Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Gideon_Gideonson 01-21-07, 08:08 PM	http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t73/Gideon_Gideonson/cooltext46521293.jpg Those competing it Sorcen's Battle Royale post your characters and backstories/information here! --------- On the pedestal before you rests an enormous tome, bound in leather and iron. Blazing red letters glow on the cover, areas of iron somehow still fresh off the forge. These spell out the legendary title of the ledger, a title known to warriors and historians alike: SORCEN'S BATTLE ROYALE: Competitors Registry. The massive tome creaks open, hinges and bindings straining with the weight of the heavy cover. Age stained parchment turns under your hand, as you page slowly through the list of names: legendary warriors, powerful mages, cunning artificers...beings of unspeakable evil, and beings of unspeakable good...demons, angels, ghosts...the walking dead...these names are the stuff of myths and legends. These are the competitors of Sorcen's Battle Royale. ---------- Gideon Gideonson...inventor, alchemist, mechanic, adventurer, artificer...there isn't much he doesn't do or hasn't tried. Once a full time artificer, his adventuring career blossomed when he met his one-time partner Revlis Nogard. However, after many years, Revlis retired to his abode in the forest, to live out his life with his wife. Gideon, however, had an lust for the adventuring life, and began work as a freelance artificer and adventurer. Between his time with Revlis and his solo career, Gideon has chalked up many legendary deeds, from the destruction of the Ruby Pyramid, later found out to be Vecna's Phlactery (much to the god's annoyance...) to the infamous kidnapping of the Archangel Tillanias. Working for both exalted patrons and the common man, Gideon Gideonson is a name held in high esteem by many...or at least, those that he hasn't irritated. And he's irritated a lot of people. Gideon is a human, raised by a small gnommish community. As a result, he wears his beard in the fashion of the gnomes and speaks fluent gnommish. He also recieved his interest in devices and mechanics of all kinds from his adopted parents and their community. Of his true heritage, nothing is known. He dresses in practical leather attire, covered with patches after certain...explosive experiments, and also covered in numerous pockets, many containing dimensional breaching effects. These store his arsenal of unorthodox weaponry and devices. In stature he is a small man, of fairly average build, but his unusual mood swings, hot temper and bizzare and easily distracted personality make him more obvious than his figure would indicate. Annoying Gideon is a dangerous mistake to make, but, once his friend, he'll stand by you through pretty much anything...provided he's not distracted. He is known to suffer from a severe type of Attention Deficit Disorder, where he is obsessed by the possibilities of experimentation with everything he encounters, and he is forced to take strong medication to counter it. He also smokes incesently, supposedly to counter the depressive effects of the medicine. Lastly, he is addicted to caffiene and a number of stimulants, brought on by the need to work into the wee hours of the morning to finish some project...which he didn't work on earlier, since he was most likely in the bar until midnight. Lately, Gideon has entered Sorcen's Battle Royale, but took leave for a long time on a quest into the Nine Hells in an alternate universe. He and four companions (later to be five) entered the portal, but, as of yet, only Gideon has returned, bursting out of the ground in the center of the arena. He refuses to comment on his adventure, so, until such time as another member of his party returns, the story will remain secret. His fighting style is unorthodox at best, chaos at worst. He is unpredictable, and almost no one knows what he keeps secreted away. However, it is usually prudent to expect a large number of alchemic explosions, as well as some odd mechanical and magical devices used in gods know how many ways. When in doubt as to something's function, run. Mzumu Kagunda is a totemist from the Zimwi Nunda tribe, come to Sorcen's Baator to bring honor to his ancestral spirits and his gods. His skin is dark brown, almost black, and streaked with lines of paint the color of red earth. His eyes are bright, resembling those of the eagle it was, only lacking the brilliant golden shine, and its shoulder length black hair is unruly and wild. He wears nothing more than afeathered cloak, an animal hide belt covered in leather bags and pouches, and a simple loincloth, although he manifests totem-imbued attire from the spirits of the world. His body is painted with odd red and white patterns, in the same paint that marks his face, and he holds a feathered spear at the ready: relaxed, yet always alert. Mzumu Kagunda channels great power through his totems, and his abilities range widely based on the totems he has bound. From breathing fire to flying to controlling the earth or the weather, his powers are varied and numerous. He does not speak any common tongue, but communicates through an ancient form of sign language, known only to a special few. Lady Inaya Elrissa is the eight daughter of Lord Baln Elrissa, but she fled her heritage at an early age. Unable to tolerate the tedium of noble life, or the injustices she found far to plentiful in her country, she became a roving vigilante, dedicated to freeing the oppressed and righting the injustices she found. Since her success, she has traveled the multiverse widely, improving her martial skill and her knowledge of the worlds. She looks elvish, yet at the same time angelic, and even Fey. Her dark skin and raven black hair constrast sharply against her outfit; a billowing garment of sky blue ribbons that envelope her like water, flowing and trailing behind her with every step. Her braided and ribbon-bedecked hair hangs to her waist, and her entire style of movement is reminiscient to a wraith...she barely seems to touch the ground as she walks. But there is a sharper, more dangerous edge to her breathtaking beauty. Her dark eyes seem calm and peaceful, yet also seem to dart back and forth, observant and sharp. Her stance, while graceful and unearthly, is that of a coiled spring, ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation. At her side rests a silver scimitar, embedded with sapphires and blue enamel, and she wears it with the air of one who knows how to use it. And as she glides forward, the ribbons surrounding her drift and sway about, and, for a fraction of a second, the glint of silver metal is visible among the swirling ribbons. A shining archway of twisted metal materializes before Sorcen, and through it steps a figure obscured completely in shining silver and gold armor. It draws a massive blade and salutes the assembled lords. You called, my lords. The figure looks down at its metal-clad body. My apologies, great ones. I will remove this charade. Sheathing its blade once more, it raises its visor, revealing a face that radiates celestial beauty…but soon that is gone. The flesh flakes away, turning to dust, and a bloodstained skull leers out of the armor. Black ichor begins to seep through the cracks in the creature’s fullplate, and the once bright armor darkens and tarnishes. Great wings of pitted metal screech and whine with the tension of steel on steel as they stretch out of the armor, which begins to ripple and fuse to itself and to some unseen skeletal structure inside. A hideous creature now stands where the knight once did. Its exposed skull framed in twisted metal, blood leaking from the seams where the two join, stares hideously toward the judges; one eyes a bloody mass of flesh, the other normal, but as dark as oblivion. Its body is just as ruined: bones and bloody muscles intertwined with metal armor in a mockery of life. Rust bitten and pockmarked feathers scrape against each other as its massive wings rustle menacingly, and its once bright sword is now a fractured mess, corroded in acid and dripping blood. Its voice is harsh and grating, sibilant and oozing with evil. I am reaaaaady to sssssssserve, my lordsssssss. The Regent of the First has arrived. Llval is an arch-duke of hell, and one of Sorcen's many subordinates. In theory he rules the first layer of Hell in Sorcen's name (since even such a powerful being can't be everywhere at once), but he often poses as a paladin of Heironeous and plants seeds of evil in the church order...a habit which wins him both praise and critique in Hell. It is a noble calling for such a being, but Llval often leaves his regency for long periods of time. Still, he is a faithful and powerful servant, and is therefore often called upon when Sorcen is short-handed. And thus comes Llval to Sorcen's Baator, to take up his temporary position as a back-up judge. Charles Anstron, a.k.a. Coin, is possibly the single most powerful mortal in the multiverse…in theory. He is nothing less than a True Sorcerer…his magical potential rivals even that of the gods, and entire planes could fall before him like grass before a scythe…again, theoretically. Born in Los Angeles, Charles grew up without knowledge of his power. It only manifested in his extraordinary luck with almost everything. Charles almost never lost games of chance, and during childhood games like Trouble! and Monopoly he reliably rolled excellently. It was during high school when his powers began to truly emerge, and it was shortly after the three-alarm fire that (coincidently) got Charles out of a mid-term he hadn’t studied for that Sigil Prep found out about him. They jumped at the chance to have the single most powerful mage in all of existence enrolled in their academy, and offered him a full scholarship. Naturally, Charles, now a senior, also jumped at the chance of a full-scholarship to the most interesting school in the universe, and so he bid his parents farewell and left the planet Earth for the Outlands. After hearing about his vast potential, he exchanged his name (which he was never truly fond of) for the moniker ‘Coin,’ the name of a powerful boy mage from a book by his favorite author, the British writer Terry Pratchett. Like the hero of that story, Charles’ ability was enormous, and the Dean of Sigil Prep himself often took Charles aside for lessons. Unfortunately for Sigil Prep, their hopes were dashed when Charles’s personality got loose on campus. Handsome, outgoing, and charming, he focused more on girls and parties than on his studies. As a result, his already out-of-control powers spiraled into chaos. The only mage course he really aced was Basic Sorcery, although he got top marks in the others (due mainly to some extremely lucky guessing). Upon graduating, the only thing he could do was channel his power at will…he had no control over its outcome beyond a slight hope that it worked as planned (and the worthless ability to manipulate coins…the only real use for it he ever found was for party tricks). And so the universe’s most powerful magus cannot reliably cast even magic missile. While the mere use of detect magic on him will render the user unconscious due to the overwhelming power, that vast potential remains just out of his grasp. He can use it, but it will not bend to his will. Not that he really cares. Charles is a fun-loving, risk-taking kind of guy, and he doesn’t long for power. Sure, he enjoys wielding it…but in the long run, what would he do with it if he had control? Conquer universes? Create gold? Buy New York? Well, yes…but he’s just not interested right now. A master of arcane and divine lore, as well as Truename magic, Bartelemus the Archivist is the scribe of Sorcen Anenooata, and, recently, a lecturer, professor, and librarian at Spetimus's School of Magic. Although ancient by his race's (human) standards, he is still tough and capable, although combat is apparently not his forte (in his first arena battle he was carried off the field with a broken back). He hovered at death's door for a long time, until his friend Syra Kavon intervened, using her mastery of shadow magic to strengthen his footprint on the world. As this healing took place in Sorcen's Library, the magic of the books leaked out to assist in the recovery of their keeper, and Bartelemus was somehow bound to his tomes, and thus, through the magic of the written word, to every recorded work in existance. Bartelemus is a man of average height, although age has stooped his posture a bit. His long white hair hangs in a long ponytail in the back, and to either side of his aged face in front. His pale eyes contain odd reflections within them, almost resembling pages of text, or some other magic of the written word. When in his library, however, Bartelemus seems to truly come alive, and radiates a sense of belonging, as if he himself were part of the structure. Which, in a way, he is. Now gladly retired from combat, Bartelemus focuses on using his skills where they are best utilized. He is capable of finding almost any fact in written history, and can actually bring things from literature into reality. Although he could be a potent force in battle, his recent back pain from his injury constantly reminds him of his mortality, and he wishes to do something useful with the remainder of his life. He still harbors a deep respect for Syra Kavon, and often surreptitiously checks up on her through the Hall of Life, or the library of the gods of life and death, where each person's life is a narrative, being written with each passing second. At the moment, his two main goals are to watch out for Syra, although he knows her to be quite capable, and to free his daughter from the demon who possessed her and robbed him of her so many years ago. Kadadune, the Keeper at the Gate: A massive, armor-plated devil, resembling something between a dog, a wolf and a bear, this monstrousity gaurds the gates of Hell. Shendda, the Watcher in the Dark: A dark-skinned blind seer, Shendda travels around propelled by four immense spider legs sprouting from her back. She may be blind, but she can enter, read, and destroy minds as easily as others walk and sleep. Izkaila, Lord of the Fifth: Izkaila is a beautiful arch-fiend, resembling a flawless elf. She wears no clothing, and, if not for her crimson skin and flaming hair, she would be the dream of many mortal men. As it is, she rules the fifth layer of Hell, and is the mistress of Llval, Regent of the First. Not much is known about this enigmatic being. Her claim to be from the Dream World seems well founded, but aside from that no one can be sure. The only thing they CAN be sure about is that she is a dangerous foe. As she has demonstrated her ability to rearrange reality itself, it can be assumed that she is hiding her true power on the battlefield, something for which everyone can be grateful. As it is though, she is difficult to hit, let alone hurt, and is capable of twisting the field itself into a weapon, or entering her opponents minds and fighting them from the inside. Unless you can convince her not to: she apparently has a great interest in humanity, and often questions her foes during battle, which, due to the nature of her existance, she treats as something meaningless...she does not care whether she wins or loses, for, according to her, there are an infinite number of other existances where the outcome changed to an infinite number of possibilities. She may be right. Ukinanni has, as far as we know, no true form, but she normally appears as tall and sturdily build woman with dusky, almost pure black, skin. Other details change with each manifestation, but she normally has wild hair (usually white or a deep purple), constantly blown about by wind, regardless of the actual presence of such wind, and her garb is usually composed of animal skins. She has not been competitive for some time, but as her name still glows a brilliant, lurid purple in Sorcen's Register, it should be assumed, until further notice, that she is still an active competitor. For the short time that he...or it...ran free in the Arena, Caben Duur, or, in the old tongue, Vengeful Blood, was a force of...well...not of nature, but of something. Perhaps the phrase should be a force of evil. Whatever the case, the spirit-formed Vestige-turned-Blood Magus definitely left an impact as his first foe went down in a terrible, bloody carnage. Apparently formed from the tormented spirits of the slaughtered, and brought to life to combat the darkness of oblivion, Caben Duur has since switched sides. Although it first went dormant peacefully, the violent death of a child at her father's hands awoke the vengeful spirit, who proceeded to tear into the living, enraging Orthos, the gaurdian of existance. Orthos banished Caben Duur, imprisoning him in the space between the worlds. Bound for an eternity outside reality, Caben Duur finally broke free, inhabiting the body of a foolish blood mage named Udvar Hett. For a long time it was thought that Caben Duur was invincible, and known that his continued presence would spell the end to existance itself. If not for the Kyle Killigan's discovery of a speck of unrest in the being's soul, the world might have been doomed. But Kyle suceeded in sending Caben Duur to discuss things with the godesses of Love and Joy. The world held its breath that this would succeed. But any good in Caben Duur was long buried, and it returned more tormented than before, half living, half dead, all in pain, all despairing...and extremely angry. It had destroyed Orthos, rampaged through the worlds, and was invigorated by the blood of innocents. It challenged the universe itself with its mere presence, and a force of combatants at Sorcen's Battle Royale went out to challenge it. The battle was chaotic and unpredictible, as men and things far more powerful fought to save or destroy reality. Chaos and Order, primals who control the very essence of the universe, joined the battle, and Caben Duur still held strong. But, in the end, it was Kyle Killigan who turned the tide. For some unknown reason, he decided to fight alongside the abomination that was Caben Duur, hoping for some spark of good within the monster. And surface it did, when Order was poised to strike down Kyle and the primal Love herself appeared briefly. A great struggle within Caben Duur, pitting the one small shard of compassion for the only man ever to care for it against the part dedicated to the destruction of everything, shook the Nine Hells through every layer, and, when it had resolved, neither good nor evil, oblivion nor existance, had won. Instead of Caben Duur was a new being, part nothing, part everything...Na'harilu, or, in the old tongue...Balance. But it is possible that Caben Duur is not gone. The only man to see his complete transformation was Kyle Killigan, since slain in battle against Gideon Gideonson. Scrying on the battlefield shows only a single flower, both white and black as oblivion, and constantly dripping red blood onto the ground...no one knows what this means. In case Caben Duur does return, remember this: Do not engage it in battle. It is seemingly indestructable, a spirit of hate and malice, bound in a mortal body, the loss of which doesn't seem to impede it at all. It relishes in inflicting pain, and grows stronger with each blow to strike it or a foe. It is incredibly strong, insanely fast, and has almost complete power over the bodies of its foes, splitting them open, draining their blood, tearing out hearts, and, in short, leaving them ruined masses of flesh. It also has power over the dead and the blood of the earth itself, as it has possessed armies of corpses and pulled magma from the very bedrock of Hell. Remember...if it should return, avoid it at all costs. Caben Duur does not show much caring or compassion, and you will be slain. Rynce D'Janas, paladin and crusader of Pelor, is an exceedingly unusual knight. For one thing, he's a bugbear. And for another, he's neutral at best. No one knows why Pelor tolerates Rynce's presence, or why Rynce gains divine favor, but it is clear that he does. The burly paladin strides off to battle in Pelor's name, wielding the morningstar he fought for Erythnul with. Until the weapon shatters in battle against evil, Rynce D'Janas is forbidden to touch the weapon that is his by right...the weapon he won for his god at great cost to himself...the great blade Altar, which rests strapped to his broad back. Rynce's past is shrouded in mystery, as the crusader simply refuses to discuss anything about his earlier life. However, somewhere in that time he met and trained a Dire Rhinoceros, now named Brian. Brian and Pelor appear to be the only two things Rynce truly cares about, and he has gone to great lengths to protect his mount. Rynce D'Janas is tall and muscular, a hulking and imposing figure, sheathed in a suit of massive, dented armor. He carries a morningstar and a shield, and Altar is strapped to his back, ready for the day he will carry it into battle. He wears no helm, and his scarred countenace leers menacingly at those he speaks to; his tone usually one of distain. Astride Brian, his shield in one hand, his lance of white oak in the other, Rynce D'Janas is a fearsome sight, and not one that many of his foes look upon twice. For the word mercy does not come easily to this knight. Rynce D'Janas, unfortunatly, perished in mortal combat against Sevifor the Chaos Incarnate. A chill winds sweeps through the arena, cold as death and as bleak as the gray wastes. It howls mournfully throughout the stands and an empty despair settles in its wake, washing the arena in shades of gray. An eerie silence descends, and the empty air echoes with a soundlessness that reverberates in the minds of the watchers, straining their will and their sanity. The world is bleak and desolate, its color washed out, its substance drained. The wind dies down, and all is still and empty. Nothing moves, nothing is heard, and nothing remains to show that this plane was once, and still is, alive. Baator is a mausoleum, silent, foreboding, lifeless. And now something moves. On the edge of reality, almost out of sight beyond some unseen veil, yet it moves. A twisted form, its true nature obscured by the mists of existence. It is faint, but it grows stronger. And suddenly, like a maggot bursting out of rotting flesh, it is there, throwing off the mystic force that bound its form in ether. There is no drama, no noise, no display of raw power…and it is disconcerting. It should not have arrived in this manner. It should have come with the beginning…the beginning of the apocalypse. A tall shaft of dark metal hangs gently in the still air, three figures floating around it, their backs to the pillar, forming a triangle of flesh. Three female forms, pale as bone, their naked bodies draped in ragged garments of transparent black silk. Black silk, punched through with wicked iron spikes driven through their bodies and binding them tightly to the dark metal. Back to back to back they stand, impaled by corroded spines, seeped in their own ichors, their wrists and ankles bound by rusted, pitted chain, their arms raised beseechingly to the heavens. Black blood falls from ancient nails driven through their palms, pinning each one hand to hand with the others. It is a ghastly trigon of humanity…or what was once humanity. What it is now, even it cannot say, for each mouth is sewn shut, vile secretions oozing from between the stitched lips, staining each face with black slime. The entity ceases its constant turning, and three pairs of eyes, long sealed shut by layers of bloody tears snap open, revealing orbs of glowing violet, pupil-less and hideous to behold. The sixth veil has finally broken. The Dark Trinity has arisen, and the Bleak Wind sails again. The Desolation has begun anew, and naught will stay its rise. What the Dark Trinity is, no one knows. It may be demon, devil, or something else completely. It is an enigma more than almost anything else in the multiverse, for the Desolation has been kept at bay for millenia. And now it is free again. What this means, no one knows. And no one wants to know.
ank 01-21-07, 08:33 PM	The man sat by himself in the darkest corner of the room. His black hair barely hangs out from behind the hood of a black cloak, greying with age. His garb is simple and normal, exept for a broach in the shape of a small bat that holds the cloak tight about him. The lonely soul stares into his ale and mutters incessently to himself. Only halfway through his drink, he stands, places some coins upon the table, and walks slowly out of the bar.... Doran sat in the corner of the establishment which gave him a full view of the rest of the regulars. Ordering a mug of ale for himself he settled down to wait, his disguise working perfectly. From under his hood, he glanced around the bar constantly, seeking his informant. Nimbrixion saw him first, and the seemingly worthless broach whispered "Over there, third one from the left, with the cheap brandy." "Good eyes, as always", Doran muttered; the silver wyrmling had always been more attuned to such things. Without the uttering of a single incantation or movement, he let the magic build and allowed it to embrace the man Nimbrixion had sighted. "We aren't about to lose him this time" he muttered into his cloak again. Soon, the informant left counter and plodded out the door. "Shouldn't we-" "No, Nimbrixion, it might be susipicious." After a dutiful five minutes Doran, the Silverbrow mage, rusted his wings from under his cloak and left the bar. Catching up to his tipster Doran asked "Now, what is this talk of the Dragonfont?" Doran, Silverbrow Human, Sorceror(approx. lvl 18)/Pact-Bound Adept/5, Silver Wyrmling familiar, Rod of Absorbtion, Portable Hole, Bag of holding type II, Bronzed cuff (2/day creates brilliant energy whip for five rounds), Dragons Eye Amulet (blindsense out to 30'). Born of draconic heritage and through his acceptance of this power, he twists the lawws of magic to his will; he can cast spells simultaneously, merging their effects into one (supposing he could normally cast those spells in the same turn seperately. Ex. swift action+free action, Free action+standard action, etc.) In a small corner of the arena, a faint glow, as of magic, can be seen. A small puddle of strage goo lies on the floor as the magic fades, and the goo swells up into the form of a tall human. He has deep, green eyes, and brown hair. He looks around and gets a bearing of his surroundings befor he walks, a little shakily, towards the judges box and calls Sorcen's attention to himself. "Greetings" he says "I don't know quite where this is, but you should know the multiverse ripples under the magnitude of what happens here. I find myself strangely drawn to this place, and you like to participate, please instruct me further." Sevifor comes from a rather unique backround: he was not born, but made. He keeps his past a secret to all but the most persistant, and with good reason. He was "born" out of the raw chaos of Limbo and given sentience by a twisted Demi-god who resides there. He is often considered a loner, although he gladly shares his company with any who offer it; unfortunately those who take to his company often regret it sooner than they may think, for he holds within him a dark secret. Although he looks in all respects like a regular human, he is not, for the link to limbo does not die easily within him. He is a good man, to use the term loosly, but to every yang there is a yin. His personality shifts accordingly from time to time to accomidate this other. Both know of each others presense and know that they both have a role to play in the mulltiverse, but that still doesn't mean they have to like each other. The goodness inside tries to hold back the "monstrosity" for as long as possible, but eventually he must see the light of day. In learning to control his otherwise constantly changing body, Sevifor unintentionally began to manifest psionic powers to keep his body in check; it was only when he realized that he could exercise this same control over the ret of the world that he began his formal training as a psion. Mixing his inner link to chaos, he continues the work he left behind as part of Limbo from whence he came: change. Most people never see the real Kyyt for what he is, and as such little is known about him or his whereabouts these past couple of years. Always the wandering goblin or the solemn wolf, few suspect that the traveler they mean is something much more, a creature bred in darkness and born of evil: A Barghest. Since birth he had known only the life of his fellows: an evil life. As usual, the first soul he devoured was astonishing, the experiance wonderful, and he was giddy as he heard the death-scream of the dying soul. Again and again the two-legged ones fell to his fangs, and always the nourishment of their souls brought him comfort. But the more people he killed, the more he realize that their flesh wouldn't satisfy, their souls didn't replenish him, he could no longer rejoice at the death of another; for each time he killed, thoughts of his own death would find him, and he grew paranoid. His soul was no doubt blackened beyond repair, and their could be no salvation for him, and yet, he prayed. Fervantly, to he heavens, to the hells, and all those that lie in between he prayed. He would give everything, do anything, if only his afterlife could be assured. Eventually, an answer came. The soothing melody of Pelor's voice reaches Kyyts ears, and he stood in awe. This god that spoke to him was so unlike himself: Peaceful, Serene, bathed in light, and holy. Pelor offered Kyyt a chance at redemption in a life of servitude, to undo the damage he had done, and to root out all other evil in the world, such as he had once been. Kyyt emerged a changed person, and swore an everlasting oath to do just. Nobody is quite sure what happened in between. Tales abound of a savior in wolf form, the enlightened goblin, and the many deeds that he did. But somehow, things changed. Suddenly, the tales stopped coming. Evil spread unchallenged through the local lands, and a new tale of the demon-wolf emerged. Somehow, in some way, Kyyt was changed, and he is loyal only to himself, and the one who whispers dark secrets in his ears... “The Reaper” did not always enjoy as hearty a reputation as he is now known for. No, in his earliest days he was an unassuming young lad, with a real mother-given name, but such insignificant details are lost to the passage of time. He was born into a migratory clan of barbarians, who lived in northernmost reaches of the world, several thousands of years ago, when times were more primitive. When he was young, he showed no outstanding qualities whatsoever. The poor boy could hardly be considered intelligent, by anyone’s standards. Lacking any real education, he remained ignorant of the world around him, content in his subsistence lifestyle. He was possessed of amazing strength though, standing a full two hands above the next tallest of his tribe. His feats of strength won him high praise and respect within his tribe, as well as a measure of fear; “The Reaper’s” fits of rage were well known. Being the brute that he was, he fit in perfectly with his primitive lifestyle, living a good, if not comfortable, life. He grew older and matured, becoming the hearty of leader of his tribe. The tribal shaman saw him happily married, and his wife gifted them with many children. Just as he thought he had reached his highest possible potential in life, though, fate intervened. The air was heavy with snow, and the winds whipped it with such a fury as none before had ever seen. As dusk descended upon the camp, a huge, shadowy outline was seen coming over the nearby peak of the mountain valley where the group had taken refuge. The wall of snow and sleet made it difficult to identify the creature, but from its stance, even The Reaper could not mistake a frost giant. They’d dealt with such creatures before, and usually they left after a small offering of food; sometimes they went so far as to demand human sacrifices. This one, however, was mercifully alone, and absent of a tribe, a loner. Reaper grinned sadistically; a lone giant was no threat! He alone could disembowel the fiend if it gave them trouble. The giant took in the view of the valley with a swivel of its massive head. It affixed its gaze on the small grouping of Reapers tribe, and began moving purposefully towards them. Reaper called for his flint battleaxe, and hefted it up in his hands, waiting with something less than patience as the towering menace approached. His eyes, for lack of a better occupation, studied the giant. It was impossible to determine any features though because of the flurries, and because the giant’s entire body was covered with a wispy, billowing black cloak. In its hands was an ordinary-looking scythe, made of hardened steel. Reaper had heard of such tools, had heard that the soft-fleshed folks from the south used them to harvest grain for food. Reaper laughed haughtily; if the giant thought to intimidate him with farm-gear, it was in for a big surprise. It came closer, and closer, until it was nearly on top of them. Reaper strode forward alone to meet with the menace, and as he opened his mouth to threaten the brute, a casual backswing of the scythe’s handle sent him flying like a matchstick. Bloodied and shocked, Reaper lay face-down in the snow, unwilling to belief that such a casual blow had surely broken his ribs; that’s when the screams began… Against the pain, Reaper forced himself to look up. The frost giant was bringing his scythe back up, as though having just delivered a singe blow, and three decapitated barbarian’s stood, half-whole, on the snowy ground, now littered with their blood. With horror, Reaper saw the scythe pulse once, and saw something insubstantial rise from each body to be absorbed in the tool turned weapon. All together too calmly, the giant stepped lightly over the bodies, and turned to the other tribesmen. He coolly murdered each in turn, and those that tried to flee, including Reaper’s own wife and children, were thwarted in their efforts. By a simple swirl of the black cloak, the giant would appear in their path of flight; there was no time even for a prayer before they were made to quit the world. Each time, the silvery, intangible substance was pulled from the limp bodies to feed to scythe. To Reaper, it seemed that somehow, both cloak and scythe were feeding on the souls of his tribe. In truth, the giant’s weapons hungrily devoured each victim’s life force, which left their souls quite safe. Reaper didn’t then know the difference. Shock, pain, confusion, and anger fought desperately for control in Reaper, each trying to establish dominance within him; it was no real contest. With a snapping of many bones and strained muscles, he hauled himself to his feet, and forced his fingers to close on his stone weapon. With speed unbefitting a dying man, Reaper closed the distance between the two of them, and in a blinding rage he struck the giant a low blow in the Achilles Tendon. The giant fell, groaning heavily, and turned its heavy gaze on The Reaper. In its eyes, The Reaper saw not pain, nor sadness, nor even the anger he’d expected to find there. No, instead, there was only a dull acknowledgement of its wounds, and of the man who’d inflicted them. Injured and confused, The Reaper didn’t even try to avoid the blow that ended his life… The Reaper lay still, unaware of his surroundings. He was blind, deaf, and devoid of any feeling of touch-- alone. Am I dead? Will now I enter the land of the spirits? Why? How? In a rush of realization, memories came flooding back to him: That night, the giant, the silvered weapon, all of it. If he’d eyes, he’d have cried. Instead, The Reaper became angry, seething with an unholy rage he could not abate. He had to bash, to beat, to bleed, to kill. He sought in his blind rage, a way to make the frost giant pay, some way to make it die. He struggled against his invisible, spiritual bonds; they sought to take him away from the land of the living, but no, he had to remain! Something snapped. He could see again, hear again, and live again. A strange haze obscured his vision, but he could see that his body was a pale shell of its former self: translucent and lacking a material form. But this did not matter to him, because however hazy and unreal it might be, he saw his foe kneeling in blood-soaked snow, as though he were viewing from another world. Working on sheer instinct, The Reaper shifted, and the world of the giant grew to engulf him. He could see clearly now. Time had passed, and the bodies of his friends and family were long cooled and stiffened. He also noted with the highest satisfaction that his foe was weak. Lying on the ground the scythe had left the giant’s hand. The Reaper could hardly stand to look at it, but as he did, he heard a voice in his head, like a distant, dying whisper. Yess…you are strong. I can feel your need for vengeance, your need for blood. Come, take me, and blood will flow unceasing! “I will aid you as well…call to me, and I will robe you in with the shroud of death. Together, none shall be our better!” The Reaper did not know what to think; material goods were now talking to him, communicating a desire to kill. The Reaper did not understand the who, the how, the why, but he knew that the scythe and the cloak could grant him vengeance, avenge his tribe and his honor. Pushing aside any thought of hesitation or confusion, The Reaper reached for the scythe-handle. Despite the way his fingers made no contact with the snow, they closed on a satisfyingly real weapon. As he lifted it from the ground, the billowing robe of the frost giant unraveled itself, flew to The Reaper, and engulfed him. As soon as the weapon was in his hands, and the robe on his body, The Reapers rage left him. Strangely enough, he felt devoid of any emotion at all, completely at ease with the world. His foe, by contrast, deprived of his accompaniments, lost his composure and his eyes flew open in a stare of fear and panic. It tried desperately to attack The Reaper, to swat him away, but his hand passed futilely through The Reapers body again and again. Not even amused by this sentiment, The Reaper calmly posed the question What have you done to me? We have removed your rashness, your indecisiveness, and, in short, your weakness. The cloak continued by whispering in his ear: “You are made better and more efficient because of it, do not mourn your loss, but rejoice in your rebirth.” But why have you chosen me, and abandoned that pathetic thing? “ He was too strong of will, too unpredictable. He despised us, and he would not accept our guidance; we trust that you will be more agreeable.” Talk no more -- words are but wasted time. Kill him, and have your vengeance. Without question, The Reaper lifted the scythe, and claimed his first victim…
kronos451 01-22-07, 09:42 AM	Krono (http://www.thetangledweb.net/profiler/view.php?id=2200) 1-1-0 In progress Torien (http://www.thetangledweb.net/profiler/view.php?id=7654) 0-0-0 Born of the Astral Plane, Torlin lived with his family growing up like most in his society. Untill One day in his midteens when Githanki radiers came and slautered most of his vilage taking a vow to destroy those who took his life from him. With no parents and Little mentoring Torlin tapped the Psionic energys within his mind Learning How to manipulate them and use them to deadly presision. Moving to the material plane in his early twenties he joined with a merchant ship sailing up and down the sword coast of faurn performing various duities abord ship and every once and a while getting the chance to unleash a bout of psionic energy. Adventualy leaving the sailor's lifestyle he found a mentor who taught him the way's of the Uncarnate. Surpassing his mentor Torien killed his master burning the home he had known till his midthirties. Taking his travels to the underdark he vented much of his anger on the illithid and drow societies that dwelled there He started gathering his armies calling any with the gift of the mind to his side, he became powerful. Marching his entire army out of the underdark and into the astral plane He has waged war with the githanki ever since, He has come to Sorcen's Baator to replenish his ranks and once again prove his worth in battle. comming soon Kyle borndapont some sort of wizard/rouge/swashbuckler maybe??
