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[D&D]Only in Dreams - Act I: Dream Country

245678

Posts

  • lodwilklodwilk Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    A shame about the revenant, but I shall live. I'm assuming PHB races are fine correct?

    lodwilk on
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Let me introduce you to...

    Ceana, The Orpahn Child

    I didn't mention it in the backstory, but she's only about 9 or 10 in real life, but in her dreams she a fully grown woman.

    Prepare for a wall of text:
    “Sweep sweep sweep. That is what daddy does my dear sweet Ceana”
    That is what the black cloud in front of her said in a rough, yet warm voice. Spinning around while hopping on one foot Armadal, father to, not of, Ceana smiled as he turned around and did a little jig with his poorly maintained chimney -broom. Sweeping his broom across the floor he left a black streak in its wake. The little girl with her big blue eyes giggled as the only man kind man she had known poured his heart out trying to make her smile.

    “Daddy’s gotta go to work now sweetie, you be a good girl and study your books…ok?” The cloud extended a soot covered hand, and extended a hooked pinky.

    Nodding in an excessively exaggerated motioned the little girl hooked her pinky into her father’s and smiled “OK daddy!” and with that she kissed her daddy on the cheek, leaving a clean mark where her lips just were.

    Smiling as he motioned for his daughter to hug his neck, perhaps the only part of his body that isn’t covered in soot, he smiled as she let go and waved to her as he went to the front door.
    “I love you monkey-chicken, I’ll see you in the morning!” Closing the door softly he heard the clunk as the lock was set into place.

    Letting out a deep sigh, Armadal’s eyes began to water as thoughts of his wife floated through his mind, his daughter looked just like her mother, and even thought she was with child when Armadal first met her he loved her just the same. When Ceana was born it was the happiest day of his life, a successful business man, loving family, and a better friend/business partner than anybody could ask…that is until later that night. Ceana’s mother passed away that night from a fever, Armadal fell into a drinking binge, which he never got out of, and every time he sees his daughter all he can see is her mother and it feels like his heart breaks a little bit more every day.

    Arriving at the house of his former best friend Armadal walks around to the back of the house and knocks on the servants’ entrance.

    “Chimney sweeper for Mr. Faolan” Armadal said with a hint of despair in his voice. The old door swung open and a butler with an openly frank look of disgust on his face as he saw the shabby looking man in front of him.

    “Really I don’t know why Master Faolan insists on using trash like you to care for his house! “ The old man practically spat upon Armadal as he gave him half of his payment, the other half would be receive upon completion.

    As Armadal climbed the outside of the house, as he wasn’t permitted to actually walk inside, his mind wandered, as it usually does on these long nights, of what his life would be like if he had only done one thing differently…What if Ceana was never born…the thought crossed his mind more than he would care to admit, and with that thought came dreams of grand adventure, and of riches, women, fame and fortune!
    However that was not the case, and as Armadal climbed into his old friends’ chimney and began to work he heard a strange sound coming from above him. Looking up he saw the grimacing face of the old butler, slicing the rope that held Armadal up. He tried to scream but the words caught in his throat, all he could say before he fell was “Ceana”. With that the rope snapped and Armadal fell…then, there was nothing.
    The following morning, Ceana woke up excited to see what her daddy had brought home with him for her, and what he had made for breakfast. She looked around the one room house, but couldn’t find him! She began to sniffle, and then cry as her daddy didn’t come home. Sniffing back her tears, Ceana steeled herself and sat on the floor. Pouting out her lower lip she crossed her arms and waited for him to come home…seconds became minutes, minutes to hours, and as night fell on Illsurian Ceana’s stomach growled so loud she was afraid the neighbors would hear it.

    Daddy will be home soon, he’s just gotta be she would tell herself over and over again. For days Ceana didn’t move from her spot. Soon she started to hallucinate, and began to see her father standing beside her, and for some reason nobody else could! When she did leave her house the other kids called her “Crazy Ceana” and threw rotten food, mud, and anything else they could get their hands on. Ceana took, to the streets, but no matter where she goes she’s always home as her daddy is right beside her.
    When Ceana lies down at night, and her dad runs his fingers through her hair, he tells her stories of wonder and awe, where she is a strong magic slinging heroine, who has the respect of the masses. The power to temper the flames of war, and to bring justice to the world.

    Edit:

    And allow me to introduce...
    Ceana The Wise

    Picture:
    Tales_of_Magic___Sorceress_by_picster.jpg

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • RainfallRainfall If you do not repay me, I will RECLAIM the ball.Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Gwyn-Lai, Windsoul Genasi Monk
    The sound of the winebottle shattering on the floor was as loud as the roar of the crowd at an execution to Gwen's ears. Louder still, and noticed by a much larger percentage of the inn's guests for the night was Miss Sarah's shout. "You ignorant slattern! Clumsy! Worthless! You cost me more money than you make in months with that!" Gwen could only look down at the ground as she was dragged into the back by her ear, thrown roughly on the floor by her employer.
    "Master Jon will have the whip on you tonight, girl! A fine lady in town, perhaps planning to spend the night at my inn, and you drop one of my finest bottles of wine?! I'll serve the customers tonight, since you're apparently too clumsy to hold a bottle in your hand! Even the lousy drunkards who come here can hold their tankards more firmly! I should have known hiring a stupid mute like you would bring bad luck, no matter how good keeping a young orphan off the streets looks to the taxmen!"
    Miss Sarah spat on Gwen as she turned on her heel, giving one last order before grabbing a wine bottle to replace the one Gwen had so recently shattered. "Wash the dishes, and don't show your face outside that door tonight! I won't have such sloppy work in my common room!"

