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[D&D 4E Recruiting] This thread is done, please lock it.
Posts
anyways. time to get working on some sweet-ass details.
EDIT:
ok, rogue, not ranger.
posted details here
Re: The Abzurian: It was late at night - and it's really just a for-fun alternative character - feel free to ignore it
No problems with the other rules you posted.
The city of River’s Watch was still as ugly as he remembered.
How people could stand to live in these cities was beyond Fenrir, these days. The cold, carved stone surrounding you from all sides, the streets cobbled and paved to prevent you from ever stepping on pure ground.
The worst of it all, though, was the smell. It was stench that took the qualities of every piece of waste in this city and slammed into your sinuses with all the grace and bouquet of a rabid boar. By the grace of Melora, he thought to himself, Let me survive this place long enough to return to the forests.
He heard the sound of running water. Pausing in his stride, he closed his eyes and pulled himself back into the wilderness for a brief moment. Back to the shrine he maintained. Back to the people who knew how to respect the wild. Back to the places where he had broken the bones and spirit of those who would tear down the pristine wilderness. Back to the cool water where he had washed his blade clean.
Fenrir opened his eyes and realised the running water was just an old woman emptying a sloshing chamberpot onto the street. With a sigh, he continued on his path, ignoring the dog that charged past him to drink up and cavort in the rolling street liquid.
If there was one thing about this place he could thank, it was the walls. At least they kept this place and its noxious run-offs contained.
The final twang of a bard song and a roar of appreciation brought his attention to one of the few things he had missed about this city – the Golden Friar. The only place he remembered where good spirits overwhelmed the smell of the city; spirits you felt in your heart, and ones you felt pouring into your gut.
He strode up to the door of the inn and pulled the door open. If he was going to be in this city for a while, he might as well ring in the new with a couple of drinks…
Other info spoiler'd for size
Living outside of proper civilisation for the past few years has caused Fenrir to make a few decisions regarding his appearance – his dark brown hair sports two long braids that hang from his temples, and a series of tattoos that go down the full length of his arm feature Melora’s symbol in prominence. A three-inch scar running down his cheek and chin mars his otherwise handsome appearance. He carries himself with a stoic demeanour, for the most part, but flows smoothly into other moods depending on what the situation calls for. As much as he tries to hide it, people can see that he is uncomfortable and tense within the city, and he maintains a steady grip on his broadsword. He doesn’t feel at home within the walls of mankind, and keeps his guard up at all times - just in case.
Personality
A paladin must be virtuous in the spirit of their god, and Fenrir finds his virtue through agreement with nature. He prefers to remain diplomatic and neutral in as many situations as possible, believing that there is a time and season for every purpose on this earth, and that through his faith he will be able to respond to every situation. This does not mean, however, that he shys away from situations where a determined stance is required – after all, if you place a rock in the middle of a stream, the water will fight and push until it finds a way to get around, even if it means washing the rock away entirely. He is a social creature, at heart, and enjoys nothing more than having a good conversation with someone and learning about them.
Background
A progeny of man and elf, Fenrir was born within the walls of River’s Watch, but always felt more at home in the woods and fields that lay outside the walls of his birthplace. His elven father was called back to his birthplace when Fenrir was ten, and his mother soon moved their residence to a small house on the far outskirts of the city. Although he cannot remember clearly, Fenrir thinks his earliest experience in diplomacy was calmly discussing the merits of living closer to the wilderness with his mother. That, or he chucked a tantrum. Whatever was said and done, they moved shortly afterwards.
Whether it was a divine calling, or something more mundane, Fenrir knew he had to serve and protect the world outside the city – but he also knew that most effective way to send a message wasn’t through the kind words of the clergy, but through the blade of a sword. As soon as he was of age, he swore his devotion to Melora and entered her service as a paladin.
