I'd really like to submit for this. Really. I've never actually played Dark Sun but have been interested in the setting since 2nd edition. Brom's art is so cool.
Unfortuneatly, I can't seem to get this CB Loader up and running. It looks like I've done everything right, but I still can't see any Dark Sun material in the Builder. Rats.
I may just have to make a character the old fashioned way (ie: Pen, Paper and some Typing afterwards) for submission...
Make sure you've checked the 'Dark Sun' box. It's right next to the Inherent Bonuses checkbox, which should also be checked.
Ok, but I don't see a Dark Sun box. I assume you're talking about the "Optional Details" section under the Details pane of the Manage tab? I see Inherent Bonuses, Spellscared, Harper, House Vadalis and Circle of Smoke and Whispers boxes, but no Dark Sun.
Under campaign settings, I have checked everything but there is no Dark Sun option. I have build 230055, so I should be updated. I coped the CBLoader files like the instructions told me too. I ran it from a shortcut, saw the new file get created in a CMD window & closed the program. Opened it again using the proper executable file and...nada.
I'd really like to submit for this. Really. I've never actually played Dark Sun but have been interested in the setting since 2nd edition. Brom's art is so cool.
Unfortuneatly, I can't seem to get this CB Loader up and running. It looks like I've done everything right, but I still can't see any Dark Sun material in the Builder. Rats.
I may just have to make a character the old fashioned way (ie: Pen, Paper and some Typing afterwards) for submission...
Make sure you've checked the 'Dark Sun' box. It's right next to the Inherent Bonuses checkbox, which should also be checked.
Ok, but I don't see a Dark Sun box. I assume you're talking about the "Optional Details" section under the Details pane of the Manage tab? I see Inherent Bonuses, Spellscared, Harper, House Vadalis and Circle of Smoke and Whispers boxes, but no Dark Sun.
Under campaign settings, I have checked everything but there is no Dark Sun option. I have build 230055, so I should be updated. I coped the CBLoader files like the instructions told me too. I ran it from a shortcut, saw the new file get created in a CMD window & closed the program. Opened it again using the proper executable file and...nada.
I would try redownloading the stuff you don't have.
I'd really like to submit for this. Really. I've never actually played Dark Sun but have been interested in the setting since 2nd edition. Brom's art is so cool.
Unfortuneatly, I can't seem to get this CB Loader up and running. It looks like I've done everything right, but I still can't see any Dark Sun material in the Builder. Rats.
I may just have to make a character the old fashioned way (ie: Pen, Paper and some Typing afterwards) for submission...
Make sure you've checked the 'Dark Sun' box. It's right next to the Inherent Bonuses checkbox, which should also be checked.
Ok, but I don't see a Dark Sun box. I assume you're talking about the "Optional Details" section under the Details pane of the Manage tab? I see Inherent Bonuses, Spellscared, Harper, House Vadalis and Circle of Smoke and Whispers boxes, but no Dark Sun.
Under campaign settings, I have checked everything but there is no Dark Sun option. I have build 230055, so I should be updated. I coped the CBLoader files like the instructions told me too. I ran it from a shortcut, saw the new file get created in a CMD window & closed the program. Opened it again using the proper executable file and...nada.
Does 'Proper Executable File' mean the original CBuilder file, or the CBLoader? (You're meant to use the CBLoader.)
I used the CBLoader once...generated the proper files and then went back to using the orignal executable. I thought I read on the wiki somewhere that you're only meant to use the CBLoader once?
Anyway, unless my issues are helping others, we shouldn't clog up Denada's recruitment thread.
Thanks to everyone for your help, I think I'm on the right track now.
You always load with CBLoader.exe, that is your issue.
Infidel on
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KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
edited January 2011
Okay, this is getting long. I'll try and cut down some of the planned detail (I went a little berserk reading through the Dark Sun material, and picking out neat places my character would have wanted to visit), and finish the app up this evening. There's a lot of stuff to cover in here!
Yeah, I've decided not to app up, just due to some of the fantastic work you guys have done. I think I'd rather read you guys play these amazing characters.
Trust on
We Stand Ready
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KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
The slim youth hung back in the shadowed areas of the ruins, allowing his former companions to take the brunt of the assault. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, imagining that he could smell the other world in the air around him, the Invisible Kingdom, the World Within the Winds. He had escaped the dangers in the forest, only to find an even deadlier problem within the walls of the ruined city. The strange, unfamiliar beasts (covered with fur, not scales or chitin, that moved unnaturally fast with shocking agility!) that harried them outside had slowed their pursuit as the group hid behind ruined columns and in rubble-strewn doorways. They were not prepared for what was inside, thinking only of the untold riches that the blond-haired traveller promised to be hidden there, according to the old stories.
As the last of his companions fell to the barely-seen claws of his intangible assailant, Tay slipped further into the ancient building.
~~ooOoo~~
Tay rubbed his hands together, and retrieved his soft leather gloves from his belt. Elf-leather, the halfling that sold him them had assured him, though he was sure they were more likely to be Kank-hide. Now that he was sure the series of traps set into the ancient cask's locks were disarmed, it was time to see what he had found. He opened the lid, and was greeted with a pile of rotting garments, the once-fine silks and gossamer-thin cloaks now spoiled and useless.
"Dammit," Tay cursed, turning his head to spit. "By the sun's unholy fires, this was a waste of my time." Shaking his head, the youth grimaced and started to sort through the rapidly deteriorating cloth, most of which fell to dust or tore at his touch. 'There has to be something in here,' he told himself, just as his fingers closed on something firm and solid. Curiously, he brushed aside the strands of decaying fabric, and retrieved the object from the pile of clothes. It was a thick cylinder, about as wide as a sword-hilt, made of a pale, irridescent material that he didn't recognise. It wasn't bone, not with that sheen, but it was something close. It wasn't cold and slick, like metal, but oddly warm to the touch and smooth in texture, with a reassuring weight. It was exquisitely carved, and inlaid with patterns of a darker material that seemed to refuse to reflect the light of Tay's torch. He couldn't make head nor tail of the patterns however, other than the shape of the tip. Some kind of animal, not unlike the ones outside in the forest, though highly stylised. Sleek and graceful, it was the form of a swift predator, but not one familiar to the tomb-robber. He pocketed the find, and continued to explore.
~~ooOoo~~
The room Tay now stood in was dominated by a large artifact in the center, a raised dias with a ruined upright circle of a strangely familiar material, pale and almost sparkling in the light of his torch. As he approached to investigate, a sudden thought struck him. The rod? He retrieved it from his hidden pocket, and raised it to the light. The material looked very close to that of the construction before him, and after a moment's hesitation, he touched one to the other, without quite knowing why.
The effect was instantaneous. An explosion of heat and light erupted from the point of contact, and the following shockwave blasted Tay from his feet, and against the back wall. He struck his head, and slumped to the ground with a groan, knocked senseless by the impact. As he tried to push himself to his feet, something small, quick, and shimmery darted around him.
"What is it? Is it food? Is it a master?" one voice asked.
"It's a THIEF!" another squealed in delight, dissolving into a chittering chuckle of amusement. "Ayauhteotl, it's a THIEF!"
"We should keep it," the first decided. "Quickly, take it through!"
Tay was born to a pair of Artisans working in the City-state of Tyr. Potters, to be exact. They brought him up with every intention of training him to carry on the family craft, and while he had the clever hands needed to throw pots, he most certainly did not have the patience. He took to escaping the house at any opportunity, spending his days on the streets, with one group of urchins or another. This was where he learned his skills in misdirection, stealth, sleight of hand, and lying convincingly. He'd run with one group for a while, and when his lies about where he stayed the night, and how he never seemed to be as hungry as them ran out, he'd find another gang and work with them to pick pockets, steal food and trinkets, and generally making the city a much more troublesome place to live.
It was with one of this gangs of urchins, that he first heard the stories of the World Within the Winds, The Invisible Kingdoms, and The Grey. Places where water fell from the sky more than once or twice a year, places where green things grew, and travelling from one village to the next was not a perilous journey that claimed the lives of many who attempted it. One particular gang of homeless thief-children had a minder, an older boy who was almost an adult, who learned the old tales from his grandfather, before the old man died, leaving him alone. For an entire two weeks, Tay stayed with this group, listening to the stories and sleeping rough every night with the other children. The concept of another world, separate from Athas, but always just on the other side of the wind, like two sides of the same coin, caught hold of Tay's imagination. When he finally returned to his family (the older boy was caught stealing, and sentenced to have his hand removed on the spot by the Templars - He died from the wound minutes later), he pursued the stories avidly. His parents took this interest in what they considered to be ancient history and mythology seriously - after all, if he was studying, he wasn't on the streets, and an education was a noble ideal to strive towards.
Unfortunately for them, Tay had no interest in history beyond tales of the worlds within worlds, no desire to learn his numbers or the tenets of the Sorceror Kings, and no drive to read anything else they suggested (except perhaps the barest minimum of the land's laws, so he knew what he could get away with), and once he had exhausted the sources of information available to his family, he wanted more. He went back to the streets, scouring the city for any information he could find, and decided that the best way to get some of the books he heard about was to fall back in with his criminal friends, and utilise their knowledge and training to get it.
Tay became a commited, common thief, a season after his sixteenth Lifeday. While he was no cat-burglar, and not quite as skilled with locks and mechanisms as some within the criminals he ran with, his ability to charm and trick information out of his 'marks', misdirect them with clever banter and to have them love him for it was considerable. So much so, that he became one of the more respected larcenists in his circle, especially where there was legwork involving actual people to be dealt with.
Just when he was becoming useful, he left. He was almost eighteen at this point, and had realised that if he wanted to pursue his ambition, he needed to explore the lands for the subjects of his stories. He needed to get out of Tyr.
Tay became a wanderer, but never alone. His clever tongue and street-savvy nature allowed him to present himself as whatever he thought people most wanted him to be, and once he had their trust, he'd lie a little more, coax here, push there, and end up as part of a caravan travelling to the next settlement, or in a gang of treasure-hunters lured to the site of ruins, or supposed gates to other worlds that Tay had read about, under the pretense of a huge hoard of steel and jewels to be plundered. Most of those dupes didn't see Tay again, for one reason or another. Soon, he had visited almost every settlement and trading post in the Tyr region, at least those which were near what Tay referred to as 'sites of relevant archaeological significance'.
It was during his travels to Urik, in search of answers at the Lake of Golden Dreams that Tay had his first major breakthrough. Along with other pilgrims seeking visions, Tay squatted at the water's edge, inhaling those noxious vapors, and waited, while madmen cackled and cried on either side, one even attempting to enter the boiling waters to see the city submerged beneath them.
His vision blurred, his balance shifted, and suddenly Tay was elsewhere. Traces of green lightning raced past him, leaving him in darkness, while the soft sounds of pleasant conversation in a language he did not understand bubbled around him. Images suddenly bombarded him, a deluge of strange scenes forming in his mind's eye. Lush, green meadows. Clear blue streams edged with reeds and flowers. People wearing fine silks and crowns of leaves, drinking wine from silvery metal goblets. A couple playing some kind of game on a wooden board beteen them, with pieces of polished glass in a room made of pristine marble. Children sitting in the grass, while an attractive young woman regaled them with stories of a world where all was sand, heat and danger.
Suddenly, he was back at the lake, on his back, with his guide offering him sips of water. As Tay recovered from his experience, one word stood out in his mind - Witchgrove.
It was there in the Crescent Forest, between Gulg and Nibenay, that Tay first met Ayauhteotl, where the gap between worlds is thinner. It was in Witchgrove where his life changed forever, after a brief few minutes in The Grey. He passed through the borders, carried there by a fey spirit of madness, trickery and shadow. His desire to move between worlds was so strong, that Ayauhteotl understood it as a willingness to accept her aid, and so 'she' bound herself to the young man, exchanging some of her magic for a sliver of Tay's soul.
'What are you talking about, Aya? There's a whole pack of them,' Tay asked the voice in his head. The voice that had been there ever since the Witchgrove.
'Oh, like that ever stopped you before,' the fey spirit teased, before drawing Tay's attention to the frowning half-elf at the group's center with a sparkle of energy that only her Pactmate could see. 'He's the leader,' she insisted. 'Kill him first. Use one of the others' shadow when they're close enough.'
Tay tightened his grip on his Widowknife, bringing the heavy half-moon blade to his lips, his other hand hidden in the sleeve of his desert coat. "Please," he begged. "I didn't know, I had no way of knowing. You have to believe me. I thought we could all get rich, I thought it was a sure thing, damn the Sun."
The bulky Mul approaching Tay hefted his Carrikal, grunting out "Shut your face, weakling," before taking a swing.
Tay crouched, and touched his fingers to the Mul's shadow.
The jawbone-headed axe swung through empty air, as the young man melted into the shade, only to appear a moment later behind the half-elf Aya had indicated. Tay dropped his knife, and thrust upwards with his empty hand. The darkened confines of his other sleeve flashed for a moment, and suddenly the human was holding a long, elegantly crafted sword of unknown, alien origin. The organically-shaped hilt was long, and gently curved spines of dark horn arced from the base of the blade to protect the wielder's hand. The pommel bore a large, faintly glowing stone, an irridescent white jewel. Another trio of these moonstones were set into the base of the blade, past the hilt, and the blade itself curved oddly, wrapped snake-like around the jewels in a pattern that lacked any regularity or sense. The bulk of the blade was slim and straight, though it was thicker and heavier just before curved upwards towards the tip, where the blade tapered again to a sharp point. The blade was made of a dark metal, rimed through with frost.