    Gwen picked herself up, a tear falling from her eye as she went to the washing tub, picking up a plate and scrubbing the worst of the dried stew off of the old wood. A breeze from the open window caught her hair, and she closed her eyes, dreaming herself far, far away.

    The wind picked her up as she jumped from tree to tree, occasionally pausing on a rocky outcropping to observe her surroundings. The cruel bandits had been hunting her, but she was prepared to turn the tables, now that the wind had picked up, her own elemental power humming inside her.

    She leapt from above, her foot cracking bone as it connected with the spiteful woman's face, her lackwit followers turning too slowly to respond. Crackling power burst from her fists as she struck outwards, sending them flying with nothing more than her mind and the wind. They crashed to the ground, their armor sounding oddly like breaking pottery.


    "GWEN!"

    The young girl snapped back to reality. Another week of scraps from the inn, all her wages going to pay for a few broken dishes worth mere coppers at the markets. Perhaps one day she'd be as beautiful as the Genasi lady she had seen in the street that morning, the rumors whispering that she was going home to the Mobhad Leigh, so far north that it was beyond the end of the world. Perhaps one day she'd be as free as she was in her dreams. Much more likely she'd die in the street before the end of winter, if she didn't stop daydreaming.

    Gwen picked up another dish and started scrubbing, trying to pay attention this time around.

    A little different, having a dream-self that's a different race, but Gwen is a dreamer(hence her Psionic power source in her dream-self, she has a big imagination,) and a Windsoul Genasi is the closest thing to perfect freedom she could get.

    My vague idea for her inspiration on that was seeing a Genasi(or a group of Genasi) heading north through the town, with all kinds of rumors spread about them, that they were heading far north, into the barren lands, etc. Gwen just wishes she had that kind of freedom.

    Rainfall on
    UlfreBY.png
  • 3clipse3clipse I will build a labyrinth to house the cheese Labyrinths are awesome!Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    SO SAD

    SO SAD ALL THE TIME

    3clipse on
    XBL: R3clipse
    Steam: BIRD BIRD KILL IT
    Battle.net: Eclipse#1200
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    lol yea, this is the depressing game. I actually got a little sad while I was writting my backstory.

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • RainfallRainfall If you do not repay me, I will RECLAIM the ball.Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    It's not sad, it's inspiring!
    I am in tears.

    Rainfall on
    UlfreBY.png
  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    I will devour all the drops of sadwater leaking from your eyes

    For they are as sweet as the finest confectioneries

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
    Chicago Megagame group
    3DS: 5129-3454-7122
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Lmao, I think Farangu is trying to see who can make someone kill another player with their backstory

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • KorsahnKorsahn Registered User
    edited July 2010
    My entry:
    Erick Nordson, stable boy in Melfesh (? Can't make out place names) ... or Korsahn, the Valiant.
    "Once more, for glory, for honour, FOR DEATH!" cried the Paladin as he exorted his brother, deeper into the cave.

    Barrelling forward, the young soldier of Bahamut crashed into the Orc raider's unsuspecting form, toppling them both and sending their weapons skittering across the floor.
    Regaining himself quickly, the ironclad man straddles the beast and begins throttling it. Feeling victorious, he shouts further praise to Bahamut and smashes the brute's head off the floor.

    Suddenly, a swift kick is administered to his right flank and the boy awake with a jerk, speedily rubbing sleep from his eyes.

    "Come boy," the well dressed merchant says hurriedly, "my horse won't stable itself!"

    Groggily, but with fearful haste, Erick picks himself up and holds the horse's reigns for the customer.
    The man gives the boy a surreptitious look, before handing over a copper coin and turning sharply on his heel, striding imperiously away.

    One day, Erick thought to himself as he began the arduous task of grooming, feeding and stabling the horse, I will have their respect, just like Korsahn the Mighty would!

    Turning back to the task at hand, he checked the hooves for splits, or anything that needed seeing to by the farrier.

    Korsahn would have a great warhorse, and a dozen servants to do this... mused the boy, before being rudely interrupted as manure fell on his downturned head...

    He will be a human Paladin of Bahamut, and shall be loosely based on Ace Rimmer, ie, charismatic and suave, but a little foolish. Always does right by everyone, though those who win.his favour will invariably be praised above all.

    Picture:
    a95b6697.jpg

    Korsahn on
    Kallas Sunbringer, Human Invoker
    HP 17/28 Healing Surge 7 (4/8 left)
    AC 14 Fort 14 Reflex 14 Will 16
    Carnarvon wrote: »
    Now I'm at the point where when I lose, I feel like I was fairly outplayed; except for [FACTIONS I LOSE TO], those guys are assholes.
  • delrolanddelroland Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    This one's pretty intense:

    Summer, tavern wench, or Laineth the Free

    druidf26.jpg
    The stench of the man was overpowering, not least from the prodigious amount of drink he had imbibed. "Get me another drink, bitch!" he bellowed, throwing his empty mug at the timid half-elf.

    "M-m-maybe you've had e-enough, sir," Summer stammered as she bent to retrieve the cup.