As much as he enjoyed his work in and around the city, there was a part of him that yearned to leave stone and smoke. After much thought and consideration, at the age of 25 he left River’s Watch and retreated into the wilderness to begin what he thought would be a brief quest, just long enough to be sent guidance and vision from Melora. He realised after the first year that perhaps his decision to leave had been the divine guidance he was searching for.
Years of protecting the land from loggers, aberrations and other ne’er-do-wells that nature is pitted against has trained Fenrir in the fine arts of both diplomacy and war. Recently, however, there’s been a feeling in his heart that he needs to return home, back to the city. At first he was hesitant, but then he realised that perhaps it was just another nudge in the right direction from Melora herself…
Trahearn Meliamne - Eladrin Artificer
You’ve travelled from one side of the continent to the other. You left the Feywild to find knowledge, and I bet you think you’ve discovered a vast plethora of it by now, don’t you? You’re a regular fountain of information. You’ve studied the mechanics of the machines in this world, learned how they work and where to put them for maximum efficiency. Locked yourself in the depths of basements and dungeons until you discovered the right chain of sigils. Crammed enough knowledge into that Eladrin brain of yours that you can’t remember what your mother looks like – but by Ioun, you can draw a damn good diagram of a magical kettle.
Trahearn walked down the dank streets of River’s Gate, running his hand tentatively across the bandolier than crossed his chest. He’d only been in this city for a few days, but he’d already started to gather the gist of the place – trading city, very little magic, population and economic boost since the times of the last war. A varied mix of races and cultures were prevalent, from what he could tell.
He made a mental note to begin a thorough search for any shops or markets that dealt in arcane implements. Although the tomes from Nirava he’d been browsing through were fascinating in their own right, there was something so much… nicer about holding a wand in your hand and noting down its construction, the specific design that lent it such power.
That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? You weren’t enough of a warrior for the other Fey knights, so you decided to make knowledge your weapon. Banished from your homeland and forced to start wandering the mortal world, because what else was there for you to do? Now you channel your arcana instead of defending the ghaele. Sell random sigil-inscribed objects to humans and the other lesser races.
He’d been drawn here by the whispering rumours he caught in various towns. Some talk of hidden secrets existing in the land East of River’s Gate. What the secrets were, Trahearn never quite caught. But a secret is just knowledge that hasn’t been revealed quite yet. Imagine the fame he could get from discovering some ancient lore of a great civilisation, imagine the glory…
All the glory in this mortal world won’t restore the faith of your father.
Face the facts – those who don’t live by the sword are just as likely to die by it.
A sign loomed ahead, proclaiming that the establishment in front of him was, without a doubt, the Golden Iris that all the sailors and dwarves were talking about on the docks this morning. It didn’t seem that late, but the inn was already a hub of activity. Was there a special occasion or festival this evening? The locals he’d spoken to hadn’t said anything to the effect, but perhaps it would be wiser to find different place to relax and unwind. Perhaps.
Perhaps inside there would be interesting conversations to subtly listen to. Bard songs which contained glimmers of the truth behind some old, forgotten lore. Venerable characters, the movers and shakers of this town, who could give him a nudge in the right direction. Anything would be better than wandering this city aimlessly, day after day. All he’d discovered so far was that the law in River’s Gate was relatively lenient towards both waste disposal and public nudity.
You’re in the wrong place, my friend.
You’d better leave.
- - - - - - - - - -
Sipping from a cup of tea at a table in the corner of the inn, Trahearn listened with intent to the bard’s tale of heroes of River’s Watch. He had made the right decision – this inn was crawling with a veritable rogue’s gallery of unique individuals, each with their own thoughts and motivations. Who among them knew where those urges would lead?
There’s so much knowledge out there...
Other info spoiler'd for size
Behind those green fey eyes and blonde hair lies a whirring machine that absorbs knowledge like a sponge. Conversations with him may seem superficially friendly, but he always tries to direct them in a way through which he can probe out more information. In other situations, you’ll most likely see Trahearn fiddling around with his bandolier and belt pouches, counting and re-counting his possessions to maintain a kind of blanket awareness. With almost all of his gear originating from the mortal world, his Eladrin longsword stands out – constantly at his side, a reminder of the path he spurned a long, long time ago.