The sword had been thrust through the half-elf's back, the tip bursting from his chest even as blood sprayed from his mouth. As suddenly as he appeared, the crouching human vanished from sight, and the band's leader crumpled to the ground.
The group panicked, some running to their fallen leader, others trying to escape. Tay appeared in front of one of those attempting to flee, and jammed his alien blade through the man's stomach, pausing long enough to spit in his face before jerking the sword free, and looking for another target. As his second victim fell, he vanished for a moment, only to reappear behind the swarthy Carrikal-using Mul who first threatened him.
"Weakling?" Tay asked, slashing at the half-dwarf's back before sprinting after another, his form shimmering as more of his magic told the minds of those watching him that he simply was not there.
He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, it seemed to the remaining two men. At least, until they fell. Tay flicked the blood from his blade, and it vanished to wherever it came from as he approached the bleeding, kneeling Mul.
'Remember when I was playing the 'talk to myself' game, and you thought there were two of me? The first time we met! his unseen companion bubbled in his mind. 'This was just like that! But for these bandits, not for you. You were me! Wait, maybe there are two of me,' Aya mused, uncharacteristically thoughtful.
"Shut up, Aya," Tay breathed as he came to a halt before the last bandit. He raised his left hand, and the shimmering rod he found in the Witchgrove protruded from his sleeve.
"My name's not Aya," the Mul wheezed in confusion.
Tay shook his head, and pointed the rod at the dying man. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he felt the power rising, and he let that power come to him, the waning life of the land lending power to his forbidden magics. The bodies of the Mul's companions collapsed in on themselves, like corpses left in the desert for weeks. Their skin darkened and split, and the single desert plant at the edge of their campsite turned brown, and then to dust.
The blast of energy from Tay's rod knocked the Mul backwards, and blew a smoking hole in his chest that rapidly filled with blood.
After his brief experience in the Invisible Kingdom with his newfound companion Aya, Tay was initially frustrated. Try as he might, he could not pierce the gap between the worlds for longer than a few moments, and his new Patron was more of a hinderance than a help, most of the time. She had occasional moments of clarity, but Tay was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Ayauhteotl had been driven mad when the worlds fractured and drifted apart. In her moments of clarity, she could relay tales and stories that were just the sort of thing Tay wanted to hear about. Most of the time, she spouted nonsense and was wholly irritating, though Tay was sure there was something in her ramblings that should prove useful.
The ability to pass between worlds for moments was also useful, especially in Tay's line of work. Stealth and misdirection were always some of his strong points, but this enhanced, arcane edge he now had allowed him to excel where before he was merely competent. The strange sword he could now summon with a thought was yet another gift from the mad spirit from the Invisible Kingdoms he grew to value greatly, though his first thought was to try and sell it. When he realised that the moment he released it, it disappeared back to whever he summoned it from, he gave up on that dream.
He quickly came to realise that his new abilities were forbidden by the authorities, feared by commoners, and likely to get him killed if anyone were to realise he possessed them. He also recognised his inadvertent acts of Defiling, and put his considerable street-smarts to work to find an answer. His silver tongue helped him bluff and trick his way past most problems, and after some careful questioning in Urik, he was approached by a woman who wanted to 'talk about his problems'.
In the weeks following, he learned that other arcanists banded together, forming an alliance of sorts to protect each other, and to watch out for their own, but it was open only to those who took care to channel their powers safely, and to leave the weak life-force that flowed through Athas intact. Ever adaptable, Tay promised that he would never dream of such an heinous act, and in time, convinced a cell of the Veiled Alliance that he believed in their ideals, purely to get their protection. He pays lip service to the cause, more to save his own skin that for any belief in their ideals, but his lies were good enough to convince the adepts that he would follow their tenets. Aya's opinion on 'preserving' was one of amused derision. She insists that it doesn't matter what Tay does here, as the Lands Within the Wind will always be lush and green. It suits him to nod along and follow their tenets for the moment, though if the choice was to Defile the planet in order to survive, he would not think twice about it.
Now Tay continues to travel wherever Aya suggests he may find relics, writings or even gateways to the Invisible Kingdoms, with some measure of success. He explores ruins and places where the gaps are larger, usually with an entourage he's tricked into following him for promises of uncountable riches. Some things do not change.
Recently, Tay has travelled to another world, albeit briefly. To The Grey, the dark reflection of Athas. While it was not the plane he wished to travel to, at first he was intensely interested in his surroundings, copying important-looking inscriptions he found on walls and collecting anything that looked at all useful or valuable, until he disturbed the creatures in the cracks. Living shadows oozed from their hiding places, and Tay quickly found that their touch had the power to suck the life from him. With help (and mockery) from Aya, he found his way to another rift in The Grey's fabric, and willed himself free. Now he finds himself in Balic, ready to join a caravan travelling to back to his birthplace, Tyr.
Outwardly pleasant, charming and easy-going. However, Tay is relentlessly stubborn when there is something he wants, and is very ruthless about getting it. He has no problem using others for his own gain, and while he usually pays attention to laws, it's more for fear of reprisal than for any moral compass guiding him. He is not a fool however, and when he has a good thing going, he will take pains not to jeopardise it. His lies are very hard to spot, and Tay is very convincing when he wants to be.
Tay is not overly tall, and has a rather slender frame. He rarely stands straight though, and is usually hunched over, crouching, or sitting, so as to appear smaller and less threatening. He has sun-bleached blond hair that falls about level with his jawline, pale blue eyes that are usually hidden beneath it, and wears a flowing, long-sleeved overcoat of a thin, cream linen to keep off the heat of the desert sun. Beneath that, he wears piecemeal armour made from a range of tanned beast-leather with harder protective plates in some places. Tay's face is somewhat androgenous (which helps his frequent disguises) but is usually covered with a cloth mask to keep out the cursed sand of the Athasian deserts.
He has trained himself to maintain a casual smile as a neutral expression, but sometimes his true intentions can shine through, and he may look irritated, annoyed or even on the verge of outright rage if the situation causes it, and he thinks he isn't being watched. He keeps his hands in the sleeves of his coat almost all of the time, to help his sleight of hand, and to conceal his arcane rod, which he is reluctant to let go of.
Currently, Tay is a mobile melee striker with the ability to raise his defenses (if he can keep mobile) making him an unattractive target. He's more of a skirmisher who can get where he needs to be thanks to his teleportation and invisibility powers, but if he takes a hit, it's going to hurt.
There are a number of places I could go with Tay. Rod Expertise is an obvious one, giving a bonus to hit, AC and Reflex all with one feat. Another option is to go with some Familiar feats, to illustrate Ayauhteotl's growing presence in Athas, and as an Arcane melee fighter, some of the White Lotus feats would be very desirable, if they're allowed in the setting.
Also, bunches of the Essentials feats are just plain awesome in general.
-Why is your character a Hexblade of the Veiled Alliance?
Happenstance for the first, necessity for the second. Tay never set out to become an arcane spellcaster, and when he realised that this is what he had become, he looked for a way to survive in a world where his talents were prohibited. The Veiled Alliance was that which he needed, but as stated above, he pays lipservice to their tenets.
-Why was your character in Balic?
Tay was following the directions of his Patron, searching for the Emerald Oasis, supposedly two days travel from Balic. Whether he was led badly, or Aya was playing a game of 'annoy the human', is unclear. An oasis was found, though no passage to other worlds was in evidence, only clean water and vibrant plantlife. This was treasure enough in of itself, but not the treasure Tay was looking for. He also had to stock up on resources in a large city he could lose himself easily in, more than a few people are hunting the streets for a conman named 'Kor', the name Tay has been using in this settlement.
-Why is your character going to Tyr?
After searching for the Emerald Oasis near Balic, and finding it lacking, Tay had another long, frustrating and exhausting conversation with Aya. She suggested that 'the holes where sound goes forever in the north, near the death-dragon's fangs that forever toll for the fallen' would be a good place to look. Tay eventually translated this to mean the Echoing Caverns in the Ringing Mountains, nearby Tyr. Probably. He intends to investigate this place, and if that turns up nothing, the stories of the ruined city of the ancients known as Samarthia, between Urik and Raam would be his next port of call. Regardless, he needs to get out of Balic fairly quickly.
-Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Parents, artisans in Tyr. Numerous 'acquaintances', but no real friends. Also, several people that have been duped by him, who would very much like to have words with the young man. Violent words. With clubs.
I've provided an image, and a token! As I said, feel free to make a token with your preferred frame if I get chosen.
I have a google account, so I should be able to utilise Soxbox's Sexy Superapp with little problem.
I'll point out that I'm already in a few games, so someone else should probably have a chance. But now that I've gotten Dark Sun stuff working in the CBuilder, I just had to put together some ideas to play in the setting, and a long caravan trek with plenty of roleplaying is right up my street! Tay is anything but the strong, silent type. He talks. A lot. It's what he does.
Man, that is a lot of fluff and words and stuff. I know that quantity is by no means quality, but once I started writing, I had trouble stopping. Whups.
Kay on
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
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3cl1ps3I will build a labyrinth to house the cheeseRegistered Userregular
edited January 2011
Kay wins the "write a novel" award
3cl1ps3 on
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KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
3cl1ps3I will build a labyrinth to house the cheeseRegistered Userregular
edited January 2011
Having finally read a decent chunk of that, I really like your character.
3cl1ps3 on
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3cl1ps3I will build a labyrinth to house the cheeseRegistered Userregular
edited January 2011
So as it turns out I'm illiterate. Edited my character post to add answers to the questions. Also changed his theme from Gladiator to Wasteland Nomad - it fits better.
Caeldrod is almost certain that the best days of his life are far behind him.
A half-elemental born to half-elementals in a little out-of-the-way island in the Sea of Silt, his childhood was remarkably simple. The heat of Athas kept at bay by his heritage, life was carefree. Sure, there were occasional hardships, but as a child, Caeldrod was blissfully ignorant of them. The small village community tended to work together more often than not, and had managed to build up a nice surplus of supplies. This ultimately proved to be a mistake.
When he was only seven years old, a party of elves happened upon their little village and discovered their cache. None had ever traveled to the village before, and few had traveled away from it, so the village's defenses were practically none. The elves tore through with abandon, and after a remarkably short period of time, the supplies were looted and all but Caeldrod lay dead. It's not that the elves didn't notice him, but in their excitement, they didn't care to deal with him. He stayed out of their way, and they left him to die as thanks.
Caeldrod would not have survived long without supplies, despite his natural resistance to the heat. However, as luck would have it, he was found by a silt skimmer and taken on board by its captain, an old dwarf. The boy had just enough time to be thankful for the rescue before he was shackled and shoved in with the cargo. When the skimmer put in to Altaruk, the dwarf sold him into slavery for a hefty profit. The buyer recognized that the boy would be able to spend much longer amounts of time toiling in the heat without needing as much water.
Caeldrod spent years working under his master's whip, managing to avoid the worst of the tasks by use of an innate talent for persuasion. When the town's defensive forces were looking to fill in some gaps due to deaths, Caeldrod put that silver tongue to use once more and convinced his master to enlist him.
While in the defense force, his superiors recognized in Caeldrod a keen tactical mind. Accustomed to following orders to avoid punishment, the half-elemental also did well convincing others to take courses of action that were usually more efficient or less dangerous than they originally would have. In short time, Caeldrod was given command of a small number of soldiers.
Despite his growing stature as a military man, his life was constantly oppressive. His master cared less and less for the amount of work Caeldrod put in defending the town and piled more and more tasks on him, sometimes forcing him to stay up all night and then go back to defense the next morning, having gotten no sleep in the interim.
One day, while patrolling on the outskirts of town, a party of tieflings attacked. Though Caeldrod did his best to keep the rest of the men focused, they were too frightened of the tieflings to heed his commands. The battle itself isn't much more than a blur when he tries to recall it, but one thing is clear: afterward, only Caeldrod remained standing. This was likely due more to luck than skill, but the half-elemental man saw a sudden opportunity: he could attempt to slip away unnoticed to a new life. Perhaps his master would believe him killed as well.
Caeldrod immediately set off on his own toward Balic. He did not make it far before he realized that he was ill-prepared for a journey across the desert alone. Fortunately for him, he happened upon a caravan under attack by monsters. Aiding them during the battle, and caring for their injured afterward, Caeldrod was able to spin a story and convince the caravan to take him along to Balic. On the way, he heard stories of Tyr, how slaves now lived free and without the rule of an emperor-king.
Perhaps Tyr will provide Caeldrod the opportunity to reclaim the best days of his life.
Summary:
I wrote a few paragraphs more than I had originally intended, so for convenience's sake, here's the summary:
Caeldrod was born to other half-elementals on a little-known island in the Sea of Silt. Raiding elves killed everybody but him, and the dwarf silt skimmer captain who found him later sold him into slavery. While enslaved, he also became a part of the town's defense force, thanks to his silver tongue. When an attack by tieflings left only himself standing, Caeldrod fled to Balic with the unwitting aid of a caravan, from which he learned of Tyr.
