Post/Author/DateTime	Post
nihility 12-09-05, 10:32 PM	To help support the Character Background Bank (http://boards1.wizards.com/showthread.php?t=545405), I decided to post some of my old character writeups for people to check out; if you happen to find it useful, feel free to borrow parts or the whole thing. I'd appreciate feedback, and if you happen to use one of these concepts, I'd appreciate it if you let me know (it's nice to feel useful). I'll be setting these into a board-friendly format as I go along. Galerd (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=7966437&postcount=2), a choirboy. No, really. Aridaria (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=7966443&postcount=3), a hexblade with enough angst to front for most any garage band. Lenwe (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=7966448&postcount=4), an archer motivated by past shortcomings. Hugh (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=7966452&postcount=5), a gnome wizard with a temper and a distaste for pranks.
nihility 12-09-05, 10:33 PM	Galerd Concept: Human bard with a Vow of Poverty Short Version A former choirboy, now a bard who adventures as a result of a deep sense of altruism. Gelard was raised in a temple of Pelor, then left when he decided he had to do something to help the world. Polite and kind, he supports the party and acts as the "face." He tries to resolve situations without violence whenever possible. Background: Born into the service of a temple of Pelor, and bound into the associated vows in the process, Galerd was raised as a choirboy. The temple was an old one, and its clergy strove to serve the local population. Since many of the farmers who inhabited the area were too poor to afford specialized care and spellcasting, the temple had a tradition: in exchange for some great service rendered by the temple, the family would give over an infant child to the temple's care. The child would then be raised to carry on the same traditions of altruism that had benefited the needy family. In Galerd's case, clerics of the temple had worked for weeks to cure his mother of a life-threatening ailment, and Galerd was offered into the temple's service in thanks. As he grew, Galerd was told of these circumstances, though he was never told which family was his. Instead, he was raised to regard all the temple's parishioners as family; as could be expected, this resulted in Galerd having unusually strong feelings of empathy and connection to those who might otherwise have been simply strangers. Galerd grew well into life at the temple. His pleasant voice was a lovely addition to any service, and he helped the clergy as best he could. However, as he came of age, Galerd grew troubled. Every day, there seemed to be someone who came to the church of Pelor in need (Galerd's own family, as he saw it), and the poor distressed him the most; Galerd's vows had meant that he had never known anything but the bare essentials and what was needed for his duties, but he had also never known long hunger or cold, shelterless nights. Indeed, material want was foreign to him, and he could only begin to imagine the condition of those who suffered it. Actually, he imagined it quite a lot. Eventually, it became too much for Galerd: he had to do something. One day, an adventuring cleric of Pelor happened by the church. Though he had seen such men and women before, the sight of this man filled Galerd with inspiration: he would leave the monastery and go into the world, find work in the aid of adventurers, and earn money for the poor while helpng men and women who fought against the forces of suffering and evil. So determined, Galerd stopped only long enough to write a letter to the cleric who served as his supervisor before running off into the unknown. Galerd's kind demeanor, pleasant voice, and uplifting songs have proven to be useful skills, and he gives every copper he makes to the needy or to charitable temples. Constant letters and the occasional visit keep him in touch with the clergy who had been his parents. For their part, the clergy of his temple are quite happy that Galerd has turned out so well, though more than one was originally sure he'd be back the next day (Galerd always was a little flighty...). Description: Gelard is a young man of average height and slim build. His hair is a very light brown, almost blond in places, and cut short in a traditional style. He wears simple, homespun clothing; actually, he made his most of it himself. His only other possessions are a woven sack (also made himself) and a spell-component pouch (components gathered or found "in the wild" whenever possible); he carries no weapons, nor any other gear, though he occasionally enjoys slinging rocks as a game. Personality: Despite his obvious lack of material wealth, Gelard is almost always smiling. He never complains of discomfort, even when wounded or otherwise in obvious pain, and usually takes concerns about his welfare with a light heart. He often seems slightly distracted, though he can devote himself to a particular task as well as any. He is utterly devoted to helping others, particularly the poor; he also goes out of his way to help the sick, with emphasis on those who have fallen ill in their declining years. Gelard is polite and well-spoken, a product of