    "Fine! I'll get it myself!" The disheveled drunkard heaved his immense frame from the chair, stumbling to the bar. The Matron was waiting for him, a fresh tankard in hand.

    "I apologize for the help around here. This one's on the house. And might I propose..." her voice drifted to a whisper. Summer's face turned to one of horror, as she silently mouthed the words, 'Please, no.' The Matron's eyes flashed with derision as, smiling, she continued her conversation with the customer. The man rummaged for his coin pouch, withdrawing no small stack of gold and setting it on the table as he turned to the girl with a slovenly grin on his face.

    Grabbing her by the waist, his horrendous breath nearly caused Summer to vomit. "I think it's time we got to know each other a little better, wench!" When the grime-encrusted hand dove down her blouse, Summer retreated to her special place...

    ... where she was Laineth the Free, noble valkyrie and defender of the meek! No evil could stand against the mighty psionic knight errant, and with thought and blade she frees the oppressed from their diabolical masters!

    ---

    Summer awoke from her reverie on a bed, her skirts hiked up around her. The Matron was thanking the obese man for his patronage as he belted down his clothes and put on his boots. As he left, the Matron entered the inn room bearing a tray with a kettle, basin, cup, and towels. "That one was loaded! You brought in some good coin tonight!"

    Summer refused to look up, waves of disgust and rage coursing through her. A sharp crack against her face broke the spell, and she turned with a hand to her pained cheek to face the Matron, tears welling up in her eyes.

    "How DARE you give me attitude! I'm the one putting a roof over your head, feeding you! If it weren't for me, you'd be on the street, or dead in some gutter!" As she ranted, the Matron poured hot water from the kettle, filling the bowl and cup. She then took out a small packet, pouring its bitter smelling contents into the cup and giving it a quick stir with her finger. "If you're living in my house, you're going to earn your keep, one way or another. Now get cleaned up; it's going to be a busy night. And don't forget to drink your tea. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed!"

    Summer got up from the bed, retying her blouse and smoothing her skirt. "Yes, mother."

    Half-elf Battlemind. In her "real" life, she is the daughter of a bitter old human innkeeper who was seduced by a traveling elf eighteen years ago.

    delroland on
    EVE: Online - the most fun you will ever have not playing a game.
    "Go up, thou bald head." -2 Kings 2:23
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    @delroland that is fucked up!

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • delrolanddelroland Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    It's actually based on an NPC I created for a home game. I love creeping my players the fuck out, as it makes it that much more satisfying for them when they finally put down the BBEG (and they're usually that much more motivated to do so :P).

    delroland on
    EVE: Online - the most fun you will ever have not playing a game.
    "Go up, thou bald head." -2 Kings 2:23
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    BBEG?

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • delrolanddelroland Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    "Big Bad Evil Guy", it's an acronym for the main villain of an adventure or campaign.

    delroland on
    EVE: Online - the most fun you will ever have not playing a game.
    "Go up, thou bald head." -2 Kings 2:23
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    ah, I always called him "The Evil Dude" :P

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    I should probably mention that you don't necessarily have to have a psionic power source for this to work.

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
    Chicago Megagame group
    3DS: 5129-3454-7122
  • delrolanddelroland Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    ah, I always called him "The Evil Dude" :P

    Yeah, but "TED" isn't as menacing. :lol:
    Farangu wrote: »
    I should probably mention that you don't necessarily have to have a psionic power source for this to work.

    Oh, I know. I was considering making her a paladin, but someone beat me to it, and besides, half-elf stats fit better with battleminds.

    delroland on
    EVE: Online - the most fun you will ever have not playing a game.
    "Go up, thou bald head." -2 Kings 2:23
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    I'll try and get my stats posted tonight. Do you want a new post or just edit the old one?

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • licwidcakelicwidcake Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    My submissions:

    Prisoner Orsen Masterson or Master Thief Pieter Jaeger
    http://4e.orokos.com/sheets/2250

    Story:

    Pieter dodged the guard like most people would avoid a pile of horse dung in the road.

    "Come on! You're not even trying!" he shouted as he flipped and twirled around the strikes and grabs, making his way towards the coaches passengers.

    Leaping over a thrust that seemed like it was moving in slow motion, he pushed the guard's helmet down over his head and rapped it hard with the flat of his short sword. The second guard tried to catch him off guard with an attack from behind while blinded guard flailed wildly. With a quick duck the guards skewered each other and Pieter had a clear shot at the passenger compartment.

    As he approached, the passenger compartment seemed to almost glow through it's bars with the riches inside of it.

    He reached out to grab the bar to open the door...

    And Orsen found himself awake in his grimy cell, clutching at the bars.

    If only he hadn't agreed to that stupid plan. He wouldn't have to sit in a dark and dirty cell, get beaten by guards, be half starved all the time...but what could he have done? What would anyone have done? His wife was sick. They needed money to pay for medicine. So when a shady looking character offered for him to earn 3 times the money he could make in a month of working labor for simply unlocking a gate, it was too good to pass up. Little did he know that it was a trick and he was being set up as a patsy for the murder of a wealthy merchant. So instead of receiving payment, he was thrown in prison to rot.

    Only weeks after being imprisoned he received his first and last visitor: His sister in law came by to say that his wife had died. And so he sat in his tiny cell and tried to escape into the world of Pieter, where he could never be caught.

    Token: I actually like the default one from the character builder so that's easy.


