
+ [Elder Race] - As a member of the ancient people of this world, you are more in tune with its magics, but also more prejudiced against the younger races and your ancient rivals. + 10 to all casting and magic learning, - 5/-15 to actions involving other races/elder races
Misc:
Searching for purpose 1/8 - You are devoid of purpose and far from home, you must find something to do soon or else your will will fail and you run danger of committing Seppuku in shame. Critical fails will increase this as you meander about without greater purpose, while critical successes decrease it.
—–
1. "Follow me boy, I am in need of a torchbearer."
2-3. Venture into the darkness with Quendi Ōdachi sheathed, my blessed blade shall not be wasted on the lesser Uruk. Goblins will be dispatched with fist and boot while my blessed blade shall only be drawn for the Orcscum. A captive would also need to be taken, for the cowards race wills surely cough up the location of their nests.
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ff50dc No.53179
| Rolled 90, 73, 90 = 253 (3d100) |
>>52942
>Name:
>Alice
>Health: 10/10
>Gear: + [The Claidheamh Mor] - A massive two handed sword that was left with you on the night you were seemingly abandoned. It is a good foot or so larger then you and weighs about an 1/8 of what you do. Until you learn to properly handle such a beast it will be more of a hamper then a boon to you. 2x Damage and + 10 against large targets, - 15 to Same or smaller targets.
>Bonus:
>+ [Fire-Kissed] - Your scars are unmistakably burns, but their origin is unknown even to you. However you've always had a affinity for the flames, you swear you could even beckon the candle-fire to dance for you, at least it always seemed that way. + 10 Defense to Fire, magical or otherwise, + 5 to learning/casting fire magic
>Inventory:
>Misc:
>Great-sword handling 3/18
>———————-
1-3. "I-I am sorry sir. I was told that this was the place to go for training…" Alice bowed in apology. "I did not mean to disturb you, you have my sincere apologies!"
"But if this really is the right place than you must be Lachlan…" "Please help me sir! I-if it would not be too much trouble to you."
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60a4c4 No.53182
| Rolled 76, 63, 11 = 150 (3d100) |
>>53051
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Greatbow] - A bow as tall as a very large man, capable of draw strength's greater then the tension used to pull most small ballista back. Can also put what would grossly misrepresent as an "arrow" through a tree at 150 paces. -20/-5/+20 to smaller/similar/larger targets
+ [15 Great Arrows] - The human-length ammunition for your massive bow
Inventory:
+ Reading Glass - Allows you to read fine print.
Bonus:
+ [Degenerates] - You are seen by your elder cousins as an abomination, and will find no kinship in them. -45/-10/+5 to charisma actions involving giants/elder races/younger races.
+ [A Smith's Son] - Though your father is unfamiliar to you, his craft is not, and though hard, long hours in the forge you have gain a great understanding of the craft of metalworking. +10 to smithing actions.
Misc:
1. Say no more. I am off to pick up a large sword from the illustrious dwarves. I shall return it immediately once I go pick it up for the blacksmith
2. Perhaps there may be a traveling scholar, a scribe, or a cartographer along the way who can help me read.
3. But before I go pick up the sword, go haul at the mine and get paid for it.
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989e0f No.53183
| Rolled 24, 57 = 81 (2d100) |
Name:Quill (Literally the sound of a quill writing on parchment)
Fluff: Long ago in the time of the elder races lived a proud and noble race of winged avian creatures known as the Kenku, the kenku appeared as a race of ravens or crows and prided themselves on their culture and peaceful ways. The kenku lived for a time in a golden era of peace complacent and separated from the other races completely content to live out their lives in solidarity away from the prying eyes of all else. Their society flourished as all kenku lived as kings sharing the wealth and love between eachother, that however soon changed when an albino Kenku was born to King of Kings Goldfeather. It was seen as an ill omen, the white devil had made its mark upon their society. King Goldfeather vehemently denied that his family bore evil and accepted the albino as his son and brought him into his flock. Dissent grew larger and larger though, the kenku feared the unknown, they feared change and so in the dark of night, five kenku conspired and collaborated to murder King Goldfeather on the kenkus most holy holiday. The celebration of Yvth'rali the crowfather. During this night those five kenku stole away into the palace and systematically slaughtered everyone inside, the walls ran red with the blood of the innocent during this dark act, the crowfather watched on from his domain in horror at what his subjects had become and as the last drop of blood finally fell that night, the crowfather would enact his holy judgement. For the vile and despicable act of kin-slaying the crowfather stripped the Kenku of their voice and wings reducing them to a hollow shell of what they once where, now they could only mimic the other races, no longer having a voice of their own, no longer would they fly proudly through the blue skies. In his final act of judgement the crowfather destroyed the once proud civiliaztion sentencing them to exile in the foulest region known to the races, until such a time a champion would be born that could redeem the race for their despicable actions. And so it was that the prophecy of the Lightborn was created, telling the tale of a kenku that would be born to bring salvation upon the race.
Quill is that legendary child of prophecy as dictated by the crowfather himself and as such he has trained his entire childhood and teenage years for the trials the crowfather shall dictate to him, with bastard sword in hand and the holy vestaments of the crowfather he will rise up as the champion the kenku need and redeem his entire race and his first stop on this long and perilous journey? Eidolen
Health: 10/10
Gear:
+ [Bastard Sword] - A longsword with a longer grip to allow two handed use for more powerful swings, an adaptable and trustworthy type of sword used by many. + 10 to same size and larger targets, - 5 to smaller targets.
Inventory:
+ [Crowfather's Vestments] - A supposedly holy set of black rags, they do seem to impart upon you some manner of luck, though it is a crow's luck. 1 recast per combat encounter or every 5 regular turns for Dark magic
[Tattered Cloak] - Can be used to keep the rain and mud off, and to hide your identity (Aside from your large beak)
[Rusty Dagger] - Brittle, old, but will work in a pinch. +15 to smaller targets, +10 to similar targets, and -5 to larger targets.
Bonus:
+ [Chosen] - Long have man and being alike claimed to speak for their gods, and while some have been lucky enough to be right, most are wrong in their judgement, the voices they hear either a testament to their own madness or much sinister powers at work. Either way you are one of these men. Critical fails and critical successes have additional effects.
Misc:
Crowfather's Trials: The Eye of Goldfeather - The voices in your head have tasked you with recovering the Eye of Goldfeather, which is rumored to be in the town of Dampouran, a dangerous border town that is constantly beset by Rurian Raiders.
1. Head through dogspring in cenay, I wish procure more supplies perhaps the merchants will be willing to part with things they're not using? I could always "borrow" something or "trade" perhaps they might appreciate my rusty dagger.
2.Continue onwards to dampouran I must make haste it is of utmost importance I reach the town as soon as possible. The crowfather commands it.
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989e0f No.53184
| Rolled 30 (1d100) |
>>53183
(forgot third action)
3.Keep an eye out for interesting things on the road.
Disclaimer: this post and the subject matter and contents thereof - text, media, or otherwise - do not necessarily reflect the views of the 8kun administration.