being brought up by the clergy of Pelor, and he still blushes at more "earthy" speech. He has some book-learning, mainly what would be expected of someone brought up in a temple, but is by no means a scholar. Strengths and Weaknesses: Gelard's greatest strength is his heart: he draws resolve from his beliefs, and his deep altruism makes it very hard for anyone with any potential for good to dislike him for long. His greatest weakness is undervaluing his own welfare. Mechanics: He's a bard, and that's about it. If you're using the Book of Exalted Deeds, then Vow of Poverty could also be combined with Vow of Nonviolence and Vow of Peace. Words of Creation is almost perfect, as it lets Gelard deal nonlethal damage to himself a bit to help his allies, which he regards as just fine. His performance of choice is, of course, song. Anything that boosts his Diplomacy skill should also be picked up, since Gelard would much, much rather talk an enemy down then see the poor fellow die. Other options would be PrCs that improve his support capabilities, particularly his music; Seeker of the Song, for example. If you're not using Book of Exalted Deeds, try to work out some way with your DM to have basically no material wealth without being a liability to the party. In terms of stats, Gelard needs a good charisma (for obvious reasons) and a fairly good constitution. A good constitution lets you take hits for others and similar things without constantly risking suicide, which helps the character, and it also reflects all those buckets of water he carried and floors he scrubbed back at the temple (I regard those as endurance exercises more than strength). Comments: Gelard was intended for an online game that fell through. I was trying to come up with someone who twisted around the orphan stereotype, and this is what I came up with: it's not that he lost his family, it's that he regards almost everyone as his family.
nihility 12-09-05, 10:33 PM	Aridaria Concept Hexblade archer with an endless grudge Short Version A person who has just the wrong kind of good luck: bad things happen all around her, but she herself usually makes it out alive. Jaded and cynical, she is a former street-rat. She now adventures out of a need for the security that only power can bring. Background This is a long one; see below for the full version. Here's the quick version: Aridaria was kidnapped into slavery with her family, only to escape through a closed window (ouch!) during a raid on her "prison" by an opposing crime syndicate (or guild, if you prefer). After a few years on the streets, she was taken in by a benefactor and given a second shot at life - though hardly a clean start. Description Tall, cold, and elegant, Aridaria's appearance is a combination of natural beauty and careful cultivation. Aridaria stands at just under six feet tall; her height, combined with her willowy build, serves to draw her natural grace and presence into sharp focus. Her skin is extremely pale, shielded from the sun by years of city life and nighttime work. Her eyes are a hard steel grey, and her black hair is cut above the shoulders in a severe style. Aridaria prefers to dress in white and purple, and favors flowing clothes that compliment her slender frame and powerful presence. The overall effect is that of an ice queen, existing slightly beyond the normal boundaries of everyday life. Aridaria has taken great care to create this appearance and persona, and she uses it to both intimidate and to mislead. Her thin limbs and body are surprisingly tough, the legacy of a hard life; where Aridaria lives, the best response to stepping on the wrong toes is often to just take your beating without complaint. Aridaria takes great pride in her face, hair, and hands. Her fingers, in particular, are long and well-formed, and she tends to gesture with her hands as she speaks. Her arms are usually covered; if bared, a large number of fine scars on her upper forearms are easily visible. Her upper arms, chest, and shins are also scarred, though the density and depth of the scars varies. Personality Aridaria's outward demenor is cold and calm. She speaks precisely and in low tones, rarely raising her voice. Her primary interest is herself; her life has shown her repeatedly that those who fail to look out for themselves will be killed, exploited, or worse. She regards altruism as dangerous at best, lofty idealism as almost invariably fatal, and views paladins as most likely suicidal. In short, she's holding a sort of grudge against creation itself. She would likely agree with Thomas Hobbes that life in its natural state is, “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Unlike Hobbes, she has no faith in any power to organize things differently. Despite this, she is not evil; rather, she does what she feels she must to do survive. As might be expected from her background, Aridaria is very sympathetic towards orphaned and homeless children. She has been known to look the other way as a street urchin cuts her purse (she never carries much, anyway), and often gives handouts to children in need. Such charity is never done openly, though. Instead, she will typically buy some food, then hand it off to her target while looking the other way, or perhaps "accidently" drop food as she passes her target by. Her reasons for