Personality:
Caeldrod is good at persuading people, either with the truth or with lies if the truth isn't compelling enough. He's a little more talkative than the average, perhaps, particularly if he's nervous. Though he's often treated harshly or with suspicion because of his heritage, he usually takes it with good humor. There have been one or two occasions when rude remarks have floated his way when his mood was already sour and he's exploded with vocal attacks that usually devolved to physical ones. WHen put into the position of leader of a group, however, he has a strong commanding presence that people can't help but follow. His orders just make sense, and to go against them seems so foolhardy. He feels great responsibility for those under his command, and though he may be irritated at the less competent ones he's had to deal with, he's never left anyone behind. Well, anyone who was still breathing, anyway.
Questions:
Why is your character a warlord and an escaped slave?
Warlord comes from the experiences in Altaruk's defense force. Slavery sucks, even when you're a decent commander, so Caeldrod took off when the opportunity arose.
Why was your character in Balic?
Balic just happened to be the destination for the last caravan Caeldrod was with as he made his escape. He looked for the first group heading to Tyr as soon as he got there, being unwilling to stay in one place long enough to be recaptured.
Why is your character going to Tyr?
Rumors of Tyr being free are quite alluring to an escaped slave. Caeldrod is hoping that Tyr will prove to be a sanctuary for him.
Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Caeldrod's family was wiped out by elves. He made a few acquaintances in Altaruk, though none he'd really call friend. He's amiable enough, but just at this moment in his life, unwilling to make any real attachments to anyone.
Image:
I like this guy:
I've got a Google account I can use for Soxbox's online table top. I'm really looking forward to an opportunity to roleplay an interesting character. Most of the games I've played online tend to be very combat-heavy and the party doesn't interact much with themselves or NPCs, so I'm hoping this would be a nice change of pace for me.
Wow, Kay, I love your submission. Unfortunately for me, Tay is very similar to Zahra -- the rogue I was about to submit. Appropriate, I suppose, as reading Atherton's adventures is what gave me the idea for Zahra in the first place.
Perhaps I'll need to do a speedy rewrite?
Edit: I am an idiot. This would actually be amazing for RP. Similar enough to be in direct competition, different enough to clash horribly. Writing feverishly right now!
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KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
edited January 2011
Thanks Gideon, it's always encouraging when someone says something nice about a character concept.
If you're worried about overlap though, there are a few things you could do if you wanted to keep the core concept intact, while messing around with the crunch to place the character in a slightly different role. There aren't many ranged characters apped, either. That's a definite possibility. A Seeker specialising in thrown weapons with a MC in Rogue for extra thief skills could work out well, or the Controller build of the Essentials Ranger, I think it's the Hunter? That way you'd be a Controller rather than a Striker, have a good Dex and some larceny skills to keep the roguish concept alive, and have an awesome Wisdom for Perception, Insight, Nature and Dungeoneering should you go that way, all important rogue skills that I just couldn't cram onto Tay?
It's not the crunch that worried me (Zahra's a ranged rogue -- stealth and crossbow) so much as the fluff. Backstory, motivation and so forth. The only real overlap in crunch was the social skills that are so embedded in Tay's backstory. Although it feels weird to be submitting a rogue with no trained CHA-based skills, I've taken care of that already. I think it actually works better this way.
Although it's tempting to go the controller route (and Zahra's WIS would make her a good fit), I think Zahra has to be a rogue. Sneaky cat-burglary is central to her character.
But what am I doing typing this up when I still haven't submitted? Back to work! And thanks for the advice.
"There are seven types of thieves, the worst of which is the thief of knowledge."
Appearance:
Background:
"Observe, Ladies and Gentlemen, this completely ordinary rope"
The single object that defined her childhood was also the only one Zahra's parents possessed for the whole of those fifteen years. It was almost fantastically valuable, a wooden chest of broad, smooth planks. In their travels, Zahra had seen the scrawny, knotted shrubs that dotted the few arable areas of the Tablelands. They were so dramatically twisted as to seem almost kinetic, trying to squirm and scramble away from the scouring winds and the ever-present sun. The wood they gave was thin and brittle, nothing like her parents' chest.
When she began to read, Zahra discovered records of a lush forest past the mountains that rose over Tyr. There -- it was said -- were trees larger even than the tallest man. They rose broad and straight there, past the mountains. It was said that their people were cursed by a powerful mage, before the time of the Sorcerer-Kings. Or perhaps their people instead were powerful mages. For how can people from such a land be cursed? Reading by moonlight in a darkened, silent library, Zahra decided that her chest had hailed from this land beyond the mountains.
But Zahra cannot read, yet. She is bound hand and foot, breathing slowly through her nose. She has grown almost too big to fit in the chest.
"See how tightly tied, my Lords and Ladies"
Zahra exhales, controlled and slow. She was lucky, tonight. Breathing easily is a luxury, one to be earned.
She stops the breath and is still. Muscles that had begun to cramp are now remote. Her body is vacant as her mind begins to stir and stretch.
Unmoving, she begins to shift the rope with which her father had bound her hands so expertly. Though the rope has chafed her wrists raw, the tracks it leaves across her skin are dull compared to the mental sensations of its movement under her mind's manipulation. Every fiber, every strand, every string must dance around each other, pushed and gently prodded until she can reach her left hand up like that (how many times did she have to dislocate her wrist before that worked?) and then jerk the right wrist while she held the... There.
All illusions rely on the directed inattention of the audience; a trick cannot be performed if the audience cannot be tricked. A mistake must be made. But what if the leering captain who has volunteered to check the knots actually, really checks them? For this eventuality and for others Zahra must rely on her flicker of psionic power in order to escape her bonds. But always silently and always slowly, so that her telepsychic manipulations are never detected above the chatter of the minor telepaths in the next room.
Reaching down one-handed to untie her ankles, Zahra breathes again, slowly. Fifteen long breaths, now, and she'd never been able to hold past twenty. Too slow. Thank goodness father had chosen not to use the silt tonight. Sixteen. He would, tomorrow. Word of her siltbox escape was spreading, and their hosts had made it clear that the performance of anything less --seventeen-- would be considered an insult. Her fingers fumbled on the ankle's knot (distracted, sloppy) and then, with a twist, she was --eighteen!-- free, pushing the chest's lid aside and jumping out and onto the cold floor of some Nibenese noble's guestroom.
Her father looked tired, chin on hand, staring at his hourglass. Perhaps he'd even dozed off while she was in the chest, so slow was he to look up at the noise and flurry of her open-and-jump-and-pose. Finally he turned, sighing.
"Slow, baby girl. Should I be worried?"
Zahra answered his gaze with a half-shrug. "I was tired, Daddy. I got distracted. Some rest is all I need."
"Are you sure?" Rubbing his eyes, he smiled a little, "All right. Get some sleep. You'll need it."
Her father was the one who needed some sleep, Zahra knew. But even sleep wouldn't bring rest. Not tonight. She would be safe tomorrow, they both knew that, but under his grin and patter and forcing its way through her mind's stillness would be another thought; a creeping fear.
Here it was, as she left the room: "Zahra?" She turned, "Before you go to bed, stop in on your mother. She'll be gone before you wake."
"Look hard, my friends, for we have nothing to hide! There is no trickery in our act!"
Zahra's parents owned a tent, of course, and the necessaries for life under Athas' sun. But as minstrels --travelling showmen-- they preferred to live at the pleasure and expense of one of the city-states' noble families. With whatever troupe they belonged to at that moment, they would travel at the discretion of one noble family to the estate or villa of another, free yet gifted like slaves.
Of course, some gifts are too good to be true. Feuding noble houses, unwilling to move against each other openly, might hire minstrels as an adjunct to diplomacy to... deliver a message. The death of a retainer or high-ranked bodyguard could be arranged for a fee. The death of a member of the noble household was considerably more difficult to arrange, and its fees were correspondingly higher. Some minstrel groups can't or won't risk their lives on such difficult assassinations. Others made such things their specialty.
For those interested, the names of such assassins are an open secret among those of a certain social standing. Among those names was one Varya Leto.
Escape Artist.
While Zahra and her father perform for Lord Vorenus' family, clients and friends, her mother is climbing out of the window of the Lord's unoccupied bedroom. The guard on the residential quarters is doubled during minstrel shows, and the infiltration has taken Varya all day. Zahra begged to be allowed to take part, but in a mission this difficult she knew that her mother would insist on working alone.
As Zahra's father throws knives at her outline, Varya is climbing expertly around the villa's outside to another window. Zahra is about to step into the chest when her mother enters the bedroom of the Lord's sickly daughter. By the time Zarya emerges, shaking silt from her hair and grinning in the practised way of the performer, Varya is on her way to the stage and poison is coursing through the Vorenus girl's body. Already losing consciousness, she will sleep for two days at most and then breath will leave her.
* * *
The plan was executed perfectly. But other plans were in motion.
Although Nibenay's eponymous ruler has been a recluse for centuries, his Templar-wives control the city thoroughly. Unknown to minstrels and nobles alike, a cadre of elite Templars had surrounded the house during the show. Biding their time, they called upon the power given to them by their Husband-Lord. They made themselves, once again, vessels for his will, his purpose, his puissance. A wound ignored and left to fester cannot be cured, they have been told. They know it to be true; such a wound spreads death to the whole body. Sometimes, amputation is the only answer.
Inside, the conflagration is immense. Fortunately braced against a wall, Zahra sees. The shockwave upturns chairs and tables, guests fall, fly, scatter. Only Lord Vorenus remains seated, his right hand flashing out from his lap to push against the shockwave, and Zahra fancies she can see the air around him shimmer and twist, and amidst the chaos he alone is unharmed. Zahra's father is blasted off his feet and back down the cellar stairs, one second there and the next fallen down into darkness. The fire roars over everything, even stone. Zahra sees her mother lying against a wall -- blood, neck horrible, head skewed. In the eyes of the guests is fear, but in the faces of some Zahra sees a terrified understanding.
Zahra feels fixed to the wall. Nothing to do but look.
Now, Vorenus stands. The flames roar at him and charge but he moves quick and complex and suddenly something hard and pure fills the air around him and the flames flee.
Zahra's father is here, now. Swaying and bloody, he says... what? The cellar, the cellar, the chest. She must get to the stone cellar with its cold stone alcoves and the chest is there. Her father yells and pushes her away, towards the stairs.
She starts down them and turns to see. Her father has found Varya and kneels. Vorenus is caressing the clear space around him with open palms and suddenly the air is full of water. Soon the floor is covered, inches-deep. But the flames move across it unhindered, growing as they do, and now Zahra sees his face twist. "Veiled Alliance, to me!" He screams, but his voice is lost in the fury.
Zahra thinks nothing, feels nothing as she turns and sprints down the cellar stair, pursued by fire.
The Thief of Knowledge.
"The scrolls must be burned! Find them and burn them, this disease cannot spread!"
Muffled though the words were by the thick wood and the silt that still remains in the chest, they were unmistakeable. Zahra knew of scrolls and learning, of course, but she had never imagined them important --most people couldn't read them, after all-- let alone important enough to warrant... this. Cautiously opening the chest's lid, she looked around. Templar-wives strode across a landscape of charred rubble, some rummaging through the detritus but most more interested in the prone figures scattered around. As she watched, one of them knelt down over the body of a girl-servant and gestured. The girl's outline trembled against the sunset, and was then nothing but ash on the breeze.
Zahra lowered the lid and lay perfectly still, her tears distant as her mind's touch ran over the debris -- over stones and pots and charred wood. She would know the feel of her mother's skin anywhere, and her father's coarse jacket. His whiskers, his cracked hourglass, the creases of his face.
Sleep took her, eventually.
* * *
When she awoke, it was deep night. Crawling slowly from the chest, she could make out human shapes on the perimeter of the ruin that had once been a villa. They stood too still to be anything but guards. Of the figures in the rubble there was no sign, there were no looming Templar-wives, and nor were there any bodies.
Zahra crawled across and through the rubble, more slowly and carefully than the most dangerous escape. Navigating by touch and the moons' dim light alone, during that interminable escape she learned to love the smooth, cool touch of stone and to hate cracking, telltale wood. Shattered pots sliced her hands and feet but neither she nor the shards made any sound. When she felt the dryness of parchment under her hands she took the overlooked scroll in her belt and carried on. She stole past the guards in the shadows of dawn and made her way down to the city.
* * *
Sleeping in alleys and abandoned cellars, Zahra had to steal to survive. Quick but not sly, she was sometimes noticed but never caught. Trying to read the scrolls she has saved brought only frustration, so she looked elsewhere for answers. For a long time she has known how to be still (a rare talent) but now she learns how to be inconspicuous. In the bars and taverns of Nibenay the customers think her one of the staff, and the staff think her a quiet and undemanding customer. Meanwhile, she learns about the destruction of the Vorenus villa and the terrible secrets that were contained within it. It is generally agreed that Vorenus was a wicked man, and a mage -- that his alliance were also evil wizards looking to promote the use of magic and everybody knew what that meant: The defiling of the little life left in the Tablelands. Some suggested, warily, that there may have been more to it than that, but refused to be drawn further. All agreed that whatever secrets were contained in the ex-Lord's ex-villa were better off destroyed and never known.
The scrolls remained unreadable.
After some months, Zahra found some minstrels of her parents' acquaintance in one of Nibenay's taverns. They welcomed her to their troupe and didn't ask too many questions -- an escape artist of her caliber was an asset to any performace, after all. They soon were instructed to travel to Balic, to perform for (and deliver a special message to) one of the City of Sails' honourable Patricians.