    Gurk

    Crippled Veteran or Heroic Fighter in his Prime?
    http://4e.orokos.com/sheets/2251
    Story:
    Gurk had fought the good fight. Despite his orcish heritage, he had led an honorable life of service in his town militia. He had repelled goblin marauders, pushed back the undead and earned a commission as an officer. Then, in the prime of his life, an improperly hooked up wagon and a horse startled by a snake crushed his legs and made him a useless soldier. It was so unfair, he was meant to be a hero (and well on his way to becoming one). He should be looked at with admiration, not with pity. But that is what has happened. With no other marketable skills he has been reduced to relying on the charity of the community to provide for his next meal, adding insult to injury for a once proud warrior.

    But in his dreams...

    In his dreams he is a hero straight out of the legends. Rescuing damsels, slaying dragons, and other heroic daring dos, all narrated by a booming voice that gives his epic adventures the theatric flair they deserve.

    It's too bad he can't just dream all the time...
    Token:
    orc_barbarian.jpg


    Special:
    For Gurk, his dreams are narrated by a deep voice that explains his inner thoughts, plans, and actions as he is doing them. For gameplay this would actually be Gurk talking himself, explaining his inner thoughts, plans, and actions as he is doing them. For the narration I would use a different font then for his actual dialog.

    licwidcake on
  • RazorwiredRazorwired Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Been meaning to dip my toe in the 4e pool.
    Lily looked upon the house that had once been hers. She couldn't stay too long, lest the current occupants discover a crazy old woman lurking about their garden. Since Tristan had died these small shadows of her former life were all that kept her sane.

    Tristan was such a fine man, so strong and brave. And foolish! How selfish it was for him to sacrifice himself for his comrades when he had a woman to take care of! Soon after he had been killed the tax collectors came. Lily suffered the humiliation of having her property seized until the ragged old woman, wearing scraps of cloth no good for a horse, was all that was left of the soldier's wife.

    If only Tristan were here. The brave fool would have had the courage to turn away the corrupt collector that had removed the lady from her former glory.

    Oh Tristan, so tough and honorable. The brash fool would have no problem cleaving a few choice heads had they attempted to steal their lovely home from them when he was alive. What was a tax collector anyway?! A coward that dodged honorable service when better men, like her Tristan, were away doing proper men's work! That's all the "man" was.

    The door of her former home creaking open snapped Lily out of her spell. She saw the children, who should have been HER children, scamper out of the door to play in the small garden. Oh how she adored the young girl, if she were hers she would have such things to teach her.

    But she wasn't. And the children coming out meant that her visit to her former life had come to an end. Besides, the innkeeper may have thrown something edible out today.

    If it's a little muddy, "Sir" Tristan would be the actual character. A Human Fighter and the idealized version of Lily's deceased husband.

    Razorwired on
  • delrolanddelroland Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Updated my original post with the character sheet.

    delroland on
    EVE: Online - the most fun you will ever have not playing a game.
    "Go up, thou bald head." -2 Kings 2:23
  • AegisAegis Not Quite TorontoRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    This game concept is intriguing. Race question: how are you on Kalashtar? Too planar? Too Eberron?

    Aegis on
    Currently DMing: None right now! :(
    Characters
    [5e] Dural Melairkyn - AC 18 | HP 31 | Melee +4/1d8+2 | Spell +4/DC 12
  • ZaximusZaximus Chicago, ILRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    I've been lurking for some time now but when I saw this recruitment thread I finally had to get in here. This is an absolutely fascinating concept. I'll be sure to drop in a submission tomorrow!

    Zaximus on
  • interrobanginterrobang kawaii as  hellRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Continuing my long-standing tradition of stealing gorgeous artwork and then scrabbling together a tediously long story around it, I present:

    Elle
    or,

    The Feathered Maiden of Riddleport

    2cei7ma.jpg

    In the waking world, Elle is in the running for the least interesting girl in the world.

    She doesn't really know how old she is. If she had to wager a guess, she'd say sixteen or seventeen, but she doesn't see the point in keeping track - so she doesn't. From sunrise until sundown she sits - along with a dozen other girls as uninteresting as her - on a shabby wooden bench in a shabby wooden longhouse stitching together shabby woolen blankets for her slave-driving employer to take into the city market and sell at absurdly marked-up prices. She normally makes enough to keep herself fed and keep a roof over her head; sometimes she can scrape up enough spare coinage to treat herself to a sweetroll or a new pair of shoes, but it's been months since she's stumbled upon a bonus like that and she's starting to doubt it will ever happen again.

    Elle, at the very least, possesses the good fortune to be literate, and that's something she makes good use of with every waking moment she isn't at work. Through many, many years of peddling, begging, haggling and outright stealing she's managed to accrue an impressive collection for someone of her social strata; the inside of her ramshackle cottage resembles a library that has exploded. She distracts herself from the sluggish languor of her life with legends and tales of fictional heroes, of men and women who are larger than life and bend destiny itself to their will. Sadly, despite her distractions she is still just Elle the boring little seamstress, no matter how many books she reads.

    But when she lays her head against her pillow at night and drifts off into fitful sleep that all changes.

    In her dreams she is the Feathered Maiden and she is the greatest thief that the bustling trade hub of Riddleport has ever known.