these petty deceptions are simple: she feels that open charity would encourage such children to rely on others. Teaching a child such a lesson, she believes, is no different than selling the child into bondage. Aridaria is deeply distrustful of others. Her close companions are business associates, and she takes care to not allow such relations to become too personal. At the same time, she is quite skilled with people; this is a skill learned by neccessity. As a result of this self-enforced emotional isolation, she is somewhat naive about personal relationships. She does not usually enjoy leadership positions, but also becomes annoyed easily by incompetent decision-making; thus, she tends to prefer loosely organized groups rather than rigid command structures. Aridaria values pragmatism, cunning, and competence, as well as the ability to make a profit. Goals and Motivations Aridaria's conscious goals and motivations are simple: wealth and power, which lead to safety and freedom. The weak are preyed upon by the vicious, while the strong can live without fear of such molestation - this is the law that rules Aridaria's world. If asked why she desires wealth and power, her most like response would be laughter; she would feel that such a question would only be asked by a great fool, or one who has never lived in the "real world" that she calls home. Beyond personal wealth and power, she wishes for powerful allies; she knows well that the many are stronger than the few. It may be that attaining wealth and power will never satisfy Aridaria. In her heart, perhaps she truly longs for stability and security, the sense of closeness and timelessness that she lost when she was torn from her home and family. Then again, maybe not. Strengths and Weaknesses Aridaria's greatest strength is her practicality: when something needs doing, she does it without hesitation. Her greatest weaknesses are her cynicism and lack of trust. Mechanics The concept was a Hexblade archer, but you could really do anything with this. She could be a rogue, a sorcerer (that's the version of her I played briefly), an urban ranger – just change her favored weapon and her “power” as needed. I think she works best when you keep her charisma high. Comments: This started out as a writing exercise, which is way it's so long; I wanted to try out different ways of summing up a characer, and I decided to go with a diary format. From there, I expanded it for use in yet another short-lived online game. It's your basic street-rat story – I wasn't really trying to do anything too original in that regard when I started – but it's fleshed out quite a bit more than I think most are. As an added plus, her convenient escape actually ties in with her Hexblade class abilites. Aridaria was also orignally an elf, which helped motivate her family's capture as exotic slaves. Feel free to ascribe all manner of foul purposes that the “Duke” might have had for aquiring a small group of exotic-looking slaves. In addition to the Kerouac quote that follows, I should credit Mike L. and Susan Doenime (http://www.thekeep.org/~mike/imbs.html) for the format of the diary. The Finn is, of course, also a reference. ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- Extended Background “...Somewhere in his past, in his lonely schooldays in France, they'd taken everything from him; his stepparents just stuck him in schools and left him there; he was browbeaten and thrown out of one school after another; he walked the French roads at night devising curses out of his innocent stock of words. He was out to get back everything he'd lost; there was no end to his loss; this thing would drag on forever." Jack Kerouac, "On the Road," describing Remi Boncoeur Aridaria keeps a small, sparse room in a tenement in the bad part of town. On the corner of the table, there is a vase of dried rosemary; above the vase, fifteen lines are scratched in the wall. The flowers are the room's only decoration. Wrapped around the base of each of the sprigs is a small roll of paper; the vase holds her diary. The entries are numbered, but not dated. +_One_+ My name is Aridaria Galion, and this is my place. I have a place now. +_Two_+ The green-eyed man from that night was a true assassin. Krick couldn't find a name in three months, and he made it quite clear that he wasn't asking again. I can't blame him, even if I did spring for the potion for his leg. I knew he was an assassin, but this is different. A man like that has a guild. Hell, he might have his own guild, or near enough. Either way, that kind of skill, it means things. I don't think I could be like that; those jobs do things to you that can't be helped. I’ve seen it. Still, could do something else. +_Four_+ I need to get this down. There's too much to hold it inside. After that night, I lived on the streets. There was nowhere else. I stole food when I could, but that's all. Right away, I knew that I couldn't draw attention to myself. Only the best cutpurses never get seen. So I stole food. I lived in alleys and wherever else. I was dirty. I don't know how long it was, I couldn't afford a calendar. I managed, though; even though bad luck follows me around, it always hits someone else. Once, I was waiting in an alley for the market to get busy. There were some others in there, too, rough