The journey was almost interminable, but amidst its tribulations stood one shining light: Dekkar Cort, caravan master. Taking an immediate liking to the fatherless girl, he taught her about Athas and its wonders: The city of runaways, the silt sea's islands and their piratical inhabitants, the crescent forest and its horrors, the stories of the Iron Rider, and the ruins that tell of a different age. And he taught her how to read.
In the scrolls, Zahra found tantalizingly incomplete records of arcane rituals and processes. The most complete scroll was part of a treatise on the arcane underpinnings of all matter and all interactions. Engrossed, Zahra found herself looking through the dunes and the scrublands, seeing them not as a harsh reality but as secondary to, and as consequences of, a reality that could be understood and grasped and changed, if she only knew how.
The scrolls only contained one complete spell, that she could find. With a word and a gesture she can now cloud an opponent's mind with panic, as it imagines itself under assault.
* * *
In Balic, Zahra spends hours and whole nights away from her new troupe, infiltrating the libraries of Balic's academies and Patricians. Here she learns --by bits and pieces-- of ages before the current one, of civilizations outside the control of the Sorcerer-Kings, of psionics and powers she new nothing about, of the control of the elements and the spirits of the earth, of magic and its terrible price and of times when it gave terrible power. She finds no spells, though, and many books have missing pages.
Soon, she stops looking for practical magic, and begins instead to look for news of green; news of a world unlike what she knows. A world that is, somewhere and somewhen. A world that, with knowledge and power, could still be.
After some close shaves, Zahra knows the danger of carrying words. She has destroyed Veronus' scrolls and cannot risk having any on her person again. So when she sneaks past the attendants or climbs through the window or crawls through the ceiling and onto the rook or skulks through the basements and away from Balic's libraries, she takes no books and no scrolls. All she takes is what she has remembered. Was anything stolen in these burglaries? Can they be called crimes at all? All that was taken was knowledge, and knowledge desires to be free.
The Library of the Sorcerer-King.
A year passes. And another.
King Kalak has been deposed in Tyr, everyone says. Some say he was killed. Zahra is one of the last to know, her days of trawling taverns for information now long behind her. It takes a few days for the idea to form, but it soon does: What if I found the library of the Sorcerer-King? The power would be incredible and maybe, maybe --she hardly dares think it, now-- I could learn to do magic. Not just the distraction that she taught herself from Veronus' scrolls but the magic she has dreamed of -- magic of true remaking.
Though every day of delay chafes her, Zahra makes sure to seek out any information she can about the journey before setting off. The best weapon against the wilderness is information!
Questions:
- Why is your character a Cunning Rogue and Athasian Minstrel?
Zahra has always been a performer. An acrobat and an escape artist, she has complete control over her body and brilliant reflexes. In combat she will attempt to use those reflexes to avoid danger and her ability to go unnoticed to find a place of hiding from which to find the perfect time and moment to strike. I think this fits a crossbow rogue perfectly -- high dexterity giving good AC and great reflex defense, ability to hide more easily, looking for combat advantage and sneak attack damage. She's also been an assassin and is now a burglar (of a kind). The rogue's skillset is perfect for this.
She's an Athasian Minstrel because of her parents' profession and consequently her upbringing.
- Why was your character in Balic?
Zahra came to Balic with fellow minstrels, and has spent the time either performing or infiltrating the libraries of Balic's academies and noble houses.
- Why is your character going to Tyr?
The rumours of Kalak's death had an enormous effect on Zahra: however interesting the history and lore of Balic's libraries has been, she has found little by way of practical magic. The power she saw that night at the Vorenus' estate had an enormous effect on her, and the idea of having that power herself is attractive and inescapable. If she could find her way into the libraries of the Sorcerer-King, surely she could... something. Since reading about arcane power and since discovering that Athas' history extends back beyond the age of the Sorcerer-Kings, and since hearing that beyond the tablelands and the ringing mountains there exist lush, verdant lands, Zahra has harboured vague, adolescent thoughts of greenery, revolution and acclaim. But her desire for arcane power is rooted more in the memory of that night than in the hope of things to come.
- Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Zahra's mother and father were killed when Nibenese Templars destroyed a chapter of the Veiled Alliance (and their dinner guests, servants, and entertainers).
Left behind in Balic are Fastur and Gintur Hartig, minstrels and acquaintances of Zahra's family. She has not told them that she is leaving for Tyr.
Dekkar Cort is the caravan master who saw Zahra safely from Nibenay to Balic, kindled her intelligence and curiousity, and taught her to read. He left, at the head of another caravan, after staying in contact with Zahra for more than a year as he did business in Balic, he left months ago bound --he said-- for Raam.
Further Thoughts:
RL is the worst. Hopefully I can get this finished before recruitment closes...
The "thief of knowledge" quote is actually from the Talmud.
Zahra's Wild Talent --her "mind's touch"-- is Telekinetic Grasp. The roll is here.
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TiamatZGhost punsThe Banette of my existenceRegistered Userregular
edited January 2011
Speaking of Controllers, there seems to be a lack of Controller subs so far.
Speaking of Controllers, there seems to be a lack of Controller subs so far.
When I finish writing up Ghires' application (which should be today; the new Fighter version of the character sheet is finished, I just need to slap it up and enter in the rest of his backstory), I intend to submit a Controller as well. I've never really had much experience with Controllers (I usually run Defender or Leader), but I'm looking forward to writing up a defiler for Athas. Ghires will more than likely be my "primary" application, though.
KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
edited January 2011
Oh, that's totally cool, Gideon. I'm just a firm believer that your party's roguish sort doesn't need to be a rogue!
Yeah, we're low on controllers, as in... zero? And only two leaders, I think?
Ah, three. Infidel hasn't submitted background yet. But yeah, no Controllers whatsoever. As for Defilers, Tay does that! If he needs to. And no Veiled Alliance are around.
As far as he's concerned, defiling is pretty much a tool in his arsenal to be used. If it can give him an edge to defeat his opponents, you can guarantee he'll do it. He's not the type to shy away from it.
Also, I had an idea for a second sub (Thri-Kreen Druid who transforms into a swarm of hungry mantises to devour his foes), but I'd rather just keep my only sub let others go and post their subs instead.
Tempted to write up a wizard who controls the heat on Athas, focuses it and removes it (Cold and Fire powers). Hmmm, don't know enough about the arcane side of Dark Sun yet.
Tempted to write up a wizard who controls the heat on Athas, focuses it and removes it (Cold and Fire powers). Hmmm, don't know enough about the arcane side of Dark Sun yet.
Short answer - arcane magic is the reason Athas is a mostly lifeless desert. People know this. Arcane magic is like, reason to be stoned to death or whatever.
However, a wizard with the Elemental Priest theme, who sticks to elemental powers of fire and cold as you said, and never, ever defiles? That could work pretty well. There are a bunch of ways to disguise Arcane magic as power from other sources, so you could mask it as Primal/Elemental without too much trouble.
Trying to get the parchment and such on the char sheet was quite the adventure. Wizards sure doesn't make their shit user friendly. Used 3.5e costs for it, since apparently in 4e no one has a need to write anything ever.
First time doing 4e or Dark Sun, so feel free to holler at me if I munged anything up horribly. Don't have the enhancement bonus thing done, will have to figure that out eventually.
(Okay, I went ahead and spoilered my last post entirely, so it doesn't get in the way of the thread. This is now the primary Ghires N'Qazi application post. I may add a little here and there to it over the next few days --especially to the character sheet equipment section-- but it's pretty much finished, and ready to be checked over. Please let me know what you think.)
In the red world of Athas, only the most stubborn of roots take hold, and only the truly obdurate flourish: Ghires N'Qazi was born beneath the crack of a whip; its seething bite would, in time, become as familiar to him as the loving brush of his mother's hand upon the cheek. He laboured tirelessly for years beneath the gaze of feeble, perfumed men, and he would come to despise their weaknesses: frailties born of "civilized life", dressed up in a cruel mockery of true strength. When he was 11 years old, Ghires grimly resolved to be free of it, no matter the cost; he tore the throat from his taskmaster, and fled to the howling wastes that lay beyond the mud-fields of Draj, driven half-mad by the taste of blood and sweet freedom on his tongue, like honeyed wine and bread to a starving belly.
The geometrics burned crudely upon the boy's wrist would mark him forever as a slave, but Ghires knew he was well beyond the reach of such paltry terms in the Dust; shrouded within the desert winds, he would be well-armoured against the shackles of womanish Moon Priests -- beyond the even the reach of Tectuktitlay, their false and sorcerous god.
Under the burning sky, he was invisible. The barrens would be his sanctuary; hellish and impregnable.
For days, he traveled beneath the weight of the red sun; a lonley boy amid a sea of dust and death. He'd think of his mother at times --of the comfort she'd always brought him-- but he would brook no pity for the woman within his heart; if she were strong, if she were worthy, she'd be there at his side, not toiling in some mud-field, groveling beneath the lash of civilization.
Ghires had no need of such weakness anymore; baptized by fire and wind, he was reborn. Athas would be his new mother.
In the years that passed, Ghires fell in with a treacherous group of silt pirates, and from aboard their skimmer, the Ruddy King, they terrorized the northern coast of the Sea of Silt, preying mostly upon southron skiffs loaded too-heavy with trading goods. Utterly ruthless, Ghires and his men raided coastal villages for supplies and women whenever they felt the urge, and had no remorse for their actions; after all, if the tribals were strong --if the tribals were worthy-- they'd defend themselves and the people they care for.
The fruit of their weak hearts is far too easily plucked.
Athas has no room for weakness; she does not hear their screams. Only the strong survive.
When rumors of Kalak's death at the hands of Tithian reached his ears, Ghires left the men of the Ruddy King behind; they'd long-ago grown fat with ill-gotten wealth, and far too complacent for the Mul's liking, anyway. Determined to witness first-hand the kind of society courageous enough to overthrow a God-King, Ghires set out toward the city of Balic, where he'd secure passage to the free-city of Tyr, and join in their murderous celebration.
(Story kind of falls apart near the end; not a hell of a lot of information, I know. But I wanted to sort of keep it that way, at least at first. Like I've said before, I'm not terribly familiar with the Dark Sun Campaign Setting, and I'd rather not put too fine a point on the details of my character's history at this stage. It's always something we can flesh out later. I think I covered most of the bases well enough, though. Let me know if there's anything that needs clarifying.)
Role:
Defender, although Ghires, being more offensively-oriented, may be a better backup Defender than primary. I've played a lot of Defenders in the past (Fighter, Warden and Paladin), and all of them were very much "optimized" toward being a primary Defender. Knowing that this game's much more about roleplaying than combat compared to most of the tabletop sessions I've had recently, I wanted to do something a little different; this guy's got a lot of Striker flavour, which is something I haven't done much of in the past. We'll see how it goes. Like I said, I've had a lot of experience as a primary Defender, and if need be, I can always start focusing Ghires more toward that end if it's something we feel like we need.
Personality:
Ghires came out a lot "darker" sounding than I ever intended him to be, but maybe I just imagine Athas to be a place where stubborn, callous assholes prosper, and selfless, good-natured folk are in short supply. In my head, he's much more "Neutral" than he sounds on paper: yes, he's a raider, and he's done some pretty bad things out in the Dust, but it's survival of the fittest out there; only the strong survive.
I don't imagine he has any issues with slavery, even given his history. Ghires strongly believes that you deserve whatever wealth, power, and property you can hold on to. And I suppose that includes slaves. If the people aren't strong-willed or brave enough to shake off their chains and make a run for it, they aren't worthy of pity.
I think Ghires is a pretty interesting character, and I'm looking forward to potentially playing him in this game. I think he's just abrasive and unsympathetic enough to really challenge the other players on a lot of moral and ethical issues.
Equipment:
Carrikal(melee weapon, free at character creation):A pair of jagged mekillot jawbones firmly affixed to a length of sturdy wood. Scale Mail (armour, free at character creation): Bits of horn and mekillot scales woven together over the top of lightweight leather. Light Shield (armour, free at character creation): A large and rugged tortoise-shell with leather strappings affixed to the interior. Handaxe (ranged weapon, free at character creation): Nothing fancy; a stone head atop a wooden shaft. Desert Clothing (10g) Filter Mask (1g) Krodlu Mount (225g):Called "Hadj", the beast is used primarily by Ghires as a pack animal, and loaded up with the following equipment:Adventurer's Kit (free at character creation) Fire Kit (1g) Rope, Giant Hair (10g) Survival Day [10] (35g)
(18 gold left over)
My name is Quinn. Well, that's the name I gave that old Mul running this caravan anyway. I've had
so many names that I can barely remember all of them sometimes. You see, I'm a wizard. I know, I
know, you think I must be crazy telling you something like that, but hear me out. It's not my
fault, not really. I just ended up with this lot in life.
My mother always told me that her mother was a concubine of Andropinis at one time, but just the
thought of that wrinkly old hag doing anything of the sort sends shivers up my spine. Once he got
tired of her, she was sent out of Balic and settled in one of the surrounding villages. Then she
proceeded to blow through all the money he left her with while waiting for my mother to be born.
Not that I'm bitter about that.