Personality
Constantly seeking knowledge and artefacts, Trahearn has learned over time that a kind word will get you many places in this world. Diplomatic and friendly to a fault, you could almost mistake his knowledge-lust as being genuine charisma. He has even dropped most of his high-and-mighty Eladrin pretensions, favouring to view humans and other denizens of the mortal world as equals in the pursuit of information. Despite these changes, and being all-but exiled from his homeland, Trahearn still feels a connection to his Fey warrior heritage. The lessons and voice of his father still ring inside him, sometimes, reminding him of all that he has left behind.
Background
Born the first son of the captain of a powerful ghaele’s guard, it was expected that Trahearn would follow in his father’s footsteps and become an Eladrin warrior, defending the Feywild for his entire life. For better or worse, fate drew a different hand for this high elf. A natural fascination and preoccupation with books and arcana soon led to him falling behind in his fighting ability, compared to the others in the profession. His final offence, though, was dropping his sword and falling over in the middle of a guard mounting ceremony – in front of the ghaele herself, no less. Shortly after this blunder, he was removed from the guard; and so too was he removed from his father’s gaze.
With little else to do, Trahearn packed his precious few belongings and left the Feywild – he lived in Nirava for some time, learning all he could about the mortal world’s customs and people, before beginning a journey around the continent. It was in Nirava, however, that he was introduced to the artificer way of life – he was instantly drawn in by the notion of viewing the mastery of the arcane as a technical skill. From that point on, he has dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge in all its forms. Though he primarily focuses his attention on the various means through which the arcane can be manipulated and expressed, he collects information and books on all manner of subjects. To him, having vast knowledge of the world and its machinations is the closest one can get to godliness.
This is the first time I've made any characters for 4e, or made a sheet on mythweavers, so, um, any comments/criticism/advice would be appreciated? Especially if I have done anything wrong on the sheet itself.
He is kosher. He has his paladin powers, encounter from feat, and encounter from half-elf Dilettante listed.
It all adds up.
He only has chosen two at-will and one encounter
Thank you for that confirmation - I just copied over what the Character Builder had given me on the generated sheet and power cards. That said, it felt a little weird that I seemed to have about twice as many powers as all the other sheets I'd seen.
Well done!
You may want to mark which powers are designated as Channel Divinity if you are new to 4e. That is because even though you have 3 extra encounter powers with that designation you can only use one of them per encounter.
From pg 91 PHB:
Thanks for the heads-up! I knew about the once-per-encounter rule, but I marked them as such anyway. Better to be safe than sorry when you're new to the system, though.
Defenders: 5
Strikers: 4
Controllers: 1
Leaders: 2
I have heard mention of/recieved PMs from at least 2 other leaders and 2 other controllers that havent put up sheets yet.
I could run two of these and still have people left out. Ridiculous.
Re: Cytorak:
Yes, I know Tuesday is forever away. But this weekend is the Arnold Classic in Columbus, which is a tradition: me and my guys attend, I feel tiny, and then we get sloshed on booze spiked with all the free supplements afterwards. so I won't be much use then. and I've got a project at work due Tuesday.
so I figured this way we have plenty of time, the start will be right when i have some extra time to kick everything off, plus everyone can iron out their submissions, and who knows? maybe seeing this ravenous interest will scare another DM out of hiding, or convince someone else to give it a try (this is my first foray into PbP DMing and I'm not exactly an expert in RL games yet either).
edit - Any restrictions on origin story? I think I want a demi-plane to be my character's home Plane (although he would be completely cut off from that Plane) but I don't want to screw up any plot point you might have in mind
QEDMF xbl: PantsB G+
most of the details as far as that goes are in the OP's lengthy setting description. As long as you are (cue 80s pop soundtrack) live. ing. in the ma-ter-i-al world. (ok that's enough) right now, it's probably fine.
Also, good call on the HIMYM reference.