SeptimusMagistos 01-22-07, 05:43 PM	Physical Description: Standing straight in and proudly, the magician, as he chooses to call himself, even though his class is wizard, carries one brilliant staff or another in his hand. Even a casual observer will notice the large amount of staves, wands, scrolls, potions, and bags all over him. His face has a clever and friendly look on it, save for the time that he calls the power of magic down, at which time his face looks magestic and shines with a strange inner light. He's an average height, his hair is snow-white, even though he appears young and will tell to any who want to listen that it was once golden. His eyes are blue as forget-me-nots, and his teeth are white and pearly. Personality: Though at first he tends to be reserved, Septimus will eventually loosen up. Those who know him best would describe him as smarty-pants know-it-all who gives surprisingly useful advice. He makes it his business to know everything, and to always be prepared, whatever else the case may be. He likes to compare himself to the Magician of the Tarot, for he has drawn this card early in his youth. He tends to prepare many magical items and carry them around with himself Personal History: Septimus was born in a kingdom of Nor. He was the seventh son of a baron, who was also a seventh son. His family was lovable but fairly dull. Septimus was pushed towards becoming a wizard after drawing a card from the Tarot of Fate. He considers the abuse of magic to be the greatest of crimes. He met few wizards who were a match for him, and plans to meet fewer still in the future. Physical Description: A small boy of about 11 years. Blue eyes and blond hair. Carries around a pouch full of books. Personality: Nick is the smartest child of his generation and very aware of it. He sometimes becomes overexcited in new situations, but inevitably returns to his calm self. He knows a lot and has many friends. Personal History: Septimus's apprentice who is learning to become the greatest mage in all of realities. Physical Description: A mage of uncertain age without much to distinguish him physically, but an incredible presence and tremendous amount of magic. Personality: Nickolobold Brightstar is a genius. He has a photographic memory, he can count faster than a supercomputer, he knows just about everything, and he can out think just about anyone. He looks down on most others the same way a man living on the peak of the world's tallest mountain is forced to look down on everyone else. However, this sense of superiority also makes him kind and protective of others, because they aren't as able as he is. He also likes grandiose gestures. He casually casts epic spells and if he perceives a problem in need of fixing, such as adjusting the trajectory of a moon, he'll do this without consulting with authorities. Personal History: Years passed since Nick last visited Baator. The time in between was filled with triumphs, victories, achievements, and extremely weird events. He breezed his way through school and got every degree it offered at an early age and spent some years traveling between realities to pick up experience and other ways of doing magic. Eventually, after learning all of magic without exception, he took over a castle in the land of madness and took up the task of regulating magic in the specific section of infinity near his world. He primarily governs it from the castle, but sometimes has to leave to deal with a crisis. After one of his regular scans of the realities showed an impending multiversal collision in the Baator, he decided to visit-partly for old times' sake, partly to see to it that the major pathways of magic are not disrupted, and partly to set the grounds for the next phase of his ridiculously long and complicated plan to impose his values and beliefs on everyone everywhere. Due to certain time differentials, he arrived shortly after he first left. Physical Description: A seven foot tall figure dressed in terrifying metal armor hung with discretely placed weapons. Personality: Wranold cares only about making others pay. He's not always sure what exactly they did, but usually at about the point he starts approaching them with his weapons drawn they do something he feels justified in taking his revenge for. Personal History: Wranold was born out of anger. It was really only mild irritation when it started out, but as it passed dimensional boundaries it increased many times in both intensity and power. The anger grew solid and formed itself a body, and with that body it became Wranold. Wranold increased his power and bound himself to a fiend who ruled a land of things twisted and horrible. And soon Wranold became one of the strongest servants darkness ever had. Yet though he allied himself with fiends, he had no love or respect for them, or for anyone else. What's worse, he had no fear for his master or his master's masters. He simply wanted to keep making people 'pay', even though no one remembered doing anything to upset him so. It never mattered how strong the opponent was or how beneficial it would be for Wranold not to kill him. He simply kept fighting. At times his master felt that Wranold might jump at him with murderous intent any second. And so he sent Wranold away somewhere where Wranold's desire to fight would solve at least one problem. Which problem it would be the fiend didn't know and didn't much care. Physical Description: A goblin in a strange armor and a cape who carries around a lot of weapons and other items. Personality: Ron is absolutely dedicated to proving the worth of goblins as individuals and their power. He refuses to allow goblins to be treated as nothing more than canned experience for beginning adventurers. He believes that goblins deserve equal treatment. Presumably he has other character traits, but they're hard to find. Personal History: Ron has done much in his quest. He's battled all manner of fearsome beasts and people and gave inspiration to goblins everywhere. Thanks to him, young goblins stopped rushing stupidly forward to die and began to think. The tribal structure has been modified and the power and influence of the goblin race is increasing, but now he faces a much harder task. He wants to teach the goblins not to view themselves as members of the Blackroot clan, or the Burning Banner clan, but simply as goblins. Once that is achieved, he believes goblins can take their place as one of the major humanoid races, alongside with gnomes and half-elves. But to do that he will need to prove himself further by facing off against the most powerful individuals the multiverse has to offer. That is why he came to Sorcen's arena.
Larz_Fang 01-23-07, 02:28 AM	Name: Dralix Race: Half-Forest Troll Classes: Druid\Ardent\Geopsychic Alignment: Neutral Good Looks: 6'6'' tall, weighs 205 lbs, green skin with scales, yellow eyes, green tangled vine hair, green-feathered wings and fish gills in the neck. Personality Dralix is a potion-maniac. His most famous quote is "There is nothing that a good potion can't do". He has earned the reputation as a man who can be a furious combatant as well as an empathetic healer. Dralix enjoys raining down the fury of the elements and healing the wounded equally. As an Ardent, psionic powers are one of his abilities that he values, since they can be used to either help and harm. Unfortunately, Dralix has had several dramatic and violent encounters with kobolds, so he has become very hateful towards all kobolds. Equipment Weapons: Spear of the High Forest +5 Longspear (returns to hand when thrown, deals damage from all 4 elements, acid, cold, electricity and fire. Drains life energy when it hits, strengthening it's wielder. It is also poisoned, so it deals constitution damage). Armor: "Jungle Moss" +4 Studded Leather (several protection bonuses, energy absorbing ability, saving throw bonuses and hide skill bonus in forests). Headgear: Mask of Leadership (+4 to charisma and +8 to all charisma-based skill checks). Cloak: Cloak of the Keeper (Granted only to the druid grove leaders, gives AC bonus, resistance to all elements, spell resistance and hide skill bonus in all natural enviroments). Amulet: Amulet of Reflection Shield. Rings: Ring of Missile Protection, Ring of Slashing Protection. Belt: Belt of Supreme Inertial Barrier. Boots: Boots of Great Haste. Other: Has several potion bags and 3 bags of holding among other standard equipment. Dralix can cast all druid spells, use up to 8th level psionic powers, use wild shape and has access to elemental, natural world and life mantles (psionic). Dralix also has some abilities granted him by Drift, which are similar to those of a Geomancer. His Drifts are: I: Green scaly skin, hair becomes tangle of short vines. 2: Photosynthesis, adaptant skin of octopus (+4 Hide) 3: Fish gills (water-breathing), owl's eyes (+4 Spot in darkness). 4: Boar's ferocity (difficult to kill), bear's grab (improved grab). 5: Feathered wings (fly speed 60 ft. (good)), Cheetah's speed (charge 10x normal speed. 1/hour) Dralix has chosen to have an Earth Elemental companion instead of an animal companion. The elemental's name is Eartern Rockfist. It stands about 26 feet tall. Name: Thelron the Knowledgeable Alignment: True Neutral Race: Human Classes: Sage(20)/Loremaster(10)/Archsage(20)/Blue Mage(7)/Green Mage(8)/Purple Mage(5)/Geometer(10) (Total Level: 80) Age: 137 years Looks: 6'1'' tall, grey hair, green eyes and fairly tanned skin. Personality/Background: Thelron is a founder of dozens of libraries in several different worlds. His massive amount of knowledge is his most famous resource, but he is also among the most powerful arcane spellcasters known today. He has also developed several spells of his own, such as Thelron's Frozen Cage. Just like all my other characters, he hails from the world of Danaroth, where he became a co-leader of the great nation of Gokria alongside with his cousin, Gelran the Sun Knight. He is also a very high-ranking officer in an organisation of magic-users called The Robed Mages. Not much is known about them, but they seem to be upkeepers of balance, and almost everyone in their ranks are of neutral alignment. Equipment: Thelron carries with him his Staff of Archmagi, Robes of Balance(colored purple and green), Ring of Invulnerability, Ring of Arcane Power, Amulet of Spirits, Bracers of Armor and several spellbooks. Abilities: Thelron is vastly a powerful spellcaster, for he has mastered a great variety magic, and wields the power of some the greatest arcane spells ever created. As a sage, Thelron can cast arcane magic from both wizard/sorcerer list and cleric list, but in certain limits. He can cast as many spells as a wizard, but the spells from his two spell lists are combined to one spell list that also has a limited amount of spells. He casts spells spontaeously just like a sorcerer, but before that he has to study his spells for twice as much time as a wizard before resting. As a blue mage, Thelron can learn spells that he survives from. As a green mage, he casts offensive spells normally available in the druid spell list. And finally as a purple mage, Thelron can cast protective spells more efficiently. Darshgarothos (Call name Darshg) the Reaper, Cornugon(Horned Devil), Lawful Evil Racial Class(20)/Blue Mage(6)/Horned Reaper(4)/Blue Wizard(10)/Rogue(3)/Tyrant Paladin(1) Weapon:+5 Vorpal Scythe of Thunderous Hellfire, ring of greater elemental resist, ring of protection +5, amulet of infernal burning, bracers of intense deflection- (The Scythe also does fire and electric damage and has 35% chance to surpass damage immunity. The amulet burns anyone who comes to the range of 5 feet from Darshg. The bracers grant him almost complete ranged weapon immunity, though this deflection shield can be pierced by +5 and better enchanted ranged weapons Special Abilities: Summon Baatezu (2d10 lemures, 1d6 barbazus, 1d6 barbed devils or 1 Cornugon 1/day), Lesser Cornugon Powers at will, Cornugon Powers 3/day, Greater Cornugon Powers 1/day Blue Magic Spells: Mind Blast, Hadoken, Law Hammer, Surge Beam, Call Lightning, Bigby's Crushing Hand, Soul Bomb, Fire Bomb, Atomic Breath, Storm Strike, Power Word: Kill, Meteor Swarm, Death Blast and Disintegrate. Attacks: Analyze Crature at will, Azure Recharge 1/day, Scythe Slash 1/day and Horned Strike 2/day, Smite Good 1/day. Lesser Cornugon Powers: Dispel Chaos, Dispel Good, Magic Circle:Good, Greater Teleport, Create Minor Object, Peristent Image. Cornugon Powers: Fireball, Lightning Bolt, Pyrotechnics and Greater Invisibility. Greater Cornugon Powers:Finger of Death Shapechange, Wish and Plane Shift. NOTE: Darshgarothos has died in the hands of The Ripper, who was the guardian of the ancient Ultimate Weapon. Name: The Ripper Race: Shaswai (Mantis-like Monstrous humanoid that can turn practically invisible and shift their mantis-like claws to chitonous hands and more) Type: Medium Outsider (Augmented Monstrous Humanoid) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Gender: Male Classes: Racial Class(8) Spellthief(20)/Monk(20)/Scout(11)/Blood Hound(6)/Mimic(5)/Enlightened Claw(10) Total Level: 80 Looks: 7'9'' Tall, Weighs 387 lbs, Red eyes, Green, leaf-patterned exoskeleton. Size: Medium Ability Scores: Strength: 30 Dexerity: 28 Constitution: 22 Intelligence: 14 Wisdom: 22 Charisma: 19 The Ripper is one of the Shaswai, an ancient race originally from a far away material, where they used to live about 5000 years as the dominant species of their planet. In that universe, they were the first ones to master magic, modern technology and space travel. However, as in most worlds, the humans, who the shaswai had exiled to the underground world returned 6000 years ago to wipe out the shaswai, for they had put all their effort into making their weapons technology superior. Using the laser and nuclear weapon technology they destroyed the great shaswai civilization, knocking them back to stone age and leaving nothing, except scattered bands of refugees. These refugees formed tribal communities, that still exist today. However, not all was well for the humans, either, for after the war against the shaswai ended, the former allies now turned on each other. A civil war ensued between the two sides, and in the end the power of nuclear energy put an end to the age of men as well. After the war, the shaswai tribes, being physically more powerful, cunning and deadly hunted the last surviving humans down for food. Nowadays the shaswai live in the jungles around the multiverse in small tribes that hunt anything that trespasses to their territory. Although they are intelligent, their civilization has not improved much in the thousands of years that have passed, and in some worlds their culture has disappeared entirely. This, for example has already happened in the Forgotten Realms of Abeir-Toril. The Shaswai are approximately 7'6'' to 7'10'' tall and weigh in about 325 to 400 pounds. The females are slighter and weigh usually less than males, but Shaswai of both gender are approximately of same height. The shaswai have either green-, brown-, orange- or black-colored exoskeleton and either red, yellow or purple eyes. The Ripper, who was a great shaswai adventurer 500 years ago went on a mission with his two brothers, The Stalker and The Trapper to find the ancient artifacts that were The Ultimate Weapon, The Monumental Shield and The Omega Armor. However, they weren't fortunate enough to get to them, and they all were trapped into a stasis field for all eternity until someone would come and try to claim these artifacts. Now that Darshg the Reaper has freed him, The Ripper can travel anywhere in the Multiverse until the artifact summons him to his bidding or he dies (which isn't something that is going to happen very soon). Name:Grugol Race:Arcane-Crafted Prototype(Construct Template) Flesh Golem Classes: Racial Class:13(Level adjustment decreased by two) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Height: 8'5'' tall Weight: 472 pounds Looks: Stiched skin covered in mystic runes, few mechanical parts such as tubes, bolts and metal plates attached to all body parts. Ability Scores Strength: 20 (+5) Dexerity: 16 (+3) Constitution: - Intelligence: 8 (-1) Wisdom: 16 (+3) Charisma: 19 (+4) Personality: Grugol is a very bizarre creature, because from time to time he proves that he has an amazing memory and insight but still he manages to show very little intellect. His chaotic nature shows up in just about every conversation he takes part of, such as first confessing his obvious lack of intellect but then at the second conversation he totally disregards everything he has said before by saying that he is "smart enough". Due to his peculiar origin (which is explained in the biography), Grugol is granted power that is yet beyond his ability to comprehend or unlock. Abilities: Able to use few spell-like abilities, use most magic devices without effort and use his Charisma score in most abilities and skills that involve using magic, but in all conversational skills Grugol is treated as having a Charisma Score of 1. Biography: Grugol was never a normal flesh golem, as his master, Khumar Darkhand (Propably the most powerful necromancer the world of Danaroth has ever seen) stiched him together from the parts of extremely dangerous sorcerers (from which a couple had blood of particularily powerful giants in their veins) to be the first arcane-crafted construct. The creation of Grugol proved to be quite a challenge to the 60-year old necromancer, and there was an error at the ritual required to activate Grugol. Because of that, the golem lost much of his original strength, magical resistance and durability in the process. After a few years of spending time in his master's dungeon, Grugol decided to leave to the outside world, but as he was making final preparations and making sure to get his master's plans with him, Grugol encountered a dimensional anomaly which took him to Tavern Cycine in Sorcen's Baator and from there to Septimus Magistos's School of Magic.
Lord_Bahamut 01-23-07, 05:50 PM	in case anyone was wondering the numbers mean Win-Lose-Tie. Tyrionalithxanus (his dragon name) or Tyrion Silverscale, Human (Dragon), Lawful Good, Monk 20/Tattooed Monk 10 Tyrion appears as an elderly but muscular man, with messy silver hair and a long silver beard. His eyes are golden with flecks of silver, and his skin has a silvery sheen when seen in the right light. He wears a white robe, and wields a quarterstaff called Whiteoak. Since his battle with Kronos and Socks, however, Tyrion has changed. He now wears gaudy clothes, and uses a sword named Dawnlight as often as his fists. He also uses a magical shuriken called Sunfire. Tyrion was born to a middle class family of merchants. When he was twelve, his home was burned down by a fire. His parents and his entire family died in the fire. Tyrion vowed to learn what or who caused the fire, and punish them for what they did. He formed and some of his friends formed a group of fortune-seekers and called themsevles the Legionnaires of the Blue Sword. Their leader, Yathin (NG elf paladin 12), wielded a magical blue greatsword, from which the group got their name. The other members and Tyrion eventually found that Tyrion's father had been deep in debt and that his creditors had burned down all of his possessions so that they could enslave him and his family. They did not mean to kill everyone but Tyrion, but for the teenage Tyrion, it didn't matter. He sought out every single one of these men, and killed them. Tyrion's deeds had him ejected from the Legionairres. Without friends or family, Tyrion went to an old monastary dedicated to an ancient dragon. There he lived for several years. But he wanted to find his friends again, and go on adventures once more. After getting back together with his friends, Tyrion and the others gained great prestige and power, eventually turning back a horde of demons invading from the Abyss. They opened a gate to Celestia, and rallied the celestials to their cause. The routed the demons, but the demons left a creature of their making behind. Tyrion and his friends were forced to battle a demonic and extremely powerful Tarrasque, and one of Tyrion's friends was eaten and slain by the beast before they were able to destroy it. Tyrion and his friends then went on to battle a demon overlord and killed him and his closest minions and advisors. With the threat the demons posed eliminated, Tyrion and the remaining Legionnaires were hailed as heroes. A silver dragon even came to congratulate Tyrion, and offered to train him in the arts of a dragon monk. Tyrion readily accepted, and dissappeared for almost eight hundred years. The world forgot about Tyrion and what he had saved them from. Tyrion returned to the world after completing his training. He traveled far and wide, enlightened to the good and evils of the world as dragons saw it. He was blessed by the father of silver dragons, and his power became legendary. Tyrion decided that his life's quest was to help eliminate one of the roots of all evil. He traveled to Baator by way of a planar gate and slew and destroyed entire armies of Baatezu beofre returning to the Material Plane. After resting for a few years, Tyrion returned to Baator. But he failed to cast the gate spell correctly in his haste to get to Baator. Instead, he opened a gate to Sorcen's Baator. The gate closed behind him, and he realized he was stuck here for a while. After his battle with Valoran, Tyrion awoke to find himself in the Jailhouse. Making a pact with the Butcher, Tyrion agreed to help and accept help from Valoran to escape from the Jailhouse. Tyrion would protect Valoran while Valoran tried to help them escape. Finally, after thousands of years in the Jailhouse (really only a few days in real time), Valoran and Tyrion have returned. Tyrion, in his final battle to escape the Jailhouse and bring Valoran with him, sacrificed part of his mind to aid the butcher in openeing his own portal. Weakened in both mind and body, Tyrion barely defeated his foes and was able to escape from the Jailhouse. But his sacrifice had unwanted side effects. Tyrion is now partially insane, but he and the Butcher, once enemies, are now friends. The mountain was one of the tallest Siventarr had seen. It towered above the shining clouds of Celestia, the setting sun turning its grey slopes purple. Siventarr looked around at his army. For miles his troops stretched, awaiting to battle the demonic forces perched on the brink of a planar gate from the Abyss to Celestia. The gate would be open soon, and then the battle would commence. Siventarr's second-in-command, Rathiel, stood by his side. The other Solar was not as strong or as fast as Siventarr, but he was the smartest Solar for thousands of miles. Even Siventarr's vast intellect balked at the things Rathiel fathomed. Siventarr turned to Rathiel. "Ready the troops for tomorrow, you know the drill. I think I'll go for a short flight." Rathiel gave Siventarr a nod. "It shall be done." As the evening grew late, Siventarr soared up the height of the mountain. His keen eyesight quickly spotted a cave in a cliff face. Banking in, he landed on the edge of the opening and peered in. Casting a simple spell, a small ball of light popped up beside him. As the Solar walked deeper into the cave, he felt a magical energy from deep within. Walking faster, his curiosity got the better of him. Soon he walked into a huge cavern. Half of it was filled with rotting corpses and bones, and Siventarr turned his head away in disgust. His golden chainmail shone in the light of his spell, and that was when he noticed the other side of the cave. Sunlight streamed down from a glass roof cut into the cavern ceiling, and all sorts of plant and animal life flourished. Rare animals stopped and looked at him without fear as insects chirruped and flew through the air. A single path of grey gravel divided the two sides of the room. At the center of the room stood a pedestal with a sword on it. Siventarr stepped forward as if in a trance. The sword had a blade of pure celestial metal, and inscribed upon it were celestial runes. The crossguard was forged to look like billowing black flame, and the hilt was wrapped in perfect blue leather and capped with a winking jewel. A voice echoed in Siventarr's hand. Wield me... it wispered in a seductive voice. Siventarr reached the pedestal. His hand reached out and closed on the hilt of the sword. In an instant all his dreams and all the possibilities of his life flashed before him. He chose one. Holding the sword close like a child, he stroked the blade as it spoke to him. "Merikel," he whispered. "You are Merikel. And I am a god." Siventarr, Traitor of Worlds, Vampire (Solar Celestial), Chaotic Evil (and totally insane), Racial Levels 20/Fighter 20/Blackguard 10. Weapons: Merikel, +11 keen vorpal speed unholy vicious greatsword +5 flaming, frost, shock, acid and sonic burst mighty composite longbow Items: Siventarr carries his weapons, and then also has a suit of +8 heavy fortification glamered chainmail, a corrupted helm of brilliance (it works as a helm of brilliance, but it has different magical powers), a ring of hellfire (releases the flames of hell in a concentrated blast of energy), a modified immovable rod shaped into a barbed shortsword, a rod of destruction (creates an enourmous burst of destructive magic), and a bag of holding (type 3), in which he keeps his other items. Siventarr was once one of the greatest Solar celestials, and stood at Heironneus's right hand. He was a terrible and relentless foe in combat. He defeated no less then four demonic assaults on different planes, and was the leader of an elite group of Solars known as the Wings of Glory. On one of his battles against the demonic hordes that occaisionally bubble up out of the netherworlds, Siventarr found the greatsword Merikel hidden deep in the recesses of a cave. The sword had two sides, one evil and one good, and Siventarr was overtaken by the evil side and corrupted. Merikel was smart, and guided Siventarr to victory against the demon hordes and allowed him to strike down the demon lords at the head of the horde in a single stroke. Drunk with the sense of power, Siventarr challenged Heironneus to a duel, and lost by a large margin. Cursed by his former god, Siventarr was stripped of all titles and hurled into the fires of hell. He was twisted and transformed (both mentally and physically) by this event, and Merikel got an even deeper hold on Siventarr. Convincing him that it was all the celestials fault that this had happened to him, Siventarr swore a powerful oath to get revenge on Heironneus and the other celestials. He is now training to fight Heironneus, and in his present state could give the god a definite run for his money. Siventarr has not yet reached his full power, and when he does he could shake the entire pantheon of gods to its core. Smog and chemical smoke billowed up from the plains as Silence stood upon a piece of rubble in the center of a ruined city square. Fires burned in the destroyed shells of buildings, lending the air had an acrid stench. Silence turned from his perch and leaped the two hundred feet straight to the ground. The marble pavement of the once grand city he was in cracked like glass as he landed. Getting up without any difficulty, Silence looked around once more. His glowing green eyes swept across the city square, and he stopped at one bit of rubble. Raising one of his arms, his hand bubbled and transformed into a formidable looking gun. A pulse of blue energy fired from the gun, turning the rubble into a miniature nuclear explosion. Fire and melting metal swept out from the explosion, but when they passed Silence was still standing unharmed behind a glowing blue shield. The shield dissipated, and Silence walked down one street. There was a rumbling noise, and a group of four hovertanks roared around a corner ahead of Silence. Opening up with their pulse cannons, Silence was temporarily hidden behind a cloud of molten steel. Silence walked out of the cloud, his shield glowing blue once more. Raising his hands high, he clapped them together. The ground beneath the hovertanks suddenly transformed into a maw of earth, and swallowed all four tanks. The ground erputs from where the tanks were as their nuclear reactors explode. Silence raises his shield again has flame races toward him. He crouches, then jumps upward. The sheer force of his jump craters the ground and collpases buildings for blocks. Silence jumps higher and higher, and soon the purple sky fades into black and stars come into view. Turning back to the planet he was on, Silence raises one figner and shoots a ball of pulsing yellow-green energy at the planet. The ball streaks forward, eventually dissappearing from sight. A few moments later, Silence sees a faint explosion on the surface of the planet. The explosion spreads outward, and soon the entire planet is a mass of molten rock. Then, without warning, the planet collapses inward. Where it once was, there is now a small black hole. Thus ends the history of planet Ingdir-12... a voice echoes through space. Silence, Living Construct, Chaotic Neutral, Racial Class (60) Silence is a thing from the future, a world where humans riegn supreme and all other races have been exterminated or enslaved. In this human-dominated world, war is as everyday as the sun rising in east. Silence was created to do one thing - destroy. Imbued with epic magic and the best technology of the future, he ravaged any army sent against him. Entire planets fell to his unrelenting power. But the very same wizard who created Silence now seeks to destroy his own creation. Silence went beserk on one of his missions and attained a sort of superhuman intelligence due to exposure to both powerful magic and radiation. He is now an uncontrolled engine of destruction, and goes where he wants, when he wants, and takes or blows up anything he wants. Weapons: Silence does not use weapons like other people do. Instead, he creates them out of his own highly-morphic body and then attacks his opponents. Silence can create almost any weapon imaginable, from a simple longsword to a railgun. For ammunition, he uses peices of his own body which he simply regenerates. Special Abilities: Silence can polymorph self, polymorph any object, and baleful polymorph at will. He can cast spells from the Transmutation, Evocation, and Necromancer schools as a 20th level Wizard. He can polymorph into anything he desires, as long as it's not really big, like a superheavy space destroyer. He could, however, change himself into a rocket and blow himself up and the bits of him left over would simply coalesce again and regenerate his form. Farmer McGee scratched at his weeds with a rusty hoe, his wizened old frame bent as he muttered about garden pests. "Durned rabbits won't leave my 'taters alone," he grumbles. "I won't have nothin' to pay the taxman with when he comes 'round, thanks to them rabbits!" Stretching his back, he moves on to his potato patch and begins to weed there as well. He sees a small white rabbit munching on a nice plump potato. "Hey," he yells furiously at the rabbit, "those 'taters are mine! Get yer filthy varmint paws offa 'em!" Walking slowly forward, he swings his hoe and tries to scare the rabbit off. It simply keeps munching on the potato contentedly. "I told yeh to get gone, rabbit! Now shoo! Shoo!" The rabbit turns to face him, finishing the potato. A deep red glow kindles to life in its eyes as it sees McGee swinging the hoe. Leaping forward with incredible speed, it's teeth elongate and sharpen into foot-long fangs. McGee only has time to scream shrilly before his head flies away in a splash of blood. The rabbit sits lazily on his chest, then urinates on his shirt. THAT'S WHAT I THINK OF YOU, HUMAN SCUM. Powewrful winds whirled around in vicious currents this high up. Giovanni glided gently on the currents, letting the rising thermals of the plains below keep him aloft. His eagle-like eyes scoured the earth beneath him, aided by magic goggles that enhanced his sight many times over. He was on another mission for his master. It had proved to be boring so far, looking for a tribe of halfling barbarians this far out in the Talenta Plains. It was starting to get warmer as well as Giovanni glided closer and closer to the desert. Suddenly his eyes picked up movement thousands of feet below him. There! The distinctive tribal flags fluttered in the stiff breezes down there, but Giovanni felt something was wrong. The halflings were running. Why would they flee? he thought. They are known to be one of the most fearless tribes. Then he saw why they were running. Out of the dust left behind by the halflings comes a lumbering shape. A landwyrm. The powerful dragonlike creatures apparrently still lived on Khorvaire. This particular landwyrm looked to be a desert landwyrm, not surprising since the Sword Desert was only a dozen miles away. The halflings were in danger, and Giovanni wouldn't stand that. Folding his wings tight against his body, he dived towards the ground. The wind ruffled his hair as he fell like a rock towards the desert landwyrm below. Giovanni knew this was a risk, diving like this, but he had to try. If he couldn't pull out of the dive in time, there wouldn't be much left of him. He mentally prepared his spells, selecting which ones to pepper the landwyrn with. The ground rushed up, and Giovanni forced his wings open. Keening a war cry, he flashed over the halflings and the landwyrm faster than he ever thought possible. Corkscrewing up and around the landwyrm, he waved his hands an from his pointed fingers snapped a ray of icy blue energy. Striking the confused landwyrm in the back, the creature roared and spun to face Giovanni. Giovanni knew he had the advantage here, for landwyrms didn't have any ranged attacks. Another ray of ice followed the first, this time striking the monster's chest. The creature roared, and thundered towards Giovanni. Crouching low then taking a soaring leap into the air, the landwyrm leapt for Giovanni. The wizard barely managed to twist to the side to avoid the snapping jaws. Giovanni flew higher, and turned and fired anotehr icy ray at the monster. But the range was too great for his spell, and the landwyrm jumped to the side. Giovanni was starting to worry. His icy rays hadn't seemed to damage the landwyrm very much. Giovanni decided to try something knew. He pulled out two wands, one in each hand. Chanting and waving both of them, he let loose a barrage of icy beams at the landwyrm. These beams were stronger and had a longer range. The landwyrm shuddered and flinched as the rays pelted its thick hide. The monster leapt up again, and this time Giovanni wasn't so lucky. He felt something brush his hand, and when he looked half the wand was missing. Eyes widening in horror, he hurled the broked wand away from him and down toward the desert landwyrm. Shielding his face against the explosion, Giovanni was curious when is never came. Peeking out from behind his arms, he looked down upon the landwyrm and saw why. The creature's hide was pocked with holes, each steaming and coated in a thick layer of frost. The head was missing, and the ground was frozen in a solid sheet of ice around the beast. It must have swallowed the end of the wand, Giovanni thought. He flew down to the halflings to continue his original mission. (The above text took place when Giovanni was an apprentice. If that had happened as he is now, the landwyrm would have melted as soon as the battle began.) Giovanni, Raptoran Wizard, Chaotic Good, Gestalt Wizard 15/Rogue 15/Archmage 5 Weapons: Giovanni carries no weapons, instead using his own talons to defend himself when his spells fail. Items: Giovanni has a belt made from bags of holding. In this pouch are his assorted spell components, as well as his scrolls. He has a wand case hanging from his right hip, which is extradimensional. It holds the following wands: fireball, lightning bolt, cone of cold, blast of flame, and girallon's blessing to name a few. Wind howled as it swirled across the battlefield. It twisted around the bodies of Brelish archers, Valenar cavalrymen, and Karrnathi undead. It lifted the stench of death and spread it into the air. Edvard the Pale breathed in deeply, no easy feat for an undead monster. The lich was wrapped in heavy robes which hid his skeletal frame. Edvard the Pale was old. He had been alive since the Daelkyr invasion of Khorvaire, over ten thousand years ago. Becoming a lich had been the only garunteed way of survival back then as the Dhakanni hobgoblins and aberrant Daelkyr raged across the continent. Edvard had slid back like a wraith from that war. The Daelkyr were too dangerous to mess with. But that was millenia ago. Edvard was in the Mournland this day to collect bodies. The Mournland had the delightful effect of preserving corpses. Ever since the fools in Cyre had destroyed their country with that monumental eldritch explosion, Edvard had had the pick of the crop of bodies. Edvard could pick and choose from some of the choicest corpses in Khorvaire in the Mournland, and the monsters and living spells wandering the blasted land were posh to the mighty lich. Edvard walked among the corpses, tapping a few on the shoulder. They rose jerkily to their feet, undead flesh darkening to the pallid gray customary of zombies. Edvard's two small sickly green eyes swept the area, and latched hungily on the bodies of what appeared to be a group of adventurers that had died fighting. Magical weapons glowed feebly in the gloomy darkness of the Mournland, and Edvard quickly stalked over to the bodies and inspected them. Were they strong enough to become vampires? Edvard preferred vampires to other undead. he had thought long and hard about becoming a vampire instead of a lich, but in the end the vampire's thirst for blood seemed just too bothersome. Edvard's initial inspections proved to be correct. Clapping his bony hands with glee, he casts a complex spell, ending with "create greater undead!" The adventurers thrash as the magic wrenches their spirits back into their bodies. They rise smoothly and silently, turning slowly to survey their new master. "Greetings. I am Edvard the Pale. You will be added to my undead army." For Edvard's real purpose for taking corpses from the Mournland was for conquest. He had been slowly creating an army of powerful undead, aided by an ancient Daelkyr relic. An army of nearly a million undead lay in wait in various caverns in Khyber, slowly growing as Edvard and his cleric cohorts gathered bodies from various parts of the world. The time was coming when undead would rule Khorvaire... Edvard the Pale, Daelkyr Lich Necromancer, Chaotic Evil, Cleric 10/Wizard 10/Mystic Theurge 10/Pale Master 10 Weapons: Edvard usually carries a rod of lordly might with him to deal with weaker creatures, slashing them about with its axe function to save spells. He is phenominally strong for a spellcaster, once blasting a dragon out of the sky with a blow from a magical sword. Edvard is equally at home on the ground, in the air, underwater, or underground. He has lived long enough that he is widely experienced in all forms of movement. Beyond his rod of lordly might, Edvard carries staves of abjuration, evocation, fire, frost, necromancy and power. He also has rods of undead mastery, a scepter of the netherworld, a nightstick, rods of absorption, cancellation, greater maximize, empower, and quicken metamagic rods. But his most powerful weapon is his Staff of Gloom. This major artifact from eons ago grants any undead animated by the wielder a +5 bonus to all ability scores, maximium hit points per Hit Die, and grants a +10 natural armor bonus. Undead animated with the Staff of Gloom are subsantially more powerful than other undead, and Edvard usually graces these elite undead with powerful magic items. Undead animated with the staff also automatically gain the Evolved Undead template (Libris Mortis) and gain abilites equal to a 500-year-old undead creature, without actually aging. Finally, the Staff of Gloom allows Edvard to target every living creature within 60 ft. with a maximized desintegrate spell as a full round action. This ability has regrettable effects on the targets, typically dealing 240-480 damage. The Staff of Gloom also doubles the amount of spells Edvard can prepare for three spell levels of his choice. Items: Of course, Edvard wouldn't be able to hold all his items without some extradimensional help. Enter Edvard's Hat, a hat that has enough extradimensional room inside of it to hold all of Edvard's things with room to spare. He also has wands galore, but uses them sparingly. Edvard has a ring of deflection +15, and when paired with his bracers of armor +13 and amulet of natural armor +15, he has a high AC without wearing armor.