Anyway, my mother never put much stock in her stories, and neither did I, until strange things
started happening around me. At first, I thought maybe I was one of those wilder psions, you know
the ones, one day just trudging along through life, and the next picking up rocks with their minds
and throwing them at people. But that wasn't how it worked for me. Instead of the power coming
from within, I felt like I was drawing it from the things around me and just channeling it
somehow.
As I learned to use my new powers, I hid them from my mother. All I ever did was remind her of
the village idiot who had knocked her up and got himself sold into slavery. Then one day we were
arguing about something and I let my anger get to me (more than usual anyway). Before I could
stop myself, pots were breaking all over our small garden and half of the plants had turned brown.
I can't remember if I ran away, or she kicked me out, but either way, that was the last time I
saw her.
Since then, I moved from village to village, hiring myself out as a psion guard or anything else
that paid well. When I was alone, I'd practice honing my powers, and try to replicate the things
I'd seen the real psions doing. That helped keep my cover, but no matter how fast my talk was, or
how convincing my acting, someone always got suspicious and I had to move on.
Eventually I found my way into Balic. It was easier to hide among so many people and the
occasional dead plant was a lot less noticeable. I even had a good thing going in the markets for
a while, selling fine purple silks from "Tyr". I'd be long gone by the time the silks returned to
their real color.
Unfortunately, even in a big city you can run out of places to hide. Rumors reached me of those
that hunt untrained spell-casters such as myself. "Defilers" they call us. I don't see how a brown
desert dung hole can be defiled any worse than it already is by my little spells, but I'm not the
one judging these things. I just know when it's time to go and seek my fortune elsewhere.
So, I'm off to Tyr, the free city. Maybe they'll be a bit more open minded about someone like me.
Or maybe without a sorceror-king, there's a power vacuum that needs to be filled up, just waiting
for someone with the right power and ambition.
Only time will tell...
Denada's Questions:
Why is your character a wizard and a defiler?
Wizard by birth, though the environment in Athas makes doing that in the open nearly impossible. Quinn hides it as best he can behind deception and a natural ability to relate to people. Until things get to hot for him and he has to move on, that is. He isn't really set on being a defiler, but he never found anybody that would teach him any other way. He does what he has can to survive.
Why was your character in Balic?
It was the nearest big city to where Quinn was born. He hoped to blend into the crowd and earn enough money to disappear to some quiet backwater town, where he could be left alone. Unfortunately, that wasn't meant to be.
Why is your character going to Tyr?
Quinn hopes to find people that will tolerate him and make some money in the process. HE hopes that the idea of a "free city" can turn into true freedom for him. If not, he's going to find a niche there that will allow him to make the most money he can, before moving on.
Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
His mother still lives outside of Balic, though he hasn't seen her for a couple of years. Any friends he's made since then have been friends of convenience and he probably screwed them before he moved on anyway. He doubts they'd still be his friend now...
Physical Description:
Quinn is a young human, who travels in light robes to avoid the harsh sun. He attempts to dress like a psion as often as possible, in the hopes of avoiding suspicion from his powers.
Slightly chubbier than anyone of his station has any right to be on Athas, Jonn exudes charm and relishes talking men out of their goods and women out of their inhibitions. Jonn has carefully cultivated a reputation of charm and luck to disguise his magical talents. Dice roll his way, competitors experience well-timed mishaps and bad deals more often end with the other party turning on each other while Jonn slips away.
Jonn abhors physical labour, but with his charm he normally manages to talk others into letting him do them a favour by letting them carry out the work. Despite this, he has quite the talent for detail work - diagnosing problems and carrying out some detailed work, but once he knows why something is broken and how to fix it, he'll get bored, tell somebody else what to do and wander off until it's time to return for the accolades of his brilliance.
Background:
Jonn was the second child of a modest trader in Ablath. After learning the basics of the written word from his father, Jonn sought out every scrap of paper he could get his hands on and would shirk his responsibilities at any opportunity to hide away in his father's storeroom, teaching himself to be fully literate with the aid of whatever dusty histories were out hand. One day stumbling across a forbidden arcane tome, he immediately dove into it's secrets and began to take advantage of the powers he had discovered. In his late teens, his father discovered his secret when his experimentations led to the spoiling of an entire shipment of fruits. Forced out on his own, he headed to Tyr and used his father's merchant training and his new talents to earn his own way. (As far as he knows, his father still trades in Ablath with his eldest brother, while his young brother headed north and may have joined the priesthood in Raam).
Jonn has spent most of his adult life 'freelancing' for a variety of merchant houses. Befriending people with just the right knowledge, he has developed a knack for finding when and where lucrative deals are likely to take place, finding a way to delay one party or the other and stepping in to be the saviour of the deal. This has for the most part ingratiated himself with the powerbrokers in a number of minor houses while leaving behind a trail of disgruntled and suspicious lesser merchants who would like nothing better that to see him quietly disappear.
A string of good deals in Tyr set Jonn and the road to Balic to expand his fortune and avoid the bickerings of wronged merchants but recent events have led him to believe that a return home to Tyr might be best for his continued health. A serious of well-placed rumours of double-dealings and theivery amongst the Queem and Skelh houses while Jonn intercepted a spice deal led to a little more violence than Jonn had anticipated, resulting in the death of two of the high-sons of Queem and the maiming of one of the sons of Skelh, and there are fast-spreading doubts as to whether any theivery had taken place at all. Jonn has spent most of his modest fortune covering his tracks and needs to somewhere else where he can continue trading before his funds run out.
Wild Talent: 1d104 - Mental tools, which seems a bit redundant with all the other mage cantrips.
Edit: Expanded the background and switched around a couple of powers for more delicious flavour and bought a mount, because Jonn ain't much for walking.
KayWhat we need...Is a little bit of PANIC.Registered Userregular
edited January 2011
How'd you get Arcane Defiling to show up, Sox? I've got the Dark Sun stuff checked (hence the theme showing up), but I don't see Arcane Defiling in my list of at-wills.
Posts
Ok, but I don't see a Dark Sun box. I assume you're talking about the "Optional Details" section under the Details pane of the Manage tab? I see Inherent Bonuses, Spellscared, Harper, House Vadalis and Circle of Smoke and Whispers boxes, but no Dark Sun.
Under campaign settings, I have checked everything but there is no Dark Sun option. I have build 230055, so I should be updated. I coped the CBLoader files like the instructions told me too. I ran it from a shortcut, saw the new file get created in a CMD window & closed the program. Opened it again using the proper executable file and...nada.
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
Does 'Proper Executable File' mean the original CBuilder file, or the CBLoader? (You're meant to use the CBLoader.)
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
Anyway, unless my issues are helping others, we shouldn't clog up Denada's recruitment thread.
Thanks to everyone for your help, I think I'm on the right track now.
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
[url=http://4e.orokos.com/roll/33752]Wild Talent[/url
B]Introduction[/B
As the last of his companions fell to the barely-seen claws of his intangible assailant, Tay slipped further into the ancient building.
Tay rubbed his hands together, and retrieved his soft leather gloves from his belt. Elf-leather, the halfling that sold him them had assured him, though he was sure they were more likely to be Kank-hide. Now that he was sure the series of traps set into the ancient cask's locks were disarmed, it was time to see what he had found. He opened the lid, and was greeted with a pile of rotting garments, the once-fine silks and gossamer-thin cloaks now spoiled and useless.
"Dammit," Tay cursed, turning his head to spit. "By the sun's unholy fires, this was a waste of my time." Shaking his head, the youth grimaced and started to sort through the rapidly deteriorating cloth, most of which fell to dust or tore at his touch. 'There has to be something in here,' he told himself, just as his fingers closed on something firm and solid. Curiously, he brushed aside the strands of decaying fabric, and retrieved the object from the pile of clothes. It was a thick cylinder, about as wide as a sword-hilt, made of a pale, irridescent material that he didn't recognise. It wasn't bone, not with that sheen, but it was something close. It wasn't cold and slick, like metal, but oddly warm to the touch and smooth in texture, with a reassuring weight. It was exquisitely carved, and inlaid with patterns of a darker material that seemed to refuse to reflect the light of Tay's torch. He couldn't make head nor tail of the patterns however, other than the shape of the tip. Some kind of animal, not unlike the ones outside in the forest, though highly stylised. Sleek and graceful, it was the form of a swift predator, but not one familiar to the tomb-robber. He pocketed the find, and continued to explore.
The room Tay now stood in was dominated by a large artifact in the center, a raised dias with a ruined upright circle of a strangely familiar material, pale and almost sparkling in the light of his torch. As he approached to investigate, a sudden thought struck him. The rod? He retrieved it from his hidden pocket, and raised it to the light. The material looked very close to that of the construction before him, and after a moment's hesitation, he touched one to the other, without quite knowing why.
The effect was instantaneous. An explosion of heat and light erupted from the point of contact, and the following shockwave blasted Tay from his feet, and against the back wall. He struck his head, and slumped to the ground with a groan, knocked senseless by the impact. As he tried to push himself to his feet, something small, quick, and shimmery darted around him.
"What is it? Is it food? Is it a master?" one voice asked.
"It's a THIEF!" another squealed in delight, dissolving into a chittering chuckle of amusement. "Ayauhteotl, it's a THIEF!"
"We should keep it," the first decided. "Quickly, take it through!"
The lights flared, and Tay lost consciousness.
B]History[/B
It was with one of this gangs of urchins, that he first heard the stories of the World Within the Winds, The Invisible Kingdoms, and The Grey. Places where water fell from the sky more than once or twice a year, places where green things grew, and travelling from one village to the next was not a perilous journey that claimed the lives of many who attempted it. One particular gang of homeless thief-children had a minder, an older boy who was almost an adult, who learned the old tales from his grandfather, before the old man died, leaving him alone. For an entire two weeks, Tay stayed with this group, listening to the stories and sleeping rough every night with the other children. The concept of another world, separate from Athas, but always just on the other side of the wind, like two sides of the same coin, caught hold of Tay's imagination. When he finally returned to his family (the older boy was caught stealing, and sentenced to have his hand removed on the spot by the Templars - He died from the wound minutes later), he pursued the stories avidly. His parents took this interest in what they considered to be ancient history and mythology seriously - after all, if he was studying, he wasn't on the streets, and an education was a noble ideal to strive towards.
Unfortunately for them, Tay had no interest in history beyond tales of the worlds within worlds, no desire to learn his numbers or the tenets of the Sorceror Kings, and no drive to read anything else they suggested (except perhaps the barest minimum of the land's laws, so he knew what he could get away with), and once he had exhausted the sources of information available to his family, he wanted more. He went back to the streets, scouring the city for any information he could find, and decided that the best way to get some of the books he heard about was to fall back in with his criminal friends, and utilise their knowledge and training to get it.
Tay became a commited, common thief, a season after his sixteenth Lifeday. While he was no cat-burglar, and not quite as skilled with locks and mechanisms as some within the criminals he ran with, his ability to charm and trick information out of his 'marks', misdirect them with clever banter and to have them love him for it was considerable. So much so, that he became one of the more respected larcenists in his circle, especially where there was legwork involving actual people to be dealt with.
Just when he was becoming useful, he left. He was almost eighteen at this point, and had realised that if he wanted to pursue his ambition, he needed to explore the lands for the subjects of his stories. He needed to get out of Tyr.
Tay became a wanderer, but never alone. His clever tongue and street-savvy nature allowed him to present himself as whatever he thought people most wanted him to be, and once he had their trust, he'd lie a little more, coax here, push there, and end up as part of a caravan travelling to the next settlement, or in a gang of treasure-hunters lured to the site of ruins, or supposed gates to other worlds that Tay had read about, under the pretense of a huge hoard of steel and jewels to be plundered. Most of those dupes didn't see Tay again, for one reason or another. Soon, he had visited almost every settlement and trading post in the Tyr region, at least those which were near what Tay referred to as 'sites of relevant archaeological significance'.
It was during his travels to Urik, in search of answers at the Lake of Golden Dreams that Tay had his first major breakthrough. Along with other pilgrims seeking visions, Tay squatted at the water's edge, inhaling those noxious vapors, and waited, while madmen cackled and cried on either side, one even attempting to enter the boiling waters to see the city submerged beneath them.
His vision blurred, his balance shifted, and suddenly Tay was elsewhere. Traces of green lightning raced past him, leaving him in darkness, while the soft sounds of pleasant conversation in a language he did not understand bubbled around him. Images suddenly bombarded him, a deluge of strange scenes forming in his mind's eye. Lush, green meadows. Clear blue streams edged with reeds and flowers. People wearing fine silks and crowns of leaves, drinking wine from silvery metal goblets. A couple playing some kind of game on a wooden board beteen them, with pieces of polished glass in a room made of pristine marble. Children sitting in the grass, while an attractive young woman regaled them with stories of a world where all was sand, heat and danger.
Suddenly, he was back at the lake, on his back, with his guide offering him sips of water. As Tay recovered from his experience, one word stood out in his mind - Witchgrove.
It was there in the Crescent Forest, between Gulg and Nibenay, that Tay first met Ayauhteotl, where the gap between worlds is thinner. It was in Witchgrove where his life changed forever, after a brief few minutes in The Grey. He passed through the borders, carried there by a fey spirit of madness, trickery and shadow. His desire to move between worlds was so strong, that Ayauhteotl understood it as a willingness to accept her aid, and so 'she' bound herself to the young man, exchanging some of her magic for a sliver of Tay's soul.