Enjoy!
Make sure you visit Barley's by the convention center and have the house stout.
Sooooo good.
Gnome Warlord
"We should charge in valiantly with haste, weapons drawn; I suppose I could shout 'In the name of justice!' if that's not too flamboyant."
Dwelling within the dense forests of Shamwood are gnomes; fickle, careless fey folk with little interest in any cause or code. They are just as likely to help someone get further lost in their forests as find their way out. It was towards the end of the war centuries ago when a Gnomish family happened upon a traveling band of knights and, on a whim, decided to accept them to their hollow for shelter and refreshment. These weary men were most grateful and expressed thanks in gifts and in stories. Mostly indifferent to their politeness, these Gnomes were nonetheless intrigued by the knights' tales of heroism and bravery, and grew curious of such notions of chivalry, honor, and justice. They implored the knights to teach them their strange noble ways, to which their leader, Sir Phillippe, explained as best he could in a few days time, departing afterward and leaving the Gnomes to entertain themselves with new notions of purpose and deed.
The result was the Noble Gnomes ('Gnoble Gnomes'?) of Phillippei, a band of questing cavaliers modeled after their interpretation of the knights' code. Many Gnomes who take the calling do so out of amusement and need for excitement; they follow the code like the rules of a game, willing to bow out once justice loses its freshness.
Blublo Phillippei is one such knight (gnight?), born into a long line of short-serving Noble Gnomes. He has taken the cause under the impression it will reveal to him a greater sense of purpose in his life. He is stoic but friendly, aiming to keep anyone he serves in high spirits. Blublo holds himself to ideals he doesn't inherently feel and mimics the motivations of heroes he doesn't fully understand, which invisibly troubles him at times. He is determined to smite the wicked and help the weak and let the meaning of it all sort itself out later.
Alfons Deemer
Halfling Cleric
Brother Fons hails from one of the nomadic Stoorlander clans from the cold south. He is a Priest of Avandra, devoted preacher of luck and bravery, wandering tender of the Wayshrines. On his travels he has lended aid to weary travelers and encountered the dangers of goblins and bandits, garnering acclaim along the few roads through the southern regions. He has come to the northern lands to test his fortune within the trouble lands surrounding River's Watch. Partly he desires fame through his achievements, but it is Alfons' underlying drive to help those in need that motivates him to action.
Eladrin Wizard (because I have been eying up a wizard for a while now and there aren't too many of them)
Githzerai Ranger (because there aren't any rangers yet - probably bow-spec)
Sitting alone in a dark corner of the tavern, Niltsiar cares nothing for the goings-on of the rest of the patrons. His mage hand floats above the table, holding his wine. He lets his mind wander briefly about the spells and rituals that he was able to research earlier in the day.
The loud commotion as a bard finishes his song jolts him back to the tavern. Niltsiar curses silently at his lack of concentration. He focuses his mind on maintaining the spectral hand's presence before him. It's a simple spell, and quiet useful, even if it does disturb those who haven't seen it before. But why should he have to carry his belongings when magic can do the job for him?
Realizing his mind is starting to wander again, he quickly snaps his mind back to his surroundings and curses silently. He really must concentrate if he is going to master his magic.
Appearance and Demeanor:
Niltsiar, dressed in fine, but plain robes. He cares not for his physical appearance or for flashy, attention grabbing clothing. He cares only for his mind, and his magic. If magic can allow for less manual labor, such as carrying his bag, then it must be done. He is small and frail, which compounds on his insistence of using his magic, rather than his own personal effort. A perfect day would begin and end with a library full of scrolls of spells and rituals. He cares not for good nor evil, but his own ability. If helping or hurting someone will further his magic, so be it.
(I think I got everything in my character sheet, but I need to go over it a bit more and make sure I got it all correctly. I did it all on paper and through the PHB first, then entered it on Myth-Weavers.)
EDIT: Deleted and recreated the whole sheet again to make sure I got everything correct from redoing it through the character builder.