types who'd be using the alley later for their work. Then, right from the road, a big man in polished armor just walks into the alley, gives us all a hard look, draws his sword, and gives a shout. He was a paladin, no mistake, but all that did for him was give him a name. He must have thought the roughs in the alley would be easy. Idiot. They came at him four ways at once, nothing but knives, and he was down before his first swing. I'm pretty sure they got the armor stripped off him before he stopped breathing, and it was probably sold before he was cold. That happened twice more. Those guys probably made more off of pawning armor and weapons than they ever did mugging. That's the life. Too much to put down now… I’ll skip ahead. A few weeks ago, I was in the market, I'd just nabbed some bread, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I started to run, but the hand was so strong... Then I was facing him, a slender man with strong arms and long white hair. He was smiling at me, and just when I was going to try to run again, he said, "Hello, my small charge. You are a hard one to find, but perhaps you know? I am Arjeck. A friend sent me to help you. He caught your eye, I believe, perhaps a bit of green?" Even though his words were strange, and his voice was cold, I thought he really meant to help me, so I went along with him. Good thing, or I'd still be out there. Arjeck took me to a good inn, let me get cleaned up; fresh clothes, too. Then we ate. Well, I ate. He just talked, though not too much to distract me. He said he knew something about me, that strange events followed me. He new I was “lucky.” He said it was my power, that he had that power as well. He said that people like us could make that power grow stronger, and that if I did that, I would be... He told me that I could be something. That was about it. He paid for everything, gave me a small bag of gold, then left. Now I've got a place, and I'm doing work, and even maybe something at a tavern. I picked up some things from a shop, and I'm practicing. And that's that. +_Five_+ Good business today, but that's not news. My "luck" is getting stronger. I think I can really control it now, Jess couldn't have faked so much. We'll see tonight for certain. ... It works! +_Seven_+ My life began the day that the slavers came; everything until then had been a dream. Now I live in the city, alone, and, if I try very hard, I can go a full week without remembering... Gods, Jess would laugh his ass off if he ever reads this. I can hear him now, "Hey, see, Miss Frost, she just wants a nice library! All that ice, but a softy inside, hey? Poetry, next!" Then I'd put the glare on him, and... Forget him, anyway. This is about me, right? It's not remembering, it's dreaming. Not every time, not anymore, but lots of nights, and even sometimes while I'm awake. This is how it goes: Twelve years old. The sun, the trees, my aunt and uncle and cousins and all the other family. My sisters and brothers, blessed with strength and beauty. Father singing, mother dancing. Then the cries, and the blood, and the chains. I know they can't get away with this... but they are. Three carts, covered with hay, I'm barely able to breathe. Days and nights. Mother whispering to father, too soft to hear even right next to them. They're planning something... They'll die! We're already dead? Then the mansion, huge and dark and well-equipped for secrecy. We're presented to the duke, huge and awful and leering at everything, mother and father and... I'm going to be sick... I'm lurching to the floor, and suddenly there's cries, and more blood, and men killing each other as the windows break. The Burning Moon syndicate taking out a rival, thanks guys, though I didn't know it then. From the floor, I see a man with green eyes and two hooked knives step from the shadows, he wasn't there before, the duke never even saw him. He sees me, his eyes narrow, and my heart... but he nods, and his eyes dart to the side, the far window, and he turns the other way. Then I'm running, arms bloody from the glass, but keep running. The mansion is on fire, everything burning... I must be the only one. Alone. Then I wake up, and I'm alone. Again. But still alive. Just my luck. +_Nine_+ I'm never doing a job like that again. Roughing up a tough guy who doesn't think he needs to pay what he owes is one thing. Even if doing it in an alley when he's drunk is a little unfair, it's still safer for us, and safer for him, too. The booze makes them not tense up, and we never have to go too far. Not like today. I knew it was stupid, Krick knew it, too, but the scum couldn't admit that he'd dug up a bad one. Three men? Okay, fine, I can do crowd control, no problem, right? But they had knives, and one had leather armor, and... Steady. Clearly. Okay, it got bad. One died. That's the life. I'm here, the job's done, and that's that. I'm never doing a job like that again. +_Ten_+ I got the bow today. Maybe I'll name it? It's everything the Finn said it would be, though, and it pulls perfect. They got the color just right, too. He said white would stand out too much, and the purple? Why not black? But I... this is for me. Just me. I'll still use my old one for a while. This is for the special jobs. And for when I get out of town. +_Fourteen_+ I got three today. A few more, and they're finished. I can't believe Burning Moon is paying me for this, I'd have done it for free. But, business is business. Gotta eat. Those bastards are never taking another kid. Anyway, I guess the wall does all right to keep the tally. Notching my weapons seems foolish somehow. Update: finished early. The idiots decided to go to my tavern for a last drink. Lucky me. I did it right, too, clean and not a word. They never knew what hit them. Especially after I bought them that last round. I swear, the dwarves brew that stuff for no other reason than to keep humans stupid. Fifteen, including the boss. No more kids for sale around here. ------------------------------------------------------