Revlis_Nogard 01-23-07, 09:13 PM	My characters Race: Human Age: 25 Height: 5' 6" Weight: 154 lbs. Alignment: Lawful Neutral Occupation: Assassin/Warrior/Bodyguard/Delegate/Messenger Background: Svent (real name Robert Berkistan) was the son of a couple of explorers who would liked to take their son on their expeditions. Unfortunately, one of their expeditions led them to discover the hoard a great wyrm black dragon...and the dragon himself. After his parents were killed and Robert was about to be dragon food, a host of dragons came and killed the renegade and saved Robert. The dragons, representatives of a group of dragons know as the Council of Wyrms, promised to raise the boy and train him how to fight, in exchnage for his undying loyalty to the Council. He agreed, and became a powerful warrior. Over time, he discovered his bloodline was full of dragons, and his patrons helped him unlock the eldritch power in his veins. Eventually, he abandoned his former life, becoming Svent, the Fist of the Council. Description: Dispite being human, Svent looks more like a half dragon than a human, thanks to his numerous grafts. His eyes are slitted, and his skin has a silver sheen. His hair is a flaring red. Possessions: Svent has one possession: the Heart of the Council, a throbbingly powerful artifact given to him by his dragon patrons. It gives him tremendous physical and mental boosts to himself, making him faster, stronger, tougher, and wiser than most humans, putting him on par with some of the younger dragons. However, Svent has several draconic grafts, including buffeting wings, gleaming scales, and glaring eyes.Race: Hellbred Age: 5 years as a hellbred (47 previously as a human) Height: 6' 7" Weight: 243 lbs. Alignment: Lawful Good Occupation: Knight/Guardian/Sinner Background: Vicgretor Stormhand was once the leader of a famed group of assassins known as the Darkbolts. For years, he and his underlings murdered clergymen, merchants, heads of state, and rival assassin guildmasters. One day, his orginization was hired by the Cult of Nerull to kill Teiresias, one of the high priests of Pelor. Vicgretor, seeing this as an oppurtunity to put his skills to the ultimate test, decided to take the job alone, and kill any Darkbolt who refused his claim. When he arrived at the Shining Cathedral where Teiresias was staying, the high priest met his aggressor with open arms and a glorious smile. Vicgretor was so moved by the priest's calmness and rationality that instead of killing Teiresias, the two men talked for hours about the tenents of the Shining One's faith. However, several paladins had gotten word of Vicgretor's plan to kill the priest, and moved in to stop him. Not relizing that he was on the verge of repentence, they cut him down. His last few hours of goodness and purity (along with some prodding from Teiresias) were enough to convince Pelor to allow him one lifetime to redeem himself. So, Vicgretor rose once more as a hellbred. Vicgretor was distrusted by the other paladins and other high priests of the church, however they used his demonic appearence and aptitude for deception to infiltrate the Blood Wars. It was there that he had his legendary battle with Lord Gareth the Cold (which he is still waiting to finish), but also where he lost the high ideals of a paladin. He was then finally allowed to join the Order of the Clouded Morn, the church's order of "discreet paladins." It is there that his talents of deception, trickery, and torture can finally be turned towards his redemption. Appearence: Vicgretor, like all hellbred, looks much like a fiend of some kind. His skin is a deep, charred brownish color, and his eyes are a blood scarlet. His hair is jet black, kept neatly in his helm. He had a powerful build as well. Possesions: +5 greater shadow fortification (heavy) full plate of greater silent moves, +1 double bladed cold iron/alchemically silvered greatsword (one side is cold iron, the other silver), Polaris, a +5 holy unholy axiomatic alchemically silvered gauntlet and Sirius, a +5 holy unholy axiomatic cold iron guantlet.Race: Grey Elf Age: 87 Height: 5' 3" Weight: 99 lbs. Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (evil tendencies) Occupation: Leader of the mercenary band Harmond's Harriers Background: Harmond grew up as a homeless orphan in the streets of Sharn. He survived by theiving and conning anything and anyone of their valubles. He gathered enough riches so that he could eventually buy his way so that he could accomplish his dream: become a wizard. He learned arcane secrets and gained the ability to cast powerful spells, but he found that the uptight style of the school no longer suited him. So, he dropped out, and began to take jobs as a mercenary. Eventually, he found that he could manipulate his spells into focused beams, so that he could kill (or disable) foes from a distance. Eventually, he was able to gather a sizeable force of archers and other snipers and formed Harmond's Harriers, a group of elite skirmishers and trackers who gained a huge reputation in astonishing time. Appearence: Harmond is a short, stocky elf. His body is very lean. His hair has gone prematurely grey, although it still retains speckles of his once black hair. Possessions: Harmond has a headband of intellect +6, gloves of dexterity +6, an amulet of natural armor +5, a ring of delfection +5, and bracers of greater silent moves and shadow armor+8, and a +5 skillful dagger. Unlike other wizards, Harmond finds a spellbook too bulky to carry around with on a job, and has his spellbook tattooed on him.Race: Human (Although has many undead traits) Age: 32 (Or so he says. He's actually 739) Height: 6' 0" Weight: 154 lbs. Alignment: Lawful Evil (leaning towards Lawful Good) Occupation: Defender of Karrnath, soldier Background: Halden Blackstaff was a proud paladin of Karrnath who fought during the Last War among some of the worst conditions: harsh winters, starvation, desertion, fatigue, and some of the worst horrors that a man could ever see. This was the plight of Karrnath for many years during the war...until Kaius made the pact with Vol to help fill the ranks of the Karrnathi army with undead. The most trusted and most powerful paladins and priests of Karrnath were allowed to join an elite group of warriors who had an unprecidented ability to control undead: The Bone Knights. This, however, went against Halden's faith. He was a devout worshipper of Dol Arrah, many members of his order refused to join, since it would be against the Lady of Sacrifice to be in such close contact with the undead. Halden, however, chose his country over his deity, and turned his back on his own faith. He became a Bone Knight, and although many of his order frowned on his decision, he rose through the ranks of the Bone Knights quickly, becoming one of Karrnath's most powerful warrlords. Thus, Halden began to make a name for himself. He was willing to do anything for his country, no matter the cost. He has recently been given orders to obtain the criminal Harmond Gullsby, who has been suspected of plotting against the Karrnathi crown.Race: Unknown Age: Older than you, most likely Height: Varies Weight: Vaires Alignment: Neutral Good Occupation: Shapeshifter/Adventurer Background: Information on the subject is still, regrettibly, hard to come by. What is known about him is that he was an overly talented shapeshifter, and was once the traveling companion the artificer Gideon Gideonson. He was recently defeated by his own attempt to destroy the entity Caben Duur. Appearance: Unknown/Varies Possessions: According to witnesses, Revlis had a wooden sword that he used in his final battle against Caben Duur. He, according to witnesses, could use it to grow a tree of tremendous size, and then procede to have it erupt.Race: Human/Chosen of Pelor Age: The first records of Teiresias appear over 2000 years ago, although church scholars speculate his actual age is closer to 6000. Height: 4' 11" Weight: 97 lbs. Alignment: Neutral Good Occupation: Priest/Healer Background: In Teiresias' long life, he has seen almost every war, every dispute, and every conflict that he was able. And every time, he would find a way to mediate peaceful negotiations between the parties. He is a merciful healer, a brilliant orator, a prophet, and a fair and impartial judge of all creatures. The church has sent him on peace missions all over the world and multiverse, trying to end disputes that could cost innocent lives. He even once saved the life of Asmodeus, the Lord of the Nine Hells, by managing to peacefully end a conflict between him and the other lords of Hell, and while neither of them like to admit it, Asmodeus owes Teiresias big time. Currently, Teiresias is helping the hellbred paladin Vicgretor Stormhand achieve salvation in Sorcen Anenooata's Baator. Appearence: Extremely gaunt and dirty. His eyes are gray orbs, and all of his hair is long, unkempt, and snow white. Posessions: Believing that material goods do not bring happiness, Teiresias only has his blessed sun disk. Axl Dersess, Arms Dealer (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=12660747&postcount=4109)
Lord_Gareth 01-24-07, 10:31 PM	Syra Kavon is a slim, bony elf, who dresses loosely in all black. Her personality is forcedly cheery; when she speaks, you know it is an elaborate act, though you aren't sure who she's trying to fool. Maybe herself. Syra is a Shadowmancer, and a very special one at that. The direct blood descendant of the Shade Lord of the Plane of Shadow, Syra's talent for controlling darkness is surpassed only by her own father. Unfortunately, her power comes at a price. Sunlight is physically painful to her, and magical light is downright deadly. The light of a good person's soul can also burn Syra, and she finds herself unable to infiltrate the minds of the truly pure. Syra's first fight was against Caben Duur, and an epic clash it was. Though the battle was long and bloody, in the end it was a draw. The Void could not consume Caben, and Syra had no blood for him to enslave. They declared a tie. Afterwards, Syra struck a friendship with Bartlemaeus, the aged scribe of the Arena. She now seeks to free his daughter of her demonic possesion. Syra is often depressed and withdrawn. She despairs that her soul will never know good, and that she will never truly see the light that she yearns to know. Bartlemaeus claims he can aid her, but she entertains no hopes of his sucess. She has been burned far too often. Valoran was a cruel man, in life and in death. During his mortal life, he sought nothing more or less than the destruction of all else that lived, to "end the world's suffering." He leveled the entire Sword Coast single-handedly, culminating with the slaughter of Neverwinter. His evil attracted the attention of Elminster. With the aid of the Seven Sisters, Valoran was slain, his body turned to less than ash. But, though they obliterated his body, they neglected to finish his spirit. Valoran rose again as a ghost, and the slaughters began again. Not wanting to take any chances, they sealed him away in Baator. There, Valoran inevitably encountered the greatest source of bloodshed on the plane; Sorcen's Arena. His first, and last, foe was Tyrion. The battle was long and bloody, each fighter drawing upon the full force of his might. In the end, Valoran decided that if he could not win, he would destroy everyone in the Arena. He unleashed his Damnation, sending himself and Tyrion to the Jailhouse of the Damned. And there he waits, waiting for escape. Jaden Blackblade (Arena Participant) Human Female Paladin/Fighter/Rogue(not a lot)/Shadowbane Inquisitor Jaden Blackblade began life as Jaden Kralis, an altar girl in Hommlet at the temple of Saint Cuthburt. She was, however, obsessed with martial prowess from an early age. Against her father's wishes, she carved herself wooden weapons and began training at the age of six. She joined an adventuring company at a hotheaded 15, determined to prove her worth as a fighter to both her father and the other men who scoffed at her. Jaden and her company had a series of lucrative campaigns against minor goblin hordes and bandit uprisings before they were drawn in by the Mists of Ravenloft. Despite, or because of, the foul nature of that place, Jaden found her True Faith in the arms of Tassadanis, Lord of Justice. Her faith kept her strong in the Demiplane of Dread, and she soon ascended to Paladin. Unfortunately for her, she drew the attention of the Darklord of the realm she was staying in. He placed a terrible curse upon her; should she lose her faith, she would become as the undead she hunted. Three thousand years passed in Ravenloft, until Jaden finally escaped over a Darklord's corpse. She found herself, not at home, but on a world called Krynn. Unable to speak their language, she fled from civilization until she was befriended by an elven druid. Surprised at her nonhostility (the paladins on Krynn are generally convinced that druids are evil), the elf taught her the languages of the world. Using her newfound communication skills, she accidentally incited a holy war when explaining her religion to a local priest. Though she intended to fight out the war she had began, Jaden was expelled from Krynn by their gods. Once again, she found herself on a strange world, on a flying ship. Surprised at the her appearence in their midst, the crew of the airship trained crossbows on her. Her concious mind still reeling from the unexpected gating, Jaden's survival instincts kicked in. The ensuing battle crashed the airship into a city. Eventually, she came to know this new world as Eberron. Immediately, she began to quest for a way back to Greyhawk, and home. Hearing of an artifact hidden deep within a desert, Jaden immediately sought it. Its power, however, took her not to Greyhawk, but to the Abyss. Jaden's stay in the Abyss was short-lived. Already infuriated at her failure to return home, the sight of demons was enough to push her over the brink of rage. She single-handedly took out four layers of the Abyss in her rampage, slaughtering demons with a fury beyond normal thought. During her rampage, she encountered Lord Gareth. Sensing his undead nature, she engaged in battle with him. During the course of their fight, she broke his connection with Ner'Zhul. Gareth fled to another world, reeling from his newfound freedom, with Jaden on his heels. He fought her to a standstill, and she made a deal with him; if he could prove his redemption, which he claimed to have during his battle, within the course of one year, she would swear fealty to him. True as his word, Lord Gareth sought and gained the acceptance of Tyr. Jaden swore fealty and continues to serve him as Operations Director of his Arena. Now, however, he has sent her from the Arena. Gareth senses a discontent in Jaden, and has sent her here to do battle. Possesions: Jaden wears a black suit of +4 Plate Mail of Etherealness, which she often uses to go incorporeal. Her cloak is a dark blue Cape of Minor Displacement. She wears a Belt of Giant Strength to augument her already ridiculous physical prowess. Her boots are Boots of Striding and Springing, and she wears both a Ring of Protection +5 and a Ring of Water Walking. Jaden's most prized possesions, however, are her four swords. Her blades are legend, not through any merit of themselves, but because she has used no others in all her life. Her deeds with them are countless, and their names go next to hers in the histories of the worlds she visited. Despair is Jaden's primary weapon, and the source of her surname. It is a +4 Holy Disruption Ghost Touch Flaming Greatsword. Despair, while not yet truly sentient, is showing signs of empathic communication. The entire sword is black, but the blade itself has been covered in raging red runes, each one depicting its name in a different language. Pain and Suffering are her primary ranged attack forms. They are identical twins, +2 Shortswords of Throwing, Returning, and Distance. They, too, have been etched with their names. Her last blade is Edgebreaker, and has been seen only rarely. She took it from a godess as a spoil of battle, and only brings it out when challenging a foe to single combat according to divine rules and rites. It is a +5 Vorpal Wounding Holy Longsword of Life Stealing. It appears as a plain steel longsword with a wooden hilt. Kyle Killigan came to Sorcen's Baator looking for a challenge. Using nothing more than his twin knives and his dirty brown outfit, he had carved his way through every arena on the mortal planes, leaving behind broken dreams and corpses. He had never lost a match. It seemed, at first, as though Baator would not offer much more. Winning his first match against a mysterious swordsman known as Nobunga, Kyle's confidence was bolstered. His foes couldn't keep up with his ungodly speed. Later, he was forced to re-asses his perceptions after seeing a few fights. Awaiting a new match in the tavern, Kyle met and befriended Caben Duur. Unfortunately, in his attempt to help Caben, he brought the spirit more pain. Determined to take responsibility for his actions and help his new friend, Kyle stood with Caben against the foes assorted against him. In the end, it was Chaos who saved Kyle from an untimely death, and Love who saved Caben. Fresh of the heels of that battle, Kyle was called to a three-man free-for-all. Though he fought valiantly, in the end, he wasn't fast enough. Gideon Gideonson broke his leg and took his advantage, then finished the knife fighter. Kyle now rests in Arboria. In an unfortunate bout of gambling, before he can enjoy his afterlife, he must beat Death in a footrace, lest he have bright pink hair for the rest of eternity. Tyler is a thin seventeen-year-old, almost skeletal in appearence, with glowing red eyes and raven-black hair. His skin is ash-grey, and there is a constant sulfurous smell about him, like brimstone. His outfit is black denim, covered in hundreds of tiny, one-inch metal plates. These plates have intricate arcane designs on them, and together they form designs even more intricate. At all times, a small necklace with a crucifix is wrapped around his hand, the chain made of purest gold. Hanging out of his pants pocket is an archaic pocketwatch. Tyler is a mage of the Knights Templar, who has dedicated himself to fighting demons with their own weapon; magic. Through his own ignorance when he was younger, he learned demonic magic, and though he now knows other kinds of magic exists, he uses that which he is familiar with. Tyler has already died once, and been to Hell. However, he caused such a ruckus of destruction and holy wrath that the Devil was forced to cast him out, sending him back to Earth in his current state. Since coming to the Arena, Tyler has grown used to the concept that he is in another time and place. His first match was with a totemist known as Mzumu, and while the conversation was distinctly one-sided for awhile, the two declared a draw before both were slain. Waiting in the Taverne, Tyler met and befriended Inaya Elrissa, and though he didn't know it then, the young mage was in love. Tyler realized the full extent of his feelings when he and Inaya were called to fight against Harmond (whom he knows as 'That damned elf') and Bob. When Harmond slew him, his last thoughts were for Inaya. Tyler expected to sink into the nothingness of death, but, through the endless void, he heard Inaya calling him. He rushed to meet her, and was returned to life. Not willing to waste another second of his new life without her, Tyler banished his fears and made it known how he felt. The two are now outside of Baator somewhere, getting to know one another better. Possesions: Tyler's most valued possesions are his Grimoires Demonia, from which he learns his spells. At his hip are a pair of +2 Holy Glock 17's, as well as a small belt knife. His boots are Boots of Striding and Springing. He has enchanted his outfit to provide him with armor (+3 Studded Leather). He has a few rolls of Duct Tape of Repair in his Backpack of Holding. Lastly, his watch is a Tempus Fugit watch. Female Human (Worgen) Rogue (WoW Tabletop)/Assasin (D&D) Chaotic Good Brisinaria is a short, lean woman, with shoulder-length brown hair and intense green eyes. Her mouth is usually frowning, but she smiles often and sincerely. Her face is dominated by a smatter of freckles and a nose that has been broken so often that even magical healing can no longer rid it of all the traces. She's thin, but well-muscled, like a yoga expert or a gymnast, and moves with a kind of aggressive grace. Her leather armor is skintight under a yellow tabard with red trim, depicting a snarling red dog. She wears a pair of emeral-lensed goggles on her forehead (or sometimes on her eyes). On her belt are two large knives that look identical, though one glows an irradiated green. Accompanying them are red sticks of dynamite near a clockwork lighter that constantly sparks and whirrs. Brisinaria was born on Azeroth, in the city of Lorderon. Her entire family were mages in the service of the king. She grew up displaying an aptitude for magic, and the ability to sense it by smell. It was expected that she would join the mages in Dalaran and become a fine wizard. Then Arthas came. His undead ripped into Lorderon like Death's scythe, burning and slaughtering all in their path. Brisinaria's family hid in their house, preparing magics to turn back the inevitable invasion. For three days, their home was besieged as Brisinaria's father, mother, and siblings tried to turn back the tide with flame and frost. Bris was eight at the time. Finally, Arthas himself decided to end their annoyance to him. In an act of depseration, Brisinaria's mother teleported her to Stormwind City. Her screams of pain were the last Bris ever heard of her. When Bris awoke, she was in SI:7. Mathias Shaw took her in and trained her with the other spies, assasins, and rogues in the service of the city. Driven by vengance and a burning hatred to spellcasters, Bris learned quickly. When she graduated, she severed all ties to SI:7 and took up with the Legions of Frost, a mercenary group. She stayed with the Legions for several years before leaving because of an argument with their leader, Frostbite. She signed on with the Crimson Hounds Brigade, an extension of Stormwind's army. Though her attitude was bad at best and downright violent at worst, she stayed on, determined to do her part. Unfortunately, her life was going to take a turn for the worse. While patrolling Stormwind's Park, she was attacked by a Greater Worgen. The beast ripped apart her shoulder before she drove it off with an enchanted dagger. Over the course of the next seven days, Brisinaria fought that same Worgen; it could scent her, track her down. Each time, it focused on that shoulder. Eventually, Bris was infected. The Hounds discharged her, but failed to take away her tabard. She knocked out her commanding officer with a left cross to keep it. After leaving the Hounds, Bris heard rumors that her old childhood friend, Gareth Kilgartha, had been claimed by the Scourge. She confirmed those rumors when she met him in battle in the Plaguelands. Gareth fled, unwilling to harm his friend even under Ner'Zhul's orders, through a strange gate that he had been sent to investigate. Neither of them realized that the Lich King's control had been disrupted by Illidan's attack on Icecrown. Brisinaria chased the Death Knight through, heedless of the consequences. She found herself in Sigil, the City of Doors. Magic filled her nose, strange magic that didn't feel like the spells at home. Azerothian spells are drawn from the Twisting Nether, and carry a certain feltaint. The magic here smelled...different. Fascinated, she forgot about Gareth and began exploring Sigil. The change also caused another within her; she gained the ability to control her worgenism. She found that out firsthand in a bar, when a very unfortunate celestial caught her Azerothian scent and started to hassle her. She changed and beat the crap out of him, but left him alive. Her mind had stayed her own. Eventually, she found Gareth again. He was being accompanied by Jaden Blackblade and her husband, Jezzin Vlarion. Remembereing what had happened, Brisinaria attacked. Jaden beat the living hell out of her. She eventually came to understand that Gareth had found a better way, had freed himself from Ner'Zhul's control. Two years later, the two were married. Brisinaria fights like a savage beast with her pair of knives, the Meteor Shard and the Toxic Revenger. She likes to open fights with her sticks of dynamite (packed with bullets for added shrapnel) before tearing into opponents with quick, precise strikes designed to cripple and wound. She fights without mercy or shame; she will kick, spit, and bite just as readily as slash. If she gets angry, or if she thinks she needs the added strength, Bris will shift shapes for an advantage, attacking with razor claws. Her fighting style has not been seen in the multiverse besides from Bris herself, as it is only taught on Azeroth. Aside from her weapons, Brisinaria's goggles negate polymorph effects twice a day. Her boots allow her to climb walls for up to an hour at a time before she has to recharge, and her tabard acts as a parachute cloak. Diedre was once an ordinary human bard of extraordinary talent on the world of Dreavarr (the same world Jaden hails from). She attended the Bardic Academy of Drinston, and quickly became its greatest prodigy. Her talent was only exceeded by her sheer love of music and her exuberance for life. During her stay in school, her hair was accidentally turned pink due to a magical accident, and - She fell in love. Carrius was everything she could have hoped for. A composer, a handsome man, a kind soul who genuinely loved her back. He proposed to her on the night of their graduation, and they were married a month later. However, during the wedding, he turned on her. Using black magic, he stole her voice from her and fled. What happens after is nothing short of legend on Dreavarr, fresher in their minds because it only occured a century ago. Deidre chased him to the ends of the earth, cornering him in the city of Drinston. She assembled an army and razed the city, leaving no survivors, and killed Carrius in a moment of hate and fury. It was then that the Mists of Ravenloft drew her in. Deidre was made Darklord of Levulia, a realm split in two, each half a twisted reflection of the other. Likewise, Deidre was fractured in two, one mind innocent - but utterly without memory of her life, only the knowledge that she had forgotten. The other knew everything, was the same dark soul that Ravenloft drew in. For one hundred years, she lived in misery. Now, through Lyra's mirror, she has escaped. Deidre's powers depend on her personality. Both halves have the power to summon and animate mirrors up to twenty feet high by ten feet wide, as well as see and transport themselves through these mirrors. Her good half can convert these mirrors at a touch to Mirrors of Opposition or Mirrors of Life Trapping, and has all of Deidre's former skill as a bard, Ravenloft having granted her voice back. Her evil half can shatter these mirrors and re-form them into objects, including Mirror Golems, by touching them. She may also fracture the mind of any person she touches into two opposite halves, or rejoin those minds. Additionally, her song causes excrutiating pain. Both halves, due to their unique nature of escape from Ravenloft, retain its protection - they are extremely difficult to harm. Aside from healing at an extraordinary rate, they are incredibly difficult to wound - the only weapon that can injure them without being hindered somehow is the shard of a mirror. If one half is slain, the other re-forms the body and takes over, usually fleeing until it can enter a mirror and regenerate its other side. Their possesions are - Elven Chain +4, a Longsword of Life Stealing, and two Last Resort daggers. Jayla Kelvis hails from the Star Wars universe, and has been brought to Sorcen's by Endeca's Chaos Dimension. Jayla is - or rather, was - a member of the Gray Order, a society of Force-users dedicated to upholding the Balance of the Force above and beyond the Jedi. She was born with a singular gift - Jayla can feel the feelings of other, hear their thoughts in her head through the Force. She was expected to become a Seer - one of the leaders and prophets of the Order. The Order was not expecting that Jayla simply could not connect to the past or future. She was bound so strongly to the present that the Force could not allow her to reach into other times. But a Seer prophesized that she would be the salvation of the Order, and so they trained her as a Warrior - one of the bodyguards of the Seers, the Order's eyes, ears, hands, and knife in the dark. She absolutely hated it. She could feel her victim's fear, their pain, their agony. Her master, the Seer Saylin, tried to be understanding, but Jayla pushed her away in anger, blaming Saylin and the Order for her woes. And yet, she could not make herself leave - to do so would disgrace the noble sacrifice of all Warriors who came before her. It came to a head on Tatooine. Saylin and Jayla were sent to retrieve a rogue Jedi and hide him from the Empire. They contacted the Jedi and went to his dwelling. The Empire got there shortly after. What followed would be forever etched in history as the single-greatest slaughter ever commited by a single being under their own power. In order to cover their escape, Jayla butchered over two thousand stormtroopers, thugs, bounty hunters, jedi-slayers, and imperial officers, and carved a path through Mos Eisley lined with the bodies of the dead and the debris of the buildings her lightwhip cleaved through. She felt each and every death as it happened. En route back to the Order base, Jayla confronted Saylin, filled with guilt and anger. When the portal opened up in their ship from the Chaos Dimension, she took it rather than continue being the Order's butcher. Possesions: Lightwhip (14 meters long), Bantha Leather Vest, Gray Cloak (fire resistant), Grapple Spike Launcher (100 meters liquid cable), datapad, Happy Surprise Holdout Blaster. Laven is a woman who possesses a certain aura about her, one that doesn't just command attention, but compels it. She radiates a sense of self-confidence and presence that keeps all eyes on her, no matter where she goes. The woman dresses in light pink studded leather armor and keeps a quiver over her back, filled half with light pink arrows and half with bronze ones. Finishing the ensemble is a truly intimidating greatbow. Despite her dissembling, it is easily apparant that Laven is a miserable person, mired in her hate for herself. Only her mission keeps her from killing herself. Any other details are as of yet unkown. Possessions: Greatbow +5, Quiver of Cupid, +4 Studded Leather Armor Selva is the daughter of Escalla Brightflower and the Justicar, and the world's first half-fey. Unlike her mother, Selva displayed a keen interest in politics, and quickly became involved with the Seelie Court. She coupled this love of intrigue with a keen interest in martial prowess, taught to her by her father. Selva isn't always this size - in actuality, she can shift herself and her possessions to any size from six inches tall to a full six feet, due to an odd combination of her mixed heritage and the natural Faerie ability to shift shape. She fights with a mixuture of magic and swordcraft - but woe to anyone who thinks she fights fairly. Possessions: Two +4 Dancing Daggers, one +4 Shock Rapier, and her outfit, which is enchanted to change shapes - a good thing, because if she were to wear it as is and become taller, she'd be arrested for indecency.