    Her exploits are the stuff of local myth and the stories that people tell about her are too ludicrous to be true. Some say that she is the greatest duelist the world has ever known; they say that she crossed blades with the infamous Katul Weth, the man known as the Whirling Devil of Brinewall, and escaped with nary a scratch. Others say she drove some far-off, nameless noble to bankruptcy (and the brink of insanity) through her legendary skill at thievery; they say that she relieved him of his collection of precious jewels and priceless artwork one piece at a time, leaving a note and one of her signature peacock quills each night to inform him of her next target and then slipping in the next night to pilfer it, defeating his increasingly desperate efforts to secure his belongings without the slightest hint of effort.

    The Feathered Maiden is well-known and beloved among the disenfranchised in Riddleport - the poverty-stricken denizens of the Fishing District in particular revere her as though she were some kind of deity - but there is no man or woman among them who could truthfully claim to have ever met her. Perhaps their adoration stems from their admiration of her unflinching moral code, one that guides her to only steal from the unnecessarily wealthy and cruel. Or perhaps it stems instead from her penchant for distributing that unnecessary wealth to those who can make use of it - the sight of a cloaked figure standing on a high rooftop and slitting open a burlap sack full of coins to let them pour like rain onto the street below is not an uncommon one in the Fishing District.

    If one were to disregard the tall tales and questionable rumors about her, the Feathered Maiden's skill is undeniable. She is fleet of foot, quick of mind and a deadly swordswoman. In a world full of struggling merchants, impoverished peasants and haggard hedge knights, she is a character who is larger than life; the type of character who bends destiny to their will.

    But the Feathered Maiden is only a dream, and no matter how hard Elle tries to stay in that world, the sun always rises, and she will always have to go back to that shabby wooden bench in that shabby wooden longhouse and stitch those shabby woolen blankets.

    I may have gotten carried away.

    interrobang on
  • WoogityWoogity Registered User
    edited July 2010
    Searus Lightstep penniless bum

    Image
    cov_33.jpg

    Backstory
    Searus couldn't help but chuckle to himself a little staring at the dirty copper coin clutched tightly between his thumb and forefinger.... tax season...what a gas. To think that he could possibly have more to give...simply hilarious. As he listened to the chink of the approaching chain mail he gazed down the well by which he had been standing lost in his thoughts. It wouldn't be long now he thought the smile fading from his face...one copper piece, to present that to the magistrate he might as well just say he had nothing at all, he might catch less of a beating... not that it mattered anyways, this fucker wasn't gonna lay a finger on this coin, I've got plans for this one.

    This is the well that I brought her to after her mother died; the place where she promised him with that childish charm that could melt the heart of Bane himself that a wish on a coin thrown down this well would come true. One of her play mates musta’ fed her that bullshit or something, but coming from her, he would have jumped in the well himself just to hear her laugh. Closing his eyes he remembered as the girl wished to see her mother again as the coin plunked into the water, he remembered her smile, what a naïve kid. In hindsight this fucking well had proven him to be the fool, as eight months later despite spending everything he had on the best care he could afford, and when that was done taking out loan after loan to cover skyrocketing medical bills, the child died of the same damn plague that claimed her mother...well at least I guess she got her wish he though again with a smile, tears now streaking his dirty face...

    Another loud chink of mail now accompanied by the squeaky voice he knew all too well.

    “ I do not suppose it’s even worth asking if you have your taxes this quarter eh Searus?”

    with a smile I present the one copper piece shoving it in that fat little face, just long enough for it to turn the appropriate color of purple, before wheeling about and hurling that little piece of crap towards the well. As it soared through the air, Searus pondered his wish, while the clubs of the magistrate's bodyguards descended on his head. A wish, hell yeah! Anything I want right...well to be with my wife and daughter again...nah my luck that wouldn’t play out, they are in a better place now and I won’t be so selfish as to ruin the experience with my useless presence, besides, I would be headed straight for the nine hells anyways, last bit of my soul burned out long ago. What then, what would I wish for...

    Laying on the cobblestones with blood oozing from his nose through the one eye not swollen shut he remained focused on the coin whirling through the air, well, if I have to pick something I would love to be a shadow! Something these motherfuckers can’t beat up on. Yeah, that would do it for me I think. Then I could just slip away, and if these bastards ever caught up, like a vengeful shade Id slit their throats and dance in the mist from their necks, satisfied that some folks somewhere could afford to feed themselves for another week...

    With a loud Dink! the copper piece struck the edge of the well and fell back to the street. HA! That makes twice you’ve fucked me over you damn well! HA ...Muffffalg...

    The magistrate's foot found the back of Searus's head sending a loose tooth bouncing down the cobbles
    “Since you have nothing to contribute, I suppose well just leave your worthless ass here in the street...no reason to feed you in the Gaol with the good tax payers money...now go eat some garbage or cover yourself in filth, whatever it is you urchin's do in your spare time!”

    heh yea I thought as my strength failed and I fell into unconsciousness, in his dreams a vengeful shadow….

    Woogity on
    Rad Anvilspit hp 23/29 surge value 7 surges 1/10 17:ac 16:fort 12: ref 13: will

    Henry Teach, human cutthroat

    the game assassino_O
  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Aegis Kalashtar would be a bit too planar for this particular setting I would think.
    Awesomeness

    e5fabaa93e2b62c2b02a8bb706b00bca.gif

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
    Chicago Megagame group
    3DS: 5129-3454-7122
  • KorsahnKorsahn Registered User
    edited July 2010
    Updated my post with a picture and am planning some background expansions, so will post them when they're decided and (slowly) typed up...