nihility 12-09-05, 10:34 PM	Lenwe Concept Elven archer with an inferiority complex Short Version An elf with a deep-rooted anxiety about his own self-worth, Lenwe adventures in an endless quest to perfect his martial skills. By doing so, he hopes to prove himself to himself. Lenwe is a skilled and devoted warrior who is always focused on learning what he can from his experiences. Background Lenwe started life training as a ranger, the common calling of his people. He was trained as a scout, learning stealth and observation as well as archery. One day, still early in his training, Lenwe sighted a raiding party of barbarian humans approaching his people's territory. He reported back safely, but when the group moved out to engage them, Lenwe was told to stay behind. The raiders were driven off, though at significant cost. His inability to help shamed Lenwe greatly, though it carried no actual social stigma; after all, he was barely old enough to handle the pull of an adult's bow. Self-confidence had never been a strong point for Lenwe, however, and Lenwe would spend the next several weeks consumed with feelings of self-doubt, failure, and inadequacy. Finally, Lenwe made up his mind: he could remain as he was no longer. Lenwe struck out alone, determined to train himself in the harshness of the wild until he could prove himself. He had lost confidence in his ability to improve himself within his society, and in his ability to contribute meaningfully - he felt he had lost his place. In a sense, Lenwe was little different than a dishonored knight who departs on a questing trial to prove himself. Of course, Lenwe's only real critic was himself, and his memory of shame soon grew into a need for perfection that turned his quest into a life. Lenwe wandered for many years, living off the land and training himself physically. Advancing his combat skills was long a secondary concern; he felt he had to toughen himself first, and the lack of a trainer made meaningful combat practice difficult. Eventually, Lenwe's sporadic contact with society led him to a small village being threatened by goblins. Lenwe signed on to aid the militia in exchange for combat training. When the battle was over, Lenwe's bow had felled many enemies, and Lenwe felt pride. This only served to fuel his determination, and he began wandering with a new purpose: to seek out people and situations that could hone him as a true warrior. His new lifestyle led Lenwe to seek out other threatened communities. As he fought and trained, he found satisfaction in using his skills to protect others. His first goal was still the perfection of his technique, but he came to believe that the bow and sword that protect are worth more than those that simply slay. Description Lenwe is one well-built elf, even by the standards of his people. His body has benefited from long hours of training, and his preferred combat style has kept wounds and scarring to a minimum. Lenwe favors clothing typical of his people. He often wears a broad-brimmed hat on sunny days to shield his eyes; it doesn't look particularly good on him. Lenwe wears his bow and other weapons with far more care than his actual clothing. The belts and scabbards that hold his weapons are well-made and well-cared for, and the weapons themselves are kept polished and honed. His bow gets the most attention; Lenwe made it himself, and he is continually making small modifications or improvements to it. Personality Lenwe's identity centers on his need to seek perfection in his chosen field of combat, and specifically archery. Respect is important to him. He also values skill, particularly those with skills he can learn. In a group, he seeks out those more skilled than him in his areas of focus, and then he attempts to learn from them and surpass them as best he can. Thus, he might identify an intelligent wizard as a skilled tactician, then seek to learn tactics from the wizard (either directly or though observation) with the hope of eventually surpassing the wizard. At the same time, Lenwe would not attempt to become a better spellcaster than the wizard because magic is not something Lenwe focuses on learning. This does not mean that he does not value it; he simply does not subconsciously consider learning magic to be part of his sense of self-worth. Lenwe sees grouping with other adventures a simple case of mutual benefit: they need a fighter, he needs training. He views all group relations in a similar fashion, and believes that each member should do what he or she does best with a mind to helping the group. Individuals who cannot contribute meaningfully