Sorcen_Anenooata 01-25-07, 02:19 PM	The roster with the links is here (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=9930947&postcount=3), it may become obsolete in the future but I figured I should add it here anyway. Sorcen Anenooata- Ruler of Baator and a seperate universe within an emerald that was created for him under his orders. Son of Tiamat and Necros, grandson of Glasya and Grazz't, great grandson of Asmodeus and Pale Night. http://i89.photobucket.com/albums/k203/Sorcen_Anenooata/Sorcen.jpg The Elven appearing chap in front is Sorcen's preferred humanoid form while the diabolic form in the back is his true devil form. Sorcen Anenooata (given the name Anenooata by his dragon allies because he was quick and stealthy yet extremely deadly like a dreamwolf, anenooata meaning dreamwolf in the dragon language), son of Tiamat queen of chromatic dragons and Necros the pit fiend/balor halfbreed ruler of Baator and slayer of Asmodeus. Necros killed Asmodeus and then had to fight off the other devils to establish his rule, Tiamat saw this as her chance for the throne of hell and amassed a great army of dragons and devil/dragon hybrids to combat the army of Necros. Necros knew he could not hold off the armies of Tiamat and decided to avoid the war and have a treaty meeting with the queen of evil dragons. The meeting did suceed in avoiding a war between the two great forces, but it also suceeded in the conception of the greatest evil the universe has ever seen. Tiamat found that her moment with Necros had left her with a child. The terms of the treaty were that Necros would rule Hell but Tiamat could override the decisions of Necros, but being that she is dragon she would be sleeping the majority of the time as is a dragon's nature. The son of their union would be rasied by them both to be the next ruler of Baator. The child was born and named Sorcen, he looked like a handsome human male with tiny black and red draconic wings growing from his shoulder blades and two stubby horns growing on his forehead. Also he has a v-shaped birthmark on his forehead that is commonly called an angel-kiss by humans. Sorcen grew into a very handsome being with great black dragon wings with red fire designs on the bottom edges and his stubby horns had grown to foot long dark colored horns with hints of red. His eyes were now dark orbs of flame and he was well muscled but of a small frame, his dark hair was worn long and down. His clothing was always sophisticated clothing reminiscent of the french aristocracy. His natural form sometimes got a bad reaction during diplomatic affairs so he choose to take another form to hide his wings and horns, usually a long silver haired human male with the same small frame and well muscled body and silver eyes and the same aristocratic clothing. He was trained in the use of all weapons available and was an avid inventor himself creating weapons and armors and even other devices. He was a natural sorceror and has a vast array of spells and many more that he made for himself. After training with his father and mother for nearly a hundred years he decided he wanted the throne of hell and his mother's god powers and status, thus he began studying spells to drain their powers and make them his own. His mother had just awakened from a two year nap when Sorcen decided he was ready to take what he wanted. Tiamat, upon waking, called a meeting with Necros to discuss what had transpired while she was asleep. The two rulers were deep in conversation with Sorcen at the table pretending to listen intently on what they were saying. They didnt even notice Sorcen beginning to cast his spell and were taken completely by surprise when Tiamat was struck with the power draining spell. Tiamat with half of her power taken used a spell to escape to the shadow dimension and seal herself there so Sorcen could'nt follow her. Necros just stared at his son and tried to take in what had just transpired. After a moment he gathered his wits and congradulated Sorcen on his ambition and deception. Sorcen smiled and turned his attention to his father. His father knew what was about to happen and knew he didnt have a chance now that his son had stolen some of the dragon queens power, so he began casting a curse upon his son to bind his own mind to his son's body. Sorcen started walking towards Necros and drew his short sword and began to cast a spell from it to kill his father. The spell and the curse were released at the same time and collided at the tip of the short sword. After Sorcen's eyes adjusted to the dim firelight of the room from the bright flash of the colliding magics, he noticed his father's dead body laying on the floor, the once firey eyes now dark empty pits. Suddenly Sorcen was wracked by a vicious headache and collapsed to the floor. His father's voice screamed in his head and seemed to quiet down a bit as he dropped the short sword to hold the sides of his head. His father cackled and told him of the curse he had just put upon his son, Sorcen gave his theory back that it seemed his father's spell didnt quite go as planned. His father's curse was meant to bind their minds to the same body and give Necros a chance to take over the body if he could win against Sorcen's mind, but Sorcen's spell gave the curse a different channel and binded the mind of Necros to the short sword but the nature of the curse still bound the short sword to Sorcen's mind although not enough to allow Necros to take over his son's mind. Sorcen and Necros both displeased by the results, decided to have Sorcen as the new ruler of Hell but Necros would be remembered as a great leader that was lost during the fight with Tiamat and would help his son rule and advise him. Sorcen knew his father would be looking for a way out of the sword or a way to take over the throne again but could do nothing but outsmart him for now. Sorcen left the room and declared himself ruler of Baator and told his tale of chasing his mother off and his father's unfortunate death. The young king had to defend his title and show his power to the ruler's of the other layers of Baator, but he defeated the other devils easily with his new stolen power and was established as supreme ruler of Baator by the end of the day. Since establishing his position, Sorcen has focused his attentions on the celestial planes and absorbing the powers all the other gods, but Sorcen is'nt stupid and is gathering a great army first before invading the upper planes. It has been suggested to him that to create an even larger army he must win the Blood War and recruit all the demons and yugoloths to help him attack the celestials. This would eliminate the element of surprise that he has on the upper planes right now though so it is still being debated whether he should do it or not. Sorcen has recruited many powerful dragons and other beings for his cause and is amassing great wealth and treasures to bribe the yugoloth leader to his cause as well. Sorcen, spending so much time reading and collecting tomes, has found a special spark allowing beings to become a powerful being known as planeswalkers. Sorcen has recruited as many of these as he can to his side and has even had some of them help him create a new Hell of his own. He has also allied himself with a great evil being known as Yawgmoth, who incidentally owns his own version of a hell as well. Sorcen stole a child with a planeswalker spark from a silver dragon father and a solar angel mother. Sorcen raised this child and taught him many things and eventually had the child, Stahl, killed after he reached adulthood. this traumatic and shocking death ignited Stahl's spark and he transcended to become a planeswalker. Sorcen had originally intended to steal the spark from Stahl but had decided the he was too valuable to his plans, secretly Sorcen had grown to feel a love for Stahl as a father loves a son. Sorcen has found a portal to the shadow dimension and now has the ability to go and finish his mother off but beleives Tiamat has rested all this time and has gained some of her power back. Cycine- Winged Arcanoloth, bartender and owner of the Taverne Cycine in Sorcen's arena. http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/Cycine3.jpg Trigger- Based off of Wolverine of the X-Men, Married to Jinx with a pentagram burned into his left shoulder instead of a wedding band. Has retractable bone claws but can sheath his entire body, including the claws, in adamantine plating similar to the power of Colossus from the X-Men. Trigger lived on the Material Plane for 1000 years but has no memory before that due to some undetailed accident with water from the river Styx. After his 1000 years of living on the Material and searching for his past, he decided to leave it all and search the outer planes, particularly Sigil. He ended up becoming a mercenary for Sorcen, where Aya's sister Jinx caught his eye. He eventually won her heart and married her. Makal- Spellweaver, blood magus, knows many other types of spellcasting as well. Apparently he was the subject of some prophecy from his homeland saying that he would be the key to Anthraxus freeing the prisoner's of Carceri and that this would herald the end of good due to a great devil taking advantage of the chaos of the released prisoners. http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/Makal3.jpg Hegtev- Makal's cousin, owns a magical wares shop in Sigil. Chros- Awakened, highly intelligent, vampiric, sorceror griffon. Killed by Korone. http://www.pflugervilleisd.net/OC/images/gryphon.gif Erik "Butcher" RockBleeder- Vampire gunslinger dwarf. Has a magical life draining axe that is rarely used, 2 pistols that are his main weapons, a sawed off shotgun, a sniper rifle, custom alchemical bullets, and a bag of holding on his back to hold the shotgun and rifle and another few on his belt to hold his various bullets and axe and a few other non-combat related items. (To explain the Arik confusion, his first match was against Seraphine's character Arik and this character's name was Erik so I ended up confused and put his name as Arik instead of Butcher, but his name is corrected now.) http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/ErikButcherRockbleeder.jpg Kyr- Red dragon born in a time flux, chronomancer/seer/sorceror. Killed in battle against Turlus and Thor. http://ddo.tentonhammer.com/files/gallery/albums/album01/red_dragon_attacks.jpg Kyr is back! (http://forums.gleemax.com/showpost.php?p=12998175&postcount=5073) And as a Chronolich with a gemstone and metallic artificial head. Human Form- Ruby eyes, elegant but grating metallic voice. He has greasy, shoulder length black hair with red highlights, dresses in a tight red scaly trench coat, matching red scaly pants and boots and wears no shirt underneath his trench coat. He sips a strange golden liquid from a mechanical glass. His facial expression seems set in stone upon very close inspection it seems as though its made of a strange amalgam of gemstones and metal. Other then his face and most of his neck, he seems to be an average sized human male of about 25 years of age. Speaks in This voice pattern. Paraclesius- Amon reincarnated, Professor of War and Domination at Septimus' Magic School. http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/Paraclesius.jpg LeVeldrin the Somniscient- A sandman planeswalker(Magic the Gathering version.), an old ally to Sorcen and rules a layer of Hell previously overseen by the Hag Countess during Asmodeus' reign. Sorcen needed him to spy on the upper planes for one of the archfiend's raids on the upper planes. LeVeldrin was chosen for his ability to shaepshift for indefinite amounts of time and for devotion to Sorcen's cause. WHile on his stay in among the Novierre Eladrins, LeVeldrin sired a child named Neme. He was called back to Baator a few years after the child was born and had to leave her and her mother, but he returned during the war against their home plane and he protected his celestial wife and daughter but had to leave them nonetheless. Neme and her father were finally reunited in the Taverne Cycine before the quest of Blood and Darkness. LaMondis- human, warlock, has 1 balor, 4 unknown beings, 1 cornugon, 3 lupinal, 1 planatar, and 2 arcanoloths bound within his body; he controls each of them by taking a drug (potion called Physiatia) that only affects outsiders and therefore does not harm him any but instead destroys the minds of the outsiders within him. A great feeling of forbidding evil washes into the arena as the silhouette of a man walks through the entrance gates in a calm and collected manner. As he nears, you can start to make out his features; full black eyes with blood red pupils, dark red hair, and pale white skin. He wears all black clothing; a cape with a silver dragon claw as the clasp and his clothing is reminiscent of a general's. He was recently killed by Neme in one of Aya's and mine matches over email. He has come here to seek his revenge on her after his quest to get all his souls back and to get his special armor and sword of annihilation. LeMondis Pic: http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/LeMondis.jpg Random Characters Post (http://boards1.wizards.com/showpost.php?p=11667564&postcount=1705) http://www.jaestudio.com/MinotaurMarauder.jpg Salty Ed- A mad (insane) ghost that is bound to Zach's ship. He talks to himself alot and often times makes no sense when he speaks to other people. Hes more or less a pacifist and runs from fights. He has one of those rock-crabs as a pet/familiar/whatever ya bloody well'd like ta call it, named Clix. Heres a link to the Salt Scuttler Swarm (http://boards1.wizards.com/showthread.php?t=853354) as done by The Vorpal Tribble. His appearence: The observant can see a shimmer in the air behind the captain. The very observant can make out his humanoid shape, a once muscular man, almost skeletal now, dressed in a long blue coat lined with what once was a silver, he wears no shirt under this coat, his pants are of the same color scheme as his coat and his silver and black belt holds a flintlock pistol and what appears to be a normal cutlass. Atop his head is a hat that only a captain would be allowed to wear, a large gaunt thing in the shape of a triangle with one long edge, its black leather with a long feather of a seahawk protruding from its brim, (Heres a link (http://www.bilgemunky.com/reviews/other/images/jackshatstand.jpg)to the hat since I cant describe it). His flesh is mostly rotted away but he still retains his regal appearence. In his left hand is a bottle of rum that is always half full no matter how much he drinks, and he drinks alot. He wears 3 rings on his rigth hand and 2 on his left. His head sports a long white beard and his hair matches it with length and color, his face is now only a skeletal remnant of the serious glare he once held in life. Heres a basic pic of his hair and face. (http://www.atomicbearpress.com/portfolio/images/pirate_skull.gif) باطلة باطلة بصورة (Batil Ghasbi) (void, unlawfully posessed, unlafully posessed by the void)- Arabian Human, Sorceror/Fighter. Posessed by an archdevil named Manacel, a cursed devil with the powers of the void bestowed in him. Manacel keeps himself hidden from his human host but lets Batil access most of his powers. Manacel will defend his host body with the full force of his powers if needbe but otherwise sits back and enjoys the ride. A great beast walks into the arena entrance. Its back stands over six feet from the ground. The beast is a goat, an Ibex to be more exact, a dire ibex to be even more exact. Its clearly a male and its horns curve so far they overlap upon themselves. The majesty of the beast distracted from anyone noticing the rider atop his back. A tall, dark skinned man dress in baggy white pants, large but comfortable golden white shoes, a baggy white robe on his torso that extends to about knee length, and a sort of white cloth that covers the top of his head and then wraps around to cover his face. A shamshir rests on his white sash around his waist and he sits atop a custom made saddle. As he climbs down from his mount, his robe's sleeves fall away from his arms to reveal arcane symbols tattooed all along his arms. He pets his ibex's side as he makes his way to the registration desk. As he nears the desk, he moves the white cloth from his face to show his face. He sports a jet black moustache and goatee and his facial features are smooth yet hardened by his desert life. He is suave with his movements and it is hard to resist his charm when he flashes his smile. He picks up the pen at the registry desk and winks before speaking in a smooth and suave accent, "I will be competing in this fine arrena." His name is now signed on the register, باطلة باطلة بصورة (Batil Ghasbi). He flashes his smile and along with it, flashes some diamonds and a few soulgems he had stashed in his left hand. One of the soulgems makes its way toward the desk attendent, "Who would I talk to about the terrain during my match." http://www.lingo24.com/php/contextrans.php?phrase=void&action=en-ar&submit=Search http://www.omniglot.com/writing/arabic.htm http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~jamila/dictionary.html http://home.att.net/~d.q.hall/ibex.jpg Name- Vaati, wind magus/dervish. OOC: Since I got my Rod of 7 Parts boxed set a month or so ago, this character has been forming in my head and has been wanting to show up so here he is. BIC: A tall muscular man slowly and cautiously walks into the tavern. As he enters, he looks around and then after a quick glance over his shoulder he finally enters through the doorway. He makes his way to a dark corner table and sits himself, only then does he realize that he has taken a seat at an occupied table. He is at the table with LeMondis. LeMondis doesnt seem to notice or just doesnt care. The silvery skinned man is wearing a loose night blue robe that is unwrapped to show his upper body. He is bald and his body is perfectly semetrical and very muscular. Despite his body seeming to be able to take care of himself, he is cautious and paranoid. He sees that the table's occupant doesnt take note of him and decides to speak up. His voice is timid but deep and he speaks between glances over his shoulder, "Hello there... you not gonna mind me.... sitting here... are you?" LeMondis glances over at him and speaks his reply, "Bah I suppose you can. Fair warning though, dont touch me." The binder then shouts out for an amnizu waiter to get him another refill. EDIT: This character's personality is based off of me and Aya's pet rat. Hes real shifty and cautious but hes a good warrior already, I've taught him to wield toothpick swords and to kill moths and any other little bug I throw in with him. PICS: http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/arenaRamatix2.jpg http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/arenaramatixschariot.jpg Core- Bothan, Jedi Knight. Happy cheery fellow, True Neutral alignment. Sorry I dont have him properly written up but thats the jist of it. As arik leaves with his goods, presumably, another humanoid figure walks in. This new being is heavily cloaked and his head turns as the vampire walks by him. The cloaked figure is heard mumbling something about a disturbance in the force indeed. He removes the hood of the cloak as he approaches the pedestal, revealing a semi-canine head. In fact he resembles the arcanoloths of the lower planes but his aura and cheery nature tell a tale quite the opposite. In actuality he is a Bothan from another universe (Star Wars). As he shifts about his cloak to access his pockets, an ornately carved and accesorized rod is glimpsed hanging from his belt. He smiles as he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and reads it. "Ah yes, this is Techhunter's Technical Emporium, is it not?" OOC: New character I've been thinking of introducing here. http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/Corebothanjedi.jpg Doschzjer, pronounced Doe-shay, LE, male, unique baatezu, Captain of the HighGuard Tiamat Hunters (HTH). A large cloaked humanoid with scaly red skin and small stubby horns, word is he evolved from a degon (dragon/demon/devil mixes created by Sorcen, check the sig). He wears leather armor with chainmail areas in strategic places, his weapons of choice are the pair of hook swords strapped to his back, easily accessed from under his cloak with the help of some seldom seen and never studied mechanism. His hair is in greasy and long dreadlocks that reach to his lower back. His eyes glow a brilliant green color when angered but are dull green in his normal state. Sythidor, NE, male, half-wraith half human, assassin. He appears as a man of normal heighth but cloaked with a shadow veil and armored in leather so that none of his skin shows at all, even his face is covered by either a black veil or a dark purple metal mask. He possesses two blades made of an unknown energy, theorized to be ectoplasm or a variation thereof, that follow along his forearms and protrude two feet from the tips of his fingers. These blades are able to dematerialize and rematerialize at will. He is quiet and reserved, always watching and listening and rarely speaking. His father a wraith, his mother a human sorceress. His mother had taken the study of magic so that she could be with her love even if he was cursed to be a wraith. She learned to beome incorporeal and spent time with her late husband in this manner, of course this lead to intercourse as time between a man and woman often does. The sorceress was soon with child from her incorporeal union. This child was to be a half wraith, tainted with evil unlike either of his parents. His evil was nurtured during his childhood, for the poor boy was not pleasent at all to look upon due to being half undead. The boy became aware of his powers at an early age and began to use them for revenge almost immediately. The child and his mother were quickly banished from the village of his birth. His father was bound to the village and severely saddened by the seperation from his beloved and his son. The mother was killed by a band of orcs outside the village and in her afterlife she was reunited with her husband. The curse of rain set upon the town by the seperation of the lovers was lifted once the couple were reunited. The child, evil and abandoned, was left to travel the world alone with no parents. His parents only cared for their time together, not for him and his mischievous and dark ways. He became much more bitter for his abandonment and grew up full of hate. The boy soon grew to a man and by now had made a living as an assassin, with his natural ability to become incorporeal and travel through walls and of course his natural tendency to kill remorselessly, he was an excellent if not perfect assassin. His reputation had expended now to the point where he is in Baator in the arena, but why is he here? A vacation perhaps or is someone here his mark...? http://wiki.dumpshock.com/images/a/a4/Wraith.jpg Song- Paralyzed-Finger 11, because I misinterpret the song and think its about ghosts paralyzing people and being cold and giving chills and things. Dricondis- CN, Male, Half-elf, Bard/? The door to the Taverne Cycine opens abruptly to reveal a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. The man is dressed solely in black clothing, covered by a black leather trenchcoat that extends to his ankles. He takes steps forward, his heavy boots echo throughout the tavern. He wears a black cowboy hat upon his head, although this does not conceal his long dark hair that flows down his back. A guitar is strapped to his back, a thin and ornate instrument. The guitar is black and covered with a silver feather design. The man lumbers forward and stops at a table before pulling the guitar from his back. As he does this he reveals his face, a half-elf by the looks, wearing a black bandanna around his head under his hat and smoking on a cigarette. He wears thin black sunglasses and sports a goatee, he face is young and handsome yet he seems wise and weathered. The man flicks his cigarette to the floor and stomps it out. He clears his throat and sits down on the table, holding his guitar as if about to play something. He plucks a string and adjusts some knobs on one end of his instrument. His fingers then hold the string still before they leap into position for his song. The mysterious man's voice leaps to sound as though it is four voices at once as he begins to sing "Here we are, born to be kings, " His fingers strum the guitar as his music begins on the word princes. "We're the princes of the universe Here we belong, Fighting to survive in a world with the darkest powers" He pauses his singing to play a back and forth yet fading tune on his guitar for a moment before resuming his song. "And here we are, we're the princes of the universe Here we belong, fighting for survival We've come to be the rulers of your world" He plays his fading tune once again before singing. "I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings I have no rival, no man can be my equal Take me to the future of your world " His fingers fly across his guitar strings, the noise is strange and seems as though coming from an electronic flock of birds. "Born to be kings, Princes of the universe Fighting and free, got your world in my hand I'm here for your love and I'll make my stand We were born to be princes of the universe No man could understand, my power is in my own hands Oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh Prophecy talks about them, people say they'll save our day They're men that will go far, fly the moon and reach for the stars With my sword and head held high Got to pass the test the first time - yeah I know that people talk about them I hear it every day But I can take you to them in a need of time" The man leaps up from his seat and stands on top of the table now, his fingers blur across his instrument's strings as he plays a fast rift that seems to strain the guitar's structural integrity. During the climax of this guitar solo, he begins to say the following words. "Yeah, Yeah, Alright, Watch this man fly Bring on the wars" As he says the first words he begins to levitate on the table and his guitar seems as though it emits its own light. When he reaches the word wars, his voice has dropped to an amazingly deep rumble that shakes the taverne. He finishes his rift before calming it down and lowering himself back to standing on the table. He sings once more to finish his song. "Here we are, Born to be kings, We're the princes of the universe Here we belong... Born to be kings, Princes of the universe, fighting and free Got the world in my hands I'm here for your love, and I'll make my stand We were born to be princes of the universe " As the song ends, the word universe echoes throughout the tavern at least six times before slowly fading away. The man's guitar and voice have seemed to end abruptly despite the echo. The man has ended his song standing on the tabletop and with his head once again lowered and hidden beneath his hat. He stands still until the echoes have subsided before he climbs slowly down from the table and takes a seat at the same table. He sets his guitar beside him in its own chair and waits. Albert 'Smoke' Evataar- Male, NE, Nezumi(rat-folk), ranger/assassin/monk. Body count is up to 115, there are only 116 parallel universe selves of him. His powers of strength, speed, healing, endurance, and intelligence are extremely enhance from killing the last 115 of his PUV's. Once he kills his 116th PUV, he hopes he will gain invincibility and nearly godlike attributes. The door of the tavern swings open, sending a wave of noise from the battles outside flowing into the bar until a cloaked figure steps through the doorway and allows it to swing shut behind him creating an eerie silence. The cloaked man is hunched and just under normal height. His cloak is tattered and brown and ends at about his ankles. Long thin claws can be seen under his cloak and a long scaled and bald tail protrudes from underneath his cloak. The cloaked man walks over to where Cai is 'pacing'. He stops and pulls his hood back to reveal the face of a rat. A long muzzle with whiskers and covered in black fur with bright red eyes. He speaks with a surprisingly elegant and harmonious voice. "Cai is it? I'm Smoke and I'm here to help." Spitrazin Straightfoot- Male, CN, Kender, Rogue/Wanderer. Has the amazing ability to resurrect after any sort of death. The source and details of this power are unknown. Spitrazin has never taken the time to look into these questions, usually distracted by a new adventure. _______-genderless, appears as male, LN, unknown being, Nomenmancer. He is allowed no name, no title, no name may be given to him. His description is horrifying and imposing yet he is hardly remembered in his passings. The survivors he leaves behind cannot begin to describe him. His powers are unknown, only that he has power and seems to gain more and more power as he goes. The only speculation of a weakness is that to find his name and speak it to him will at least depower him and hopefully kill him. His pic: http://www.tommycastillo.com/mayhem/Asmodeus.JPG Shirin Qatari- Male, NE, human original race/Suel Lich Variant, Wizard/Sorceror/Warlock. A powerful human wizard seeking immortality, Shirin underwent the horrifying rituals that would take him to the incorporeal lichdom as a Suel Lich. He went through many bodies until he finally possessed the greyhawk dragon (http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u296/Kazetan/GreyhawkDragon.jpg) body that he now still holds in the grasp of his iron will. Shirin travels the planes, seeking some way to keep his powerful host dragon body from being destroyed by the accelerated aging abilities of his suel lich powers. The abilities of the suel lich enhanced by the powers of the dragon body allow for him to project pieces of his soul outward from his body to fly around and possess any beings within a twenty foot radius of him. Many of the other suel lich abilities have been enhanced by his new dragon body. Shirin has travelled to the arena now, perhaps attracted to the powerful magicks that seem to gather here, perhaps to find a more suitable host body, all that is known is that his arrival can not be good. Eyq-Cex Trama- Female, LN, Android (human appearence), Gundancer. X-6 as she was originally named, was created a time ago. She refuses to speak of her past and has humanized her number of a name. Her abilities include the enhanced stats that come with the artificial body of an android, thermoptic camouflage at will, also she possesses psionic-like mind hacking abilities. She has many weapons hidden on her but her favored weapon is the chrome submachine gun she keeps at her hip, the gun fires high velocity rounds normally but X-6 has alternate clips for different types of bullets. Silver words in the System font.
EpicEvokerElf 01-25-07, 09:42 PM	A shimmering speck appears in the air, widening and turning, shredding a rift in the planar fabric. An elf, tall for his kind, with shouder-length silver hair, piercing blue eyes, and a gleaming blue-silver shirt of chainmail steps through. He hefts what appears to be a pair of manacles sporting vicious-looking ethereal spikes and stares warily at his surroundings. His gaze comes to rest on his opponent. Siveleth was enslaved by a hobgoblin tyrant at an early age (about 13) and labored in oppression for 86 years. He escaped with the help of his friend Aszilvendaxt, also a grey elf (an evoker) and is in the process of raising an army to free his nation. In this quest, he traveled to the dwarven kingdom of Grathnendul to enlist the help of the warpriest in residence, a favored soul named Denthereln. He fights with a weapon known as Whirlwind's Blood. Whirlwind's Blood appears to be a pair of worn manacles, broken at the ends, with two intact cuffs. When Siveleth is enraged (or just showing off), the chain sprouts shimmering, ephemeral, barbed spikes. which glow faintly blue (or not, at Siveleth's option). Yurralar Spiritbane Personality: Yurralar is somewhat volatile, exploding into action if he hears an insult to his clan or values. He considers righteousness a waste of time, but though he cares little for morals, he will keep an oath to his deathbed and beyond. He is knowledgeable about a variety of topics and will share his knowledge if asked. Preferring to shield his work in a veil of mysticism, few living people know the extent of his studies into the realm of the spirits. Depending on the vestiges he has bound, Yurralar's personality may vary greatly. History: Yurralar is a dwarf-blooded human raised by a dwarven clan to whom he shows fierce loyalty. He was exiled from his orthodox clan at the age of 11 for practising the forbidden form of Pact Magic. He wandered for many years, owning nothing but his clothes, a few basic survival necessities, and a grimoire of Pact Magic. When he came across a traveling gnome named Tamsin Cutterbuck, his life changed for the better. Tamsin took pity on the poor human and brought him to her stronghold, leaving him to study in the Hidden Library. Seven years later, he had surpassed even Tamsin in his prowess with Binding. After a brief coming-of-age ceremony, he was turned out into the world to survive. With the aid of the Theurgians, Tamsin's group, Yurralar began to build a very small network of apprentice Binders, a cabal. When the Order of Seropaenes attacked, his students were slaughtered and he was thrust through a portal, landing in Sorcen's Arena. Appearance: Yurralar is a tall, tan-skinned man with dark brown hair. He walks slightly hunched and leans on a staff that on closer examination appears to be a lance. He wears a flowing cloak in dark red, accessorized by several silver symbols; seals of the vestiges he is bound to. His fingers bear a pair of rings; one carved from obsidian, the other platinum with a ruby inset. His head is crowned by a thin gold circlet in stylized horn shapes, matching the curled horns growing from his head. Hanging around his neck is a silver filigreed pentacle. Depending on which vestiges he has bound, he may bear any of the following signs: Curled ram's horns*, fang-like canine teeth*, a red- or green- scaled hand*, stony skin, palms on the back of his hands (like a raksasha), dark, cold, clawlike nails*, and/or a constant shadow. An asterisk marks a common sign. Pertinent Statistical Notes: Yurralar is an epic-level binder (Tome of Magic) with around 10 vestiges bound at a time. This is due to an epic feat that gives binders an extra vestige. His chief weapons are claws, teeth, and a head butt when in melee. For actual weapons, Yurralar carries Valarim, a +8 valorous flaming icy shocking caustic blast holy unholy axiomatic heavy lanve of wounding. He wears Savnok's Armor, courtesy of the vestige, once again with an epic progression. He also bears a cloak of charisma with varied other powers, two magic rings, a circlet of some sort, and an amulet. A small, nondescript young man dressed in drab brown clothes approaches the School (on foot). He has a pair of thick, square glasses perched on his small nose, which is buried in a paperback book that looks to be about 250 pages long (he's on page 197). He walks right up to the doors, to the point where he stubs his toe on one of them. Then he stops. Without raising his gaze, he knocks quietly on the great doors. "Hello?" the man mumbles, not raising his eyes from the page. He tries pulling on the door, but it doesn't budge. "Student here, Septimus." Derek is a quiet, small man, who dresses in brown robes. He is incredibly nondescript, looking about as ordinary as can be. He seems entirely unaware of the world around him, and is constantly bumping into things, because his nose is usually buried in a small paperback book. Currently apprenticed to Paraclesius at Septimus' school, he has also studied at the Uhjalthar College of Magic for five years. Though a spellcaster, Derek is a simple theorist. He cares more about the hundreds of complex variables that go into a spell than the explosion that results. To this extent, he will gladly spend hours calcualting those variables, scribbling pages upon pages of notes and formulae. The exact opposite of most adventurers, Derek is perfectly at home in a library, lab, or lecture hall. Whether he will ever compete in the Arena or not remains to be seen, but with his comprehensive lack of self-awareness it seems unlikely. Ultimately, Derek is as of yet unformed, so his experiences in the School will shape his personality and actions. A young girl leaps down to the deck. She has blond hair, pale sea-green eyes, and a soft yet angular face. She looks to be about twelve years old, but she walks with a purposeful stride and has an air of authority that makes her seem old for her years. She carries a slender, ornate trident, and wears at her belt a silver rapier twin to the one sheathed at her cousin Zachariah's belt. Also tucked into her belt is a a pair of shining silver pistols. Taylor wears a pair of knee-high black leather boots like her cousin's, and her black coat hangs loosely open over a green blouse. Her long hair is held back by a bandana the color of her eyes, embroidered with the same silver waves that are etched along the shaft of her trident. Taylor's trident has a small, shell-shaped fixture about the size of her clenched fist at the branching point for the prongs. This is a magosynthetic battery of sorts, which electrifies the trident prongs momentarily when pressure is applied to the grip. (This is simply another Dreavarrian innovation that illustrates the Oath's fusion of magic and technology.) The battery needs to be charged by lightning, whether magical or natural in origin, every week to function properly. Fiora was born in the western coastal land of Arad Doman, learning seduction at her mother's knee. All Domani women know the 107 kisses, the 93 ways to touch a man's face, and many other wily tricks that tie a man's heart in knots. But Fiora was not adept at these studies (which is to say morre so than most other living women), and sought another method of amusement. This came at the age of eleven, when a thief in the streets came at Fiora, meaning to rob her. Without thinking, she struck out at him as if slapping his face and from her hand flew a ball of blue flame, catching him in the chest and incinerating him. The next week, she boarded a ship to Tar Valon. Working her way up to the ring and shawl, she discovered her Talents, which include Elementalism, Warding, and Conjunction. She chose the Green, though all six of her Warders have died. A primal roar echoes throughout the arena, rebounding off the walls and flowing across the entirety of Baator. In the soul pits, the guards cease their tormenting for a moment to look up, wondering... The souls of the damned become silent, wondering... The drunks in the Taverne put down their mugs for a few seconds, wondering... The roar echoes its way through the planar fabric, resonating back to focus into one point of condensed sound, nearly tangible. It crescendoes, pounding on the eardrums of the devils in the stands... And it dies out, leaving only a pinpoint of darkness floating above the ground. It twists, writhes, contorts, to form a design that splits, as though cut. But it was indeed cut, by a thick, gritty iron axe that flips around to hook onto the runes with its roughly bent balance spike. Something tugs on the axe haft, bound in rough hide, and a man pulls himself through hand over callused hand. He drops lightly to the ground with grace belying his size. For he is large, standing nearly seven feet tall with bulging muscles and huge hands. His hair and skin are pale and smooth, marred only by a a set of strange scars, puckered and red. They are shaped like strange sigils, resembling the Dwarven runic script. Forty-eight of the sigils adorn his body, evenly spaced over his exposed skin. He is clothed only in a loincloth and the skin on a bear, draped and cut so as to fit like a cloak or robe. The skin is belted on with a strip of green felt with a brass buckle. Tucked into the simple belt is a small, oddly bulging pouch and a knapsack. He slips the battleaxe into a loop of rawhide on his belt and strides over to the ledger. He eyes it for a moment, clearly comprehending the script, before opening the pouch at his belt. He withdraws a few small, rectangular stones; runestones; and lays thirteen of them on the ledger face-down. They sit there for a moment, utterly mundane, before he scoops them back into the pouch. Thirteen runes remain, seemingly cut into the ledger: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_f.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_e.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_l.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_b.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_j.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_o.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_r.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_n.gif http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_k.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_u.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_e.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_l.gifhttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/vikings/images/runes_l.gif Felbrin Kvell was born a child of the Hringhamm tribe in the frigid North reaches of Jorgunvarld. At the age of 11, he developed signs of the berserkergang: uncontrollable rages followed by periods of withdrawl, an insular, quiet nature, and a temper that came to a slow, simmering boil before exploding in furious flame. Upon his thirteenth winter-birth, he was inducted into Odin's Warriors, the berserkers, and given his bear-name, Felbjorn. Felbjorn was unlike the other berserkers. Though he trained with them, learning to throw an axe or wield one, to bring on the berserkergang at his command, he was yet different. For he also studied with the tribe's vitki, the man who communed with the gods, learning the secrets of the runes and the galdr, their energy. Michael Logan was a young man in love. This was the essence of his life, until the war. His love was strong, but his patriotism won out, so off he went to fight. The war was long, too long. He spent two years overseas, and over time, he stopped writing. His girlfriend was beside herself with grief, given over to standing to wait for the mail every day. When the letters stopped, she turned to a young man for consolation. He fell in love with her, though not she with him, and they were married. When Michael returned, she did not tell him. Caught in a storm after a day of reunion, the two spent the night in an old man's garden. When he found the two of them, he revealed his bombshell: the woman's matrimony. He left rather abruptly, and they did not meet again for five years. During this time, that old man had gotten into a spot of trouble with the law. The woman's husband was the only one thta could help, so the man blackmailed her: she would persuade her husband to help, or he would reveal her affair with Michael. By now, Michael had become a priest, and a successful one at that. She turned to him for help. They met at night, from nine to eleven. When he returned to the rectory, he saw someone sneaking in late, at about quarter to midnight. It was a poor immigrant, Otto, who worked there as a cleaner. He was nervous, scared, and a bit sad. He told Michael he had a confession to make. He was a murderer. And he had killed the man who had been blackmailing Michael's girlfriend. Naturally, when this came out, Michael was the prime suspect. But against all odds, he was found Not Guilty by the jury. The people had their own opinion. As the mob outside threatened to overwhelm him, he prayed to his God-- and God answered. He was thrown across time and space and into Hell. Baator, specifically. A man is there, standing by the arena. He does not appear, but is simply, inexplicably there. He is fairly tall, somewhat slender, and has short brown hair and brown eyes. His garb is a black cassock, with no adornments. He carries nothing, and looks somewhat bewildered. He glances around, his gaze alighting on the ledger. He walks over and asks, "Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am?" The sky darkens as a thick cloud of wet, grey fog rolls across the hellish landscape. The fog carries with it a hint of rain, the smell of sulphur, and an acrid taste that burns the mouth. Thunder rumbles, and the sky opens up to unleash a burning bolt of orange-tinged lightning. The lightning strikes the ground at the foot of the pedestal. The ground cracks, echoing the peal of deafening thunder that follows the strike. A great fissure opens, and below it... nothing. Out of the gap rises a figure, holding a blur of flame. As he rises above the ground, the fissure grinds shut. He lowers to the ground and approaches the stand. He stands about six feet tall, a striking figure garbed in dark clothing and holding a sword. The weapon is a straight blade, engraved with odd glyphs and engulfed in a heatless cloud of orange flame. The fire vanishes as though sucked through the runes. He sheathes the sword and runs a hand down the white leather bandoleer across his chest. Seven tubular leather pouches hang from the bandoleer with ebony handles poking out the tops. The smallest is about the size of a pill bottle, while the largest is nearly as large as a jar. He steps up to the ledger and opens his mouth, the inside blazing with orange fire. As he speaks, he drags his finger across the ledger, leaving the words burned into the book as though with a brand. http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q36/Ra56/cooltext64853201.jpg Dhavid was born and raised in the town of Qyrre along the River Ratterlin, though he always feared the water's icy depths. He had from birth a strange feeling as though he could feel the life of everyone near him. Life was warm, sometimes hot, like the flame of a taper or the last embers of a fire. Life was comforting, like the caress of a mother's hand, like a warm bed. Then he knew death. The feeling was cold, like a candle snuffed, an ember doused. Touches of warmth were scarce, then. He spent days by the graveside, mourning her passing. Only then did he feel. A doorway, like a grey shadow across the earth. He felt, and ceased to weep. He felt, and passed through. Death was cold, numbingly so. The pain was duller there. The waters calmed him, the current tugging at his knees. He stayed there for days in a fugue, wanting the sorrrow to pass him by. Slowly, silently, the chill of Death froze over his wounds and his heart and he felt no more. He woke crusted in ice and tired, as though he had spent many hours, days, weeks awake. And then he slept. Dreams came to him, terrible dreams, dreams of power and of death, dreams of life and dreams of pain, and always he woke to the tolling of a bell, high and pure. A bell called Astarel.