    Edit:
    By the way, I put a level 1 and 2 item on my character (plus one I bought) If it was only meant to be a level 2 and 520 HP, I'll drop the magic scale down to scale.

    Korsahn on
    Kallas Sunbringer, Human Invoker
    HP 17/28 Healing Surge 7 (4/8 left)
    AC 14 Fort 14 Reflex 14 Will 16
    Carnarvon wrote: »
    Now I'm at the point where when I lose, I feel like I was fairly outplayed; except for [FACTIONS I LOSE TO], those guys are assholes.
  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Korsahn you only get a level 2 item for free. If you want to spend the gold on another one, that's your choice.

    Also did you try using mythweavers for uploading a sheet?

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
    Chicago Megagame group
    3DS: 5129-3454-7122
  • KorsahnKorsahn Registered User
    edited July 2010
    Ok, then ill drop the scale to.mundane.
    It's not the uploading, its that I'm not actually using a pc (in using an HTC phone)
    It's really useful, but not fully compatible with everything, unless anyone knows differently?

    Korsahn on
    Kallas Sunbringer, Human Invoker
    HP 17/28 Healing Surge 7 (4/8 left)
    AC 14 Fort 14 Reflex 14 Will 16
    Carnarvon wrote: »
    Now I'm at the point where when I lose, I feel like I was fairly outplayed; except for [FACTIONS I LOSE TO], those guys are assholes.
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Updated my character post with image and sheet. Be amazed at Ceana The Wise, and her...umm...talents

    :winky:

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    a 9 year old girl that dreams she looks like that, huh.

    Interesting.

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
    Chicago Megagame group
    3DS: 5129-3454-7122
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    lol if you recall her dead hallucination of a father tells her stories to put her to sleep. And in these stories she's...well...hot, cause who dreams of growing up to be fugly

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • KorsahnKorsahn Registered User
    edited July 2010
    Are we sure this isn't just Farangu psycho-analysing us...?

    Korsahn on
    Kallas Sunbringer, Human Invoker
    HP 17/28 Healing Surge 7 (4/8 left)
    AC 14 Fort 14 Reflex 14 Will 16
    Carnarvon wrote: »
    Now I'm at the point where when I lose, I feel like I was fairly outplayed; except for [FACTIONS I LOSE TO], those guys are assholes.
  • Crimson PhantomCrimson Phantom Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    No, but that's half the fun

    Crimson Phantom on
    Rolan Landrahil, Elf Orbizard
    HP: 24/24 Healing Surge: 6 (4/6)
    AC: 15 Fort 12, Ref 16, Will 17
    Passive Insight: 19 Passive Perception: 16
  • ironzergironzerg Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    After reading some of the other entries, realized I had to step things up.

    Re-introducing Rusty, or in his dreams The General, Warforged Warden

    The General
    thegeneral.jpg

    Rusty
    rustyf.jpg

    The machine that dreams?
    "Rusty? Rusty? RUSTY!! C'mon you busted up tin can piece of scrap! What the hell do you think you're doing? I ain't gonna eat if you don't keep them damn crows off the freakin' corn. You didn't blow another whatzzimagiggit again? Dammit son, you've had more shit fall off you than a wagon of fresh manure," yelled Farmer Kragen. "Now stop gawkin', and stop them squawkin' birds already!"

    "I'm sorry," was all Rusty could offer. With a slow grind and a few creaks, the bent and busted up mechanical man began to lurch after the crows, his dirt and mud caked servos grinding under the effort. Rusty spend the rest of the day diligently scaring crows and shooing livestock away from the corn fields.

    As the sun set and the pests gave up for the day, Rusty trudged back to the center of the field, to those familiar divots where his feet has stood for the last three years. Rusty began the familiar process of shutting down all but the most vital systems for maintenance, the equivalent of what humans called "sleep". However, something strange happened now and again, and most especially after he's had a particularly brutal or embarrassing day in the fields. As he shut his systems down, he could feel the power drain from his limbs. But during that process, some strange, warm glow began to flow through his body. He could never isolate the phenomena, always assuming it was some loose wire or broken circuit he couldn't detect.

    Of course, that's when the, what did humans call them? Dreams. Yes, that's when the dreams started...

    The General strode across the battle field, surveying the damage and destruction the previous battle had caused. The battle was won. The General's troops were scattered across the field, retrieving fallen or injured comrades, as well as finishing any of their vanquish foes that still littered the field. What was his name? Who knew? His troops just referred to him as The General. It was a name that carried distinction. Honor. Awe.

    The General, in a moment of introspection looked down at the shining silver armor that plated his arms. He admire the fine steel sword held in his hand. He couldn't help but marvel in the craftsmanship and precision of the sword: A perfect killer, sculpted of the purest metals. The metaphor was apt for himself. The General, a man above all men. The perfect leader, the perfect soldier, the perfect tool of war. A liberator? A conqueror? An executioner? A hero? The General was all of these.

    The General is both a legend and a curse, depending on what side of the battle you're on. It's said he's never been wounded in battle, and has never fallen. It is said he can shrug off the blow of a sword or the piercing of arrows like a peasant would brush off the biting flies. He possess the strength of ten men, a hundred men, maybe even a thousand. He can kill you with a single blow of his sword if you stand to fight him, or cause you to be helplessly rooted if you chose to flee. Some say he has the power to compel his enemies to stand and fight, ignoring all other threats around them. It is said in his strength he can even rally the spirits of men, boosting their will to fight and their endurance to match, continuing to fight long after the steel blows should have cut them down.