hold no interest for him, negatively or positively, though he will defend innocents and allies when possible. Again, he values respect highly, and is quick to give it when he sees that it is deserved. Likewise, he is quick to revoke it in the face of incompetence. Lenwe takes offense at being disrespected, and anyone who shows open disdain for his most prized of abilities, his prowess with the bow, will be quickly challenged to a test of skill. Strengths and Weaknesses Lenwe's greatest strength is his drive for self-improvement. His greatest weaknesses are his nagging feelings of failure and worthlessness. Mechanics Be the best darn archer you can be, but don't forget to keep up your melee ability. I personally favor the Peerless Archer prestige class, but pretty much anything that ties in with his theme should work. You can make him a sniper, but I tend to prefer a close-combat archer. The Exotic Weapon Master is also a good choice, as it allows him to use an exotic bow in melee without provoking attacks of opportunity. Keep an eye out for ways to boost his spot check; at the least, keep the skill maxed out. Other good skill choices include a craft skill so he can make his own bow and arrows. Lenwe's physical scores should all be high, preferably as high as possible. His mental stats should be lower; in particular, he lacks the qualities you might normally associate with a high charisma. Comments Lenwe was one of the first characters I tried to make in detail. The wandering martial artist seeking to perfect his technique is not an uncommon type, but what sets a person on that path? Maybe some are true artists, but I bet more than one is overcompensating for something. That's Lenwe in a nutshell. This concept also plays a bit with the stereotype of the confident, self-assured elf.
nihility 12-09-05, 10:35 PM	Hughigold “Hugh” Turren Concept Humorless gnome wizard with a temper Short Version Hugh has pretty much rejected everything he associates with being a gnome, or at least anything he's decided is too gnomish. A wizard with a mind for utility and planning, Hugh specializes in support rather than blasting. He's got a temper that he struggles to control, but his heart's in the right place. Background Sample (longer version below) At the end of his tenth year at the college, Hugh was fed up. All he cared about was completing some project that would earn the respect of his master so he could get on with more useful studies. For months, he labored on his creation, a variation on Tenser's Floating Disk intended to aid in construction projects. It was fixed to a point, rather than trailing the caster, and automatically ended when a certain condition was met. He dubbed it Hughigold's Timed Platform, and presented it to a formal gathering of schoolmasters and pupils. To his delight, his audience was impressed. The few present that kept spellbooks asked to copy it, and several skilled bards set to work creating a musical version. Hugh's pride swelled. Then, a week later, he attended the recital of that part of the class that had completed their projects in bardic music and magic. At the end of the recital, as the notes of the last performer died, the audience was drenched in a huge gout of water that fell from the ceiling. After a moment, laughter burst out, and the prank was revealed: a number of gnomes had used Hugh's spell to suspend a great amount of water over the crowd, set to release at the end of the last song. Hugh's spell, now known as Hugh's Floating Bucket, received as much praise as the pranksters, and Hugh himself was included in their ranks. As Hugh was slapped on the back and congratulated, his heart burned. He saw clearly the perversion of his creation, a practical tool used to a pointless end, and saw even more keenly that he was being praised as an exemplar of traits that he despised. As soon as he could get away, Hugh went to his chamber and packed his bag, his eyes shining with outrage. Personality Hugh is a serious, determined gnome. He values function over form, pragmatism, individualism, and using power for good ends. He values learning and education as well, but despises a learned person who seems to squander their mind on foolish matters. He enjoys creating things, and is a skilled cook as well as a crafter of magic items. He is happiest when he is creating something new. Trickery and pranks anger him as a matter of principle. Hugh is chaotic good (barely), and he takes jobs that fight evil whenever he can. His partner, Sarah ("Ra" for short), is more committed to good than Hugh himself is, though, and must occasionally tell him that a certain act is wrong. He trusts her judgment in such matters. Hugh has a temper that can blind him to the obvious, and his mind is turned more to exterior matters rather than to introspection. Strengths and Weaknesses Hugh's greatest strength is his detemination. His greatest weakness is his temper, which has the power to turn his determination into blind stubbornness. Appearance Hugh's appearance is, as one might expect, anything but frivolous. His garments are well made but practical, his gear chosen for performance and durability, and his haircut chosen for ease of maintenance. His most common mode of travel, inside the chainmail-lined backpack of a half-orc, means that first impressions