B]Interlude[/B
'Oh, like that ever stopped you before,' the fey spirit teased, before drawing Tay's attention to the frowning half-elf at the group's center with a sparkle of energy that only her Pactmate could see. 'He's the leader,' she insisted. 'Kill him first. Use one of the others' shadow when they're close enough.'
Tay tightened his grip on his Widowknife, bringing the heavy half-moon blade to his lips, his other hand hidden in the sleeve of his desert coat. "Please," he begged. "I didn't know, I had no way of knowing. You have to believe me. I thought we could all get rich, I thought it was a sure thing, damn the Sun."
The bulky Mul approaching Tay hefted his Carrikal, grunting out "Shut your face, weakling," before taking a swing.
Tay crouched, and touched his fingers to the Mul's shadow.
The jawbone-headed axe swung through empty air, as the young man melted into the shade, only to appear a moment later behind the half-elf Aya had indicated. Tay dropped his knife, and thrust upwards with his empty hand. The darkened confines of his other sleeve flashed for a moment, and suddenly the human was holding a long, elegantly crafted sword of unknown, alien origin. The organically-shaped hilt was long, and gently curved spines of dark horn arced from the base of the blade to protect the wielder's hand. The pommel bore a large, faintly glowing stone, an irridescent white jewel. Another trio of these moonstones were set into the base of the blade, past the hilt, and the blade itself curved oddly, wrapped snake-like around the jewels in a pattern that lacked any regularity or sense. The bulk of the blade was slim and straight, though it was thicker and heavier just before curved upwards towards the tip, where the blade tapered again to a sharp point. The blade was made of a dark metal, rimed through with frost.
The sword had been thrust through the half-elf's back, the tip bursting from his chest even as blood sprayed from his mouth. As suddenly as he appeared, the crouching human vanished from sight, and the band's leader crumpled to the ground.
The group panicked, some running to their fallen leader, others trying to escape. Tay appeared in front of one of those attempting to flee, and jammed his alien blade through the man's stomach, pausing long enough to spit in his face before jerking the sword free, and looking for another target. As his second victim fell, he vanished for a moment, only to reappear behind the swarthy Carrikal-using Mul who first threatened him.
"Weakling?" Tay asked, slashing at the half-dwarf's back before sprinting after another, his form shimmering as more of his magic told the minds of those watching him that he simply was not there.
He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, it seemed to the remaining two men. At least, until they fell. Tay flicked the blood from his blade, and it vanished to wherever it came from as he approached the bleeding, kneeling Mul.
'Remember when I was playing the 'talk to myself' game, and you thought there were two of me? The first time we met! his unseen companion bubbled in his mind. 'This was just like that! But for these bandits, not for you. You were me! Wait, maybe there are two of me,' Aya mused, uncharacteristically thoughtful.
"Shut up, Aya," Tay breathed as he came to a halt before the last bandit. He raised his left hand, and the shimmering rod he found in the Witchgrove protruded from his sleeve.
"My name's not Aya," the Mul wheezed in confusion.
Tay shook his head, and pointed the rod at the dying man. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he felt the power rising, and he let that power come to him, the waning life of the land lending power to his forbidden magics. The bodies of the Mul's companions collapsed in on themselves, like corpses left in the desert for weeks. Their skin darkened and split, and the single desert plant at the edge of their campsite turned brown, and then to dust.
The blast of energy from Tay's rod knocked the Mul backwards, and blew a smoking hole in his chest that rapidly filled with blood.
'Naughty, naughty, naughty!' Aya chided.
"Shut up, Aya," Tay repeated, wearily.
B]Recent History[/B
The ability to pass between worlds for moments was also useful, especially in Tay's line of work. Stealth and misdirection were always some of his strong points, but this enhanced, arcane edge he now had allowed him to excel where before he was merely competent. The strange sword he could now summon with a thought was yet another gift from the mad spirit from the Invisible Kingdoms he grew to value greatly, though his first thought was to try and sell it. When he realised that the moment he released it, it disappeared back to whever he summoned it from, he gave up on that dream.
He quickly came to realise that his new abilities were forbidden by the authorities, feared by commoners, and likely to get him killed if anyone were to realise he possessed them. He also recognised his inadvertent acts of Defiling, and put his considerable street-smarts to work to find an answer. His silver tongue helped him bluff and trick his way past most problems, and after some careful questioning in Urik, he was approached by a woman who wanted to 'talk about his problems'.
In the weeks following, he learned that other arcanists banded together, forming an alliance of sorts to protect each other, and to watch out for their own, but it was open only to those who took care to channel their powers safely, and to leave the weak life-force that flowed through Athas intact. Ever adaptable, Tay promised that he would never dream of such an heinous act, and in time, convinced a cell of the Veiled Alliance that he believed in their ideals, purely to get their protection. He pays lip service to the cause, more to save his own skin that for any belief in their ideals, but his lies were good enough to convince the adepts that he would follow their tenets. Aya's opinion on 'preserving' was one of amused derision. She insists that it doesn't matter what Tay does here, as the Lands Within the Wind will always be lush and green. It suits him to nod along and follow their tenets for the moment, though if the choice was to Defile the planet in order to survive, he would not think twice about it.
Now Tay continues to travel wherever Aya suggests he may find relics, writings or even gateways to the Invisible Kingdoms, with some measure of success. He explores ruins and places where the gaps are larger, usually with an entourage he's tricked into following him for promises of uncountable riches. Some things do not change.
Recently, Tay has travelled to another world, albeit briefly. To The Grey, the dark reflection of Athas. While it was not the plane he wished to travel to, at first he was intensely interested in his surroundings, copying important-looking inscriptions he found on walls and collecting anything that looked at all useful or valuable, until he disturbed the creatures in the cracks. Living shadows oozed from their hiding places, and Tay quickly found that their touch had the power to suck the life from him. With help (and mockery) from Aya, he found his way to another rift in The Grey's fabric, and willed himself free. Now he finds himself in Balic, ready to join a caravan travelling to back to his birthplace, Tyr.
B]Personality Traits[/B
B]Mannerisms and Appearance[/B
He has trained himself to maintain a casual smile as a neutral expression, but sometimes his true intentions can shine through, and he may look irritated, annoyed or even on the verge of outright rage if the situation causes it, and he thinks he isn't being watched. He keeps his hands in the sleeves of his coat almost all of the time, to help his sleight of hand, and to conceal his arcane rod, which he is reluctant to let go of.
B]Portrait and Token[/B
Feel free to make a fresh token with whichever frame you're using for party cohesion, if I'm picked!
B]Development[/B
There are a number of places I could go with Tay. Rod Expertise is an obvious one, giving a bonus to hit, AC and Reflex all with one feat. Another option is to go with some Familiar feats, to illustrate Ayauhteotl's growing presence in Athas, and as an Arcane melee fighter, some of the White Lotus feats would be very desirable, if they're allowed in the setting.
Also, bunches of the Essentials feats are just plain awesome in general.
B]The Questions[/B
Happenstance for the first, necessity for the second. Tay never set out to become an arcane spellcaster, and when he realised that this is what he had become, he looked for a way to survive in a world where his talents were prohibited. The Veiled Alliance was that which he needed, but as stated above, he pays lipservice to their tenets.
-Why was your character in Balic?
Tay was following the directions of his Patron, searching for the Emerald Oasis, supposedly two days travel from Balic. Whether he was led badly, or Aya was playing a game of 'annoy the human', is unclear. An oasis was found, though no passage to other worlds was in evidence, only clean water and vibrant plantlife. This was treasure enough in of itself, but not the treasure Tay was looking for. He also had to stock up on resources in a large city he could lose himself easily in, more than a few people are hunting the streets for a conman named 'Kor', the name Tay has been using in this settlement.
-Why is your character going to Tyr?
After searching for the Emerald Oasis near Balic, and finding it lacking, Tay had another long, frustrating and exhausting conversation with Aya. She suggested that 'the holes where sound goes forever in the north, near the death-dragon's fangs that forever toll for the fallen' would be a good place to look. Tay eventually translated this to mean the Echoing Caverns in the Ringing Mountains, nearby Tyr. Probably. He intends to investigate this place, and if that turns up nothing, the stories of the ruined city of the ancients known as Samarthia, between Urik and Raam would be his next port of call. Regardless, he needs to get out of Balic fairly quickly.
-Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Parents, artisans in Tyr. Numerous 'acquaintances', but no real friends. Also, several people that have been duped by him, who would very much like to have words with the young man. Violent words. With clubs.
B]The Rest[/B
I have a google account, so I should be able to utilise Soxbox's Sexy Superapp with little problem.
I'll point out that I'm already in a few games, so someone else should probably have a chance. But now that I've gotten Dark Sun stuff working in the CBuilder, I just had to put together some ideas to play in the setting, and a long caravan trek with plenty of roleplaying is right up my street! Tay is anything but the strong, silent type. He talks. A lot. It's what he does.
Man, that is a lot of fluff and words and stuff. I know that quantity is by no means quality, but once I started writing, I had trouble stopping. Whups.
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
Escaped Slave Looking to Stay that Way
Wild Talent: 1d10 6
History:
A half-elemental born to half-elementals in a little out-of-the-way island in the Sea of Silt, his childhood was remarkably simple. The heat of Athas kept at bay by his heritage, life was carefree. Sure, there were occasional hardships, but as a child, Caeldrod was blissfully ignorant of them. The small village community tended to work together more often than not, and had managed to build up a nice surplus of supplies. This ultimately proved to be a mistake.
When he was only seven years old, a party of elves happened upon their little village and discovered their cache. None had ever traveled to the village before, and few had traveled away from it, so the village's defenses were practically none. The elves tore through with abandon, and after a remarkably short period of time, the supplies were looted and all but Caeldrod lay dead. It's not that the elves didn't notice him, but in their excitement, they didn't care to deal with him. He stayed out of their way, and they left him to die as thanks.
Caeldrod would not have survived long without supplies, despite his natural resistance to the heat. However, as luck would have it, he was found by a silt skimmer and taken on board by its captain, an old dwarf. The boy had just enough time to be thankful for the rescue before he was shackled and shoved in with the cargo. When the skimmer put in to Altaruk, the dwarf sold him into slavery for a hefty profit. The buyer recognized that the boy would be able to spend much longer amounts of time toiling in the heat without needing as much water.
Caeldrod spent years working under his master's whip, managing to avoid the worst of the tasks by use of an innate talent for persuasion. When the town's defensive forces were looking to fill in some gaps due to deaths, Caeldrod put that silver tongue to use once more and convinced his master to enlist him.
While in the defense force, his superiors recognized in Caeldrod a keen tactical mind. Accustomed to following orders to avoid punishment, the half-elemental also did well convincing others to take courses of action that were usually more efficient or less dangerous than they originally would have. In short time, Caeldrod was given command of a small number of soldiers.
Despite his growing stature as a military man, his life was constantly oppressive. His master cared less and less for the amount of work Caeldrod put in defending the town and piled more and more tasks on him, sometimes forcing him to stay up all night and then go back to defense the next morning, having gotten no sleep in the interim.
One day, while patrolling on the outskirts of town, a party of tieflings attacked. Though Caeldrod did his best to keep the rest of the men focused, they were too frightened of the tieflings to heed his commands. The battle itself isn't much more than a blur when he tries to recall it, but one thing is clear: afterward, only Caeldrod remained standing. This was likely due more to luck than skill, but the half-elemental man saw a sudden opportunity: he could attempt to slip away unnoticed to a new life. Perhaps his master would believe him killed as well.
Caeldrod immediately set off on his own toward Balic. He did not make it far before he realized that he was ill-prepared for a journey across the desert alone. Fortunately for him, he happened upon a caravan under attack by monsters. Aiding them during the battle, and caring for their injured afterward, Caeldrod was able to spin a story and convince the caravan to take him along to Balic. On the way, he heard stories of Tyr, how slaves now lived free and without the rule of an emperor-king.
Perhaps Tyr will provide Caeldrod the opportunity to reclaim the best days of his life.
Summary:
Caeldrod was born to other half-elementals on a little-known island in the Sea of Silt. Raiding elves killed everybody but him, and the dwarf silt skimmer captain who found him later sold him into slavery. While enslaved, he also became a part of the town's defense force, thanks to his silver tongue. When an attack by tieflings left only himself standing, Caeldrod fled to Balic with the unwitting aid of a caravan, from which he learned of Tyr.
Personality:
Questions:
Warlord comes from the experiences in Altaruk's defense force. Slavery sucks, even when you're a decent commander, so Caeldrod took off when the opportunity arose.
Why was your character in Balic?
Balic just happened to be the destination for the last caravan Caeldrod was with as he made his escape. He looked for the first group heading to Tyr as soon as he got there, being unwilling to stay in one place long enough to be recaptured.
Why is your character going to Tyr?
Rumors of Tyr being free are quite alluring to an escaped slave. Caeldrod is hoping that Tyr will prove to be a sanctuary for him.
Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Caeldrod's family was wiped out by elves. He made a few acquaintances in Altaruk, though none he'd really call friend. He's amiable enough, but just at this moment in his life, unwilling to make any real attachments to anyone.
Image:
I've got a Google account I can use for Soxbox's online table top. I'm really looking forward to an opportunity to roleplay an interesting character. Most of the games I've played online tend to be very combat-heavy and the party doesn't interact much with themselves or NPCs, so I'm hoping this would be a nice change of pace for me.