    His gaze again turned to the field of strife. Maybe, a long time ago, too long to remember, he would've felt some pity or remorse for those fallen. But he didn't time to reflect on those lost. For tomorrow brought another battle, maybe the end of this war, or the start of another. That suited The General just fine. He was a tool of war. Sometimes, The General felt...he is war.

    Background
    Rusty, as Farmer Kragen calls him, was dug up in one of his fields three years ago. Somehow, he was able to turn Rusty back on, and the mechanical man came back to life, with no recollection of anything. Not knowing any better, Farmer Kragen put him to work as a mechanical scarecrow in the south fields. For the last three years, Rusty has been waging an endless war against the crows and livestock, guarding the corn fields like they grew pure gold.

    Shortly after re-booting himself, Rusty began to experience a strange sensation. When he would power down for the night, some else would come to life. When that strange feeling would circulate through his metallic body, he would begin to dream. He didn't know what this feeling was, or why it came to him. He was certain the feeling wasn't part of his original programming. It was definitely something that was "added" to him.

    However, Rusty has grown use to the "dreams", and even welcomes the respite for reality. For in his dreams, he's the powerful warden, The General, who fights battle after battle, seemingly endless wars. Despite the dreams often being violent and chaotic, Rusty "awakens" with a certain sense of strength, to carrying on in his toils in the field, day after endless day.

    Gameplay Discussion
    After a couple PMs with Farangu, I realized I had to go a little deeper with the character. Rusty is a warforged, a mechanical construct that doesn't sleep. So how would he dream?

    Something is inside Rusty, causing him to dream. Is it simply a mechanical malfunction? Is he just a defective construct? Or is there more to it?

    I wanted to create something more interesting for the character of Rusty, in case the interaction goes deep into our mundane characters, as well as our dreams. Is there some sort of connection between Rusty and The General? Is or was Rusty once The General? Is he experiencing an alternate reality, or dreams of the past, or dreams of the future. Is the strange feeling inside of Rusty the trapped essence of a great hero? Perhaps a long dead warrior who was searching for immortality. Maybe he was a failed experiment in creating an ancient super weapon, left disposed of, only to be found centuries later. Or could he be an arcane vessel, storing the trapped energy of an archaic god or defeated avatar that was too powerful to be destroyed outright?

    I'm not sure where the RP is going to this, but I wanted to create the possibility to link the two persona together, to create some sort of interaction. Will Rusty eventually leave the farm, to seek out clues as to what's causing him to dream? Or will he be reluctant to leave, and simply wait for the day he doesn't reactivate after his dreams?

    I wanted to make the characters more rounded, with room to grow, then just follow the stereotypical Pinnochio syndrome it seems most Warforged are RP'd with. Hence the change to the submission. I felt it was worth the explanation.

    ironzerg on
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    Proud member of Unrepentant Gaming! Pantless gaming at its finest.
    Check us out in Neverwinter.

  • FaranguFarangu I am a beardy man With a beardy planRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    I like how I never exactly specified that these had to be incredibly depressing origin stories, merely that the real character had to be working class

    And so far we've gotten a waitress/prostitute, a deaf minstrel, a paraplegic orc, a war machine used as a scarecrow, an orphaned 9 year old, and others


    GLEE

    Farangu on
    farangu.png

    Hey! Want to learn how to play Street Fighter? You should read this.
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  • interrobanginterrobang kawaii as  hellRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    It's funny that my entry is an underage sweatshop worker with very little desire to live in the real world and that's still the most upbeat out of all them.

    interrobang on
  • lodwilklodwilk Registered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Nareamus, the Tiefling Psion
    Tiefling_by_IronMitten.jpg

    Background
    Nasir was busy setting up the camp for the night while the wizard taught his apprentice the meaning of what the nights stars meant. Nasir still regrets he the day he showed up at the wizards house. He knocked on the door, eagerly waiting for someone greet him, in his hand was a note tightly clenched. It was a notice he saw posted outside the tavern he worked at. It advertised a wizard needing someone to help him, and that it would pay. So the tiefling told his boss that he quit, that his cooking was terrible, and that Nasir frequently spat in the food. He didn’t care anymore, he was off to become a wizards apprentice, he would learn to control the arcane elements and become so much more than a simple tavern worker.

    That was over two years ago however, and Nasir has yet to learn a single spell. Apparently the notice was for a servant to the wizard, not an apprentice. Nasir spent his days cleaning up after the wizard Dikondrius, making sure his meals where ready, and explaining to the town guards that the explosions heard from the residence was nothing to be worried about. The wizard paid him no mind though, only acknowledging the tiefling when it was time to pay him, and pay that was pretty much the same as when he worked at the tavern. Other than that, Nasir might as well have been invisible. So why did he stay?

    Her name was Suhazana, and she was the actual apprentice of the wizard. She was a human child, twelve years old to be exact, and was the first child to show kindness to Nasir. When he worked at the tavern, the adults would treat Nasir with distrust and contempt. The children however would treat him with vicious cruelty. They would frequently sneak into the kitchen call him names, and kick at him, all the while he could do nothing for their leader was his employers son. He still remembered the day they pushed him into the cooking fires. He was a tiefling and the fire did nothing to him, but the sight of the tiefling calmly taking his head out of a fire, his hair lit up in flames was enough to frighten the children. That night their fathers gave Nasir a vicious beating for “intentionally scaring their children, who were just being boys.”