Khael 01-27-07, 02:51 PM	The Herald The skeletal servant of the judges who serves as event co-ordinator, summoner, and messenger. Kyranoc, NPC (Technically deceased) A changling warlock who met his end at the end of Gideon's crossbow. Last seen rising as the dead. The Lord in Black and Bone Fiendish God of dark law, served by the undead and constructs. Currently serving as a judge for one of his allies, Sorcen Anenooata's, battle royale. Nine A group of nine beings of as yet unknown purpose/race/whatever... 1. Drextor, a sword wielding warrior. 2. Rhia, dreadlocked drunkard... 3. Sen, easy-going bundle of laughter 4. Smiler, a bandage wraped hulk 5. Buck, a sneering blonde ("Meany!") 6. Carlos, hyper-active riddler 7. Dahlia, a tiny foul-mouthed tot 8. Selena 9. Rellis, blonde-haired rogue-girl Competitors: Ascember, The hand of Fate Ascember stands some seven feet tall, clad in little more than knee high plated boots, shirt and trousers, under a knee length coat. Beyond that little about him can be considered normal, by any mortal standards for his flesh is an unhealthy grey colour, save for his left hand, which can be seen as apparently metal from the coat arm down at least. His body ripples with scars both old and not a few new, multiple sets of stitches extending from beneath his coat and trousers and up his face, from where teeth can be visibly seen though areas with the sowing on his mouth has frayed, with a pair of dark sunken eyes, that despite his appearance do not speak of pain or suffering, but of cold hard confidence and an unsurmountable will. As for his presense at the Battle royale, his only words on the subject are: "I follow the path of fate, nothing more, nothing less." Beyond his clothes and 'hand' Ascember bears no other possessions, other than some needles and thread. Gabrial (Unidentifiable) 'Woewalker' Gabrial is a shortish tanned-skinned humanoid figure, clad in a trench coat reaching down to his feet, carefully padded out with layers of mail. Above this sits a dirty-blonde unkempt mess of hair, both head and facial, punctated by two piercing green sardonic cateyes, a ridged nose, and jutting out of the hair, a pair of small crystalline horn, almost hornlets, topped off by a wide brimmed hat that swathes his features with shadow normally. Historically, Gabrial will tell you he's one of the least likely to be able to say where his real story starts, and indeed he will usually say this: His homeplace was off in a desolate winterland of ice and snow, where he hunted for his life and that of his family. Until 'He' came one day when Gabrial was gone to slay all those who lived. Returning to find all living trace of his home gone, Gabrial followed the tracks in the snow, to a 'place' where he and 'him' battled, until only one survived. That one walked out bearing the blade Time-edge, and second, soul-taking, blade, where he left to wander, knowing all else was gone for him there. But trouble followed for also all the worlds he visited there were none like him, though some who remembered them, and even more who did not, but feared the monsters in their stories of two horned monsters who sate on souls. On his travels however he seemed to lose the blade of soul-taking for a nww blade blade that left ono trace of its victims, slain by the black-grinning monster. Possessions: Gabrial's only real possessions are his clothes, double-layered trench chainmailed coat and wide-brimmed hat and the Time-edge, an ornately decorated longsword which only appears at his call, which has the power to return any enchantment put upon it and bring them back in full effect, as well as to 'return' opposing things to prior (and maybe even future) states, such as a sword to simple ore. His only other item is the rarely seen and even less rarely used, black-bladed soul-keeping thinaun blade originally wielded by 'him', and in the end turned on 'him', that now marks Gabrial out as an agent of the ultimate end. Powers: Owning to his weapon, Gabrial can slip between worlds from one timesteam to another. In terms of battlefield though, althoguh uable to directly affect time by going back and forth in the past and future, he can speed up time about him, slow down time in a very limited range, and 'skip' in time, moving from one place to another where he would have gone to normally. Outside of this, he can access the power of 'oblivion's gift', the black sword, and state which grants increased strength, speed, reflexes, use of tendrils defensively or offensively, as well as rejoin body parts within seconds (Or more practically, in joining with the effects of Time-edge, instantly)
FallenVampris 02-01-07, 07:44 PM	Aya Vampris - Wife of Sorcen, Queen of the Baatar, Queen of Evil Vampires, she looks like an angel but has vampric traits; currently sitting on her throne next to Sorcen in the Arena. Jinx - 1/2 sister to Aya, based off of Jean (Phoenix), and married to Trigger with 3 black streaks through her hair instead of a ring, she's part phoenix but looks mostly human. Nemekoria (Neme for short), fighter/bard, novierre eladrin; she carries a long dagger in a sheath around her waist and in her hand is a trident of a silver metal and blue jewels.
Katherizaltix 02-15-07, 01:15 PM	Sorry I havent figured out the sblocks quite yet, I'll edit when I get the hang of it though. ;) Edited, thanks Sorcen. Katherizaltix Delaxitasiocohol, "Kate", her last name is pronounced Delahitashkol. Celestial sunwyrm, cleric of Ra/master of radiance. A bright beam of sunlight pierces the dark clouds conjured by Krono, the beam strikes hard against the dirt floor of the arena. As the dust clears, you begin to make out a brilliantly shining dragonoid shape. The assumed dragon shines brightly for a moment and the cloud of dust dissipates, revealing a shining golden dragon possessing eight legs and great golden wings that shine with the light of the sun. Upon closer inspection, you notice its face is not the usual skeletal appearance of other sunwyrms, replaced instead by facial features more akin to that of a beautiful elven woman mixed with that of a silver dragon's. She smiles happily at the judges, "I am Katherizaltix Delaxitasiocohol, I have come to compete in this grand arena and test myself against worthy foes, and perhaps to destroy some of this evil that is so abundant here." She bows low and shifts to the form of a beautiful elven woman with long golden hair and golden armor that will not be too revealing. She flashes a smile and walks to the Taverne Cycine." Miracolix, unique rogue nerra, summoner, male, he wears a tattered plain brown cloak and only shows hints of his mirror skin beneath the cloak, he escaped from his homeland because of moral qualms about invading and killing mortals. He is still hunted for fear of telling secrets of the Nerra that he knows but has thus far escaped capture and kept the secrets to himself, he is quiet and reserved and keeps to himself as much as possible. Just here so I dont have to refer back to the book all the time: mirror jump, language that sounds like rock scratchin glass, reflects spells back at the caster, sonic vulnerability, shard spray, shard weapons, change self and mirror image
Memnanth 02-16-07, 01:06 PM	A figure clad in what appears to be extremely dissimilar clothing (including a rather large overcoat, pants blotched in various shades of grey, and an extraordinarily bright shirt) appears, suddenly, without heralding noise or sound. The only thing particularly notable about his clothing, in fact, is his sword and scabbard, both being heavily bejeweled. He quickly moves through the crowds of people sorrounding the arena. Chatting with several creatures amiably, he never the less seems distinct and apart from the crowd. Several people with sharp noses give him curious looks, but soon turn back to their drinks/food/conversation/etc. Soon, he finds the boards with notices of the approaching matches, and finds his name. He quickly obtains an apparently alcoholic beverage, and with the crowd of people he has attracted, despite only being on the plane for a few minutes, he observes the current match. Race: Human Home: Nomadic Plane Roamer, typically found on non-extreme planes e.g. Astral, Mirror, Shadow, Materiel, Ethereal, etc.
LostMage 02-17-07, 11:16 PM	Venti d'Sylph, elf sorcerer, has Sylph's Staff (a slim, ebony staff with fine elven script in silver all over the wood, it can be used to blow hostile magic back to the caster once or twice a day). Venti is accompanied by a cat familiar and a greater air elemental. Venti is a short, slim elf. He has short, light brown hair, and midnight blue eyes. He wears a white linen shirt under a long indigo robe with a scattering of tiny white stars on it, and khaki pants with long, plain brown boots. In his left hand, he holds an narrow ebony staff. He walks with a smooth gait, and whenever he enters or exits a room, there is a clean, crisp breeze that accompanies him. His grey cat familiar is usually on his shoulder or at his side. The Sylph family is a line of great elven sorcerers, who are known for their magic of the winds and stars. Their magic was granted them seven centuries ago, by a great wyrm dragon that Venti's great-grandfather managed to save from a terrible demon. Although the silver dragon died, she was thankful for the efforts of the elf, and gave him and his decendants the magic which they have been using for centuries to hold evil in check. Personality: Venti is pretty relaxed guy. He isn't easily shocked or startled, and tends to stay calm in times of danger. However, there is one thing that never fails to freak him out: small spaces. Since his magic is naturally inclined to the open sky, he loses his calm embarrasingly fast in a tight spot, but never admits to it. Venti arrived at the arena because of an oath he took: whenever someone with pure intentions says "Venti d'Sylph, there is a storm to calm", he is immediatly summoned to the speaker. This magic is bound to him, due to a terrible deed he was forced to do in his past. As recompense, he Wished this upon himself. Apparently, there is someone in the arena who whished for Venti's help, and he was compelled to answer the summons. When Venti ended up in the arena, there was something strangely familiar about Sorcen... (thanks for the OK, Sorcen) Sash is a high level transmuter from the country of Cirrus. His magic is (a' course) based on transmutations and conjurations, and he is naturally outgoing and enthusiastic. He is a liberator if there ever was one. Using his magic, he can easily free prisoners, turning them into small animals or other such things, so they can make there escape. Who does he save? Any innocent facing unjust punishment. Posing as a silly aristocrat or empty-headed professor to enter prisons and courts, he reveals his full potential as Sash Sirsay, gentleman adventurer and transmuter par excellence at the last possible moment. He is well liked and well known (that is to say, there are at least seven despots who want his remains in a matchbox) in countless towns, nine kingdoms, three principalities, two entire planes, and one microverse. He is happy to teach the rudiments of transmutation to anyone willing to learn, and has a bit of a naïve outlook, assuming generally that any student of his will be as good a person as himself. His most recent adventure was freeing slaves in the real Baator, however, when things turned sour, he summoned Venti d'Sylph, who accidentally landed in the parallel hell that is the arena. Finally managing his way to the arena proper, he believes that this would be the ideal spot to launch his next raid into the real Baator when things quiet down there. Appearance: Sash is a young man, tall of stature, slight of frame. His hair is ginger, pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes are gray. He wears a clean black shirt with a navy wool coat over top, and white pants. Hanging from a pocket within his jacket is a small gold monocle with a crystal lens. (In fact, this monocle is a monocle of alter self) background information coming soon! Centruies ago, in the far distant past, mirrors were once portals between the real world, and the mirror world. People from both came and went between them freely. Until one day, the people of the mirror world mounted an invasion on ours. The battles were long and violent, neither side gaining the upper hand. Until the Great Emporer managed to use his magic to seal all mirrors, blocking passage between worlds. But, the Emporer went a step furthur: he cursed the denizens of the mirror to immitate the appeareance and movements of anyone to look into them. Bound by this stricture, they were merely meek reflections... until the day they can break the curse... and the mirrors. Lyra is the first to break the curse - since Sorcen's Baator is a parallel universe, she has been able to escape the mirror world to the Baator. However, the emporer's curse still operates on her: she bears the appeareance of a young woman, wearing a white robe, with fair hair and a single pendant, a small mirror set in an intracate wood frame. She has been able to rework the emporer's curse somewhat, despite this: she can mimic the abilities of those she opposes, to deadly effect. On the tilting deck of theUnbroken Oath, a wispy-looking boy balances easily. His features are at once both fey and human, his eyes a steely silver, and hair a chestnut brown. He laughs as he walks confidently along, a polished double sword, strapped to the back of his frock coat, glints in the wan light of the Baator. A sort of ethereal presence, one can almost taste his confidence, almost his arrogance. And yet, a person can't help but trust in his smile... Miles Sarran is the son of a wild elf and powerful sorceress, and he is no stranger to the fey traditions of his father or the courtly society of his mother. Since he was young, his father taught him the traditional method of swordplay for the wild elves, that of the double sword. His mother educated him in courtly graces and the theory of magic, but he learned no practical spells. Confident of his abilites, he set out on his sixteenth birthday with his grandfather's double bladed sword, and a potion of Cat's Grace from his mother. He traveled for several months, testing his abilites and exploring the land, until he found the Unbroken Oath in a port town. He heard of the pirates under Zachariah Graves, and did not hesitate in striding up to the ship and demanding a duel with Graves. He bet his service on the ship, self-confident as ever. Needless to say, he lost. As a crewman of the Oath, he served resentfully at first, but soon made fast friends with her crew and officers, and after a year of service, found himself the second mate on the vessel. K'Teeb Dvorshak, the tiefling pirate. K'Teeb Dvorshak, who thinks he used to an elf. K'Teeb Dvorshak, cunning-er (as he'd put it) than a bunch of vipers, plus a mole. The stories about K'Teeb are wild, varied and sadly enough, most are true. Rather paranoid, he was a spell jamming pirate who many say used to be an elf.Reincarnated by a druid as a tiefling. Or so he thinks. Rumor is, that addled his brains, but the smarter people know he's more dangerous than he appears, especially due to his paranoia. Since he is rather heartless (correction, he is heartless), and just crazy enough not to care what it is that he needs to be doing, he makes an excellent banker for the Baator. He's willing to tell stories about himself, for a small fee, but most sane people take what he says with a grain of salt.
Fullmetal_Alchemist 02-20-07, 11:23 PM	Well, I guess I will try this out. Seems like alot of fun :D http://evezero4.dyndns.info/files/Roset/whitesmith.jpg http://ic3.deviantart.com/fs14/f/2007/008/9/f/Sangheili_Dancer_by_Atomic_Chocograph.jp g Learning how to be a hard working human, Kauli was born on a farm land in the desert of Saurio. The town itself was named Teahs because of how the heat would beam upon the crops every morning. Kauli was born on a warm night during winter. His mother, who left his husband while Kauli was still young, was a very greedy woman. She complained how poor they were all the time. She left them, hoping to live a better life. His father, old, but strong, kept Kauli by his side for the best. The coummity of Teahs was a fine community. Even though it was always burning with flames, both the humans and I'hros lived in peace. As Kauli grew up into a young child, he would work at home plowing the crops, cleaning the house, and cook dinner for father and him. Having the town famous for owning Drakkensteeds, Kauli had to feed them all day and night. He did everything he was told without breaking a sweat. Even though Kauli had so much work, he had time to spend it with some friends. His best friend, an I'hro, was named Iccan. He wasn't as hard working as Kauli, but he had his days when work was a pain. When the nights weren't dry and filled with anger, Kauli and Iccan would take there Drakkensteeds and ride off to a secret hiding place they would called "Fort Heaven." The hideout was awesome, looking just like a forest. It was a paradise, one fitting for a king. This was a little world to share both their dreams and memories. They lived in peace. A couple of years later, when Kauli was ten, Teahs was about to fall into a riot. A small battle started to break out after hundreds of soldiers in maroon colored armor started charging towards the town. Kauli couldn't find his father, and had no time to find him in the battle of hell. He and Iccan both ran for their hideout, hoping to keep their souls and blood in their bodies. When they both gotten to Fort Heaven, they relaxed for a moment, both drinking down gallons of fresh water. They could see the smoke of the battle rising in the bright night. The moon was shining full, its face glaring down on the two children. They didn't know what to do now. Kauli's mind was scattered, destroyed while Iccan could only cry as fire killed his loved ones. They slept there that night, watching death come to their world. In the morning, they were both found and taken away. They both didn't know where they were heading off to, but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing really mattered to them anymore. Their family, home, their hearts were simply broken. They gave into something man-kind had made. While traveling, Kauli explained to Iccan a dream he had before morning came. He saw a dragon, one in the color both black and silver, walking towards him. He dragon looked as if it wanted to lust of blood, but he had a peaceful eye at the same time. Iccan only puzzled at his friend's face, confused. Few days after being taken away, they reached a city with delights. The lights, the glow, it looked as if the future was already here. They were put in cells at the local arena. Already knowing this, Kauli and Iccan were slaves, force to fight creatures for others. They could only look at dark lines as light faded from the world. Kauli cried, Iccan yelled at heaven for this treatment. During the years, they both became strong warriors, both champions of the arena. When they had turned 15, their hearts were going to change. One day, seeing the arena had nothing else for them to kill, they only had one beast strong enough to throw them down; a tarrasque. Kauli and Iccan had to work together, or both their souls would be punished. The battle was going fine, maneuver after maneuver, stance after stance. Luck was on their side, until faith decided the best. Iccan was clawed and thrown aside, blood dripping down from the wall. Kauli couldn't believe his eyes. His friend, his last and only true friend, was dieing before his eyes. Heart beating faster, blood boiling, Kauli's eyes turned pitch evil. His body looked both like a dragon while the features of a demonic spirit. Kauli couldn't remember anything else. He woke up seeing the whole city in ruins. Everyone was dead, including Iccan. His eyes filled with despair, Kauli cried all night to the gods for hope. Kauli know walks in Baator, hoping to find his friend's spirit. Kauli's Powers: Move the earth at will, turn into a demonic dragon (half-dragon), and see other's emotions. He also knows alot of Hung Gar and knowing some magic in each school. He has many werid powers. You never know what he might do next. His rage could even be his last resort... Incarnum is mostly is last resort in any battle because even though no one has died from incarnum, Kauli's rage can increase the limits of his soul energy, but kill him at the same time. Personal Archetypes: Challenger, Explorer, Wanderer. Personal Traits: Clam, Carefree, Charming, Connected, Driven, Serious. Alignment: Mostly Chaotic Good mixed with Neutral good. Kauli know believes his soul is lost, but not forgotten. He still has a dream: to find his point in life. He wants to save the ones he love, but the mission is almost impossible. He has a dragon living inside of him, one of the last dragon sages in the world. These dragon sages are known to have created the world. Kauli holds the dragon Tssiro, crusader of earth.
Gaelro_Nailo 03-05-07, 05:31 PM	Name: Lafali Lathi, Keeper of the Twelth Gate, Lord of the Moon Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Oriental Gold Dragon Classes: Keeper of the Moon, Daiyoukai Warlord Looks: A tall daiyoukai. He is around 6'6", wearing a flowing golden kimono. Wrapped around his waist is a sash of silk, shaded like the twilight sky. In the sash resides his dia-sho. His hair is silver and his eyes are sky blue. Across his right cheek is a marking, shape of a golden cresent moon. His right hand is wrapped in white bandages. The moni he is wearing is that of an golden dragon across a black cloud. Equipment: None, when Syra destoryed Endless Night, the other two was destoryed as well. Abilities: Master of the Rilynnathem school of combat, also very good at elemental magic and master in mist magic. Name: Cysel Nailo Race: Elf/Daiyōkai Looks:A tall elf of 6'4", he wears a blakc kimono. Though he carries no visable weapons strange preyer beads are wrapped around his right hand. Equipment:His prayer beads may form into any weapons he knows how to wield. Each with many strange abilitys and forms.
False_Keraptis 03-06-07, 11:46 AM	I am Gjuld, son of Vyodir, son of Jaldi, son of Gunnvor, who scattered the six pieces of the Cursed Crown. Name: Gjuld Granitehewer Race: Deep Dwarf (note, not Duergar; deep dwarves are simply dwarves with better magic resistance, better darkvision, and slight sunlight sensitivity. They're in the MM.) Class: Gestalt Cleric 16/Fighter 7-Dwarven Defender 9 Alignment: Lawful Good Religion: Moradin Origin: Underdark Settlement of Rolvinswall, Toril Description: Gjuld is a middle-aged, muscular dwarf with a fiery red beard and blue eyes. He goes about even his mundane daily business (in Baator, at least) dressed in shining mithril plate armor and carrying a huge mithril tower shield displaying Moradin's hammer-and-anvil symbol. Powers: Gjuld is an extremely strong, sturdy, and skilled melee combatant, focusing on power and endurance over finesse and speed; his natural hardiness and his magical armor and shield ward off blows while he strikes at foes with his keen, spell-storing silver warax. Furthermore, he has access to powerful divine magic, which he generally uses to enhance his already formidable hand-to-hand ability, as well as granting healing and a bit of ranged capability. Character: Gjuld is a virtuous and mighty, if sometimes gruff, holy warrior, a steadfast champion of his people and his faith. On his homeworld, Gjuld has fought in a half-dozen wars, slain more monsters than he can recall, and righted hundreds of wrongs. Weaknesses: Though a more-than-capable warrior, Gjuld is overly reliant on his magic, and often has trouble facing powerful opponents when denied it. In particular, his mobility suffers greatly without spells such as wind walk to supplement it. Psychologically, Gjuld's greatest weakness is pride; he has a justifiably high opinion of his martial prowess, and more ominously, he is utterly convinced of his own goodness and the incorruptibility of his spirit. History: First appearance
Orshallen 03-20-07, 04:36 AM	Many men see little more than a tall, lanky man garbed in neat, if worn, black and green - pale-skinned and fair-haired, and not quite ugly but certainly little better than forgettable in appearance. Those with keen eyesight might notice a disturbing dissymmetry about the man; his body is vaguely angular and slightly too tall for his girth; and, though there seems to be no identifiable point of change, his movements rarely end quite where they physically ought to have, as if he were being viewed through water or reflected in a warped mirror. Those lucky few whose sight is enhanced with magic are treated to a more disturbing sight still. His face (and indeed, his entire body) is covered with intricate curse-spells in black ink - some in the common languages of magic, more still in the Infernal Tongue, and some few in the Dark Speech - a language of such malice that to merely speak it aloud spells death for the untrained. And then, of course, there are those who never see him coming at all. Orshallen's long history is unrecorded; he is the only person alive who knows the full tale. It is a story of revenge, hatred, and an endless flight that has led across the planes, filled with countless ambushes, counter-ambushes, traps, treachery, and skin-of-the-teeth escapes. Once a slave of Orcus, Orshallen betrayed both his former master and the demon prince's Abyssal foes. Hunted by the demons of the Abyss, these days Orshallen offers his services to the Lords of the Nine - and to most anyone else, if they can afford his price. For centuries, The Ethereal Plane has afforded Orshallen a safe haven to escape his hunters, and these days he can slip in and out of it as easily as breathing. Safe in the mists of Potentiality, Orshallen wrapped himself in stolen magic and curses and waged a shadow war of his own against Orcus's minions. Yet, without aid, a mere mortal cannot hope to contend with the power of a primal Ideal of evil, a Prince of the limitless Abyss. So it was that Orshallen turned to Hell. And now for a slightly more formal writeup: Name: Orshallen Race: Human... mostly. Class: Maleficent26/Phantasmal Harrier20 - at least, in the only incarnation I have written up. The levels may vary based on the what is needed roleplay-wise. Both are homebrewed classes; the Maleficent is a specialist in of curses and the Phantasmal Harrier is pretty much what it sounds like :P Alignment: Neutral Evil. Origin: Ex-cultist of Orcus from an unknown Prime Material world. Powers: Orshallen is extremely (indeed supernaturally) quick and elusive, and quite strong for a human, though not exeptionally so compared to the more fearsome monsters out there. He is wrapped in curses both offensive and defensive, some of which serve to ruin blows or shots aimed at him while others attack those who touch or wound him. He can also pronounce more specific curses, though this takes effort and a certain expenditure of power. He has significant though very specialized knowledge of spells, and his time in the Ethereal has wrought many physical changes upon him. He possesses the ability to become incorporeal at will (though he cannot maintain the state for long) and can pass that ability on to his weapons, bypassing physical armor or shields. Perhaps more frustrating for a melee opponent, Orshallen often doesn't move the way he ought to; Orshallen may well charge a foe from the front and continue to move in a straight line, only to inexplicably wind up attacking them from the side. In his semi-real state, Orshallen is practically impossible to target with divinations and information-gathering spells (which tend to act as if there were nothing at all present), and possesses a lesser resistance to other forms of magic similar to that enjoyed by all incorporeal creatures. Character: Superficially polite, Orshallen loathes pretty much everybody. Orshallen's spite and contempt goes far deeper than a simple dislike of people, and the essential power of his curses stems from his spite. Weaknesses: Though he can cast a number of spells, Orshallen knows mainly curses, necromancies and a number of personal protection spells. Spitting fireballs out of his pinky is not his specialty, and besides his curses he possesses little overt offensive magic. Orshallen also relies heavily on maneuverability when fighting another warrior. Striking hard and fading away, then coming in again from a different direction is his style. Though it's difficult to do to a man who can pass through solid stone at will, restricting Orshallen's movement and forcing him to slug it out will put a serious crimp in his style. Possessions: Orshallen's most valuable possession is his flail, Lifemawn. Made of of blackened cold iron, Lifemawn carries strong basic enchantments to aid in accuracy and destructive power, as well as more sinister enhancements. Orshallen's 'home away from home' is a private demiplane hidden in the Deep Ethereal Plane, which he uses as an emergency hideout and storehouse. It contains many items and reagents of use in black magic. The key for entry is possession of Lifemawn, or physical contact with the wielder. One green dragon, ancient beyond the count of years, coming soon to an arena near you! One tough-as-nails dwarven warrior, coming soon to an arena near you!
beebetowers 03-31-07, 04:30 PM	Sounds Delicious, I think this as I look through the great tome like a catalog. Hmm, what new treasure should I add to my hoard? Yes, for many years I have played the Green Mage. In the last ten years on a world of rifts, chaos, and constant war, I constructed the Green Dragon Inn in the Grand City of Esh. Esh has now become ash due to a series of Dragon versus Balor wars with the Elven nation eventually rising to power in the South. I designed the Inn particulary for all giants to come and have a drink and gamble. The adamantine tables cost more than most planes. My character has OCD and does not like things broken. The only broken thing has been the poor innkeeper formerly known as Bostick the XII, he has been resurrected 10 times. The inn can be very dangerous no matter how much I protect him. Attached to the Inn stood my home with its laboraties and libraries. My research, war, and making new magical items and one artifact while stealing a powerful artifact over 15 years of real time play and endless hours of gameplay led me to be an innkeeper and researcher. Even though, I had been a green dragon for longer than I can remember, I really liked people and shaping their lives for my intents. Eventually, the other players got to close to the fact that I had stolen the Planar Cornerstone and was a green dragon of incredible wealth. In a classic spell, I made years ago after watching it be used by a wizard I was trying to kill and pillage, I sunk my Inn, my home, and my lair deep into the bowels of Time. The chaos of the region had also become particulary unstable. Using the Planar Cornerstone,I have my own dimension immune to most intrusions. However I figure that some ingenious gnome or meddling adventurers will find it and kill me, bargain with me, or I will send them packing after a handsome randsom. The character sheet reads Great Wyrm Green Dragon, Sorceror 36, and Innkeeper. In today's language, I performed as a power broker between powerful worlds, kingdoms and individuals. I believe a form of law should direct circumstances in order to maintain stability. In my long life, I have seen too many kingdoms destroyed by inept rulers, prejudiced elves, and greedy wizards. If anyone wants more stats or info just email. My greatest possessions that I will list are a golden dragon orb, robes of immunity, the Sorceror Sword, and the Planar Cornerstone. I must admit that I never expected to be an innkeeper before retiring this character it just seemed so cliche. However, I had so much fun playing an innkeeper that I must say it left a good taste of elven wine and blood in my mouth. Yeah, I consider elves a worse nuisance than pixies. At least pixies can have fun.