NOTE: I can spoiler the following if it's too long, but damn it if I didn't work kind of hard on it, so you all should read it =P
The people of this world will grow complacent, over time. They will forget the horrors of war, the injustices brought upon the innocent. Our birthright, our destiny, is to defend them by cleansing the corruption of lingering evil. There will be no code to guide you, no commander, no court. Our path is laid, our hands are guided by an older power, the unbreakable primal spirit of the Earth itself. Civilizations rise and fall, Gods are born and slain, but the strength of the Primal Beast is truly eternal. You will become a manifestation of that strength, a living totem to that power. If... When the time comes, when your power is required, you will know in your heart what to do.
Oren's eyes refocused, a slight shake of his head serving to lift him from his reverie. It had been so long, his grandfather's words had slowly diminished in his memory. Initially Oren had been so eager, so curious to know the meaning behind the cryptic missive. As he grew older, though, he inevitably turned his thoughts toward more "serious" matters, like his current client...
"I... need your help. I heard you could find anything in the forest."
The man stood before him, a helpless look in his eyes. He appeared to be a simple tradesman, one of the many who ply their wares to the merchants passing through River's Watch. Oren had never seen him before but that wasn't much of a surprise, considering his natural tendency to avoid the more crowded parts of the city (and what could be more crowded in a trade port than a street of craftsmen?) All men must earn a living, however, and Oren regularly supplied rare materials from the nearby forest to a small group of crafters.
"Sure, goodman. What do you require? A rare length of redwood, or perhaps some black strongvines?"
"No, no, I need you to find my son Jonathan! He was playing at heroes and villians with some friends and when they grew tired of the game, he wandered off toward the forest! Something about finding a dragon to slay, his overactive imagination... his friends, they let him wander off!"
Astonished at the man's urgency, Oren tried to calm him. After gathering what details he could from the panicked man, he set off toward the forest. Perhaps this was just a fool's errand, but he hadn't planned on doing much else today, and he had to admit to himself it would probably only take a few minutes to find the boy.
Sure enough, it hadn't taken long to find the kid's trail. Eleven year old boys not being very stealthy, his good boots had left a series of easily followed indentations in the soft earth. Another hour, two at the most, and I'll have Jonathan back to his father's. Maybe afterward, a stop at the Golden Iris for a well earned drink? He mused to himself, chuckling all the while.
And then a cold shiver traced it's way up and down his spine. At first uncertain as to the cause, he shook it off and glanced down at the boy's tracks again, and his heart skipped a beat. A second set of tracks came out of the woods, intersected the boy's path, and diverted to follow it. Some sort of four legged creature, a bear perhaps, but with tracks that were... just plain wrong. A dread feeling overcame him and suddenly his focus was razor sharp, all distractions gone, taking off at a sprint down the forest path.
Within minutes, the combined tracks veered off into the trees, toward a thicket of tightly woven branches. Smashing through them, he found himself in a small clearing, his fears given form by the nightmarish shape clawing and leaping at the central tree. It was hard to look at directly, impossible to identify even in the midday light, as if it were shrouded in darkness. And worst of all, it was trying desperately to reach the small boy clinging precariously to a high branch.
Twisting around at the sound of Oren smashing through the thicket, the boy saw him and yelled a plea. However, his hope soon gave way to terror as the branch he clung to snapped under his weight, sending the boy falling to the ground. Oren started running toward him, knowing even as he did so that there was no way he'd reach him in time, knowing that even if he could, the evil beast could very well tear them both apart.
Become a manifestation of that strength.....
Oren heard his grandfather's voice as clear as a silver bell, ringing through his entire body, his feet fairly flying across the ground. Time seemed to slow and his vision stretched, everything fading away except for the beast, whom he could now see clearly. And see he did, knowing beyond any doubt that this was the corruption he was most definitely prepared to fight.
A living totem to that power.....