    Suhazana was nothing like those boys. She was nice to him, asked how he was feeling each morning, and wished him a good night before retiring to her bedchambers. One day she came into his room and handed him a book, saying she thought he might like it. The book was red, and on the cover were the words “Bael Turath: A history of the Tiefling race” written on it. The book soon became his most treasured possession, for in it he learned of great his people truly once were. There were those who succumbed to their fiendish legacy, but for Nasir the true shapers of Bael Turath were those of the purest mind. Tiefling who controlled their bloodline through self discipline, who were able to bend their enemies minds to their will through sheer willpower.

    Now when Nasir performed his required chores he no longer did them with a dull expression on his face. Each task of his was done with such routine, that he no longer needed to concentrate on what he was doing. So he created Nasremeus Syran, the Tiefling who had achieved a perfect state of mind.


    Nasremeus wandered down from the fenwall mountains, ready to bring back the Bael Turath empire. However it would be how it once was before the corruption had entered their veins, before the ritual of the Bloodfire Moon. The new Bael Turath shall not be a place of shadows and despair. All who seek safety will find refuge. Justice will be merciful. Your rule will be righteous. Tieflings will again have a home in the world. He shall inspire those to fight against oppression that the true way to salvation was through oneself. Those with evil intent in their hearts try to stop him, and they always fail. The slaver captain would die from his own mens swords, compelled by the thoughts of Nasremeus, the lord who over taxes his people would listen to the Tiefling and come to realize that his people would work harder if they were less burdened, and as such his whole realm shall prosper.

    Nasir’s last daydream of Nasremeaus was of the Tiefling entering Whistledown, about to break up a local thieves guild, when he was interrupted by the wizard Dikondrius. He informed Nasir that they would be leaving Illsurian for some business in Whistledown, and Nasir was to accompany them. After all someone was required to make camp.

    This is where Nasir now found himself, on his way to Whistledown, where he if he was luck he could meet Nasremeus. The young tiefling sat there on the grass, reaching into the fire to stir up the logs, to prevent it from going out. As the flames licked his hands, not once did he consider that Nasremeus only existed in his mind.

    lodwilk on
  • AlphaboomerangAlphaboomerang Registered User
    edited July 2010
    Chant, Tiefling Warlock

    Background:
    "Cry, Chant, we know you want to!"
    "Yeah, come on, Chant, lets see some tears!"
    *Thud*
    "Haha, yeah, that'll loosen him-"
    *Thud-thud*
    "Why ain'tcha cryin', Chant, you like bein' kicked?"
    *Thud*
    "Haha, kick 'im again, Briggs!"
    "Get 'im in the face!"
    *THUD*

    Tears finally begin to stream down Chant's face as it is struck by a leather boot. The young Tiefling known only as Chant scrabbles on his hands and knees, fingers tightening around a thin twig. Suddenly he rises, the stick held in front of him as though it might offer some protection.

    "Whoa-ho-ho, look out, he's got his magic wand!"
    "Oh, I'm so scared of your stupid stick!"
    "You gonna cast a spell on me, Chant? You gonna turn me into a pig?"

    Chant raises the stick in front of him, pointing it squarely at the face of the largest of his oppressors. A large teenager with an exceptionally cunning mind and a penchant for torture, Briggs is the worst of the rabble who tormented Chant on a daily basis. Chant closes his eyes and hopes, prays for his visions to come true, to curse his worst enemy into an oblivion of unending suffering.

    Nothing happens

    "Watch out, Briggs, here comes a Magic Missile!"
    "Hah, yeah, any day now, Chant!"
    "You wanna see some real magic, demon boy?"

    Briggs knocks the fake wand out of Chant's hand with a single swipe of his meaty fist.

    "You show 'im, Briggs!"
    "Put his lights out!"

    Briggs looks at his fist as a smile crosses his face.

    "This here's REAL magic, Chant... Abra-Kadabra, AlakaZAM!"

    On the final syllable, the fist connects with Chants face, knocking his body into a group of trash barrels, and his mind into a new reality.

    In this new world, the world of Chant's subconscious, Chant stands proud against his brutish tormentors, a rod of swirling energy in his hand rather than a simple piece of wood. With a single intonation his enemy's doom is assured, and with a second syllable they fall as one, dark energy washing over innocent and guilty alike as the thugs fall amongst suddenly-dead rats and cockroaches. The vermin played no part in the torment of Chant, but... sacrifices must be made. In his dreams, Chant is a driven being, determined to strike out against all who he percieves as an oppressor... no matter the cost.

    Personality:
    Chant is a street urchin, but not very successful, so he is awkward in social situations. He broods about revenge, as all good warlocks should. He has a secret yearning to become undead because he knows undead don't feel pain; he worships Vecna because of his desire to become a lich (WAYYY down the road like wow) and because of his mistrusting nature.

    Might have a less conformist uber-sad-face one up later, depends on how tired I am.

    Alphaboomerang on
  • BrodyBrody SeattleRegistered User regular
    edited July 2010
    Damn, and I was going to have a closet half-elf who let his fey out in his dreams after hiding from the humans all day. But I dont want to conform to the non-conformist.

    Brody on
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