will likely be memorable. Mechanics Hugh's role is as a primary arcane caster, specializing in buffing, support, and utility; wizard is the obvious choice for his class, though the new Archivist class also fits the bill of a knowledge-gathering intelligence-based caster. As a wizard, specialize in divination, conjuration, or transmutation, and set aside evocation and illusion as your prohibited schools. Any knowledge skill will probably suit Hugh fine. He's also a skilled cook, and while you could just as easily pick some other craft skill, few will be as often-used or as obviously practical. Hugh's feats probably tend towards magic item creation, and he would do well to become a loremaster. If you don't have another player to play his partner, you might also take the Leadership feat to attract his partner, Ra. Hugh has a high intelligence, but his wisdom is perhaps a bit below average; his moral compass isn't as good as it could be, and he sometimes blinds himself to the obvious. Beyond that, nothing in particular is needed. Comments Yet another all-too-short online game... Hugh is another twist on the orphan: he's got a family that loves him and a community that accepts him, he's just too pig-headed to see it. Hugh was part of a two-part team, with Ra being played by my spouse; the small caster riding a big bruiser has a rather long history in our play groups. ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- Background (full version) +___+Early Days+___+ Hugh was born to industrious parents in the trading town of Fenwyr. Hugh's father was a civic engineer of sorts, working to keep Fenwyr's roads in good repair and to ensure that traders could navigate the city easily during the peak season. Hugh's mother was a successful merchant. Hugh was the first child born to the couple; due to the pressures of business, it was many years before another child followed. Hugh was a bright child, reading and speaking at an early age. His parents, seeing his talent, sought to provide him a good education. The house was kept stocked with books, tutors were hired, and Hugh quickly absorbed all that he was presented. His childhood was quiet, though, without the large group of brothers and sisters that most gnomes grow up with. Hugh became quiet and serious as a result, with a temper that he would work to control his entire life. As Hugh continued to grow, it became clear that his keen mind gave him a knack for arcane magic. Thus it was that an adolescent Hugh was sent to Calidor to study the magic and lore of his people. +___+Calidor+___+ The southern island of Calidor was far from Hugh's home, and the city of Calidor was completely different than the merchant town that he had grown up in. Still, he took to his studies well. The first year, focusing mainly on general topics of history, culture, and similar subjects, went easily, though Hugh made few friends. The second year saw the students beginning to study magic in earnest, and it was then that Hugh began to seperate from his peers. While most of the gnomes worked magic through music and will, Hugh and a handful of other gnomes studied systematic magic under an old master. As the years past, Hugh spent more and more time on his own. Whether in the library, reading tomes of lore and scribbling notes in his journal, or researching spells in the small college laboratory, Hugh was cut off from the daily life of the students. Viewing them from a distance, he began to despise their trickster ways and emphasis on form rather than function. So what if their spells flowed beautifully from their souls? His knowledge of magic was more vast and more practical. And what good was a spell if used only for pranks and mischief? What use was knowledge when used only to make up better stories? Hugh's temper began to get the best of him. Though never the type for hot words or actions, his anger burned in his heart and darkened his mind against his fellows. +___+The Break+___+ At the end of his tenth year at the college, Hugh was fed up. All he cared about was completing some project that would earn the respect of his master so he could get on with more useful studies. For months, he labored on his creation, a variation on Tenser's Floating Disk intended to aid in construction projects. It was fixed to a point, rather than trailing the caster, and automatically ended when a certain condition was met. He dubbed it Hughigold's Timed Platform, and presented it to a formal gathering of schoolmasters and pupils. To his delight, his audience was impressed. The few present that kept spellbooks asked to copy it, and several skilled bards set to work creating a musical version. Hugh's pride swelled. Then, a week later, he attended the recital of that part of the class that had completed their projects in bardic music and magic. At the end of the recital, as the notes of the last performer died, the audience was drenched in a huge gout of water that fell from the ceiling. After a moment, laughter burst out, and the prank was revealed: a number of gnomes had used Hugh's spell to suspend a great amount of water over the crowd, set to release at the end of the last song. Hugh's spell, now known as Hugh's Floating Bucket, received as much praise as the pranksters, and Hugh himself was included in their ranks. As Hugh was slapped on