Perhaps I'll need to do a speedy rewrite?
Edit: I am an idiot. This would actually be amazing for RP. Similar enough to be in direct competition, different enough to clash horribly. Writing feverishly right now!
If you're worried about overlap though, there are a few things you could do if you wanted to keep the core concept intact, while messing around with the crunch to place the character in a slightly different role. There aren't many ranged characters apped, either. That's a definite possibility. A Seeker specialising in thrown weapons with a MC in Rogue for extra thief skills could work out well, or the Controller build of the Essentials Ranger, I think it's the Hunter? That way you'd be a Controller rather than a Striker, have a good Dex and some larceny skills to keep the roguish concept alive, and have an awesome Wisdom for Perception, Insight, Nature and Dungeoneering should you go that way, all important rogue skills that I just couldn't cram onto Tay?
Anyhow, thanks again.
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
Although it's tempting to go the controller route (and Zahra's WIS would make her a good fit), I think Zahra has to be a rogue. Sneaky cat-burglary is central to her character.
But what am I doing typing this up when I still haven't submitted? Back to work! And thanks for the advice.
Edit: Here she is.
"There are seven types of thieves, the worst of which is the thief of knowledge."
"Observe, Ladies and Gentlemen, this completely ordinary rope"
When she began to read, Zahra discovered records of a lush forest past the mountains that rose over Tyr. There -- it was said -- were trees larger even than the tallest man. They rose broad and straight there, past the mountains. It was said that their people were cursed by a powerful mage, before the time of the Sorcerer-Kings. Or perhaps their people instead were powerful mages. For how can people from such a land be cursed? Reading by moonlight in a darkened, silent library, Zahra decided that her chest had hailed from this land beyond the mountains.
But Zahra cannot read, yet. She is bound hand and foot, breathing slowly through her nose. She has grown almost too big to fit in the chest.
"See how tightly tied, my Lords and Ladies"
She stops the breath and is still. Muscles that had begun to cramp are now remote. Her body is vacant as her mind begins to stir and stretch.
Unmoving, she begins to shift the rope with which her father had bound her hands so expertly. Though the rope has chafed her wrists raw, the tracks it leaves across her skin are dull compared to the mental sensations of its movement under her mind's manipulation. Every fiber, every strand, every string must dance around each other, pushed and gently prodded until she can reach her left hand up like that (how many times did she have to dislocate her wrist before that worked?) and then jerk the right wrist while she held the... There.
All illusions rely on the directed inattention of the audience; a trick cannot be performed if the audience cannot be tricked. A mistake must be made. But what if the leering captain who has volunteered to check the knots actually, really checks them? For this eventuality and for others Zahra must rely on her flicker of psionic power in order to escape her bonds. But always silently and always slowly, so that her telepsychic manipulations are never detected above the chatter of the minor telepaths in the next room.
Reaching down one-handed to untie her ankles, Zahra breathes again, slowly. Fifteen long breaths, now, and she'd never been able to hold past twenty. Too slow. Thank goodness father had chosen not to use the silt tonight. Sixteen. He would, tomorrow. Word of her siltbox escape was spreading, and their hosts had made it clear that the performance of anything less --seventeen-- would be considered an insult. Her fingers fumbled on the ankle's knot (distracted, sloppy) and then, with a twist, she was --eighteen!-- free, pushing the chest's lid aside and jumping out and onto the cold floor of some Nibenese noble's guestroom.
Her father looked tired, chin on hand, staring at his hourglass. Perhaps he'd even dozed off while she was in the chest, so slow was he to look up at the noise and flurry of her open-and-jump-and-pose. Finally he turned, sighing.
"Slow, baby girl. Should I be worried?"
Zahra answered his gaze with a half-shrug. "I was tired, Daddy. I got distracted. Some rest is all I need."
"Are you sure?" Rubbing his eyes, he smiled a little, "All right. Get some sleep. You'll need it."
Her father was the one who needed some sleep, Zahra knew. But even sleep wouldn't bring rest. Not tonight. She would be safe tomorrow, they both knew that, but under his grin and patter and forcing its way through her mind's stillness would be another thought; a creeping fear.
Here it was, as she left the room: "Zahra?" She turned, "Before you go to bed, stop in on your mother. She'll be gone before you wake."
"Look hard, my friends, for we have nothing to hide! There is no trickery in our act!"
Of course, some gifts are too good to be true. Feuding noble houses, unwilling to move against each other openly, might hire minstrels as an adjunct to diplomacy to... deliver a message. The death of a retainer or high-ranked bodyguard could be arranged for a fee. The death of a member of the noble household was considerably more difficult to arrange, and its fees were correspondingly higher. Some minstrel groups can't or won't risk their lives on such difficult assassinations. Others made such things their specialty.
For those interested, the names of such assassins are an open secret among those of a certain social standing. Among those names was one Varya Leto.
Escape Artist.
As Zahra's father throws knives at her outline, Varya is climbing expertly around the villa's outside to another window. Zahra is about to step into the chest when her mother enters the bedroom of the Lord's sickly daughter. By the time Zarya emerges, shaking silt from her hair and grinning in the practised way of the performer, Varya is on her way to the stage and poison is coursing through the Vorenus girl's body. Already losing consciousness, she will sleep for two days at most and then breath will leave her.
The plan was executed perfectly. But other plans were in motion.
Although Nibenay's eponymous ruler has been a recluse for centuries, his Templar-wives control the city thoroughly. Unknown to minstrels and nobles alike, a cadre of elite Templars had surrounded the house during the show. Biding their time, they called upon the power given to them by their Husband-Lord. They made themselves, once again, vessels for his will, his purpose, his puissance. A wound ignored and left to fester cannot be cured, they have been told. They know it to be true; such a wound spreads death to the whole body. Sometimes, amputation is the only answer.
Inside, the conflagration is immense. Fortunately braced against a wall, Zahra sees. The shockwave upturns chairs and tables, guests fall, fly, scatter. Only Lord Vorenus remains seated, his right hand flashing out from his lap to push against the shockwave, and Zahra fancies she can see the air around him shimmer and twist, and amidst the chaos he alone is unharmed. Zahra's father is blasted off his feet and back down the cellar stairs, one second there and the next fallen down into darkness. The fire roars over everything, even stone. Zahra sees her mother lying against a wall -- blood, neck horrible, head skewed. In the eyes of the guests is fear, but in the faces of some Zahra sees a terrified understanding.
Zahra feels fixed to the wall. Nothing to do but look.
Now, Vorenus stands. The flames roar at him and charge but he moves quick and complex and suddenly something hard and pure fills the air around him and the flames flee.
Zahra's father is here, now. Swaying and bloody, he says... what? The cellar, the cellar, the chest. She must get to the stone cellar with its cold stone alcoves and the chest is there. Her father yells and pushes her away, towards the stairs.
She starts down them and turns to see. Her father has found Varya and kneels. Vorenus is caressing the clear space around him with open palms and suddenly the air is full of water. Soon the floor is covered, inches-deep. But the flames move across it unhindered, growing as they do, and now Zahra sees his face twist. "Veiled Alliance, to me!" He screams, but his voice is lost in the fury.
Zahra thinks nothing, feels nothing as she turns and sprints down the cellar stair, pursued by fire.
The Thief of Knowledge.
Muffled though the words were by the thick wood and the silt that still remains in the chest, they were unmistakeable. Zahra knew of scrolls and learning, of course, but she had never imagined them important --most people couldn't read them, after all-- let alone important enough to warrant... this. Cautiously opening the chest's lid, she looked around. Templar-wives strode across a landscape of charred rubble, some rummaging through the detritus but most more interested in the prone figures scattered around. As she watched, one of them knelt down over the body of a girl-servant and gestured. The girl's outline trembled against the sunset, and was then nothing but ash on the breeze.
Zahra lowered the lid and lay perfectly still, her tears distant as her mind's touch ran over the debris -- over stones and pots and charred wood. She would know the feel of her mother's skin anywhere, and her father's coarse jacket. His whiskers, his cracked hourglass, the creases of his face.
Sleep took her, eventually.
When she awoke, it was deep night. Crawling slowly from the chest, she could make out human shapes on the perimeter of the ruin that had once been a villa. They stood too still to be anything but guards. Of the figures in the rubble there was no sign, there were no looming Templar-wives, and nor were there any bodies.
Zahra crawled across and through the rubble, more slowly and carefully than the most dangerous escape. Navigating by touch and the moons' dim light alone, during that interminable escape she learned to love the smooth, cool touch of stone and to hate cracking, telltale wood. Shattered pots sliced her hands and feet but neither she nor the shards made any sound. When she felt the dryness of parchment under her hands she took the overlooked scroll in her belt and carried on. She stole past the guards in the shadows of dawn and made her way down to the city.
Sleeping in alleys and abandoned cellars, Zahra had to steal to survive. Quick but not sly, she was sometimes noticed but never caught. Trying to read the scrolls she has saved brought only frustration, so she looked elsewhere for answers. For a long time she has known how to be still (a rare talent) but now she learns how to be inconspicuous. In the bars and taverns of Nibenay the customers think her one of the staff, and the staff think her a quiet and undemanding customer. Meanwhile, she learns about the destruction of the Vorenus villa and the terrible secrets that were contained within it. It is generally agreed that Vorenus was a wicked man, and a mage -- that his alliance were also evil wizards looking to promote the use of magic and everybody knew what that meant: The defiling of the little life left in the Tablelands. Some suggested, warily, that there may have been more to it than that, but refused to be drawn further. All agreed that whatever secrets were contained in the ex-Lord's ex-villa were better off destroyed and never known.
The scrolls remained unreadable.
After some months, Zahra found some minstrels of her parents' acquaintance in one of Nibenay's taverns. They welcomed her to their troupe and didn't ask too many questions -- an escape artist of her caliber was an asset to any performace, after all. They soon were instructed to travel to Balic, to perform for (and deliver a special message to) one of the City of Sails' honourable Patricians.
The journey was almost interminable, but amidst its tribulations stood one shining light: Dekkar Cort, caravan master. Taking an immediate liking to the fatherless girl, he taught her about Athas and its wonders: The city of runaways, the silt sea's islands and their piratical inhabitants, the crescent forest and its horrors, the stories of the Iron Rider, and the ruins that tell of a different age. And he taught her how to read.
In the scrolls, Zahra found tantalizingly incomplete records of arcane rituals and processes. The most complete scroll was part of a treatise on the arcane underpinnings of all matter and all interactions. Engrossed, Zahra found herself looking through the dunes and the scrublands, seeing them not as a harsh reality but as secondary to, and as consequences of, a reality that could be understood and grasped and changed, if she only knew how.
The scrolls only contained one complete spell, that she could find. With a word and a gesture she can now cloud an opponent's mind with panic, as it imagines itself under assault.
In Balic, Zahra spends hours and whole nights away from her new troupe, infiltrating the libraries of Balic's academies and Patricians. Here she learns --by bits and pieces-- of ages before the current one, of civilizations outside the control of the Sorcerer-Kings, of psionics and powers she new nothing about, of the control of the elements and the spirits of the earth, of magic and its terrible price and of times when it gave terrible power. She finds no spells, though, and many books have missing pages.
Soon, she stops looking for practical magic, and begins instead to look for news of green; news of a world unlike what she knows. A world that is, somewhere and somewhen. A world that, with knowledge and power, could still be.
After some close shaves, Zahra knows the danger of carrying words. She has destroyed Veronus' scrolls and cannot risk having any on her person again. So when she sneaks past the attendants or climbs through the window or crawls through the ceiling and onto the rook or skulks through the basements and away from Balic's libraries, she takes no books and no scrolls. All she takes is what she has remembered. Was anything stolen in these burglaries? Can they be called crimes at all? All that was taken was knowledge, and knowledge desires to be free.
The Library of the Sorcerer-King.
King Kalak has been deposed in Tyr, everyone says. Some say he was killed. Zahra is one of the last to know, her days of trawling taverns for information now long behind her. It takes a few days for the idea to form, but it soon does: What if I found the library of the Sorcerer-King? The power would be incredible and maybe, maybe --she hardly dares think it, now-- I could learn to do magic. Not just the distraction that she taught herself from Veronus' scrolls but the magic she has dreamed of -- magic of true remaking.
Though every day of delay chafes her, Zahra makes sure to seek out any information she can about the journey before setting off. The best weapon against the wilderness is information!
Zahra has always been a performer. An acrobat and an escape artist, she has complete control over her body and brilliant reflexes. In combat she will attempt to use those reflexes to avoid danger and her ability to go unnoticed to find a place of hiding from which to find the perfect time and moment to strike. I think this fits a crossbow rogue perfectly -- high dexterity giving good AC and great reflex defense, ability to hide more easily, looking for combat advantage and sneak attack damage. She's also been an assassin and is now a burglar (of a kind). The rogue's skillset is perfect for this.
She's an Athasian Minstrel because of her parents' profession and consequently her upbringing.
- Why was your character in Balic?
Zahra came to Balic with fellow minstrels, and has spent the time either performing or infiltrating the libraries of Balic's academies and noble houses.
- Why is your character going to Tyr?