PinkPanther 04-25-07, 09:52 AM	storm clouds build and swirl in the sky above the arena and as a tornado begins to start a bolt of lightning erupts from the sky charing the ground infront of the judges table when the lighting is gone a man stands exactly where the lightning had struck after a bow he pulls a quill from his white flowing robes and with out touching the parchment little bits of lighting skrawls it's self out on the paper spelling his name, alex, on the paper. With a nod he turns and walks a way.
dragor_shadowfury 04-30-07, 07:41 AM	My Chars Loex, thri-kreen of legend, cleric/verminlord, 4 vicious vampiric wounding merciful daggers, light fortification breastplate, lenses of ebon eyes (see perfectly in any darkness), a fiendish monstrous scorpion (further powered by Loex’ deity), Loex can turn into a big vermin creature, combining features from spiders, scorpions, dragonflies, and mantises. Loex was born, or rather hatched in the heart of the desert Karanach. He wanted more than the peaceful and happy life of the thri-kreens there, he wanted power, he wanted to be a god. He made sure to gain as much popularity in his tribe as he could, then he staged an accident that killed the chieftain and his heir. Not surprisingly he was chosen as the new chieftain, and he led his tribe for a few years. Then he looked for more power, and turned to the world outside. He convinced as many thri-kreen as possible to follow his cause in an army, and in addition he gathered as many creatures of the desert and the surrounding mountains under his banner. He then took it to war and waged war upon the outside world for years. He was slain eventually though, in a try to take the high elven capital. But he had gathered too much power to die a natural death. Instead his soul traveled into the void, the space between the planes. Here he waited for many long years. Then one day a thri-kreen woman turned pregnant, with a kid that had no soul, or so it looked. Loex gripped the chance and entered the embryo. But he was wrong, the soul was not missing it was just delayed. So as the true soul entered the embryo too, the embryo was split too. Unfortunately for Loex, the souls were fragmented in the two bodies. Then the mother laid her egg, but shortly after the clan was attacked and slaughtered by a blue dragon that had run amok. The dragon did not see one of the Loex touched eggs, so it survived. The destruction had a new effect on the souls though. Most of Loex’ soul in the surviving embryo was pushed away, and gathered with the soul fragments of the killed Loex touched. The bodiless fragment had only little memory if its former self and it had forgotten its name. The living Thri-kreen was mostly a normal young thri-kreen by soul, but the leftover fragments of Loex soul had granted it a connection to the other soul fragment, who now called itself the unnamed one. It also granted the living the memory of being given the name Loex, and a great empowerment, a shadow of the old Loex’ power. The young Loex had no parents, and had to do alone. It had died were it not for the power of the soul fragment in it, and the connection to the unnamed one. The unnamed one thought it many of the things needed to survive in the desert, things that were still left in its shattered memory. It also told Loex that it was a god, and should be worshipped. The connection between Loex and the unnamed one was that powerful that despite not being a god it could grant Loex clerical spells. Loex traveled the deserts alone for years, gaining combat experience, and being taught many things. As he had had all social contact with the unnamed one, he was a zealous, fanatic of his faith. In the end, the unnamed one wanted power, and he sent Loex to the realms of men. Here he walked for long, traveling the countryside and trying to gain followers. He eventually succeeded in gathering some, and soon a small caravan had gathered. Loex trained and tutored his followers, and he brought them to be as fanatic as himself. Years passed, and Loex gathered a small priesthood, most gathered in a caravan under the management of Loex. The cult was a vile one indeed, featuring human sacrifices, contact to and bargaining with devils and demons, and using deception and magic to bind new followers until they were brainwashed. One of their favorite tactics were to send a cultist to a village and put some disease source in there, then when the caravan itself arrived a few days later, many people would be struck with the disease, then the priesthood would cure them and preach of the unnamed one as their savior. The number of worshippers finally made the unnamed one a true god, and he chose disease, verminkind and pain as his portfolio. Dragor “devilbane” Shadowfury, high elf, rogue/ranger/blademaster, shadowfury blades (a pair of intelligent bane (elves) sunblades), gloves of dexterity +4, belt of giant strength +4, ring of invisibility, thunderhoof (magebred warbeast light warhorse), shadow of vengeance (Dragor can create a partly real identical copy of himself. It deals way less damage than the real one though). Dragor was born in a drow slave encampment. His parents were the captivated leaders of the nearby village Koughas. Dragor was given a powerful gift at birth, for his parents invoke the last of their magic when he was born, to shield his mind from evil. Little Dragor grew up to the age of 20, at which point his parents was killed by a dark elf slaver. Dragor’s heart was then filled with hatred for the dark elves, a hatred that the dark elves themselves mistook for evil. And as such Dragor was trained in the arts of battle, and he fought fiercely. The dark elves were joyful for this, as they hoped to utilize Dragor’s battle prowess against his own kin. When Dragor was finished with the training as a worrier he was picked out to be a member of the dark thorn assassins. They were the most feared assassins in the world, and Dragor did well, almost like he was born to be an assassin. When his training had ended, he went to his master, saying that he wanted a last piece of advice for his coming assignments. The truth was another though he slew his master and fled from the dark elf camp. He wandered for days and stumbled upon a scouting party from Koughas. The scouts first thought that he was a dark elf, but in the end he managed to prove that he was a kougan. In Koughas he was thought about the scouting arts, he discovered ways to mix the assassin skills with scouting to provide the greatest effect, and thought the other kougans his skills. He spent many years training and fighting the dark elves, when he heard of the shadowfury blades, he then decided that he would go to claim his family heirloom. He made it past traps, guardians and wards, to finally claim the blades. The blades were even more powerful than the legends foretold, and for many years to come he put a fear in the hearts of the dark elves. He spent 20 years liberating prisoners and hunting dark elves, and he ended the leader of the kougans. It then happened that the dark elves invoke mighty magic to tear Koughas apart and kill the town. Dragor was warned by a spy though, and the citizens of Koughas were evacuated. Most of the grown population followed Dragor, while the rest traveled to the bigger high elven cities. Dragor and his men traveled the lands, and soon the kougans was known as mercenary crusaders. They joined armies of good, demanding only tents, food and a ridiculously low payment for their service. They quickly got themselves a reputation as some of the fines warriors on the continent. After many years of never-ending battle, Dragor settled down for a while, in the city of Da’karlet. Da’karlet was famous for its swordsmen, and here he trained along with them, learning every last one of their tricks, before moving on. His next resting place was the great eastern steppe, along with the nomads there. The nomads were known for their horsemanship, and in return for helping them getting rid of the bugbears in the area, Dragor and his warriors was trained in horsemanship by the nomads. Then came the fiend war, where the dark elves had opened a portal to hell, and devils were pouring into this realm. Dragor and his warriors fought and won many a battle in that war, and Dragor was soon called Dragor Devilbane. Munchlord, Gray elf lich, artificer/wizard/rune mage/loremaster/purple dragon cultist (this has nothing to do with the purple dragon knight, the beginning of it came to be before I knew of that PrC), spell sheet (Munchlord has invented this thing himself. It’s a sheet of paper, that whenever he wishes to see a single spell, that spell is written on the sheet. In addition to that, the sheet increases the damage on any damage spell by 2 per spell level.), mage plate (breastplate that has no armor spell failure chance, and that any arcane spellcaster is proficient with), transportation disc (this bright white plate, flies with a high speed and perfect manuverability, it can also teleport without error and dimension door an unlimited number of times each day), raven familiar Munchlord was born in the mountains. His life was rather unremarkable for a grey elf. He went to the wizard’s academy when he was old enough, and studied there. He took a special interest in magic writings, and the creation of magic items. He was an inventive student, and he gained some respect for his ability to think out things before they were thought to him. He finished his studies and started up a magic items shop. In the meanwhile he studied, and gathered all the knowledge he could, especially about magical script. When he became old though, and felt that his life was closing to the end, and he started looking for a way to prolong his life. He found what he sought in lichdom, and more long years passed with him gathering knowledge and power. Then he met Xarallon, who thought him of the ways of the purple dragon. He picked up the teachings and became one of the first purple dragon cultists. He appear as a skeleton, wearing a black robe (his armor is beneath), with a hood that hide the skull. He usually uses his transportation disc for getting around. He possesses a vast array of magic abilities, but his most powerful ones are the combinations of rune magic and the draconic powers of the purple dragon cult. Ziel, warforged, fighter/incarnate, soulsteel body (Ziel is not like any warforged anymore, his body is composed of massive soulsteel, which is far more durable than even adamantine), incarnum spiking (Ziel always as a special meld shaped, which only he can shape. This meld cover him in black spikes and barbs), soulfire eye rays (Ziel can blast opponents with rays of energy, seemingly similar to fire, but is damage the soul and the lifeforce directly, and thus works on creatures normally immune to fire) Ziel was the first warforged to exist in his part of the material plane. He was created by an artificer named Aron. Aron had made a special bond between him and Ziel, forcing Ziel to obey Aron’s orders. For several years Ziel served Aron as a servant, guard and bodyguard, along with two other warforged that Aron had created. Then destiny ruled that war broke out between the kingdom where Aron and Ziel lived, and its neighbour. In order to give his kingdom the possibility to create vast forces in short time, Aron passed on the secret of creating a warforged. Soon the kingdom had a large amount of warforged, as they hade come to be know as they were first made for war. The warforged were used as slaves. The warforged had a special connection to the force of incarnum. They learned to manipulate it directly, creating items of power, and augment their own bodies. The best in the newborn art of meld shaping was no other than Ziel. As the warforged became more powerful in the art of meld shaping they became freer of their masters control. In the beginning no-one noticed, but one day a warforged had been too lax in his duties, so lax that it could be considered lack of obedience. This opened they eyes of the humans. The humans decided that all warforged should be eliminated, before they became a threat. At that time, half the population of the empire was warforged. Ziel himself was caught by surprise and destroyed, but his soul and his power over incarnum was too big for his soul to fall into the flow. He maintained continual existence as a spirit, and he moved freely. Only one warforged escaped, he fled to a mountain range, far beyond human lands. Ziel’s soul followed him, and when they had arrived in the mountains, Ziel contacted the other one. Ziel instructed the survivor, Artak by name and smith by trade, in the making of a warforged body. Ziel then inhabited the body, and together they started creating warforged bodies. Ziel used his mastery of soulstuff to turn fresh soulstuff into souls for the bodies, and soon the warforged had formed a growing empire. The warforged mine heavily, and the dug deeper than any dwarf have ever been. They discovered many new kinds of metal, and each time a new better metal had been discovered, the first body made from it would be inhabited by Ziel, while his old body would then come to shelter another soul. Eventually they reached a natural gateway to the elemental plane of earth. They dug their way into it, and within 10 years most of the warforged kingdom was on the elemental plane of earth. One day, the miners reached a vein of soulsteel, the first and only one to be found so far. They worked on it for many years, and one day they had forged a new body for Ziel. This new body was not especially similar to a warforged. It was vaguely human shaped, but half again as high as a human. It was black, with red eyes. It had four arms, and each hand was equipped with a set of razor sharp claws. The new body held a tremendous strength and durability. Dramuk, ascended Mbwun of legend, shaper mage/reality weaver/sunshadow savant/blood shaper, decanter of endless water, amulet of the elements (empower shaping abilities), ring of invisibility, grendleskin bag containing all sorts of stuff. The first two races of intellect, other than the dragons, were the Misthai and the Mbwun, the purple clan and the orange clan. They lived in peace for many years. The Misthai worshipped that purple dragon while the Mbwun dedicated their minds to the study of magic in all of its forms. The other dragons envied the purple dragon its worshippers, and one day they gathered and launched an attack upon the Misthai – Mbwun lands. Facing extinction, a few Mbwun chose to try to travel through the void to find another place to live. They did not know that the Dragons were soon to suffer a major defeat that delayed the extinction of the races for a century. They succeeded, and ended up in the world of Soulforge. This world was newborn, and thus the Mbwun became the first sentient race there. The Mbwun discovered that in this new world, you would not age, for the negative energy had yet to come to the world. They crafted orbs of life to preserve this unique gift. Many years passed, negative energy had its entry, and other races were created. War broke out and as the other races allied against the Mbwun they were loosing the war. Then one day a magician of the Mbwun invented what looked like the answer to their problems. He came up with the creation of the first undead. His name was Artak, and he was a powerful and respected mage. This evened the score, and for decades war waged with neither side able to gain the upper hand. Then the leader of the Mbwun was assassinated, and the battle for the post began. The two persons who could become leaders were Artak and Dramuk. As the competition among them were coming to and end, a Mbwun discovered that the souls of the undead were tormented by their undead existence, and that Munchlord had known all along. This brought Munchlord the disgust of the Mbwun, and he were banished for his actions. As a consequence of the lack of undead in the Mbwun army, the Mbwun were defeated. In fact they were driven to near total extinction. One of the few survivors was Dramuk. He was captured by humans and put into a magic cell in the human capital. Decades came to pass, and then the human kingdom was in peril. Greenskin had assaulted the humans, and driven them back into the capital and surrounded them. The humans were vastly outnumbered, and they were loosing the battle. In the darkest hour, the human king struck a deal with Dramuk. Dramuk would be freed, but in return he was to help the humans battle the greenskin. Dramuk entered the battle, and managed to turn the tide in the humans favor. Dramuk looks to be about the height of a man, but he’s very bend over. Were he able to straighten his back, he would be well over 10 feet high. His scales are fiery orange. His claws are razor sharp and jagged, and his tail holds a vicious looking barb. His teeth are pointed and he’s got long fangs. The way he’s build it is clear that he has the option to go down on all four to increase his running speed. His traits are a blend of humanoid and draconic traits. Artak, Mbwun demilich vampire lord, wizard/incarnum mage/necrocarnum mage/high necromancer/paragon necromancer/true necromancer, robe of shadows (permanent deeper darkness), lenses of ebon eyes (see perfectly in darkness of any kind), bone sceptre (negative energy damage, several activation effects, store undead). The first two races of intellect, other than the dragons, were the Misthai and the Mbwun, the purple clan and the orange clan. They lived in peace for many years. The Misthai worshipped that purple dragon while the Mbwun dedicated their minds to the study of magic in all of its forms. The other dragons envied the purple dragon its worshippers, and one day they gathered and launched an attack upon the Misthai – Mbwun lands. Facing extinction, a few Mbwun chose to try to travel through the void to find another place to live. They did not know that the Dragons were soon to suffer a major defeat that delayed the extinction of the races for a century. They succeeded, and ended up in the world of Soulforge. This world was newborn, and thus the Mbwun became the first sentient race there. The Mbwun discovered that in this new world, you would not age, for the negative energy had yet to come to the world. They crafted orbs of life to preserve this unique gift. Many years passed, negative energy had its entry, and other races were created. War broke out and as the other races allied against the Mbwun they were loosing the war. Then one day a magician of the Mbwun invented what looked like the answer to their problems. He came up with the creation of the first undead. His name was Artak, and he was a powerful and respected mage. This evened the score, and for decades war waged with neither side able to gain the upper hand. Then the leader of the Mbwun was assassinated, and the battle for the post began. The two persons who could become leaders were Artak and Dramuk. As the competition among them were coming to and end, a Mbwun discovered that the souls of the undead were tormented by their undead existence, and that Artak had known all along. This brought Artak the disgust of the Mbwun, and he were banished for his actions. Artak departed the plane, and headed for the origin of his art, the negative energy plane. Here he made a new discovery, he invented lichdom. He turned himself a lich, and he was not done too soon, for the orb of life that had sustained him prior to lichdom was destroyed only a week later. Everyone thought him to be dead along with the rest of his family when the family orb of life was destroyed by a human raiding party. He remained on the negative energy plane for centuries, experimenting with necromancy. He reached a point where he was able to empower his undead form even further, turning him into a demilich. He began to take interest in the material plane again, as he was running out of subjects to perform his experiments on. He needed some way to hunt there without exposing himself though, and for that purpose he created the first vampire, or more rightly vampire lord. This vampire brought him many subjects to experiment on, and he was very pleased with his servant. The servant was not so pleased with the arrangement though, and one day he broke free of service. This enraged Artak greatly, and he took it to hunt for the deserter himself. He eventually found him and killed him. But as a vampire lord he would only stay dead for so long, so Artak found his sanctuary, and cut off his head where he lay. He burned the head, but instead of burning the body he grafted it onto himself. This made him control the body, and even greater he gained the powers of a vampire lord in addition to his own. The result was a creature looking like a human, but at the end of the neck a draconic skull resides, with pointy diamonds for teeth. He wears a black robe with white patterns and wield a scepter looking like a big bone covered in black runes. Zahia, shadow half-janni nymph, scout/ranger/order of the bow initiate/weapon master/swift scion/soulbow, shadowhunt (legendary weapon, intelligent longbow, several arrow augmentations), homestone (can teleport to fixed location and grant owner extra power when there), ring of greater blink, quiver of arrows (duplicate up to 10 different arrows to infinite number), hawk animal companion. Zahia was born on the plane of shadow, her mother were a nymph, who had originally been brought there as a captive. She had been freed by a local janni, with whom she had fallen in love. Zahia lived a lot of her life in the outdoors. This is naturally a dangerous business in the plane of shadow, and she has been close to death a few times in her childhood. When she had grown to adulthood she banded up with a party of adventurers, and for years she travelled the planes. She ended up fighting against a cabal of powerful necromancers. The necromancers threatened to take over a gigantic part of the plane of shadow. She made to defeat them, but she lost many a friend in the process. Zahia has the inherent beauty of a nymph. She is of average height, and she has brown skin despite being from the plane of shadow. She has long brown hair and big brown eyes. She usually wears a short skirt and a small top made of dark fur. Her bow is made from shadowoak, a black kind of wood inherent to the plane of shadow, and covered in dark purple runes. Nerethos Soulrender, mutant kyton, exotic weapon master/duskblade/channeler, Chains of agony (his remaining chains are added with powerful magics. Among other things they can extend in length, and they are indestructible), circlet of mind ward, complete control of the ends of his chains. Nerethos was brought into being as a devil. No one knows from where he came, he just appeared in Baator one day. He was unique, but he was figured to be kyton-kin, as they were the devils that he resembled the most. He lived long as hired muscle, but only for external affairs. He refused to fight against other baatezu. He suffered from a personality split. His personalities were close friends, but one day they agreed to part ways, for a time at least. It was done by using the majority of Nerethos’ chains to make a chain golem to house the other personality. Nerethos then left Baator for a time, leaving the business to his “brother”. Nerethos wandered the world for a century, learning the arts of the duskblade, and the art of blade channeling. He kept some connection to his brother, and one day, his brother told him of a great tournament of battle that was to be hold in the ninth layer of their home plane. He decided to join alongside his brother, partially looking forwards to the time when they would test their skills against each other. Nerethos stands around the height of a human. He looks like a pale hairless human, but his inhuman gaze reveals him to be a fiend. He wears only a pair of dirty, worn pants. His has an end each embedded in his lower arms. The other end features lots of barbs and small blades as well as short chain lengths also covered in barbs and blades, and with a larger blade in each end. Jack, cybrid, fighter, primal champion of hunger. Jack stands around 6 feet tall. He has tan skin and perfect teeth. He’s of a muscular build, although not ridiculously so. His hair is black, and about the length of a hand. Hid hair is usually swept backwards in a haircut that seems both ordered and messy at once. He wear worn sport shoes, baggy camo pants, a white T-shirt with an image of a gun on the front, and a black leather jacket with a gun and a blade crossed as a back marking. His black leather belt features a winged skull embedded with false onyx. Jack was created by the ultimate faction of the core to join the army it was preparing for the completion of the UI. He was a cybrid, designed from human DNA and with extreme genetic modifications until the resemblance stopped at how he looked. He was further improved by operations with empowered organs and nanites. He was created with the full array of grown in weaponry and equipment of a combat cybrid. He was made to kill. For 2 years he served the UI in battle against the ytts, and in that time he killed millions. For all that time he did not know his purpose other than to follow orders, but follow he did and fight he did. After 2 years of service he learned the truth though, his body was to become one of the many tools of the UI while his mind was to be terminated. This filled Jack with dread, and he fled. He invested his whole mind in the cybrid, withdrawing his AI from the outer perimeter of the core. This caused momentary chaos in a small part of the core, and during this he took with him as much information from the core as he had time to get a hold on. Then he fled to the planet Hyperion, the only thing the core was afraid of. The core was afraid of Hyperion because as soon as it was involved, the core could not even make an approximate prediction of how events would unfold. This action was not without risks though, as Hyperion was the home world of The Reaper. The Reaper was a powerful creature made by the UI and sent back in time along with the timetombs. After the tombs had opened, The Reaper had allied itself with the ytts because of the influence of the human that had followed it back in time and the effect of the loss of contact with the UI. The Reaper had then hunted cybrids and other followers and allies of the core for 1000 years. Because of its strong connection with Hyperion, it could not be calculated and predicted either. A hundred years ago it had suddenly stopped hunting though. Some said it had returned to its home in The Reaper Palace, others that it had been sent back to its creator and destroyed. Jack run the risk and found that The Reaper did not seek him out when he landed on Hyperion. He lived there for a time fearing that the core would overcome its fear and hunt him, or that The Reaper would come to destroy him. In the meanwhile, he killed and consumed a human with plancrumnites in his blood. This transferred the plancrumnites to Jack and granted him yet another array of powers from a new kind of connection with the metasphere. Eventually, Jack felt sure that The Reaper was not on Hyperion, or did not seek him because he had left the service of the core. The he travelled to the Valley of the Timetombs hoping to gain some of their power. The Sphinx let him into two of its three existences. In the time unstable Sphinx he gained a continuous antientropic field that prevented his body from weakening by the passing of time. In the connective Sphinx, he gained contact to the core medium, where he hacked into the core and stole information and spread mayhem for a time. The portal Sphinx did not let him in, and that was probably lucky for him. The jade tomb put him through a mass of physical stress, extreme pressure and temperatures among others but he passed its tests, and it rewarded him with even greater endurance and resiliency. The obelisk never let him in, and that was probably for the better, for he would not have been able to contain or control the power that it was a conduit of. In the monolith, he found the final resting place of the legendary warrior Kassad along with the weapons from the future, the ending days of the war between UI and humanity, which he was given in death. Jack took as many of these weapons with him as he could carry. Especially worthy was the Hegemony Force Rifle that had been improved by both ytts and future technology, and carried the firepower to take out more than a few starships. Then he reached the cavern tombs. The first one didn’t bring him anywhere, and the second one didn’t either. The third and final one was another matter though; it took him to the labyrinth of Hyperion a structure that had been carved 10 km below the surface a million years before the first human landed on the planet. Its origin and original function in unknown, as is its creators. Now it was the home of the leftover crossform symbiots, creatures able to survive nearly anything except a thermonuclear explosion and exposure to plancrumnites. These creatures have a connection to the metasphere that makes them able to contain an extraordinary amount of information. This had led the core to invest its extreme amount of data in them, but even then some where left unused. These creatures could survive infinitely without a host by hibernating, but to breed and to grow they needed a host. When a crossform got a host it stores every little part of information about the host and then draws upon the powers of the metasphere to return its host to life when he died. Only a few cells were necessary, which essentially means that any piece of flesh would do, as the nerve system of the crossform filled out the body leaving not even the host’s brain sacred. Jack took a little part of one of the crossforms and altered its DNA to make it better fit to a cybrid, to allow it to survive contact with plancrumnites, and to remove the small faults on the crossforms reincarnation ability. Normally the reincarnation would slowly degenerate the gender and mental capabilities of the host, but with these faults removed it was perfect. When he had grown a new crossform from the improved flesh sample, he became its host, and invested his AI in the crossform to remain sentient and able to observe the world while his physical body was being recreated. Finally this arrangement allowed him to hasten the recreation, although any speed faster than 3 days would create a risk that something went wrong. Then he continued to the final timetomb, The Reaper Palace. What he wanted to gain by that was the ability to tap into the vast energy of the Thorne Tree. What he got out of it was a battle with The Reaper. He fought The Reaper for some time, more fleeing than fighting actually. Although his weapons from the future did seem to harm The Reaper, there was little he could do against an enemy that could travel in time. But Jack was not out of luck yet, for the mayhem he had caused in the core had caused it to go against its fear and send cybrid soldiers to attack Jack. When they arrived, The Reaper deemed it more urgent to destroy them than to destroy Jack. Jack used this diversion to flee into the metasphere and further into the plancrum. In there he crossed a border between worlds and found his way to the martial plane. Here he found that being in another world than the core made him unable to draw upon its energy sources to abolish his need for food and drink and to power his abilities. To replace this, he began eating extreme amounts to store as much energy as possible to use when needed. This great hunger for energy caught the interest of a powerful being that had been looking for a fitting champion for some time. The being was the primal of Hunger, he realized that it was unlikely that he would ever find someone this fitting, and although powerful forces protected Jack from age and death, he was still a mortal. Hunger made Jack his champion and sent him to battle in Sorcen’s arena to prove his power to those of the other primals and ascetics that had a champion there. Con Wuih, ghost human, rogue/Ephemeral exemplar, is often accompanied by a pack of terrorlords, primal champion of fear. Con Wuih grew up in the elven town of Daranyr. Her parents had fled from the human nation Aroth because the new king had ordered a purging the kingdom of the heretics who prayed to others than the sun god. While growing up she seemed like a normal child, although she was quite asocial because her peers grew much slower than her. She spent much time exploring town and searching the darker corners of the town for surprises. She rarely ended in trouble though, as she could not enter where it was forbidden yet. At the age of 9 she found something of importance though. She was crawling around below a wizards house, in small tunnels that no one knew how had come to be. Here she found a strange black gem, almost radiating darkness. She was fascinated with it and chose to take it with her. The gem was a black soulgem, but she did not know that. Soon after she found out that many of the other children were scared when she was around. She thought that it was the final repulsion because of her human heritage, and as such she came to hate not just the other children, but the town as a whole. She also came to hate her parents for choosing to live in the town. As time passed she changed, her hate made her selfish. First it was her sort of revenge for everyone being mean to her, but in time it just became how she was. She began using the fear she caused to others to get things her way, and she discovered that if she raised her voice and did her best to seem angry, even the adults were affected. Suddenly, at her 15th birthday, the black gem began speaking to her mind. It had absorbed a sufficiently big portion of her soul during the time to become sentient itself. In fact the gem was partly responsible for her changes towards selfishness and evil, for it had absorbed the parts of her soul that held kindness, moral, compassion and loyalty, and turned them into dark ends as the nature of black soulgems is. It bonded with her, and thought her to use it to do even more with the fear it commanded. Soon she could see into the heart of others to see what their greatest fears were. It also thought her to use a dagger, how to remain undetected, and how to use stealth and killing force to the scariest result. Her powers over fear were ever increasing, and at the age of twenty-two she killed a man in a new way. He had failed to fulfill one of her requests, namely that he killed his daughter, that some said were as beautiful as Con Wuih. As she found him, hiding in the sewers to avoid her anger, she decided to put as much fear into his heart as she could. He fell, apparently she had scared him so much he had fainted, but when she went closer to finish him off, she discovered that he was already dead, literally scared to death. A few days later, she learned why her parents had fled to the elven city, and she decided to avenge her fate upon them. She marshaled every elf in the country to go to war against Aroth, and went in the front line herself, wanting to experience her revenge firsthand. During the war, she learned quickly about her abilities, she learned to make more enemies die by fear at once, she learned to cause the fear she killed with to cause scary grisly wounds upon her enemies, and she learned to make her enemies see their fears, or other things related to their fears that she could use to manipulate them. At a point, she even learned to twist the souls of her victims to create terrorlords, powerful undead creatures composed of fear and death. She fought and won, and finally her army besieged the City of Dawn, the capital of Aroth. She ventured in, followed only by a few terrorlords. She used her power of fear to scare everyone in the city, even the golems who guarded the entrance to the throne room, into slaughtering each other. She failed to think of one thing though, traps were not creatures at all, and as such not even Con Wuih could scare the one on the gate to the throne room. When she opened the gate, the trap unleashed powerful energies that slew her in an instant. The moment had been waited on by Orcus, who was the master of the soulgem. He had used it to attempt to gain her soul, and the legions of terrorlords she would create. He had not foreseen that someone else would grant fuel and empowerment to her abilities though. The second Con Wuih and the soulgem appeared in the abyss another force stepped in and powered her up. This force was the very primal of fear. This scared Orcus, and he tried to rid the world of the stone. He failed though, messing up in the magic so that she ended up the very place she died instead of being thrown out in the void between the multiverses. She rose again as a ghost, and for a millennium she terrorized the world of mortals, driving thousands fleeing before her, and leaving a trail of corpses and madmen, driven mad by the horrors they had experienced. Then, one day the powerful sorceress Trine did something that would mark her as a hero for eternity. She devised a magical trap that banished Con Wuih from the multiverse Soulforge. The trap send her to a world and a multiverse foreign to her, I suppose everyone here can guess which. Con Wuih mostly choose to appear like she did when she was still alive. Con Wuih is a slender woman with pale skin. She is slender and high, and her curves are perfectly shaped, but not overly eye-catching. She holds herself like an empress, and she move with lithe and grace. Her facial features are fine and cold, like a masterful sculpture of ice. Her eyes are almond shaped, with long eyelashes. They have an unnatural, dark green color that is both unnerving and bewitchingly attractive. Around her neck hangs a gold necklace featuring the black soulgem, a stone so deeply black you could get the thought that gazing upon it for too long would cause you to become blind. Her plain black hair is reaching her lower back, but it is not easily seen exactly how far it reaches because of her dress, which is made of black silk. It is tight, sleeveless and low cut. It reaches down to her feet, with a slit up each side. On her feet, she wears fine high-heeled black shoes. Her whole appearance is both strangely unnerving and bewitchingly attractive at once. Con Wuih can change her appearance to be more like what people think of ghosts, turning transparently blue-black, the only thing not changing appearance in that case is the necklace.