the back and congratulated, his heart burned. He saw clearly the perversion of his creation, a practical tool used to a pointless end, and saw even more keenly that he was being praised as an exemplar of traits that he despised. As soon as he could get away, Hugh went to his chamber and packed his bag, his eyes shining with outrage. +___+Departure+___+ With his recognition as a wizard secured, Hugh journeyed back to Fenwyr. He found no peace there, though. His eyes, blinded by anger and humiliation, could not even see that his own parents were practical people who used their skills for useful ends; in Hugh's mind, all of his people were tainted. After a short stay, he politely announced that he felt he had to continue his studies, and that he intended to journey to the centers of learning in the lands. This was true, but his greater desire was to get away from the people he saw as trickster fools. Hugh set out the next day. His journey's carried him from one city to the next, with his time split between working as a mage for hire and studying wherever available. The elves were a great disappointment, with their declining power perceived as a deliberate refusal to use the power and knowledge that the elves so often claimed. The humans were a mixed bag. The dwarves, however, were almost ideal. Their drive and determination impressed Hugh greatly, and the accomplishment that their great city of Keir Tanil represented convinced Hugh that this was a people that cared about using knowledge and power to practical ends. Hugh stayed long in the upper levels of the city, studying the craft and knowledge allowed to him, and offering the spells he had gained and researched to all who might find them useful. Eventually, Hugh's manner and work ethic earned the friendship and trust of a few dwarves. He became a member of the Stonecasters, a small order of dwarven wizards devoted to applying arcane magic to mining, metalworking, and other dwarven crafts. +___+Partner+___+ Hugh now had a place, an order, and a home of sorts. However, his magic was a practical magic, and required both effort and experience to perfect. This, combined with the gnomish wanderlust that years of travel had awoken within him, caused Hugh to return to the road. He traveled about the land in great loops, each starting from and returning to Keir Tanil. One winter day, as Hugh was passing near a small village in the north on his way to Elander, he was set upon by bandits. A strong blow knocked him from his magical mount, and Hugh was desperately grasping for a scroll when a great cry came up from beside the road. In an instant, a tall, thick form wielding a scythe set upon the bandits. Hugh regained his feet and was about to support his unexpected ally with a spell when he realized his help wasn't needed: the woman, a half-orc, was smashing through the attackers with ease. “Come,” the woman said, blood dripping from her weapon. Then, she turned and set out over the fields. Hugh, reasoning that the woman clearly meant him no harm, followed the woman across the snow to a small house with smoke rising from its chimney. The next day, the woman, who called herself “Ra,” accompanied Hugh to a nearby village. On their way, they encountered a group of teenagers who taunted Ra - based on the taunts, this was apparently short for “Sarah” - mocking her looks and slow wit. Hugh's temper rose at this, and it heated further when he saw Ra do her best to ignore the insults. Then, with a smile, he pulled a scroll from his backpack. A few seconds later, the teenagers were peacefully sleeping in the ditch. Ra looked at Hugh in shock and surprise. Hugh shrugged in reply and said, “they're sleeping. They won't bother you for a while.” +___+Today+___+ Since that time, Hugh and Ra have been inseparable. Ra, having little love for a life among intolerance and insults, left with Hugh on his journey. Together, they have traveled from place to place, taking work as adventurers. Hugh rides in a chainmail-lined backpack carried by Ra, and they make an excellent team. Hugh respects Ra deeply: despite her lack of intelligence, she has a good heart and works to use what gifts she has for just causes. Indeed, she is iconic of many of Hugh's values: function over form, using power for the good of one's self and others, and individualism. Hugh believes that Ra is to be respected for doing so much with her limited intelligence, rather than looked down upon for something that she could not control. Their relationship is something like that of siblings, with Hugh viewing Ra as a sort of big little sister. It is Ra, however, that serves as the moral compass for the pair. On the road, Hugh reads while sitting in Ra's pack, either studying lore quietly or reading a story aloud to Ra. In battle, he supports her with spells and works to control the enemy while Ra tears them apart.
nihility 12-09-05, 10:37 PM	Reserved am I!
nihility 12-09-05, 10:40 PM	I, too, am reserved.
Sang-Drax 12-11-05, 09:17 AM	I haven't read through all the posts, but the ones I have are quite good. May I ask why don't you just post them atthe Character Concept Compilation or the Character Background Bank? I see no reason to pulverize the same idea in 3 different threads. EDIT: erm, never mind; you've posted a link in the CBB. Really good work out there.