Letting out a guttural snarl, Oren felt a primal anger surge within him. Without knowing why, without conscious thought, he threw himself at the beast, his outstretched body shifting into something else, a long resounding howl echoing from his throat as he pounced. The beast only had time to turn and see it's fate before Oren slammed into it, his jaw locking on it's throat and ripping it apart. The momentum of the impact carried them several feet in midair before they crashed to the ground, and Oren nimbly leapt away from the corpse. Shaking the blood from his muzzle, he sat back and howled in joy, feeling the Primal Beast manifest itself in him for the first time.
It felt like an eternity, but somehow Oren knew only a few short seconds had passed since he entered the clearing. With a hollow rush ringing in his ears, the Primal Beast left him, and now he was just a man again, kneeling on the ground. Standing up, he walked slowly over to the boy, who lay unconscious on the ground, having hit his head during the fall. Gathering him up in his arms, he took one last look at the slain beast, then turned for home.
Having brought the boy to his father ("Oh, I think I startled him when I called his name out upon spotting him, and he fell from the tree he was climbing. I'm sure he'll be alright..."), Oren sat quietly in a corner of the Golden Iris. Idly drinking from his glass, he wondered at the events of the day, and the perhaps not so surprising coincidence of all the extraordinary people in the inn tonight. He only knew one thing for sure... his quiet days were over.
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.
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.
Oh man, well done.
Is the point system preferred for rolling up characters for CF games? I rolled my physical dice for this character. I'll redo that if it's unacceptable to roll stats.
Man - so many good characters in this thread. I've added some more flavor text to my entries.
I feel inspired to start writing a story about these guys...
You know, I have no idea who's going to get picked for this, but I hope this guy's one of them
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.
EDIT: Started sheet from scratch, updated link. I think I got everything done correct now.
Cain, Human Druid
Note: Picture of Cain taken roughly 30 years ago.
A silver haired old man in beast skins sits in corner of the tavern, finding the bottom of his third glass of wine a bit sooner than he expected, to his obvious disappointment. He calls for more from the bar matron while continuing on with his tale to an enthralled crowd.
"Now the town had the militia pulling their hatchets and the like together, getting ready to go storm the Dragon's cave, convinced it was gonna attack the town. So I go up to the mayor and I say 'Why not let me go have a talk with the creature first.' Now of course, the mayor had a head full of steam at this point, like the most of men who had a dragon for a neighbor would. But he saw it my way in the end and gave me one night to try and reason with the Dragon.
"So I head out of town and go have a talk with the dragon, whose name was Rir, wasn't causin' all the ruckus because he was a crazed beast, he was an ill beast. He touched down next to the town to try and sleep it off, but he couldn't help the fits it was giving him. So I arranged to have a cleric come by and take care of it for him (which was no mean feat, convincing him to do it). After Rir was back in his health, he left straight away. Lives in a cave in some far off mountains. Quiet place I discovered in my travels through the area, I stop in and say hello whenever I'm nearby. He's got a right nice little family now."
A child smiles and makes to run away at the conclusion of the story, only to find his path blocked by Cain's staff. The child's eyes go suddenly wide.
"Now, oughtn't you give that back?"
A coin pouch hits the floor and the child scarpers, evidently he was using the opportunity of an enthralled crowd to try and pick pockets. Cain picks it up and hands it back to a wine-sodden blacksmith, who looked a mixture of bemused and angry.
Mannerisms and Personality
Cain is a kindly old and well-traveled man who loves telling stories to his companions and anyone he meets about his various travels and the fantastic people and creatures he's met there. Weather or not any of these stories are true, completely fictional, or some combination of the two remains unclear. However Cain's mastery of so many languages and sharp senses implies that there is nothing embellished about how much time he has spent traveling the world.
Cain favors using his Primal magic to aid his allies in battle, but will occasionally use his beast form to get into the fray when the occasion calls for it, favoring the form of a grey wolf.
simonwolf that Artificer concept is great!
Four?! Now it's personal. Time to start working on my next character! That'll learn ya.
(also thank you for the kind words)