lord_xarallon 05-07-07, 02:09 AM	Here is Xarallons history: Xarallon was a Mishtai fore now is no longer one. Mishtai was a race not unlike lizardfolk, created in the image of their god, a divine purple dragon, whose goal was to achieve perfection of form. The Mishtai used the souls of other, the living, the dead, and those who have yet to be born, to gain the perfection of form. By the strength of many souls and the draconic heritage, they came close to perfection form. But before it was done, the entire race was eliminated by powerful dragonslayers. Their god deceased as all, but one of his worshippers died. The god was a crossbreed between a great wyrm red dragon and a great wyrm blue dragon. One egg was layed, and the blue dragon mother died laying the egg. The red dragon father raised the crossbreed as a human raises his son. This was unlike any dragon, and when the twilight was to begin for the red dragon, he sacrificed him self for his son, which had reached great wyrm age. Throughout his life the purple dragon has learned to weild power of the souls from a incarnum dragon. With this knowledge and souls of two great wyrm dragons he shaped from the souls of his parents argumentations to his body. In addition he grafted adamantine and mithril to his body. Near perfection he needed more and he slew other dragons and grafted the corpse onto his body and made soulmeld from theirs souls. Yet perfect, he desired more, he wanted to become a god. He created a race to worship him. He gained divinity from his newly created race, and he tought them to seek perfection of form. As the only left of his kin, Xarallon wandered beyond the borders of his country. Eventually he learned to regain the power of his lost kin. Now he wields the power from their souls, as he shape them into physical form to aid him in revenge and conquest for power. With the souls of an entire race he managed to let loose their god from its astral grave, though it was incapable of using its powers as it now existed outside existence itself. With the resurrection of his god, he summoned it to further enhance his powers. With the combined powers of an entire race and their god, Xarallon traveled the world of mortals to gain followers so he would rise a deity. But first he had to be perfect. His first follower and letter the first cultist was Munchlord. The reason why Xarallon allowed a non-draconic creature was because Munchlord was easily convinced to the idea of perfection of form, and he was able to greatly enhance Xaralons power by grafting magic rune into his scales. The runes were glowing blue and red colored mithral. These were not the only graft Munchlord made for Xarallon, Munchlord grafted adamantine into his jaw, talons, horns, and claws. With these futher increases in power he began the Cult of the Purple Dragon. He has yet to become perfect and rise to divinity, fore the Mishtai race endured as two lesser races, Rilkan and Skarn. He needs their soul as they contain fragment of the original Mishtai race. But Xarallon is unawere of the two race as he lived beyond the boundaries of normal Mishtai life by more then hundreds times it, and thereby became oblivious to the fact that they exist. And the description: Xarallon stands 7 foot tall with a vaguely humanoid shape. His body look like a lizardfolk, though much more muscular. His skin consist of deep purple scales each of them embeded with blue or red colored mithral. The embedments shape form draconic runes, which glows faintly red or blue. He has double-jointed leg and nasty looking talons, which is grafted with adamtine and enhanced with red and blue glowing runes. His wings look like those of a blue dragon, with mithral along the cartilage, and large draconic magic runes are embeded in the menbrane. His head is similar to a lizardfolks, though he has two large horns and a bigger jaws. The horns grow first backwards, but then bends and goes forward, letting them be able to use as weapon. This assumption is strengthened as the horns are grafted with adamantine and embeded with magic runes. Xarallons teeth is likewise grafted with adamantine and magic runes. His claws is grafted with adamantine and magic runes like the rest of his natural weaponry. Xarallons tail is the only llimb which actually had been grafted to a weapon by giving it a blade of adamantine, the other weapons were merely argumented. This is his body, but Xarallon has shaped from the souls of his race into physical soulmelds. These help him as they provide protection like armor, and they empower his body. The soulmelds are allover Xarallon, which gives his purple scales a bluish color. Around Xarallon the air crackles with tiny bolts of blue-white lightning, and the inner heat of him increases the temperature by several degrees. In addition he inspires fear around him. But these auras is surpressed most of the time. This is his natural form, but he uses a cloak made by Munchlord to appear as a normal human
Alikaine 05-08-07, 08:20 AM	My character(s) Kristine, shadow half-fey elf, cleric/psion, shadowstaff (empower spells with evil or darkness descriptor), greater fortification chain shirt, circlet of flying, ring of the gate, lenses of ebon eyes, shadow entropic advanced dire wolf, vengeful shadows (conjure up orbs of dark energy that deal negative energy damage to attacker) Kristine was born on the plane of shadow. She lived most of her young life there in peace, but one day when she was 85 years old, crusaders of Pelor attacked her home town. They had set out to slay “the vile spawn of darkness” that inhabited the plane of shadow. Her mother was killed in the raid, but Kirsten herself managed to escape. She made a pact with Darrash, the god of darkness and dark thoughts. She gained power, and in return she served him. She trained for years, before one day she was ready. She attacked the pelorites who had raided her home town. She slew them to the last man. Finally with her revenge acquired, she sought new things to do, new goals to gain. She travelled the planes for long, looking for something to aim for. She met Dragor who was setting out for the battle royal at Sorcen’s baator. She decided to follow him, if not for anything else, then at least to watch some of the battles. Kristine is a creature of great beauty. She has long black hair, reaching all the way down to the upper part of her legs. Her eyes are dark brown. Her skin is pale though not extremely so, for a person from the plane of shadow she’s actually considered having a rather dark skin tone. She wears white dress when not going in for combat. When she is prepared for battle, she wears a magical chain shirt with black leather on the exterior. The leather is emblazoned with the mark of Darrash. Kristine is generally nice around people who have not wronged her. Those who wrong her though should not expect any mercy.
Memnanth 05-09-07, 06:00 PM	The Wandering Plague: The being which became known as "The Wandering Plague" lived a life full of seemingly happenstance occurences constantly changing his nature. His first memories come during his awakening ceremony. A group of evil druids had been attempting to force a Silver Dragon to become a lycanthrope under their control. Unfortunately for the druids, the silver dragon had slipped their mind control spells. As the last stages of the ritual began the dragon lashed out with tooth, claw, breath, and magic at the druids, killing most of them within seconds. The carefully raised magickal energy backlashed and splintered into its hundreds of component spells, including several awaken animal spells. Several of these awaken animal spells hit not only the spider pets of the druids, but also the vermin in the room. As the vermin clustered with other of their kind, the emanations from those previously awakened was absorbed into the smaller animals. Quickly the animals were bonded together into an awakened, telepathic, and close bonded swarm. Created from blood, they soon took over the remains of the druidic order, building, slaughtering its remaining inhabitants and absorbing the remnants of their intellect. As its powers grew, the entity came under the guidance of a powerful fiend. In return for the swarms aid in its endeavors on the materiel plane, the fiend lent its powers and knowlege to the growing swarm. With each new member, not only did the swarm grow in strength and size, but also in intellect. Within months of creating its faustian pact, the swarm had learned all the fiend could teach, and slowly tore the poor demon to pieces. As the demon was dismembered, the instects found a small tumor living inside of the devil. Using their now great magical prowess, the swarm divined that the cancer had in fact, been growing slowly inside of the demon for years, slowly taking over its body and mind in hopes of ruling a great slice of hell. Weaving a net of magic around the small piece of flesh, the swarm kept it alive for months, until it encountered another cancer mage. After having members of the swarm observe him for months, the swarm came to him in the guise of a poor sorceror, willing to go to any extreme to gain power. The cancer mage apprenticed the swarm, hoping only to have another hand, and a way to continue his arts. By the time the older mage died (of "natural" causes), the Swarm had taken on the name "The Wandering Plague" and grown to have a tight, symbiotic relationship with its own cancer, now absorbed into each member of the swarm. The Wandering Plague took to, imaginatively, wandering, searching for the reason for its existence, the meaning of its life. It killed any who knew of the secret order of druids which had inadvertently created it, sometimes destroying entire cities to do so, with no remorse. One day The Wandering Plague met with a man who seemed to know more than was possible about the order of druids. He quickly initiated a magical duel, only to be defeated at the hands of the dragon who had been the subject of the druids experiment. The druids had unknowingly not just captured a dragon in the prime of its life, but in fact, had "captured" Bahumet himself. Bahumet speedily defeated the parts of the swarm gathered around him, and subdued its malicious intelligence. The mighty dragon god soon discovered the origin and story of The Wandering Plague. He convinced the swarm of the errors in his ways the only way possible, showing him what life with the friends and family that had been denied the swarm was like. The Wandering Plague repented its former evil ways, but continues to wander. However, instead of pursuing knowlege of his origin, the wanderer now carries the will of Bahumet from Good Dragon to Good Dragon, and fights the wills of Tiamat wherever he may. He often uses the same powers gained as a cancer mage to destroy the evil cities of Tiamats followers, or to cure the life threatening illness of a poor human.
Toptomcat 05-10-07, 08:10 AM	Hestaby, female wyrmling silver dragon artifacier Hestaby is the kind of mad genius that comes around once in a century. Not content with the slow accumulation of power that comes naturally as a dragon ages, Hestaby has used a unique brand of centuries-ahead-of-her-time science, bleeding-edge construct enchantment theory, her own naturally-occurring dragon magic, and a healthy dollop of her own special brand of near-madness to churn out a seemingly endless stream of bizzare magical artifacts that dragons centuries her senior have a difficult time understanding. There follows an incomplete list of her creations. Hestaby is always tinkering, and their capabilities are somewhat fluid, so I will content myself with a qualitative rather than quantintative description of each one. DragonShell rideable construct series DragonShells are an innovative kind of magical construct which are inert by themselves, but tremendously agument the capabilities of a dragon that decides to pilot them. Mechanically, they are best represented with the d20 Future mecha rules. DragonShell I: The prototype for the series, the DragonShell I is a skeletal mithral-and-darkwood construction about the size of an elephant, though lower. Merely built for proof of concept, the DragonShell I has minimal agumentative capabilities. DragonShell II: The testbed for a number of auxiliary subsystems found on larger DragonShells, the DragonShell II is approximately the size of the Mark I, but much more solidly constructed, with a main body of bronzewood and mithral built around an adamantine armature. Its defensive systems include an inbuilt magical resistance to all elements, moderate spell resistance (stronger around the pilot to prevent them from being directly targeted by baleful effects), thin plates of astral driftmetal to defend the pilot from incorporeal attack, and standard magical durability enhancement. Its offensive systems include magical enhancements to the built-in claws and a 'breath weapon' of magical force sufficient to cave in a castle wall. It also features magical sensors that magically sharpen Hestaby's senses as well as providing equivilents to Detect Magic, Detect Scrying, and See Invisibility, . An array of Decanters of Endless Water built into numerous places on the construct's body provide thrust for an emergency maneuvering system. DragonShell IIp: The IIp approximately duplicates the abilities of the Mark II, but by psionic rather than magical means. It is marginally weaker than the Mark II in all respects. It has a much more striking appearence, with psionically reinforced crystal tubing throughout the entire superstructure delivering a constant load of emulsified crystals in charged ectoplasm. A powerful Antimagic Field surrounds it to a distance of about 60 feet. DragonShell IIf: The IIf is a much-lightened version of the Mark II, discarding the adamantine skeleton and bronzewood bracing for mithral and darkwood respectively. It is much more physically frail, but the decreased weight in conjunction with a greater number of Decanters Of Endless Water allow it true flight. DragonShell III: This is much larger and much more complex than any of the preceding models. It is constructed almost entirely of mithral and adamantine, with occasional obdurium reinforcements at critical points. It approaches twenty feet long and two hundred tons. Its passive defensive systems include an inbuilt magical resistance to all elements vastly more powerful then that incorporated into the Mark II, strong spell resistance with an antimagic field around the pilot to prevent them from being directly targeted by baleful effects, simultaneous presence in the Material and Astral Planes, trace amounts of the dinivation-interfering metal urdrukar, and tremendous durability enhancement. Its active defensive systems include a primitive point defense system revolving around magic missiles, and a device that projects canisters of intensely magical teal smoke. This teal smoke utterly blocks vision and darkvision, as well as severely interfering with blindsight, blindsense, and magical divination effects. It also produces the effect of a wild magic zone in its area of effect, making spellcasting hazardous. Its offensive systems include intense magical enhancements to the built-in claws, a 'breath weapon' of magical force sufficient to completely raze a castle wall, and devices capable of projecting barrels of alchemist's fire, alchemist's frost, alchemist's spark, acid, or acidic fire. It also features magical sensors that magically sharpen Hestaby's senses as well as providing equivilents to Detect Magic, Detect Scrying, and True Seeing. They can penetrate the teal smoke put out by her canisters only to a limited degree. DragonShell IIIe: The IIIe approximately duplicates the abilities of the Mark III, but largely replaces its composite construction with the magically malleable metal entropium. While it is heavier, slower, clumsier and less durable than the Mark III, it has limited self-repair and self-alteration abilities. DragonShell Evangelion: An expirimental model, the DragonShell EVA is a suit of obdurium armor fused around the magically and surgically altered, as well as partially reanimated, corpse of a dead god from the Far Realms. Hestaby herself is unsure if the plating is to protect the Evangelion- or to restrain it. At over a hundred feet high at the shoulder, only the largest true dragons can hope to match its size, and next to nothing short of diefic forces can match its physical power. Its capabilities are largely unknown even to Hestaby, but she is reasonably certain that it has no inherent ranged attacks. Hestaby controls it only through a fickle magical-psionic interface that directly projects her conciousness into the construct: disturbingly, it has acted without her intervention on multiple occasions, and has sometimes entered a berserker state. It looks significantly less dragonlike than any of the other models: its void-black armor plating, vertical fins or blades over each shoulder, sleek and threatening general styling, and facial structure broadly similar to a ceratopsid dinasaur combine to create an alien and terrifying impression. Hestaby feels shaky and mentally unbalanced after using it. Though she'd never admit it, it scares her to death, chiefly because she doesn't really understand it or how she built it: she will use it only under the direst circumstances. DragonShell Harness: Required for Hestaby to control any of the DragonShells, the Harness is magically keyed to each of the DragonShells, which are kept in storage in her lair when not in use. It can teleport a DragonShell directly around her about once every three minutes: if she is already in one, it can teleport the current one back home and bring another one to replace it. It punches through planar and magical impediments to teleportation with ease. Draconic amphetamine (expended, see IC thread) Positive/negative annhialation device (three-part separated flask: one part ground-up voidstone emulsified in fiend's blood, one part ground-up Phylactary of Undead Turning emulsified in celestial blood, one part modified scrap of Bag of Holding. Single loose canister of magical teal smoke (see DragonShell III) Anti-teal smoke goggles (see IC thread)
warchif_shadowsong 05-16-07, 05:29 AM	Warchif's character(s): Warchif shadowsong, arachnoid shadow derro, rogue/fighter/ranger/ghostfaced killer/assassin/shadowblade/shadow caster/child of night, shadowfang (custom-made weapon for use with 6 hands, vampiric, wounding, keen, poisoned 1d10 con/1d10 con), ring of invisibility, boots of speed, shadow walker He was born in a small tribe of derro, who lived peacefully (for derros) in the underdark. One day, when he was still only a baby, his tribe was raided by shadow humans. They took him with them home, and sold him as a slave. A family bought him from the raiders, and chose to raise him as their own. He lived his youth without much hassle. He wandered the plane of shadow, and got accustomed to its dangers. He used his talents for stealth to gain a reputation to be among the best scouts and warriors the plane had to offer. On one of his many travels he met a band of assassins. He joined them, and helped them with carrying out their missions, and in return they taught him the arts of the assassin. He left them again, and turned a freelance killer for some time. Then he tried to assassinate a powerful mage, but the mage discovered him before he could strike a lethal blow. Instead of killing him the mage used magic to enslave him. He was forced to serve the mage for long, but he did it the best he could. The mage was impressed with his eagerness to serve the mage, which was far more than the spell would cause. It was all a part of Warchif’s plan though. He would show as much eagerness to serve that the mage wouldn’t care to keep sustaining the enslaving magic. His plan succeeded, but he wanted more than freedom, he wanted revenge. So he stayed with the mage in order to gain the needed power to defeat the mage. The mage chose to train him, as he seemed to be an eager servant and apprentice. When Warchif’s training in the arts of shadow magic was done, he estimated that he was powerful enough. He attacked his master in his sleep, and managed to kill him. He then sought out in his home plane again, but things had grown rather dull there. He was so powerful nothing could challenge him. Then he heard of the battle royal at Sorcen’s baator from a priestess that he med while travelling the planes.
technomagi 05-28-07, 02:29 PM	The Denizen's of Saran's Forge The Forge http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/eb_gallery/82136.jpg http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/FC2_Gallery/101488.jpg Saran's Forge is a dark place, a place where one's nightmares come true. It is a mountain honeycombed with tunnels and populated by the vile. One does not find the forge. The forge finds you. It travels through out the planes of existence on its owners business, but one can only guess at that dark purpose. It is said that many have met Saran but few have managed to leave the forge in one piece. Those who do find it haunting their dreams and spend the rest of their days looking over their shoulder for fear that it might mysteriously appear again. The truth is that there are two types of visitors to the forge, those who get there by accident and those wish to do business there. Beings who do business with the forge are not squeemish by nature and know that Saran's is a Kyton of his word, those who get there by accident are lucky to leave in one piece. The forge resides within a great mountain, a smoking volcanoe that emits smoke, ash and sulphur. The fumes are toxic enough to burn the eyes and nose of everything within a mile radius. A small island surrounds the volcano about 5 miles long and 3 1/2 miles wide with an irregular shore line of rocky crags and shear cliffs. A twisted jungle grows on the island filled with horrid flora and fauna. The closer one gets to the volcano the more twisted the vegetation and creatures become. Then about a 1/2 a mile from the mountain the country side suddenly become blackened ash devoid of vegetation. Ash constantly falls from the sky and eventually covers everything in a layer. The monsters that wander here are aberrations and undead of the vilest kind all covered in soot so that they blend with the countryside. Saran Rahuul-Kyton-Hexblade/Sorceror http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/MM35_gallery/MM35_PG53.jpg He sits high on a throne of adamantium chains and skulls. He appears to be a gold elf of fine and handsome features and in his hand is a black goblet carved from the skull of some alien creature. Chains spiked and bladed hang throughout his cathedral of pain. Every device of torture imaginable furnishes the place. "This is only a prequel to what eternity has to offer," he informs you with a sinister smile. "We will be seeing you, soon." Saran is a native Baatorian who has long since ascended beyond the normal boundaries of his home plane. No longer is he some mere underling that can be summoned, commanded or constrained by normal means or magical constrictions. The last fool that summoned him discovered that the hard way when he woke up in the hells to late to realize his mistake. In life the fool had been a derro wizard of great power floating through space on a spelljamming asteroid. Now he was just another tortured soul. It did not take Saran long to enslave the asteroids inhabitants, and to twist the asteroid into a more suitable base of operations. Now the asteroid has been transformed into a plane hopping island. A great cathedral of magical chains houses the forge itself and its dark fires fuel the volcanoe that makes the island above so twisted. An atmosphere now covers the island in a dome and some of the nastiest flora and fauna that Saran could find in his journeys through the planes have been given a home there. So he scours the planes looking for the richest veins of the rarest metals to send his derro slaves to mine and the nastiest creatures to add to his zoo. One thing that Saran is always willing to do is make a deal. Those who do business will find his forge one of the vilest sources of weapons in all the planes. Esmalda -Erinyes-Cleric/Sorcerous/Mystic Theurge http://www.cabalcity.com/angels/artwork/index.php?file=./Complete_Gallery/2/Crypt_Angel_Todd_Lockwood.jpg http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/FC2_Gallery/101457.jpg Esmalda is the lovely consort of Saran. She is as powerful as she is beautiful. Her feathered wings could easily cause one to mistake her for an angel. Her beauty to mistake her for a Nymph. Only the eyes if she does not disquise them with some minor illusion give away the hardness and evil hidden beneath her exterior. Her outfit is made of some mystical material that changes color and cut according to her whim. It usually leaves little to the imagination but offers her much greater protection than one could imagine by looking at it. She often makes the outfit appear to be made of entwined leaves that are hard as steel and light and flexible as cloth. The material has a mind of its own and will change its design suddenly in battle to inexplicably intercept blades and missiles. She is extremely jealous of Tiana the Succubus. She suspects the witch is servicing more than Saran's customers. Bartholemew Drezden-tortured human soul-Artificer/Wizard http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/eb_gallery/82095.jpg Bartholemew lived a long life had a great career as a merchant of mystical goods. He had a wife and children. He was even a law abiding citizen, to bad he used the legal system to exploit those less knowledgable or wealthy than him self. He even sent an innocent man to prison just because he wasn't willing to pay for something that he had built for him. Then one night in his mansion, at the ripe old age of 102 Bartholemew died in his sleep. When Bartholemew woke up he found himself in the pits of Baator. He didn't languish to long in his prison. The leaders decided that his talents would serve well in Saran's forge manufacturing items for the Battlefield and other things. He is still a tortured soul, he just happens to be a tortured soul with a job. He is also one of the few privy to the secrets of creating warforged. When the Lord's of Eberron watched him die they thought the secret died with him. They were wrong. Now the secret belongs to Saran because Bartholemew belongs to Saran. Saran loved that idea of creating warforged enough that he had the necessary equipment installed in the forge. Bartholemew can be temporarily destroyed but he always returns to the forge after a time. After all he is already dead. http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/roe_gallery/88203.jpg T/W-7-warforged titan-special hellforged prototype-fighter http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/ForgeWar_Gallery/105856.jpg http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/eb_gallery/82166.jpg T/W-7 usually just referred to as seven is the personal body guard of Saran. He is a warforged titan bristling with built in weaponry. Seven isn't the only warforged in the forge. He is just the biggest. Warforged are not given any identity here. They are just numbers. They do what they are told or Saran has them destroyed. Seven isn't a great thinker. He just does his job without question, thought or emotion. Saran says kill and he does. Killikuuk-Thri-Kreen-Psion/Monk/Student of the Dragon http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/mm2_gallery/88268_620_121.jpg Epic level Thri-Kreen monk. No one really knows why Killikuuk hangs around. He has been given a small corner of the "garden" to use as his monastery. A modest temple has been built there but at the moment killikuuk hasn't taken on any students. Tiana-Succubus-sorcerous prisoner of war. Currently sentenced to 1000 years of customer service. http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/ff_gallery/50177.jpg Tiana is a beautiful Succubus. She takes everyone's orders as they come in and lets Saran know what they want. Don't fall in love with her she is just after your money. The Gate Keeper-Hound Archon-Paladin prisoner of war. http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/ff_gallery/50138.jpg The gate keeper is a celestial hound archon chained near the gate into the tunnels under Fang Mountain. A lot of beings enjoy tormenting him on their way in so he has graffiti painted all over him and obscenitys painted all around him. He was sent to slay Saran long ago and failed. Saran in a characteristically merciless moment opted to enslave the celestial rather than slay him. Now he is chained at the gate and a geas bids him ask the business of anyone who approaches. He then communicates this information somehow to people inside. He doesn't really do much but if someone tries to free him an army of mean and nasty things gate in and try to prevent it. If someone tries to slay him he is only allowed to be tortured to within an inch of his life before a heal spell automatically hits him. It seems to be an unlimited effect. Most beings only find this amusing for a while before they give up trying to slay the chained celestial. Tormenting him seems to be encouraged. A complimentary supply of vandalism materials is handy on a shelf near where he is shackled. So spray paint him, throw eggs or rotten fruit, give him a hot foot or set off a stink bomb near him. Whatever amuses you is fine. The Dragon of Tyr-Built based on the Dark Sun Campaign setting I really don't know what to say about this thing. If you have access to an old copy of The Dragon Kings from the Dark Sun campaign setting they are trully bad. I have of course written one up converted to 3.5 rules.
Trizap 06-03-07, 02:03 AM	name: Mefro race: Halfling class: Bard unique abilities: Magical Music: he is trained in music magic using music to cast his spell using his Flute or Ukelele Stealthy can avoid etection. has quick reflexes and is able to dodge attacks items: Magical Flute: a flute given to him by his mentor, it posseses magical properties Magical Ukelele: also magical, also given by his mentor Shortsword: plain shortsword Personality: light, humoress, easygoing and friendly, kind and peaceful, loves Good, dislikes order, he is a good guy, but defies authority figures and doesn't really care for governments Appearance: wearing plain traveling clothes, carrying a pack on his back, with orange hair and green eyes, often seen playing the Flute or the Ukelele, he has normal colored skin, and is about 4 feet tall, he carries a short sword on his belt to defend himself. History: He comes from the village of Elajomi, where Halflings practice great arts such as painting, drawing, novel writing and music- a culture of the arts. After he was finished with his apprenticeship as a Bard he decided to spread Elajomi culture across the world and traveled town to town earning a lot of money from the songs and music he played in taverns and Inns.
SpellSticher 06-03-07, 02:48 AM	Tarak, Crusader of Law, Slayer of Chaos, Keeper of Balance Tarak is Lawful Neutral Phrenic Pseudonatural Paragon Thri-Kreen of Legend who posesses immense power and magical talent. He spent most of his younger years learning to hunt and survive in the vast desert he lived in. That is, until he stumbled upon an Extraplanar portal during a hunt. Curiosty overwhelmed him, and he stepped inside. Beyond the portal was the Far Realms themselves. He wandered around in awe, not realising that the overwhelming chaotic energies were slowly transforming him. Tarak wandered around for a little while longer until he emerged from yet another portal. The chaotic energies had taken their toll:Tarak now seemed to have an aura of malice surronding him, and the chitinous plates that surronded his body were harder than any known metal. Not only that, but he showed many unusual abilities, such as massive strength, and magical abilities, such as warping to one spot to another(If you haven`t realised, he is a Pseudonatural now). The last straw was when several long, barbed tentacles sprouted from his back. He was then exilied from the tribe. He then spent many long years gaining favour from the Ruby Sorceress, Wee Jas, training as a cleric in her name and eventually being rewarded for serving her(Paragon and Monster of Legend). Then, one faithful day, he came across a large cave. He entered and saw upon a pedestal two greatswords, made out of solidified force. In a vision, many gods came to him, asking whether he wished to serve them as the Keeper of Balance and to maintain balance everywhere. Tarak accepted, taking the two blades from the pedestal. Ever since, he has been maintaing balance across the planes. He has recently come to Baator to gradually balance out the Blood War, but was captured and taken to Sorcens` arena..... Items: Blades of Balance(10+ Axiomatic Power Anarchic Power Unholy Power Holy Power Enfeebling Acidic Burst Blurstrike Vorpal Brilliant Energy(Can change between energy and standard as a free action) Greater Wounding Greater Dispelling Dread(Same Type As Enemy) Greatswords Blade of Ultimate Law(Axiomatic Power Vorpal Blurstrike Acidic Blast Brilliant Energy(Can change between energy and standard as a free action) Greater Wounding Greater Dispelling Dread(Same Type As Enemy)Keeper`s Fang(Except it deals lawful instead of evil damage and the soul of the enemy is imprisoned in Nirvana)Speed Stalactite(Save DC 47)Knockback Almighty Distruption(DC 57) Distance Everdancing Triple Throw Greatsword) Deck Of Illusions Amulet Of The Planes Figure Of Wonderous Power(Obsidian Steed) HeadBand of Intellect Ring Of Evasion Ring Of Mind Sheilding Belt Of Giant`s Strength+6 Bracers Of Armour+13
NorthWind 06-15-07, 12:25 PM	Ender Chant is the eldest son of a family of magnificent sorcerers and wizards. It was no surprise that he took to magic immediatly, and by age fifteen, had already managed to conjure a fairy, restore life to a favorite cat, and even persuade the wind to dance with him. Soon, his talents grew beyond the ken of his family mentors, and so he wished them all a fond farewell, to set off across the worlds to learn more, to gain more magic and power. His parents, brothers, sisters were all proud beyond compare - save for his youngest cousin, struggling along with the most basic magics. He traveled the width and breadth of many worlds, his magic growing more elegant and subtle with each day. During his travels, he met another magician, of talent equal to his own. It didn't take long for him to fall in love with the sorceress he met. A year passed, and he proposed to his friend. However, before she could respond, she vanished, snatched away by some unearthly magic. Ender bent all of his power towards finding her, but to no avail. Now, he searches the multiverse on foot, looking for the rival mage who managed to take his fiancee. Needless to say, his quest has brought him into the depths of hell: into Sorcen's Baator. Appearence: Ender is a young man, with features not precisly human - there's something fey like about him. His ash blond hair is neatly tied back, showing his handsome features and bright, silver eyes. He walks with the air of someone who harbors no doubts about himself. He wears an elegant, dark blue frock coat over a spotless gray shirt. The only ornaments on the coat are the silver, star-shaped buttons on the cuff. Ender Chant came to Hell to search for his true love. He failed to find her, despite the most powerful divinations, searching the depths of Sorcen's library - even seeking her in Death itself. He found no one. Today, Ender Chant still wanders the many worlds, accompanied by his ever loyal faery servants and a feeling of utter loss. Having failed to find her in death, he sees no need to die, and thus, his search is without end. Ender's family never saw him again, never heard of his fantastic travels. At least, not from him. Ender Chant has passed into local folklore - the wandering magician who seeks his lost love. Stories are still told of his many continued adventures to wide - eyed children. Ender Chant and the Devil; Ender and the Necromancer; Ender Chant and the Faeries; to name but a few. Common superstition holds that, should you ever find, after waking in the morning, an unused bed undressed, or a book taken from its previous resting place on a shelf, Ender Chant has spent an evening in your house. They say that, for a blessig from the magician, the family should leave a map or compass in a hidden part of the house. For still he searches for her. Theme song: A Thousand Years, by Sting It was on a cold, bleak night in our tower that we found out. We had burned all of the allotted coal, and all of us were freezing. The gas lamps provided light, but little heat. So cold...in a vivid flash, a pattern came to me, curved and knotted lines of light. A path, with something waiting at the end. I called to it, and Fire answered. The other wizards were shocked, and scared for my own sake. That night was my last in the Wizard's Tower. In each generation of the royal family of Stratus, there is a Summoner. It is this son or daughter who is to ascend the throne, without question. Alexander is a Summoner - but not a child of the king. As a court magician, it wasn't long until his talent was discovered, not only by the other mages, but by the king. And having no children with this power, Alexander was deemed to have stolen the family magic, and was to be executed as twilight fell over Stratus the night the king uncovered his strength. Immediately imprisoned, Alexander tried every spell he learned to break free, without success. His executioner had just opened the door, when the boy managed to reverse a Summon into a Sending, and sent himself away from his jail, with no clue as to where he would land. By the time he has come to the Baator, he has been tracked by a cabal of mages across the multiverse, having befriended countless creatures that he can now call for aid. Hopefully, Hell is far enough from his home that he won't be tracked down. Appearance: Although he looks human, something in his face seems unusual, as if it were hiding something. He wears a simple, unbuttoned white linen shirt over a closer fitting navy one, and around his waist is a deep green sash, it's ends trailing down to his knees. His auburn hair seems tousled, and his eyes are a dark, intelligent brown. With the bass toll of a bell, a young man appears in the center of the arena, combatants and spells parting around him. He walks with a long, easy stride, wearing an elegant white suit. His black hair, cropped short and rather messy, has an irridecent sheen to it, as do his purple eyes behind their dark glasses. Behind him, three shadows - one black as night, one gray as dawn and the third white as snow - follow in his wake. He approaches the judge's table, and kneels down next to the girl, and motions to darkest of his shadows as he helps her up. The shade, elongating a single claw, writes a sizzling signature onto the ledger - Aaron Wight And we danced on into the night Aaron Wight. The name still inspires terror in innocent souls. The phantom necromancer who wandered the nights of the new moon, stealing souls. The black magician who eats the hearts of maidens. His past is shrouded in mystery, his present is bound to the fates of others, and oracles can see nothing but confusion in his future. Aaron learned his arts from an aging sorcerer, an uncanny woman said to have lived to the age of nine hundred. Seeking to understand the power that sustained her, Aaron apprenticed himself to her - and, the legends say, lost his soul. After his time spend with the witch, he returned from obscurity to terrorize the land in pursuit of eternal life - since he witnessed his sisters and parents die of a wasting disease, Aaron feared death. Can he be blamed for seeking to escape its empty grasp? At the age of ninety-three, he still seems to be a youth. A gentlman of perhaps twenty. Such was the work of the magician. One black night, Aaron struck a temple filled with young clerics celebrating their entry into the service of the gods. Aaron's gaze met a young woman's. Love changed his ways overnight. However, the cleric died of the same withering disease Aaron's family died of. But not before imparting on Aaron the truth behind death. With a crash, the massive brass doors of the arena are flung open, and a lithe, young man walks into the arena. His stirde is fluid and polished, and a soft, rhythmic clink accompanies him. The man wears a long, black wool coat, white pantaloons and a pair of black boots. Around his waist, on a white fabric belt, is a simple yet elegant sword, and on his angled face is a mask, covering only the top half. His dark hair is tied back, a small silver clasp holding it in place. He approaches the judge's stand, and bows with a flourish. With a flick of his wrist, a white rose appears in his hand, which he presents to Lady Anenooata. "I'm afraid I can't give you my name, but I'm at your service all the same, Lord Anenooata. I hope I can compete here without entering my cognomen in your ledger?" After using Sorcen's demon to crush the mages that had been chasing him for years, Alexander was free to return to Stratus, only to find that, by traveling from plane to plane, he had aged a year or so while a century had passed in his absence at home. He stepped into a world of anarchy (remember, only Summoners were allowed to ascend the throne, and since the only one in Stratus was neither of royal blood nor even present, the kingdom had fallen apart.) However, he was soon hailed as a returning king, using his many friends across the multiverse to restore order. He rules Stratus today wisely and fairly. Theme song: White Shadows, by Coldplay With the power of Sysiphus' magic grafted into his brain, Aaron was able to research and reverse the magic he had worked, giving the many lives he had stolen back to the people he had taken them from, raising them from their early graves. However, with each life he restored, he aged a little bit more. After a year of this, he was, in form, the ninety - year - old he should have been. As he went about erasing his mistakes, he performed a number of services for the people he had afflicted, culminating in the destruction of the witch who had taught him his black magic. As he gave the last years of life he had stolen, he finally passed on. The people of the villages he had formerly terrorized actually mourned his loss, only to discover that each of the people restored to life manifested a small trace of Aaron's own magic and psyche. So, even to this day, he lives on as a myriad of sorcerers, still working magics to the benefit of all. Theme song: Bodysnatchers, by Radiohead Left the arena as quietly as he came. There is a sudden snap in the air, a cold snap, a frost. Icicles grow from the noses of demons before hissing and falling from their burning scales, and in the middle of the arena is a spray of ice. Standing in the center is a shivering young man, wearing a close-fitting coat of a tough-looking material. At his side is a leather satchel, in his white-gloved hand, a silver pistol. His brown hair is short and tangled, and his face is slim and oval-shaped, with high cheekbones. His green-blue eyes sweep over the arena and he smiles crookedly. "Well, isn't this interesting." He walks up to the judges' table and pulls a sleek, silver pen from his satchel and signs his name in black gel ink that glitters wetly in the diffuse light of hell. Jonathan Swift
lunoc 06-20-07, 02:33 PM	the spirits and lunoc Lunoc, fiendish gnoll, monk, lunoc can use his spiritual energy as a weapon, firing blasts of force, but if he overuses them it fatigues and eventually exhausts him. His claws have a powerful poison coating them. Lunoc was created by devils to be a slave. He belongs to a tourtured and experimented race called “damwulves”. Since he was young he was taught to hate other creatures. He escaped servitude during his adolescence and made his way to the material plane. Once there he was adopted by a benevolent creature who taught him discipline through martial arts in an attempt to turn lunoc to good. In the end lunoc betrayed his master and now searches for combat, or power. master miǎn gǒu unknown race, monk miǎn gǒu is a powerful spirit of strength, kindness, and good. his origins are a mystery but by his own account he is a native of the material plane. when the spirit takes physical form it is the form of old human man. he usually does not take interest in human affairs, he simply teaches his art to those who would listen and learn. he learned recently of the crimes of his former star pupil/adopted son, lunoc. he has now pledged to do good for man and keep the balance of good and evil. xalax and co. xalax ancient pit fiend cleric/sorcerer mystic thurge great devil king, xalax has had thousands of years to establish his empire. he sends his troops into the abyss, negative plane, and the other places of battle and darkness, to concur and destroy. he comitiond the creation of the damwulfs. he wears the void armor a magic suit of armor that absorbs negative energy into itself that can be discharged later. he sometimes wields a very large maul. it is made for destoying undead. the least of its abillitys are disruption, undead bane and unholy. prime counsel cai large wil-o-wisp, varied spell caster lawful evil cai is xalax's voice of reason, his secretary, and a good friend of his. cai seems calm, but he can be brutally efficient in combat. xalax usually calls him "soft" but he only appears that way because xalax never gives him the chance to prove himself. many times cai has been on the verge of battling an enemy, when xalax swoops in and kills him with one strike. in his spare time cai gets drunk out of his mind, although no one is sure how. note, all these descriptions are very old, and i am just too lazy to update them, so the actual characters are extreamly different now.