The rumours of Kalak's death had an enormous effect on Zahra: however interesting the history and lore of Balic's libraries has been, she has found little by way of practical magic. The power she saw that night at the Vorenus' estate had an enormous effect on her, and the idea of having that power herself is attractive and inescapable. If she could find her way into the libraries of the Sorcerer-King, surely she could... something. Since reading about arcane power and since discovering that Athas' history extends back beyond the age of the Sorcerer-Kings, and since hearing that beyond the tablelands and the ringing mountains there exist lush, verdant lands, Zahra has harboured vague, adolescent thoughts of greenery, revolution and acclaim. But her desire for arcane power is rooted more in the memory of that night than in the hope of things to come.
- Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
Zahra's mother and father were killed when Nibenese Templars destroyed a chapter of the Veiled Alliance (and their dinner guests, servants, and entertainers).
Left behind in Balic are Fastur and Gintur Hartig, minstrels and acquaintances of Zahra's family. She has not told them that she is leaving for Tyr.
Dekkar Cort is the caravan master who saw Zahra safely from Nibenay to Balic, kindled her intelligence and curiousity, and taught her to read. He left, at the head of another caravan, after staying in contact with Zahra for more than a year as he did business in Balic, he left months ago bound --he said-- for Raam.
The "thief of knowledge" quote is actually from the Talmud.
Zahra's Wild Talent --her "mind's touch"-- is Telekinetic Grasp. The roll is here.
I might put together a second sub if this continues to be the case.
Somebody's got to sub a Defiler, after all.
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
When I finish writing up Ghires' application (which should be today; the new Fighter version of the character sheet is finished, I just need to slap it up and enter in the rest of his backstory), I intend to submit a Controller as well. I've never really had much experience with Controllers (I usually run Defender or Leader), but I'm looking forward to writing up a defiler for Athas. Ghires will more than likely be my "primary" application, though.
I am working on that Elf Hunter, heh.
Inquisitor77: Rius, you are Sisyphus and melee Wizard is your boulder
Tube: This must be what it felt like to be an Iraqi when Saddam was killed
Bookish Stickers - Mrs. Rius' Etsy shop with bumper stickers and vinyl decals.
Yeah, we're low on controllers, as in... zero? And only two leaders, I think?
Ah, three. Infidel hasn't submitted background yet. But yeah, no Controllers whatsoever. As for Defilers, Tay does that! If he needs to. And no Veiled Alliance are around.
Apps so far:
Defenders
Erdal, Psychokinetic Mul on the Run (Battlemind) - OptimusZed
Ghires N'Qazi, Mul Mercenary Fighter - Milk Ducks
Leaders
Juma, Mul Shaman - Infidel
Narkon, Half-Elf Shaman - Pinfeldorf
Caeldrod, Half-Elemental (Cindersoul) Warlord - mattakaslash
Controllers
Zero!
Melee Strikers
Thar Blackhand, Half-Orc Whirling Slayer Barbarian - 3clipse
Xanyon Kester 'Gna'hrl', Gnoll Whirling Slayer Barbarian - Dresdenphile
Chakak'hoz, ThriKreen Monk - kuhlmeye
Tay, Human Fey Hexblade (and Charming Scoundrel) - Kay
Ranged Strikers
A'kasj, the Dray (Dragonborn) Star Pact Warlock - Tiamatz
Zahra, Ranged Rogue - Gideon (Sheet/background to follow)
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
A'kasj <--- Yo! (even says on my Orokos sheet).
As far as he's concerned, defiling is pretty much a tool in his arsenal to be used. If it can give him an edge to defeat his opponents, you can guarantee he'll do it. He's not the type to shy away from it.
Also, I had an idea for a second sub (Thri-Kreen Druid who transforms into a swarm of hungry mantises to devour his foes), but I'd rather just keep my only sub let others go and post their subs instead.
That's why I told you! :P
You'll want to do your homework. :winky:
Short answer - arcane magic is the reason Athas is a mostly lifeless desert. People know this. Arcane magic is like, reason to be stoned to death or whatever.
However, a wizard with the Elemental Priest theme, who sticks to elemental powers of fire and cold as you said, and never, ever defiles? That could work pretty well. There are a bunch of ways to disguise Arcane magic as power from other sources, so you could mask it as Primal/Elemental without too much trouble.
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
But that's a 2E thing.
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
Wild Talent: 1d10 6
Ichtaca
Trying to get the parchment and such on the char sheet was quite the adventure. Wizards sure doesn't make their shit user friendly. Used 3.5e costs for it, since apparently in 4e no one has a need to write anything ever.
First time doing 4e or Dark Sun, so feel free to holler at me if I munged anything up horribly. Don't have the enhancement bonus thing done, will have to figure that out eventually.
(Okay, I went ahead and spoilered my last post entirely, so it doesn't get in the way of the thread. This is now the primary Ghires N'Qazi application post. I may add a little here and there to it over the next few days --especially to the character sheet equipment section-- but it's pretty much finished, and ready to be checked over. Please let me know what you think.)
Ghires N'Qazi - Mul Mercenary Fighter
Wild Talent: 8 (Sensing Eye)
Brief History:
The geometrics burned crudely upon the boy's wrist would mark him forever as a slave, but Ghires knew he was well beyond the reach of such paltry terms in the Dust; shrouded within the desert winds, he would be well-armoured against the shackles of womanish Moon Priests -- beyond the even the reach of Tectuktitlay, their false and sorcerous god.
Under the burning sky, he was invisible. The barrens would be his sanctuary; hellish and impregnable.
For days, he traveled beneath the weight of the red sun; a lonley boy amid a sea of dust and death. He'd think of his mother at times --of the comfort she'd always brought him-- but he would brook no pity for the woman within his heart; if she were strong, if she were worthy, she'd be there at his side, not toiling in some mud-field, groveling beneath the lash of civilization.
Ghires had no need of such weakness anymore; baptized by fire and wind, he was reborn. Athas would be his new mother.
In the years that passed, Ghires fell in with a treacherous group of silt pirates, and from aboard their skimmer, the Ruddy King, they terrorized the northern coast of the Sea of Silt, preying mostly upon southron skiffs loaded too-heavy with trading goods. Utterly ruthless, Ghires and his men raided coastal villages for supplies and women whenever they felt the urge, and had no remorse for their actions; after all, if the tribals were strong --if the tribals were worthy-- they'd defend themselves and the people they care for.
The fruit of their weak hearts is far too easily plucked.
Athas has no room for weakness; she does not hear their screams. Only the strong survive.
When rumors of Kalak's death at the hands of Tithian reached his ears, Ghires left the men of the Ruddy King behind; they'd long-ago grown fat with ill-gotten wealth, and far too complacent for the Mul's liking, anyway. Determined to witness first-hand the kind of society courageous enough to overthrow a God-King, Ghires set out toward the city of Balic, where he'd secure passage to the free-city of Tyr, and join in their murderous celebration.
(Story kind of falls apart near the end; not a hell of a lot of information, I know. But I wanted to sort of keep it that way, at least at first. Like I've said before, I'm not terribly familiar with the Dark Sun Campaign Setting, and I'd rather not put too fine a point on the details of my character's history at this stage. It's always something we can flesh out later. I think I covered most of the bases well enough, though. Let me know if there's anything that needs clarifying.)
Role:
Personality:
I don't imagine he has any issues with slavery, even given his history. Ghires strongly believes that you deserve whatever wealth, power, and property you can hold on to. And I suppose that includes slaves. If the people aren't strong-willed or brave enough to shake off their chains and make a run for it, they aren't worthy of pity.
I think Ghires is a pretty interesting character, and I'm looking forward to potentially playing him in this game. I think he's just abrasive and unsympathetic enough to really challenge the other players on a lot of moral and ethical issues.
Equipment:
Scale Mail (armour, free at character creation): Bits of horn and mekillot scales woven together over the top of lightweight leather.
Light Shield (armour, free at character creation): A large and rugged tortoise-shell with leather strappings affixed to the interior.
Handaxe (ranged weapon, free at character creation): Nothing fancy; a stone head atop a wooden shaft.
Desert Clothing (10g)
Filter Mask (1g)
Krodlu Mount (225g): Called "Hadj", the beast is used primarily by Ghires as a pack animal, and loaded up with the following equipment:Adventurer's Kit (free at character creation)
Fire Kit (1g)
Rope, Giant Hair (10g)
Survival Day [10] (35g)
(18 gold left over)
Quinn the Wizard (I mean "psion"):
Quinn
Wild Talent: 1d10 8
Brief Backstory:
so many names that I can barely remember all of them sometimes. You see, I'm a wizard. I know, I
know, you think I must be crazy telling you something like that, but hear me out. It's not my
fault, not really. I just ended up with this lot in life.
My mother always told me that her mother was a concubine of Andropinis at one time, but just the
thought of that wrinkly old hag doing anything of the sort sends shivers up my spine. Once he got
tired of her, she was sent out of Balic and settled in one of the surrounding villages. Then she
proceeded to blow through all the money he left her with while waiting for my mother to be born.
Not that I'm bitter about that.
Anyway, my mother never put much stock in her stories, and neither did I, until strange things
started happening around me. At first, I thought maybe I was one of those wilder psions, you know
the ones, one day just trudging along through life, and the next picking up rocks with their minds
and throwing them at people. But that wasn't how it worked for me. Instead of the power coming
from within, I felt like I was drawing it from the things around me and just channeling it
somehow.
As I learned to use my new powers, I hid them from my mother. All I ever did was remind her of
the village idiot who had knocked her up and got himself sold into slavery. Then one day we were
arguing about something and I let my anger get to me (more than usual anyway). Before I could
stop myself, pots were breaking all over our small garden and half of the plants had turned brown.
I can't remember if I ran away, or she kicked me out, but either way, that was the last time I
saw her.
Since then, I moved from village to village, hiring myself out as a psion guard or anything else
that paid well. When I was alone, I'd practice honing my powers, and try to replicate the things
I'd seen the real psions doing. That helped keep my cover, but no matter how fast my talk was, or
how convincing my acting, someone always got suspicious and I had to move on.
Eventually I found my way into Balic. It was easier to hide among so many people and the
occasional dead plant was a lot less noticeable. I even had a good thing going in the markets for
a while, selling fine purple silks from "Tyr". I'd be long gone by the time the silks returned to
their real color.
Unfortunately, even in a big city you can run out of places to hide. Rumors reached me of those
that hunt untrained spell-casters such as myself. "Defilers" they call us. I don't see how a brown
desert dung hole can be defiled any worse than it already is by my little spells, but I'm not the
one judging these things. I just know when it's time to go and seek my fortune elsewhere.
So, I'm off to Tyr, the free city. Maybe they'll be a bit more open minded about someone like me.
Or maybe without a sorceror-king, there's a power vacuum that needs to be filled up, just waiting
for someone with the right power and ambition.
Only time will tell...
Denada's Questions:
Wizard by birth, though the environment in Athas makes doing that in the open nearly impossible. Quinn hides it as best he can behind deception and a natural ability to relate to people. Until things get to hot for him and he has to move on, that is. He isn't really set on being a defiler, but he never found anybody that would teach him any other way. He does what he has can to survive.
Why was your character in Balic?
It was the nearest big city to where Quinn was born. He hoped to blend into the crowd and earn enough money to disappear to some quiet backwater town, where he could be left alone. Unfortunately, that wasn't meant to be.
Why is your character going to Tyr?
Quinn hopes to find people that will tolerate him and make some money in the process. HE hopes that the idea of a "free city" can turn into true freedom for him. If not, he's going to find a niche there that will allow him to make the most money he can, before moving on.
Does your character have family or friends? If so, who?
His mother still lives outside of Balic, though he hasn't seen her for a couple of years. Any friends he's made since then have been friends of convenience and he probably screwed them before he moved on anyway. He doubts they'd still be his friend now...
Physical Description:
Personality:
Jonn abhors physical labour, but with his charm he normally manages to talk others into letting him do them a favour by letting them carry out the work. Despite this, he has quite the talent for detail work - diagnosing problems and carrying out some detailed work, but once he knows why something is broken and how to fix it, he'll get bored, tell somebody else what to do and wander off until it's time to return for the accolades of his brilliance.
Background:
Jonn has spent most of his adult life 'freelancing' for a variety of merchant houses. Befriending people with just the right knowledge, he has developed a knack for finding when and where lucrative deals are likely to take place, finding a way to delay one party or the other and stepping in to be the saviour of the deal. This has for the most part ingratiated himself with the powerbrokers in a number of minor houses while leaving behind a trail of disgruntled and suspicious lesser merchants who would like nothing better that to see him quietly disappear.
A string of good deals in Tyr set Jonn and the road to Balic to expand his fortune and avoid the bickerings of wronged merchants but recent events have led him to believe that a return home to Tyr might be best for his continued health. A serious of well-placed rumours of double-dealings and theivery amongst the Queem and Skelh houses while Jonn intercepted a spice deal led to a little more violence than Jonn had anticipated, resulting in the death of two of the high-sons of Queem and the maiming of one of the sons of Skelh, and there are fast-spreading doubts as to whether any theivery had taken place at all. Jonn has spent most of his modest fortune covering his tracks and needs to somewhere else where he can continue trading before his funds run out.
Wild Talent: 1d10 4 - Mental tools, which seems a bit redundant with all the other mage cantrips.
Edit: Expanded the background and switched around a couple of powers for more delicious flavour and bought a mount, because Jonn ain't much for walking.
Play with me on Steam
3DS FCode: 1993-7512-8991
Play with me on Steam