Korone 06-23-07, 12:44 PM	Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer Unknown Dragon SoulEater/MortalHunter/Sorcerer/Fighter Dragons are an old and powerful kind of creature. Tracing their origin aeons ago, back at the birth of their last family members, the very first of their kind to the hatch of Tiamat and Bahamut from their divine eggs. Other than the few draconic gods, a single dragon, which age surpass the comprehension of many, can trace his origin very closely to Io. Long before the birth of the known draconic pantheon, at the middle of various dragons species, long forgotten into death, a kind of powerful black scalled dragon was born. Over time, the first son of the god-like dragon that created this sort of dragon, Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer, was commanding the whole race. Though, over time, power took over him. Every living creature, even non-living ones, was inferior to him. To his kind. Even other dragons. From there a war started. Everything agaisnt him and his race. But it wasn't enough. Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer managed to bring every other races into slavery and food, as they were nothing more than that. But what pleased Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer didn't pleased the gods, the arrogant black scaled dragon was much of a threat and a shame. Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer's father came down from the divine realm to kill himself his creation. One by one, they have been slain without mercy. Although his orders were clear, he could not kill his very first son. Instead, Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer was banished in hell, not long after the first angels were dumped in. Nothing could describe Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer's rage and anger agaisnt his father and his allies. His whole family was dead, even his father. All he wanted to do is to return to the prime plane and bring down his rage on his new enemies. He caused a lot of damage in Hell, killing nearly half of the devils all by himself before the devils chained him down in a cavern, blocking all issues and forgetting him there. Days, weeks, months, years... many millenias passed without a sign of life, without a sign of light. While he was sertain that he would die there, as years passed, the opposite happened. His body absorbed the negative and fiendish energy emerging from the plane, his body changed. It was getting stronger, healthier and his rage was decupling each second that passed during the whole time. After some time, his body got so big and powerful that the magical chains holding him to the ground were too weak to continue their bidding. They broke off. It took Koronexesfetero'Rashzyxo'T'kad'Fer months of continuous burrowing before seeing something else than the same shadow, rocks and dirt. He was finally out. There is no word to discribe the joy that the dragon had when he breathed the fresh air of putrefaction and foul smell of the devils around. The dim light from the lava were refreshing his dusty eyes in an extacy of colors that he had almost forgotten. But at the same time, he lost himself in a frenesy of rage and joy. It didn't took long before everything in its sight was eradicated. But it wasn't enough, he flew away, causing rampage everywhere in Hell during months and years. But it was never enough. There was never enough blood, never enough violence, never enough pain, never enough war agaisnt everything to satisfied him from his neverending rage. He soon understood that he would need to savagely kill those who chained him to make meaningful death. He wandered the land of Hell during many, many years. Soon, his strength was feared, but Korone wanted to be more quiet. He could most likely kill the lords of the different layer, but instoring fear with his mere presence was more interesting. His presence was unseen but felt. Then, a new kind of creature appeared in the deeps of Hell, huge winged draconic monstruosity began to populate the many layers, they were called hellfire wyrm. There was that rumor that Korone created these sadistic creatures as an army and personal assistant. They too, were searching through hell for something that nobody seemed to know. After some time searching, he found this arena.. there was a familiar aura coming from it, a disgusting aura that called to be killed. *************** Appearance: Titanic. If the word is correctly used, it might get as near as 'Korone's' size should be. His size alone would put to shame the biggest known great wyrm, whatever the species. And his size is a depiction of his age, barely mesurable. A human's life is like a second in his long, endless life. Standing on all four, his front leg alone tower at least 500 feets high, his chest being almost as large. His whole body is heavily muscled and partially covered with spikes, deformed scaled that have grown in such way. His wings are immence, being some miles long. His head is decorated with numerous horns, spikes covering his face as well, a long crest raise behind the central horns, going down his spine all the way to the end of his tail. His black, empty eyes show no emotions, in fact, you would have to take a long look at them to find a trace of life. His large mouth show long, rasor sharp teeth with an absence of lips. His body is covered his battle marks, large scars snaking on his body, broken horns and perforated crest and wings. (A picture's coming soon) Equipment: Yeah, sure... Powers: Shape Changing. Korone has the ability to change form as a doppelganger do, although size isn't a problem. He can modify the form he takes into pretty much what he want. In addition, he can use the abilities and powers that the creature assumed have/had, although he must know about these. One of his favored form is an insec.. medium sized humanoid floating above the ground, wearing a long black and ruined robe. With the face hidden with darkness. Black Fire Breath Weapon. In quick word, it is a breath made out of 'fire' and negative/evil energy. Although, the now unique type of fire coming out of Korone actually bypass resistance, even immunity to fire. The breath dissipate and somewhat enlarge the atomes that compose matters, making it very unstable. It doesn't really burn, although it is very hot, it liquify the things that comes in contact with the black fire. Soul Stealing. When someone die, his soul begin to depart to an other world. Although, Korone can interupt this process and 'catch' the soul of the deceased one and absorb it. By doing so, he get all the knowledge of the creature, destroying it at the same time. The absorbed soul regenerate Korone, if strong enough. If desired, he can 'copy' the soul by keeping a fragment of it. The fragment get corrupted and completely modified so that Korone have control over it, as a never-questioning slave. Then, the fragment is sent into the dead body, coming back to 'life'. Magic. Don't tell me you didn't saw that one coming... just think about the caster level of an already powerful dragon which is above the 67th age category. Negative Aura. The times spent chained in Hell gave some new 'stuff' to Korone. The negative and evil energy entered his body, being permanently with him. But at his size, the quantity of energy is so huge that it gives him an aura that corrupt and break things, as well as life, around him. Allies/Slaves: Allies: Six very old Hellfire wyrm, which are always with Korone. Hundreds of Hellfire wyrm outside the arena. Slaves: None yet.
CyperionTheShadeBlade 07-19-07, 08:31 AM	Talon the Searcher, Tiefling, Duskblade/Mindspy, The Blade of Harakon (a very powerful longsword augmenting Talons ability to channel arcane magic through it, and capable of cutting through almost anything), the armor of Dusk (a chain shirt granting him a strong resistance to all sorts of magic and other supernatural effects), A precognitive ability to see things a short while before they happen (between 5 and 20 seconds) and the ability tosense peoples thoughts so skilled as if he is using Detect thoughts (At will, as a free action), Talon is a master swordfighter, and has acrobatic skills that borderline the supernatural. Background Story: Born as the result of a wandering half-fiends rape of the local midwife, Talon grew up hated by the entire village, and had it not been for the intervention of his older halfbrother Manion, Talon would have been slain as a small babe. As he grew up, his only friend was Manion, who taught him how to fight, how to use magic, and most importantly, how to meld these arts. In fighting Manion taught him that the fighter who thinks loses, while the fighter who simply reacts, and listens to his instinct often claims victory, and Talon took these words to heart. One day Manion was found murdered in the forest, and before Talon even realized that his brother was dead, the village people blamed him, and tried to burn him at the stakes. For more than three hours did he burn, his fiendish nature protecting him from most of the flames, before the chains he had been bound with, became so hot that the poor iron melted. He ran in to the forest, naked and covered in burnmarks, and there he found his brothers body, that the villagers, intent on killing Talon, had completely forgotten. For more than an hour did he cry over the body of the only person who had ever shown him anything but hate and disgust. Then he picked up his brothers clothe, armour, and sword, and walked out into the world, seeking a new life, seeking any life. After a month of hiking through the wilderness, living of the land, he encountered a group of dragonslayers, seeking glory. Impressed by his skill in battle, they let Talon join them, whereafter he took them name Talon, forever abandoning his forgotten childhood name. For more than four years did Talon travel with the Dragonslayers, ending the life of three dragons, one red, and two copper, before they finally met their end at the claws of a gold. The mighty dragon looked past their disguise and searched their minds with it’s mighty magic. Only Talon did it find worthy of life, as it realized that unlike his companions, Talon was not evil, he simply sought somewhere to fit in, and it spared him. In recompense for his part in the death of two good dragons, the gold judged him to be it’s servant for ten years. During the time Talon spent with the dragon, it taught him of moral and honor, leaving a deep imprint on his still forming soul. However it never told him its name, always ordering him to call it Gold. For the rest of his life, Talon would always remember these years as the best of his life, but to all good things comes an end, and this end was particularly brutal. A band of dragonslayers assaulted Gold while he was sleeping, somehow penetrating his magical wards, and although the great dragon awoke, it was ill-prepared for a fight, and was slain before it could retaliate against the intruders. As Talon saw this something inside him awoke, driving him to a new height of fury he had never imagined. With nothing his brothers sword in hand he charged the dozens of skilled warriors. Somehow predicting their moves before they even thought of making them, and somehow knowing their plans in the very second they thought of them, he brutally murdered them all, save one. When Talon finally drove his fury off, he found that a single of the Dragonslayers still drew breath. The last survivor knelled before Talon and begged for his life, (more to come)
pbs 07-19-07, 03:33 PM	Raziel Korben Name:Razeil Korben race:long ago, human...ish ,now,demilich skull Age:really really old impossible to determine for sure eye color:alternating colored energy boiling from the sockets Dessy: You begin to think to yourself that the carved skull, sitting on the alter, is..... kind of looking right at you. It is. It appears to be a jet black skull with designs carved into it. On the front of the skull a golden death mask is riveted strait to the bone. The mask is decorated with many stones of unimaginable power. As you draw closer to the alter the skull deftly lifts from its resting place, energy boils out and a voice rings out inside your mind,"finally I was starting to think no one could fight there way to me, I mean when a spell calls for a heroic soul you really learn the definition of patience....Now this might sting a bit." In a flash of white light your body is destroyed and your soul is condensed into a blue tinted crystal that moves into a orbit around the demilich. History: If there is anybody left in the infinite planes that remembers Raziel before he became a lich, or even a demilich, they can be counted on one hand. Raziel began life as a human born to common smithy's. His family ran a weapons shop in a small border town. One of his jobs was to appraise items that were sold to the shop. One day a mercenary sold off a magic bag that he found that he could not make work. Raziel bought it at a fair price and the merc left satisfied. Raziel, however, had no difficulty opening the bag of holding, from inside the bag came the objects that started him on his transformation from humble storekeep/smithy into a hero. The first item was a book How to be Necromancer in thirty easy steps and the second was a shard of green crystal. (studying the book gave him a lvl wizard and meditating using the crystal gave a lvl psionic warrior). He began to go on quests. He made friends along the way and grew in power. And though many people disliked the necro arts,that never bothered him, he used his power for good ends and never defiled the corpses of a goodly person. After many quests there came news of an evil wizard/necromancer, who had discovered the dark secret of transformation into a lich. The sacrifice was horrific. Raziel and his friends arrived too late to stop it. In a desperate move, Raziel interrupted the ritual and consumed the dark energy himself hoping that his psionic skills would save him. The wizard was defeated. Raziel, on the other hand, was slowly becoming a undead lich. Raziel, for a time, found a way to stave off the transformation by taking a frontal lobe graft from a prismatic dragon, years passed and he continued to quest and adventure. At the end of his human life Raziel could no longer resist the dark energies that now compelled him. He had to find a suitable phylactery to bind his soul. In his quests he once found a golden mask. It was not very powerful relatively speaking, but it was indestructible. It was a perfect spot to put a soul. Raziel the lich went into a self imposed exile and began to study different magical arts and experimented on local monsters and wildlife. This did not sit well with the regular folks of the country. Soon people forgot all about Raziel the hero,and remembered only Raziel the lich, corrupter of the land. The local villagers became afraid and started hiring heroes to seek out this lich and destroy it. At first Raziel tried to find a peaceful solution. But the heroes answer was always the same "foul creature if its peace you truly desire then fall on my blade and end your cursed life." Raziel used his telepathic powers and found they had no compassion for him they mearly wanted glory and treasures from his collections. Destroying them came easy, but more came... endlessly. During his studies he found a higher level of lichdom could be achieved, though the sacrifice was steep. Raziel retrieved his golden mask and bolted it to his face. Then he removed his head and place it into a burning cauldron, after he carved the designs into the skull, and the souls required by the high magic were provided by the greedy "heroes" that were a constant annoyance.The ritual was complete, Raziel powers by this world standards were unlimited Raziel the demilich,then found his home world no longer held any interest for him and he began to learn how move through the planes.He first created a pocket dimension inside the hollows of his skull and magically transported all his treasures to it. Then he simply, in a flash of blue energy, Raziel left his earth like home dimension. Danka Smashfoot race:drow/oger magically fused creature... a droger age:120 physical description:9'tall, muscular build, pitch black skin, white hair, yellow eyes his arms are too long for his body, his chest is thicker than it should be. face is completely drow like save for a pair of tusks in the lower jaw. personality:smart like a drow, strong like and oger, skilled fighter history:The earliest thing remembered buy Danka is the training pit in the underdark of his home world. created for the soul purpose entertaining the throngs of drow in the Colosseum.he did finally escape that life and began a new life of adventure.50 years ago he was contacted by a mercenary group and joined it, in his mind this it the worst mistake of his life.their first mission was destroy a lich in the surface world.the lich was more powerful than anyone could have known.lich know as Raziel Korben vaporized the mercenary group and captured there souls and stored them for dark magic.when he got to Danka he stopped and instead of killing him he used powerful pcionics to make Danka his thrall he been working for Raziel ever after.Danka mostly lives in the pocket dimension inside of Raziel skull.Enoch silverdownis he is human and young by the look of him, no more than 18 at the most,he hair is dark and metallic silver,his eyes gray blue, standing at about 6',and roughly 180 (pounds), his skin color fair and lightly tanned though covered in scars some look as thoughs from a battles and some look purposely inflicted to make designs(the truth it is a little of both though the character did not do this himself) he is wearing a leather tank died blue.he wears a pendent around neck that appears to be a coat-of-arms a pair of swords crossed over a shield, but the detail are hard to make out. his belt is a plain black strap with interesting buckle made of silver and inlaid with blue gems.his pants are leather as well and died gray,he wears grieves that go from knee to toe and have silvery mirror finish. he wears nothing on his arms save two silver cuffs at his wrists.on his index fingers of each hand he wears a ring,on his right, a ring shaped like a spider, and on his left what appear to be glass, encasing a continuous charge of lightning. From out of his back two serrated shards of metal emerge from between his shoulder blades. After standing the young man stretches his back and arms, when he does this the metal shards in his back unfold on unseen hinges and expanses on impossible plains, until you find a pair of incredible metallic wings,and just as fast as they unfolded they return to their resting position. he walks over to the desk and signs in "My name is Enoch, and I will fight in the arena in the name of mechanus.
LivingShadow 08-18-07, 04:40 PM	Lily Human Female Neutral Evil Fighter/Cleric/Blackguard/Nerull's chosen At first Lily is what you would expect from a 6-year-old girl. However, after a second look she becomes much more sinister. She has a scythe that is too big for her strapped onto her back and she eminates an extremely strong aura of evil. Didn't even bother trying to come up with a backstory. What could explain being a blackguard at age 6? Lily is what is known as a humor character. Vicros Moonshadow, Lord of the Third House (Parliment of Shadows) Human Male Lawful Neutral Wizard/Shadowcaster/Nocturnomancer Vicros is tall and slender. He also seems abnormally pale due to his constant exposure to shadow. He wears shadowweave robes. He is a master of Shadow and arcane magic. For some reason prefers electricity and ice based arcane spells. One of his previous apprentices is after his position in the parliement and is currently on the Plane of Shadow. Sorry for the lack of description.
Lord_Of_The_Abyss 08-23-07, 10:13 PM	L'aximniac, Ancient Styx Dragon Truenamer, Dragon ascendent, Gemstone of Heavy Fortification and Amulet of Supremacy. Being near-god stature, L'aximniac has DR 25/epic and an awesome aura (fear and resolve), Hit Point increase, Hold Monster (and other spell-like abilities), and much more. L'aximniac is a Styx dragon whose obsession with attaining ultimate power surpassed even others of his kind....and he found it. As a Truenamer, L'aximniac can alter the entire multiverse on a whim, and as a Dragon Ascendant he gains the power of full-fledged gods. He enjoys toying with his enemies more than killing them immediately and all rivals would do well to remember that......He also has a nasty habit of speaking hours of truenames before a battle to give him bonuses even a major deity would be jealous of.
Xanaphina 08-31-07, 03:52 PM	A monstrous shadow bathes the ledger in darkness as a hulking beast stomps over to the table. Eyes glowing red, it reaches towards his belt to draw out a wickedly curved dagger. It cuts a crude slash in its palm, dipping a claw into the pooling, crimson blood to scribe its personal rune into the ledger: Iasheur Artinkson. "This will suffice, I assume?" He growls almost inaudably. Iasheur could be found within the front lines of battle, his snow white fur streaked and splattered with scarlet blood, towering over men as he tears foe after foe apart with spell and claw alike. After the fall of his tribe Iasheur fell out of grace with the beings that granted him his ancient magic, he then wandered the lands as a sellsword for years untill meeting a demon who promised Iasheur the return of his ungodly powers if he could perform a certain "errand" for the blood-crazed demon, an errand that to this day Iasheur seeks to fullfill... Iasheur is of an ancient race of bear folk. He has the appearance of a polar bear but the posture (and opposable thumbs) of a human. He stands many feet taller than any man and is even larger than most of his species. His fur is forever stained with blood that maches the color of his glaring, demonic eyes. A beautiful woman stands with her head bowed before me, her scant, silk clothing, leaves much of her soft, ebony flesh revealed to the eye. The blood red tattoos adorning her body draw me to her with some unearthly magic. Her scarlet hair ripples and flows down her back like the most divine of waterfalls. She raises her lovely head to face me, and I know her visage must have been carved by something more perfect than angels. The woman reaches a hand out and strokes me with a gossamer touch. Then she speaks, her voice the most enchanting song ever sung: “Hello mortal, and why do I find you here on this wonderful day?" I prepare to speak but no words leave my mouth. The woman giggles, then brushes my lips with hers. There is a tingle then a stabbing horrific pain in my throat an explosion of blood tears through my stomach. I cough, another burst of blood shoots from my mouth followed by another burst of blood. I am now on my hands and knees and the woman is standing over me, laughing. I roll over onto my back and with the last of my life I see her drop something, a…a tube of lipstick, poison lipstick. Narsiciss is the daughter of an angel but her father's a demon, she landed somewhere in between the two extremes, though she wields the powers of both light and dark she prefers to answer to the evil side. After slaughtering her parents, Narsiciss left and went abroad. She would seduce some lord to marry her with her charisma, and then murder him in his sleep, taking control of his realm and soldiers, and repeat the process. Until she gained control of hundreds of worlds. Once she had taken control of enough planets, she learned new technologies to defend her empire, with the combinations of her beauty, he powers, and this advanced technology she is a very powerful emperess The weapons she uses in battle are her charm, poison demonic/angelic magic, and dual revolvers.
gordonml 09-01-07, 10:30 AM	blue mage 21 summoner 20 cleric 9 mystic theruge 10 geomancer 1 half-gold-dragon elven starstepper(in my sig) this is the backstory here (http://forums.gleemax.com/showpost.php?p=13624136&postcount=5438)
LordYawgmoth 12-08-07, 07:03 AM	Esmeralda Human (female) Level 14 Binder ring of telekinesis bracer of infinite daggers (At will, 1/round: conjure an ordinary dagger, has 4 charges, which are renewed at dawn; 1 charge- +1 dagger, 2 charges- +2 dagger, 4 charges- +4 dagger [??]) 2 vestige phylacteries (allows Esmeralda to store a vestige inside them beforehand, and once per day, as a full round action, she can swap out the vestige inside her for one of the vestiges in the phylacteries) implements of binding (helps Esmeralda bind vestiges without falling under their influence) Esmeralda is a post-Mending planeswalker. She is still mortal, and she does not have to breathe, but she does need to eat and sleep as much as an ordinary person would. Planeswalking from one plane to another is not easy; it requires a lot of time and mana. Esmeralda is a mercenary; a sword-for-hire, a 'task mage', if you will, who specializes in killing supernatural creatures. She has one rule, though: she does not kill the innocent. However, since she's a Binder, she's been chased out of many a town, accused of being a witch. Esmeralda gained her unearthly powers some time ago, but if she remembers how, she's not telling. As for her personality, she's unpredictable, worldly, charming, and sometimes sarcastic, with a wit as sharp as her daggers. I would describe Esmeralda as roughly chaotic neutral. -WILL BE UPDATED SOON-
basilisk_89 12-12-07, 04:28 PM	Name: Jasper Lorn Race: Serpanno (SERP-rano) Age: 26 Eyes: Green Hair: Black, short Height: 6' Gender: Male Affiliation: Seperatist Rebellion Items: Unknown Background: Unknown
ank 02-07-08, 08:13 PM	Oops, ignore this post...nothing to see here :(
Ice_eyes 03-20-08, 08:26 AM	Hello, I only have the one character, so, here she is. Elmira is a short, thin woman. She has tightly curled black hair and light eyes that change color as rapidly as her mood changes. Her pale, smooth skin gives her the appearance of youth and frailty, though she is neither. Elmira carries her centuries with an absolute will and a firm resolve that is rarely seen even in the dedicated Shadian mages. Her customary garb is a deep purple robe trimmed in green. Elmira is bonded to the wand she carries by the force of the magic that runs in her blood and bones, and cannot die until it is shattered. So, it seems that she will never die, for the wand was a gift to her from her creator, The Great Mother Goddess of Haldinay. Unbreakable and forever. Elmira took up her place as the child of her mothers’ womb as queen and protector of Shadiaii, and eventually over the Kingdome of Haldinay as well, freeing it from tyranny. Her final seal to immortality is Allif, a foster-son not at all human, with a wild magic that no human can understand that bonds him to the land. He too, has Shadian crystal, only his is part of his body, giving him an even stronger bond to it. Their minds are so closely tied into eachother that it is difficult to tell where one mind begins, and the other ends. Elmira married, and had children, and had wished to wait another decade to hand the thrones to them, thus freeing herself from their burden, but she was not given that chance. The Magus Alasha, another crystal bonded mage, wanted the throne of Shadiaii for herself. The battle that followed was one such that had never been seen since the days that the Mother Goddess and Father Darkness battled over the right to rule the Human realm. Two spells clashed and formed a rip in the sky, to which Elmira was unfortunate enough to fall. With Allif still in her mind, his voice whispering instructions, Elmira was able to break free of the rip and fall, literally, into Hell.
A Stranger 08-13-08, 07:10 AM	Name: Eron Grant Race: Human Age: 29 Eye: Green. The other eye has been put out, and he wears a simple patch over it. Hair: Pepper ash. His hair is mostly black, but it looks like someone dropped a bucket of ashes on his head and it stayed. Height: 5'9'' Gender: Male General Description: A thin but well built man, Eron strikes an impressive physique. He comes across as somewhat gruff, with an ever present stubble and the eye patch. He is heavily tanned and his one good eye is sharp. He wears simple traveler's clothing, but he seems vaguely indistinct, particular when shadows are present. It's almost as if he wore the darkness around him. Which is the truth: his armor has been granted the most minor power over shadow, allowing him to hide with relative ease. His hair is semi-long, drawn back away from his face. Some strands drift unnoticed over his eyepatch, but he keeps his hair well clear of his other eye. Items: His trusty collapsible bow, a large amount of arrows, climbing gear, caltrops, alchemist fire... a little of everything, mostly mundane. His bow, his armor, and his boots are among the very few magical items he bears with him. Background: Eron came from a war torn world, where two empires had been in a state of on and off conflict for the better part of six centuries, each contending that their God was the creator God. He began his life as a war orphan, and settled into banditry soon after, attacking deserters and loners who returned from the fields of battle until he was captured and put to work for the military. He led a very successful career as a captain shortly after, gathering the local bandits into an elite strike force. He eventually lost his eye after the inn he was staying in was pushed over the side of a cliff, crippling his ability to use his bow. It took him years to retrain himself, to refine his style. In that time he was preyed upon himself by lords and other corrupt beings in his time among local peasants in the land he found himself in. When he was finally satisified with his archery once again, he hired his skills out to the populace, slowly making as much trouble as possible. It was when he left those lands that he found himself here, having stepped through a portal. Ever practical, the man did as best as he could here.
The_Raven_Lord 10-04-08, 10:45 AM	A spinning triangle of gold appears, and then two more in the same place, spinning at different speeds. A man with eyes of gold steps out of the portal, raises an eyebrow, and says, Hello. Am I Late? Yes? Damn. The Golden Man, Vestige (of a god), Wizard (20) Sorceror (20) Archmage (20) any other arcane class you can think of (20), Control over nearly any magic you care to name.
The_Raven_Lord 10-04-08, 11:14 AM	Nemecyst, Archdevil/Archdemon/Elemental Lord (of Fire), Warlock (30) Fighter (20) Rouge (30) Arcane Trickster (20), Control over fire and hellfire. appears as a slim man wielding a rapier, with pure Red eyes and a noble bearing. Heh. A nice place. Have I been here before? Probably. I've been everywhere else, after all... Walking up to the sign-in sheet, Nemecyst writes his name in a burning red ink.
The_Raven_Lord 12-19-08, 04:52 PM	Gnal Gnal was an ordinary Half-Orc Beserker, before he was cast out into the desert for 90 years. during his travels there, he found a strange chain apparently made of pure obsidian. The chain became bound to him-completely unbreakable, he is immortal while he bears it. He now is over 5000 years old, has mastered every martial class, and is almost unbeatable. He has a huge amount of magical items contained in the pouch hanging on the pants which are his sole clothing, and knows how to use them all. He uses his chain as a weapon. He came here because he found that the greatest warriors in the multiverse fight here, and because he heard the beer was good.
The_Raven_Lord 12-31-08, 06:15 PM	Genamn He seems to be a living statue of stone. he is shaped like a knight but twice the normal size, and is almost indestructable. thats it.